Earthlife

Life

Enjoy a humorous explanation of your life.

A friend e-mailed me this story and I thought it would be a good share.
 Especially after such a non-funny week.

On the first day, God created the dog and said, “Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years. 

“The dog said, “That’s a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I’ll give you back the other ten?” 

So God saw it was good. 

On the second day, God created the monkey and said, “Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I’ll give you a twenty-year life span.” 

The monkey said, “Monkey tricks for twenty years? That’s a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the dog did?” 

And God, again saw it was good. 

On the third day, God created the cow and said, “You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer’s family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years.” 

The cow said, “That’s kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I’ll give back the other forty?” 

And God agreed it was good. 

On the fourth day, God created humans and said, “Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I’ll give you twenty years.” 

But the human said, “Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?” 

“Okay,” said God, “You asked for it.” 

So that is why for our first twenty years, we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years, we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years, we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years, we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone. 

Life has now been explained to you. 

There is no need to thank me for this valuable information. I’m doing it as a public service. If you need me I’ll be on the front porch.

My Husband Loves Boobs

I remember having a conversation years ago with a lady about breastfeeding etiquette. She had whipped it out in sacrament meeting and I was a little astonished.

“Isn’t that why we have mother’s lounges in every church?” I prodded.
She replied, “What’s the difference in me breastfeeding my kid and you feeding your baby a bottle in church?
Um, I thought that the answer was obvious, but she was awaiting a reply.
“The difference is simple really: Your boob.”

(Hello to you, if you are reading this – I am sure you will make your opinion on the matter known.)

“My husband does not want to be looking at that.”
And he didn’t. He was the one that brought my attention to the boob in the first place.

Guess what? Over the years, I have discovered something. My husband does want to be looking at that! He’s a man. He has a thing for boobs. That’s what men do. They start life on their mom’s and work their way up to having free access to their wife’s. It’s the perk of marriage. At least that’s how it is at our house. I don’t know how it is for you flat chested ladies.

Oh man, my husband is going to kill me.
So,this post is really just my plea: cover it up ladies.
Please.

I know it’s all trendy right now to advocate for mom’s rights to whip it out, but really, can we not be considerate for other people? Especially other ladies who don’t want their husbands to have any temptation? I hope you don’t think I am 100% serious. My husband isn’t some creep who goes around stalking lactating liberals. But, there is always an awkward moment for him when a woman whips it out with no shame.

I am assuming the moment goes something like this in his mind:
“Should I look? Should I not look? Boy, I think I could look and still get into heaven.”

My hubby sent me a link about a lady with a Breastfeeding truck. who has been featured recently in the news.
It showcases a woman’s desire to create a place where mom’s can breastfeed comfortably and privately.

Bless you, Jill Miller.

Now, all my hubby has to do when he is feeling kind of desperate is look at the huge nipple on top of your private place. Nice. At least your way he can still get into heaven.

Oh, if you didn’t read the article, I’ve got to let you in on the best part. The author says fictionally to her children,”No children, that’s not an ice-cream truck, stay away, it’s a milk truck.”

I bet some moms in South America who are still breastfeeding their 8-year-olds are wishing they could get a milk-truck in their country.

Oh, here is a place you can buy a classy udder cover. Or if you are the typical Mormon mommy who likes to be crafty, go here to learn how to make your very own baby blanket. Because even though we live in a fancy schmancy 21st century where we have to have every product on the market, a baby blanket really works for everything.
At least that’s what I think every time I see someone walking around with one of these. Of course it’s so cute; Cally made it.
But really, I had four kids and used a blanket to cover my car seat with every one and it worked out just fine.

Coming soon: a post about the versatility of baby blankets.
Oh and for you la leche nazis, I did breastfeed. I have nothing against it. Nothing at all.
Unless it’s you, and you are all hanging out in front of my man.

Let’s Party

In the past year, as I’ve delved into the facebook world, I have been amazed at the achievements of my high school classmates. (BTW – if you haven’t liked me on facebook yet, you can do it here, or on the sidebar.)

Joe Weirzbecki is a tea-party guru.
Alex and Chelsea are the founders of BreezyMama.
I already told you about Ted Johnson.
Jeff Keirns is a producer in the world of Reality TV.
Ty Gurney runs a successful surf school in Hawaii.
But some of the achievements that I have been the most impressed with are the ones I won’t reveal. They are the few classmates who have confided in me about their sobriety. I am so proud of them for realizing that they had a problem, and doing something about it. I am so grateful for Alcoholics Anonymous that helps so many people realize their dreams. I  am such a huge believer in the 12 steps and have found great happiness in my life by following its principles with my codependency. Sometimes just living a normal healthy life is the best accomplishment of all. And really, we all have addictions to overcome. It takes a lot of courage to admit that.
My high school is a party school. Party party party all the time.
It’s no wonder to me that as young as high school, many of my classmates were forming an addiction to alcohol and marijuana. Their influences were everywhere. Many parents encouraged the partying. They were the cool ones back in the day. Maybe they still are.
I am anxious to go back to my high school reunion as the party scene is something I haven’t done in a very long time. Being around people who are drunk or high was something my husband never experienced in his life, until he became a juvenile attorney and a lot of his clients were addicts. He never knew what they are going to say or do. Here is a hilarious news story that all nursing mothers should read and laugh. They will then instantly lay off the booze. Unless they want to risk using breast-milk as a their weapon of choice against the law enforcement.
At my reunion there will be party before the parties. Parties after the parties. And parties the next day. Did I tell you that I attended a party school? Well, apparently the parties are still in full force.I hope my partying classmates will be respectful of the non-par-tiers. I hope they will realize that even if alcohol isn’t a problem in their life, that it has indeed stolen years from some of our classmates. I hope that they will applaud those who aren’t drinking, instead of naively pressuring them to party on dude. Surely, we are all old enough now to acknowledge the ill effects of drinking, especially for addicts. For those of my classmates that are sober (or Mormon), I just read today about a specialty drink called The Utah Sunset you can order.
It is such a different world being a Mormon. We went to my sister in law Jill’s birthday party last night. In attendance were a bunch of 20 somethings. There was no alcohol, but much laughter. They played ninja and whole body twister. And they laughed all night long. I believe they all went home with no regrets.
Now onto me.
All you loyal readers know how hard I’ve been working at sprucing up the blog so that I could monetize.
I am proud to announce today that I have a new lucky number.
I guess it’s now seven.
Today marks the day that I’ve had
1007 posts 
5370 comments.
This month I’ve had 6,701 hits.
And the best of all:
I have earned my first 2.74 cents.
My old lucky number was 11.
It is now retired.
I have 211 spam comments in my spam box.
For some reason most of those tried to post naked pictures on Donna’s Birthing Story. Go figure. Trust me when I tell you that you should be very happy that blogger has advanced enough to know how to block the spam from publishing.
So,
I’m partying today.
Like it’s 1997.
The year I got married.
Not like, 1991, the year I graduated high school.
I don’t need alcohol for my happiness.
In fact, I believe my happiness is better when it can be achieved without alcohol.

Family Photos in Beautiful Knoxville
Please excuse the post full of pictures of my beautiful family. It may not be that funny. But it will sure be some eye candy.
We’ve been married almost 14 years.
We’ve had 4 kids.
We’ve only had our photos taken at JC Pennies.
Do you spell JC Penny plural
JC Pennies or JC Penny’s?
Anyhow.
You get the point.
This is a confession that tells you two things about our family.
1 – We’ve been poor.
2- We didn’t value a good photographer near enough.
Our friend Jessie was a Saint.
She was in the middle of moving
and we were leaving the State of Tennessee
the very next day.
I had to have some pictures with
my precious dogwoods.
She not only obliged.
But, rocked the house.
Thank you Jessie.
I will love you forever.
Jessie is about to have her first baby any day, so she will probably take a little time off. Or she will be shoving her camera in the face of her best subject ever. She also happens to be a perfectionist. As evidenced by the photos. She doesn’t have a site yet, but if you want to be put in touch with her, just let me know. She will be in the Knoxville area for a little while longer.
I literally cried my eyes out while looking at these photos tonight.
How I miss my Tennessee.
We took these photos at the Knoxville Botanical Garden and Arboretum.
It’s a beautiful place, much like all of East Tennessee.
Lucky for us we got to enjoy it on a perfect Spring day.
It was raining.
Did I mention it was a perfect way to say goodbye.

 This is where I wanted the photo, but Jessie being the professional that she is said that we couldn’t set it up right. But, thank you Jessie for sending me this one shot of THE spot. It’s just beautiful. And so fitting of TN. From my favorite trees, to the old rock structure, all the way to the rusted old metal.

Our Sweet Caroline.

Her nicknames are Curls, Boots, and Shirley Temple.

She looks just like her daddy.
Even their smiles are identical.

Our not so sweet Caroline.

Beautiful Bella.

Sweet Sophia.

Adorable Abigail.

The whole family.
The whole family with the dogwoods.


The only picture LG and I have of us kissing since we got married.

You would never know that we were in a fight that day.

Thank you to Jessie for solving all of our 8 years of marital issues that played out during our time in Tennessee in one final moment.

It’s hard to be mad at someone when the photographer requests a kiss.

My favorite picture of all time.
Does it not just scream Tennessee?


I really do love this man so much.


Even more than I love his wife.

Popcorn popping

I think every single Mormon child learns the song Popcorn Popping as a child.
It’s a social phenomenon.

I looked out the window and what did I see?
Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.
Spring has brought me such a nice surprise,
Popcorn popping right before my eyes.
I can take a handful and make a treat.
A popcorn ball that would smell so sweet.
It wasn’t really so,
but it seemed to me.
Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.

Here is a tree a few houses down from us.
I think it was quite possibly the one
that the author of the song was looking at when she penned the lyrics.

How I wish I could let you each watch Caroline do the actions to the song.

These youtube videos will have to do. I am pretty sure that these girls are just as cute.

But what I really want to know is why do they have to grow up?
They just lose cuteness, if you ask me.

Polynesian Pani Popo

I would never attempt to give you a Polynesian recipe because I am not Polynesian. I do love the Polynesian people and culture. I guess my adoration can be traced back to growing up so closely with the Poly’s in my hometown of Carlsbad, CA and the neighboring town of Oceanside, CA. My dad was a Bishop of the church there when it took two whole cities to make up one congregation. Now, there are many congregations there. But, my family were so very fortunate to have many Polynesian friends. They became like family to us. To this day, I am drawn to Polynesian people. I feel like I am adopted in to their vast family. As they will be the first to tell you they are all cousins. Samoans, Hawaiians, Tongans, New Zea-landers…all cousins.

When LG and I got married 10 days after deciding, it was once again my Polynesian family who came through. My good friends Kia and Kyla (both originally from Hawaii) and their friend Lisa (who was totally white) decided to throw us a luau. To this day, without fail, every time we attend a wedding reception LG will proclaim that nobody has better food than we did. I think he dreams about the noodles. I didn’t get to eat much that evening. Apparently, I was playing hostess as LG was gorging at the spread. Can you say foreshadow? I am not calling my husband fat. I am just saying that if there is one hostess in this family, it is me, so in-laws stop typing shame on you’s now.

However, on that evening I got to eat one thing. Well, I actually probably ate at least 8. LG would bring them to me on a plate from time to time. Pani popo. I can’t even utter the word without salivating. Years ago when I started blogging I made an online blogging friend who posted the recipe. I have successfully made much pani popo on my own. I guess that means I am really a true cousin now. Out of pure reverence for my friend sharing her polynesian equivalent to The Holy Grail,  I am refraining from giving you the recipe here, but do go over and get it. You will not be disappointed. And at your next Palagi luau, I promise you will receive the most leis.

And just to give you a peek at how easy this recipe is. From the top of my head I can only remember three ingredients that are needed and one is Rhode’s rolls.

Pani PoPo

Tennessee Bridge
Please excuse my boo-hooing. This is going to be a very sentimental post.

I’m already crying and I haven’t even started writing yet. I’m a mess.

When my father in law e-mailed this photo, he had appropriately named it “looking west”.
 Maybe I should also get him to send me the other side entitled “looking east”
 as I am sure there will always be a part of me that will do both.

In 2003, LG and I, with our three little daughters crossed over this bridge for the first time as a family. The girls were so young: 4,2, and newborn. We had come across the country for law-school and Grandma Gold’s empty house was a perfect place for us to crash while we house hunted (an hour and a half away) in Knoxville. It was two doors down from my in-laws, which is about a mile beyond this bridge. We didn’t know it at the time, but we started a tradition. It had been a long trip, where we learned all sorts of car sanity games. We challenged Abigail to a Tennessee Bridge off. She must suck in all the air support she could and holler “Tennessee Bridge” as we drove over. She should not stop hollering until we safely reached the side closer to grammy’s house.

Well, here we are, almost eight years later. LG’s employment is going to drag us back to where we came from. We can’t complain. It’s a great job. We love Utah and we know it’s what God wants us to do, but it is very emotional…especially for a big sap like me.
My mother in law just posted a picture of the bridge on facebook and said they are closing it down. They have built a bigger and better bridge off  to the other side. All I can do is cry. And reminisce. And scream, “Nothing can be bigger or better.”
So many trips and holler contests are flying through my brain. Abigail is 4, then 5 then 11, ever increasing in volume and intensity. Sophia was 2 and couldn’t quite pronounce the words, but still hollered right along with her sister and now she quite possible has some of the best breathe control. Bella was probably just crying that first trip across, but her volume was likely as loud as it is today, even though the words now come out loud and clear: TENNESSEEEEE BRRRIIIIIIIDDDDDDGGGGE. 
Sometimes the girls were in soccer uniforms or church dresses. Sometimes the car was loaded down with winter gear and Christmas presents. Or food that we didn’t want to go bad in our fridge at home. Sometimes we had a cat with us and a dog. But never both the cat or the dog. Thank goodness. Sometimes they were in bathing suits and we may have even had the occasional birthday suit in there. I can smell the homemade loaves of bread that Faye sent home with us and the Thanksgiving leftovers. I am blinded by the black of most of the nights when we were headed back home while I calculated which caffeinated soda I would purchase at the corner gas station just beyond the bridge. The kids would already be falling asleep and wouldn’t even notice the bridge.
LG and I got really good at driving across that bridge super slow while the kids’ faces turned bright red and finally gave in to the need for oxygen. A parent has to do what they have to do for the occasional win. We would have to remind ourselves not to slow down if it was at night and the girls weren’t paying attention. The girls have now turned their attention to teaching baby Caroline the tradition.
I am not sure how many times LG told me of his trips to the little market close to the bridge while we drove by. “I always got my gas there when I was a teenager.” “Dad and I used to stop there for worms when we would go fishing.” “We used to drive our bikes down here when we were kids”, to which I would reply, “Are you kidding me? This highway is frightening.” The response would always follow, “Yeah Alice, I’ve told you a million times, we would take the back-roads; they are so much safer.” I would laugh inside because I don’t think that there are really any safe back-roads in the whole state of Tennessee; I have personally puked while trying them out in the car. That’s when I started driving everywhere so I could avoid car sickness.
But back to the bridge. They are tearing it down. They are tearing down a piece of our family. And I can’t stop crying, but I guess it is kind of fitting since we have to move forward. We can’t stay here forever.But even if we aren’t going to be Tennessee residents and even if we aren’t going to get to visit grammy and papa as often, we now know that at least a piece of each of our hearts will forever be floating down the great Holston River. I think I can hear it as it faintly rolls along to the tune of Tenneeesssssseeeee Briiiddddgee.
wah wah wah.