The other day we were getting lunch ready and I told Sophia to go ahead and cut herself some cheese from the big block of Cheddar.
(You already know where I am going with this, don’t you?)
Sophia is trying with all her strength. She declares, “I can’t cut the cheese.”
I respond with a chuckle, “You can’t cut the cheese?”
Originally Sophia doesn’t get my joke. “No. Mom, it’s too hard.”
Me: “It’s too hard to cut cheese? We better tell dad about this.”
The mention of her dad is a dead boy joke giveaway.
“MMoooommm. Gross.”
I wish she couldn’t cut the cheese. I really do. I wish even more that her dad couldn’t cut the cheese either.
Here is some more fun boy type entertainment. This top video is the bomb. LG wants to recreate it using nerf guns. Right after he makes a hilarious video about cutting cheese.
There she is. It’s the best picture I could get with my little camera. Like I said, even though we arrived plenty early, the only spots left were in the back. Waaaaay back.
The kids loved the street vendors.
Caroline wanted a doll really bad.
Caroline can’t wait for the music to start.
She’s got her dance on.
Oh, and do you remember the people watching we did last time? And I told you that LG and I have a hard time understanding up to date fashion? Check out this guy’s butt. I have no idea why he thinks that skinny jeans can be worn like a gangster. We got shot after shot of his underwear throughout the night. I wonder if he would even care if he knew we were checking him out.
Glad we had something to make us laugh while we were waiting for the music to start.
So, on Saturday night at 10 pm, LG and I were walking out of the temple. Yes, this temple. How amazing is that?
From our view up on the hill, there were fireworks going off all over the valley. It was absolutely breathtaking.
LG informed me that The Stadium of Fire would be happening any moment. For some reason, in my mind, I thought that it was going to happen on the actual 4th.
I decided we should hurry home and find a spot to watch the fireworks.
To my dismay, when we got home, the kids had no interest whatsoever in breaking away from the TV.
I pried their bodies and eyes from the tube, and made them pile in the car. I was not about to miss the fireworks, especially after this post.
As we drove down State street (Utah Valley’s version of Knoxville’s Kingston Pike) I was overwhelmed by so many US flags lit up along the road. The patriotism of Utahns is not only efficacious but admirable. People either love America here or they display their stars and stripes to compete with all the other businesses. And by all, I mean ALL. Everyone has a flag. Everyone.
The kids were grumbling during the whole drive. Why do we have to do this? We don’t want to watch the fireworks. Let’s just go back home. wah wah wah.
I told them to keep their eyes on the flags and to sing along. I started loud and strong:
This land is your land, this land is my land….nothing but my voice. Oh beautiful, for spacious skies….again, nothing from the back seats. She’s a grand old flag, she’s a high flying flag….”Shut up, mom.” God bless America….”Really, Alice, do you have to sing so loud?” said quietly by LG so the kids wouldn’t hear; I’m assuming he didn’t want to totally stomp on my love for country. I’m proud to be an American….(even louder than before)
By this time the kids were all horrified and hating their mother and her motherland.
And guess what? By the time we got to Provo’s end of State from our northern end of Orem’s State, all we could see was traffic. The traffic was heading towards us, not with us.
Yes, I hate to tell you, Murphy’s Law is still in full effect, and has no respect for a nation’s holiday celebrated two days early or a very loud and song singing patriotic mother. We had missed the fireworks.
More grumbling, complaining, and whining ensued.
LG and I were not about to miss a good opportunity for teaching our kids.
Me: “Knock it off you guys, at least we still live in a country that has firework celebrations.” LG: “There are a lot of kids in this world that would die to be in this car right now.” Me: “Or to even have a car.” LG: “Or to have a mother.” Abigail: “Not if their mom sang like that.” Me: “Especially if their mom sang like that.” LG: “Yeah, think of all the kids out there that don’t live a country where they have mothers.” (O.k. I just made that up.) I think he really said, “You should be grateful for a mother who can sing, and cook, and do laundry.”
Abigail: “At least parents in other countries would be smart enough NOT to drive their family into the middle of the traffic jam, especially when their family missed the show.” Me: “Well, at least there are other Americans with cars.” LG: “And at least your mom can see in the dark and drive.” Bella: “Mom, STOP!” (I admit it I barely missed that car in front of me.)
Anyhow, the conversation went on for a bit. And there was no chance of it stopping. [In fact, it can still be happening if you want to comment what your best line would have been to the kids.]
Quietly, ever so quietly and with her Gold sense of perfect timing, Sophia chimes in. She must have looked up from reading Harry Potter for long enough to gather her sisters’ desperation for winning at the “Be glad you are American” game.
What does she say? Brace yourself.
“Man, I wished I lived in Canada.”
Seven words. That’s all it takes to make a total complete disaster of an evening all worth it. Good one Phia. Good one. Average Americans should really consider more than 2.5 kids; they make everything more fun.
I told the kids that if they would sing their favorite patriotic song at the top of their lungs, then I would indeed STOP.
Abigail was loud and proud. I wonder where she gets that from? “I’m a yankee doodle dandy. A yankee doodle, do or die.”
I am sure that all that traffic surrounding us was so grateful that they didn’t miss the real entertainment of the evening as I rolled all windows down.
And If I do say so myself those frostys from Wendy’s were the perfect consolation prize for everyone involved. Nothing like good old American food.
And when the song Firework came on the radio. I promise you, not just momma was singing. Even dad got in on the falsetto. Perfection, pure perfection.
We didn’t miss a thing. The fireworks had been going off in our car all night long.
And guess what? Utah loosened their firework laws this year. We can now shoot off 150 foot rockets from our very own neighborhoods. And on the real 4th of July, the sky was lit up in every direction we could turn. Our culdesac of fire was a billion times better than their Stadium of Fire. Fireworks in the sky on all four sides, coming from everywhere.
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.)
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.
I am so much better at living in the important moments on Sundays.
Thank you God for a day of rest.
Please help me to slow down during the week.
And please give me the strength to wake up early enough to surprise my man with the breakfast of his dreams. I know I can’t live up to his mom in that way, but I have provided the man with four beautiful children, and I hope he knows how much I love him. And how when my life is over, all of my most important moments will include him.
I love you LG.
And Happy Father’s Day to Duane and dad. Thanks for all your moments. That add up to eternity. Can’t wait to spend it all together.
Here is a great idea for a last minute Father’s Day gift. Brought to you by my very own Sunday School teacher. She also happens to have a great blog. And she believes in enjoying the moments as evidenced by her killer Harry Potter parties. I hope I get to go next month.
I just want to share with you the conversation my husband and I shared the other day. I had been chatting with him while he was at work. I was asking him how to view the properties of a picture that I minimized. I couldn’t figure out the pixel amount. He told me to make sure the pixel radio was selected.
Me: Pixel Radio. What’s that? I see this pixel button, but where does a radio come in?
LG: Oh, they call that button a radio button.
Me: Why?
LG: Because it’s like the old-school radio, you can only select one button at a time.
Me: huh?
LG: Don’t you remember the old school radio?
Me: faintly.
I got the job done with the help of my personal on-line tech support team. We then got off chat.
I immediately received an e-mail with this photo.
Oh the joy of technology.
I chuckled.
And returned it with this short e-mail:
I am so glad you are finding the time to entertain yourself and enlighten me at the same time. It’s a gadget thing.
He then replied back again:
I’m here to serve.
I then said
You make me horny.
He then replied back again:
Easy, I have co-workers walking in and out of my office.
I am glad I can have that effect.
And then he got really risqué with:
Maybe since I sent you a picture to explain what I meant you need to do the same 😉
I never responded back. And I am not just saying that because his boss may read this someday.
So, fast forward, the other day we were out working in the yard.
There are these metal things sticking up from the concrete patio and they make me nervous that the kids are going to hurt themselves. I finally took matter into my own hands.
“LG, where’s the sledgehammer?”
He had no idea. I quickly searched the shed and fetched it.
He was working on some weeds close-by when I came back and took the sledgehammer to the metal.
With two swift swings I had solved the issue.
LG exclaims,
“I now get how that radio e-mail made you horny.
That was most definitely a turn on.”
We are so silly.
I love his mind.
He loves my brute strength.
How bliss are we?
Pretty bliss. We were especially bliss on the day this photo was taken. It marked the end of our marriage focusing on higher education for 11 years. So, we could have more time for the turn on buttons.
When people search the lyrics to the song I’m So Pretty on google, they must be surprised when they are brought to this old post which was titled with the words to a great Broadway song I Feel Pretty. It’s one of my favorite songs of all time.
I thought that the words said “I’m so pretty and witty and wise”, but after listening to the above mash up, I realize that I was mistaken, it’s really “I’m so pretty and witty and bright.” I like wise better, but really isn’t it the same thing?
This song has a great message and I wish to share it. Everyone should feel pretty. They should always feel pretty. Even without make-up or the latest fashions or any admirers to tell them so. I think although sometimes I feel fat, I have always felt pretty. I am not saying this to brag, but it’s true, I’m pretty. I am not drop dead gorgeous, but I don’t think I am hard on the eyes. Do other people even think about stuff like this? Am I just sounding like a total freak right now?
My sister came to visit this past weekend and she complained that I have such great skin while she still struggles with acne. She also told me that I better hurry and dye my grey hair. To try and counteract the hair comment, she said, “Alice, I wish I had as pretty of a face that you do.” Funny, I just want her marathon running body to go with my already gorgeous face. I guess this stems from so many people telling me that it was o.k. that I was fat because I have such a beautiful face. Hate on me haters. Seriously, they started telling me that at a young age. I guess I am a living testament to the power of complimentary behavior. I have always felt beautiful. (I have also always felt fat)
When LG and I were engaged, we were encouraged to take the this compatibility test at BYU before getting married the ten days later that we did. It was the worst thing we ever did for our marriage. We were told that we were compatible. (Hello, we already knew that) But, one of the questions of the test has been detrimental to LG and I both for years. It was:
Rate your potential partner’s looks. a)ugly b)below average c)average d)above average e)beautiful
I chose C. LG chose D. When going over our results, I was heartbroken. I wanted to be E beautiful and I let him have it. Every girl should feel that their spouse thinks they are E beautiful. It still comes up from time to time. LG always defends himself that D (pretty) is perfectly great and that I said he was only C (average) and no one ever hears him complain.
There is no moral to this post. It’s more of the rambling type. I do think that there is power in the mind and that we should all be kind to ourselves. I am glad that I feel pretty. Now I am just going to work on feeling happy with the body that I have or do something to change it. I think I never really worry about it because even though I feel fat, I think that fat can still be pretty. In fact, fat can be E beautiful. Just look at the link below.
Even though this blogger has never acknowledged my existence, I am still going to send you to yet another one of her posts. It’s about body image. It’s awesome. And the women of Ghana would probably never call themselves fat. Maybe I should start there.
And if the post above doesn’t make you ready for bathing suit season, try this old post of mine.
LG’s law practice is a thing of the past. I think sometimes he misses it a little bit. Although he would never admit it. For any of you starting your own practice my husband will gladly give you some advice. Have a partner. The other thing he will tell you was told to him by a smart law professor.
“Get a good assistant and keep her.”
The first year of LG’s law practice I was the assistant. I guess I wasn’t good enough because he didn’t keep me. We often joke that I think I quit and he thinks he fired me. Either way it doesn’t matter. What really happened is I had a baby and it was too hard for me to take care of the baby, the other girls, LG, and his practice. I was forced to let LG take a portion of his take home pay and divvy it out to a real assistant.
I can’t remember the details, but before I knew it, LG had hired two assistants.
You see, he tries to be a humble guy and will gladly admit to needing all the help he can get.
The other lawyers that got to know is assistants always teased LG that he knew how to do things right. It was more than a little eery that they would all make the same joke:
“LG, you must be one hellofaguy. You have a blonde assistant on T and TH and a brunette on M,W,F.”
Yuck.
I really had to work on my confidence for years, and a wife really doesn’t need jokes like that. For a long time LG and I had an understanding that the only assistant he was going to have was a gay man.
But then came Sheena and Stephanie. I trusted these girls with my life and my husband. And they took really good care of him. I think if LG were to enhance his new job in any way, he would request a personal secretary to do all the things he doesn’t like doing. These girls were a godsend. They relieved my man’s stress level by about 40%.
Funny, by the pictures you would think that Sheena was the brunette and Stephanie was the blonde, but when they worked for LG, they both had opposing hair colors to these photos.
Sheena on her wedding day. I stole this photo from her facebook.
Stephanie on her graduation day. She e-mailed me this photo. And gave me permission to use it on my blog.
When Stephanie was working for LG, her mom showed me a pair of shoes that Stephanie had requested for her birthday. Upon seeing them, I begged her not to wear them to work. No explanation needed. She honored my request. Or didn’t she? I can’t remember. It really didn’t matter. I was just joking with her.
You can imagine my entertained laugh a few weeks back when opening an e-mail with this photo from Stephanie. Stephanie had graduated from paralegal school. She said she had to wear her heels to make a statement.
I replied with,
My thought was what point were you trying to make…that all legal assistants have to be hot? Because if that’s the case, my sex life should have been a lot better than it was during that year that I worked for LG.
It has been so awesome to see my husband happy again. He has been so stressed out for so long and I have hated seeing him sad. LG is loving his new job and I couldn’t be happier for him. LG has really been missing basketball for a long time. I think one of the things he loves most about his new job is that the whole office plays basketball at lunch, almost daily. Doesn’t he look happy?
In Tennessee, I had been encouraging him to start his own basketball team, so that he could get in more playing time. Basketball is his favorite sport and his chosen form of exercise. The bad thing is, it’s hard to play by yourself. He teased that he would only invite the fat and out of shape to play.
We started joking about it, LeGrand telling me that he couldn’t start his own team because it would be obvious to all his in-shape friends who had their own team that he was trying not to be left out. “C’mon, honey, this is about you, not them. You would feel so good to play again, and you would be forced to work it into your schedule, once you made a commitment. There are probably plenty of other guys out that who would love to play, but aren’t good enough to be asked. You should make a team for them and in the name of playing for fun and exercise and not for winning.”
And then I chimed in with this goodie:
“It would be cool, you could name the team Bench-warmers. Or how about Second String?”
LeGrand laughed. I laughed. We had a good laugh. Laughing is healing. Funny that my blog is call imsofunny. I need laughter in my life. I need healing.
Somewhere in that amazing brain of his, LeGrand decided that I would not get the last laugh at his expense. He would get me back for the bad joke. Weeks later, he and I got into another conversation. This time, it was about a musical number that was put together. I usually had an invite to sing alto. This time I did not. In fact, the newly formed group was singing the same song that I sang with them last time. Another friend of mine, who was now in while I was out, and had no idea, I had been outed, informed me.
LeGrand and I got talking about the situation. I said, “It’s o.k. I’m pretty over life right now, maybe they knew I didn’t need to add one more thing to my plate.” What I needed to do was be more like Christ. And care more about the people who are our friends than my own feelings of pride. I should be happy for them that they have the best basketball team and the best singing group, even if that means we can’t be a part of it. I should sit through the church meeting and feel the Spirit of the Lord with their voices being raised, and not need to be included, except to appreciate it from the sidelines.
I told LeGrand that I believe my singing career had just found the end of the road. It’s not worth it to be included and then to not be included. I can’t help it that I am overly sensitive. LeGrand told me that I was wrong and that I loved to sing, and that I was good at it, and I shouldn’t let this little episode completely discourage me. And then, LeGrand, turned to go to the bedroom and change out of his suit. And like LeGrand, with his incredible timing and humor, he said, “Alice, you should start a musical group of your own. Really. You could call it Second String.”
Good one LeGrand. Good one. I love my husband. He really is great at a lot of things. Like being forgiving, being temperate, being funny, and being the best second stringer of all time. He’s MY second stringer. And I would rather be on the fourth string team, if it meant we get to be together. Thank you to LeGrand for always making me laugh and trying to teach me to let it go by incredible example. And thank you to Jesus Christ who takes us all from whatever team we are on, and puts us on His team…the best team, no matter what our skill level.
alice w. gold 