This is a photo from a room at The Gettysburg’s Battlefield Bed and Breakfast Doesn’t that sound like a fun place to go?
Well, the only vacation we will be taking any time soon is to Panama City, FL to see my new little nephew. My father-in-law booked all of us hotel rooms at a Days Inn down there. My mother-in-law informed me that he booked us a room with two double beds instead of the King. He was thinking of the kids of course, but either way they will end up on the floor because LG and I really cannot sleep in a double bed together. Anyone else out there understand that notion? Why do hotels even THINK about putting in double beds? We are in America in the 21st Century. People are fatter. We need bigger plane seats and bigger beds, not only at home, but at hotels too. Man, I cannot wait to have a Master Bedroom big enough someday, so that I can finally own a California King.
Well, the reason for the picture above is to take us on a trip back to the days when couples really and actually slept in seperate beds. Some nights I would be the first to agree that this wasn’t such a bad idea. Well, yesterday in church, I had reason to believe that some parents out there teach their children that this is the only way to be chaste.
As you know, I teach the kids music. I taught a song about The Holy Ghost. I started with an object lesson, comparing my daughter’s favorite well-used blanket as a COMFORTER and the Holy Ghost also as a COMFORTER. I asked the kids that like to sleep with a blanket to raise their hands. Of course the children started spitting out what they like to cuddle up to. After listening to their responses I asked them,”Do you know what Sister Gold likes to sleep with at night?” After no answers and all eyes on me, I replied, “Brother Gold.” Well, all of the teachers rolled laughing, and some of the kids chuckled. I can be so INAPPROPRIATE!
Well, the best response came from little Rebecca. “Sister Gold, that’s pornography!”
Could you just die laughing? I told her it wasn’t pornography and questioned whether her mom and dad slept in the same bed. She said, “Yes.” and after breathing a sigh of relief, I quickly changed the subject.
Moral of the story: If you sleep in the same bed as your spouse, you have no morals!
USA
Yoda, this is
Do, or do not. There is no ‘try’.
– Yoda,
The Empire Strikes Back
Thanks to my geek of a husband my daughter Abigail has a thing about StarWars. She just loves it! Her Grammy took her to a bookstore two days ago and she HAD to have the StarWars book.
I don’t really have anything funny to write about StarWars. I really like this quote by Yoda. I hate the delivery that Yoda delivers. (I guess he never had an English class on not ending sentences with prepositions.)
Good story about prepositions:
On the subject of ending sentences with prepositions, people often recount a story involving Winston Churchill. When an editor dared to change a sentence of Churchill’s that appeared to end inappropriately with a preposition, Churchill responded by writing to the editor, “This is the kind of impertinence up with which I shall not put.” His purpose, of course, was to illustrate the awkwardness that can result from rigid adherence to the notion that prepositions at the end of sentences are always incorrect.
When we went to see the final StarWars I laughed out loud at the pivotal Darth Vader moment….you really have to be a StarWars geek to appreciate the cheese. My husband was mortified as to how freely I “ruined” the movie for everyone. Oops.
Anyhow, Yoda may have bad delivery, but just like an old wise Grandma, no matter how hard it is to pay attention at times, you HAVE to listen to what he has to say. He has profound teachings. He is my favorite part of StarWars. I had a spiritual experience at the last movie as Yoda counseled Anikan.
The Potluck
Learn one VITAL sign in ASL: Eat food!
As opposed to Eat poo (“U-no-poo” was one of my favorite parts of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling)Wouldn’t I love to be like J.K. Rowling someday!
Well, this entry is dedicated to one vital facet of Mormon life…..the potluck dinner. I must say that before moving to Tennessee, I really liked potlucks. But, too many bad experiences in my congregation here have quite turned me off. At our Christmas party last year, we ran out of food…..a Christmas party with not enough food???????
And sometimes after church on Sundays we have what is called a “linger longer” where all people bring food items of their choice and after our 3 hours of meetings we dine together. Or, we are supposed to dine together.
Last year I made a vow to never attend a linger longer again. On this particular Sunday, I left disgusted with potluck dinners. I had taken 3 dozen homemade rolls and two very yummy and large salads. When it came time to eat I found myself at the back of a very long line. I gathered 3 empty plates for my children and was astounded when all that was left of the spread was some yucky mac-n-cheese- and a 3 quarter empty rice-cooker with cold hard rice. My kids were starving and the people ahead of us had been VERY RUDE and gotten themselves very large servings and sometimes even TWO plates. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I told LG that I would never attend a linger longer again.
Yesterday, after church, LeGrand came home and said, “Alice, you aren’t going to like this, but….” I had no idea what he was going to say….only the worst was going through my mind…..(IDEAS: the Bishop wants us to donate a $1,000, I have been called on a mission to Zimbabwe, I want a divorce)
I braced myself, and inquired. He said,”I think that we should go to the Linger Longer next week.” I lovingly questioned him and he put forth some powerful arguements and I agreed that I would go, but that I would stash enough lunch for the kids in the diaper bag, just in case.
As LG walked back to our bedroom to change out of his suit, I hollered, “LG, you aren’t going to like this, but, I think we should have another baby.” (No, I am not announcing anything)
LG, turned quick on his heels, met me in the kitchen, made eye contact and said, “O.k. Alice, we don’t have to go to the linger longer.” Isn’t he funny?
P.S. I think he talked me out of Baby #4 for now.
ilk
Today, once again, I beheld the power of advertising. The Got milk campaign is, in my opinion, by far, the most ingenious ad campaign of all time. Above is one of milk’s recent photo shoots. LG and I love the TV show Scrubs. It has some of the best comedy. You can’t watch the show for more than three minutes without being exerted into an all-out bellyroll laugh.
While I was watching my taped version of ER today, (Yes, taped….remember, we are poor and therefore, some of the only Americans who still tape instead of TiVo ing) the Staples commercial came on. Abigail had been asking me for a glass of milk for a few minutes and I was trying to get the kids situated into a movie. I kept telling her, “Just a minute.” Abigail must have been paying really good attention to the Staples commercial, which in my opinion is not good. But, for my five year old, today, it was good for something.
The commercial goes something like this…..1-man not listening to a co-worker….2- man catches the 1st and last part of the conversation….and hears only, “When I get back I need. mumble mumble mumble “er” or you are fired” 3 – Man goes to staples and the superhero staples employee walks through the store with the man,telling him everything that they carry that ends with the sound “er”. 4- Man magically remembers that it is the blankety blank blank wireless routER that he needs 5- man shouts out staples’ praises as he walks out of the store with his job still in tact.
After the commercial Abigail says this, “Mom, I need something that ends with ‘ilk'” as if her mental challenge will make me work to her beck and call faster. She is so FUNNY.
I chuckled and went and got her the mILK that she so desperately needed. Abigail and Sophia then watched their movie. When I got back to my taping of ER, I was sorely disappointed that for the second taping in a row, we had managed to run out of tape and cut off the last ten minutes of the show. No frets though, my sister filled me in.
Hairbows
One part of having daughters is dealing with all of their hair things. I think that since we had our first daughter, not a holiday has gone by that we haven’t been gifted some kind of hair thing. If you are a man, you have no idea how many hair things exist in the world. Whenever we recieve one, or the same one again, I always ACT very grateful and I guess, deep down, I have mixed feelings. I am so happy that I won’t have to buy them myself, but bummed that I will now have to keep track of this new one. Even though I am the queen of organization, I have two things that cause me problems: tupperware and hairthings.
At our house we go through barrettes like nobody’s business. Every time I turn around, one of the girls has lost some kind of hair thing, leaving their hair in disarray. I have recently converted to headbands. Headbands seem a little bit harder for the girls to lose. The bad thing about headbands is that at any given chance, Bella likes to pull them out of Abigail and Sophia’s hair, along with a handful of their hair. When we wrestle Bella down to get the headband back, we provoke her agression to the point that she snaps the poor plastic band in half. Leaving all girls involved in complete hysteria.
Well, this blog entry is mostly for my sister Renee, but you may still enjoy it. Renee is 24 today.(and the mother of 3 – crazy) Happy St. Patrick’s Day and Happy Birthday to you, Renee. Renee reminded me of the “Hairbow” story the other day. She informed me that after the years and years that she has listened to the story, she still didn’t know what kind of hairbows we were talking about. I promised her a picture, so here it is. The poor child grew up in the 80’s and completely missed the cool look of braiding two ponytails on each side of the head, and then tying them up in a loop with one of these beautiful fuzzy hairbows.
Now, for the story. It really isn’t that funny, but it shows how desperate I was for entertainment as a child. My sister Shannon and I shared a room growing up. The room was small and sported a set of bunkbeads, a play kitchen set and a dresser. We had hours and hours of fun soaking spaghetti noodles in water atop our play stove. We really thought that we were cooking those noodles, and we loved to eat our homecooked delicatessen. (YUCK!)
Another thing that we loved to do was play Barbies. What girl doesn’t? We would dump out the suitcase full of barbies onto the floor and then proceed to take turns picking the items. We would go through the barbies, then the dresses, other clothes, and end off with the accessories. I don’t know what we did about the shoes with no match, but I am sure that most of the shoes were missing their match.
When these two activities got old, Shannon and I used our imaginations to come up with something a little more interesting. The best game involved the ceiling. If you were around in the 70’s, you know exactly what I am talking about when I say that we had popcorn ceilings throughout our house. Even though Renee wasn’t born until 1981, even she knows what I am talking about. We, unlike many others, never rennovated those popcorn ceilings. If it wasn’t for the fact that we sold the house to someone else, we may have been able to call our house true vintage with its remaining ceilings.
Well, as ugly as the popcorn ceilings were, they were great for one thing, and maybe only one thing. (did you know that they are full of asbestos?)Popcorn ceilings and fuzzy hairbows are a perfect match. They cling to one another like a sweater and a dryer sheet. I don’t know how my sister and I figured this out, but I am guessing it had something to do with me being in my sister’s top bunk, taunting her that I would throw her hairbow over to the alligators down on the floor.
My sister and I would spend hours and hours gathering up all the hairbows in the house that we could find, and then tossing them off the side of the top bunk. We perfected the throw to the point that we could make a hairbow stick every time. As time went on, the game progressed into seeing how far out we could throw the bows. One days our brothers got in on the action, and they showed us how to jump off the bunk and retrieve the bows on our way down.
Shannon and I were never as good as my brothers at retrieving the bows. Most of our hairbow sessions would end with us hollering for their assistance at getting the last few stray ones down. If the brothers weren’t available, I might take one last try at it. Shannon would not dare. If all else failed, we would hunt down the broom and hit down the ribbon. Retreiving the ribbons off of the ceiling were some of the few times that we ever got to play in the snow. We lived in the sunny Southern California, and dancing around in asbestos popcorn ceiling flakes made us feel like we belonged in the movie, A White Christmas.
It’s too bad that fuzzy hairbows are out of style. I guess it is O.k., my girls could never have the fun that we did with them anyway. We don’t have a popcorn ceiling, and coming down on our hardwood floor would not be pretty. And, they don’t have any brothers to retreive the hard ones for them.
The Rolling Thunder
There is a hymn that I really enjoy, How Great Thou Art. I am truly grateful that I can now say that I know what is being talked about in this hymn when it states, “I hear the rolling thunder”.
Being a western girl, I never knew what I was missing out on. The best storm that I ever heard before moving to Tennessee was at the beginning of Garth Brook’s The Thunder Rolls track.
When I first moved to Tennessee, we had a brief stay at LG’s deceased grandmother’s empty home. She had died the year previous and it became a very nice stopover for us while we looked for a home to buy. Grandma’s house was two doors down from my in-laws and this too was nice for me since LG was living 90 miles away while attending law school.
The house was a three bedroom rambler and comfortable. It always felt a little empty until LeGrand came home on the weekends. One night, I startled him out of his sleep. I guess I was totally disoriented when I shook him and said, “LeGrand, LeGrand, someone is upstairs. What is that noise? Do you hear it? You have to go and check on it.” Remember Grandma’s house was a rambler: it didn’t have an upstairs.
LG rolled over and said, “Alice, there isn’t anyone upstairs, go back to sleep, it is just the thunder.”
Poor Bambi
On Monday, I took the kids to Sam’s Club. I ever so slyly put the newly released Bambi in the bottom of the buggy (that is what they call a shopping cart in TN). I even turned it upside down, so that if the kids did see it, tbey wouldn’t know what it was. (I wanted to give it to them for Easter from the Easter Bunny)
I succeeded at hiding it from them for about 15 minutes. As soon as we stopped at the snack bar, it was over. Abigail, caught eye of it, picked it up, and announced to her sisters: “Look you guys, mom is getting us Bambi.”
About an hour later, after I had managed to put several other things in the buggy too (including Abigail and Sophia), I started to feel guilty about the money I was going to spend. I put several things back, including Bambi. The girls were sorely diasappointed, but I told them that we would come back and get it when dad was with us.
As we were going to check out, Abigail and Sophia glued themselves to the TV monitor that was playing Bambi. (Aren’t those Sam’s Club people smart?) It was at this point that all of my guilt subsided. (I knew that I would have to buy Bambi, if I ever wanted to get out of the store) I told Abigail to get Bambi off the shelf again, and after the girls cheered for a second or two, we were off.
Buying a new movie is HEAVEN to a mother. When we got home, the baby went down for a nap and Abigail and Sophia proceeded to glue themselves to our TV. I was able to get some cleaning and other household duties accomplished without any interruption.
Well, later, as we sat down for dinner, I asked Sophia what she thought about the movie. I fully expected some kind of reaction. I was totally traumatized by the show when I was little and Sophia is my most sensitive child. I was totally taken off guard when I heard her response.
Sophia said,”I like Bambi.” I happily said,”Good, what was your favorite part?” I thought that she would say Thumper or Flower the Skunk. No, this is what my twisted child said,”My favorite part was when Bambi’s mom died.” What in the world?!?! In a worried tone, hoping that she could redeem herself somehow, I asked her frantically, “Why was that your favorite part?” She said,”I just like it because I don’t want Bambi to have a mom.”
Who knows? Maybe my-three-year old was going for the reaction or maybe she needs some serious therapy. Maybe Sophia should grow up to be a hunter and join the Bambi Killers Club. I could only conclude one thing from the conversation, Disney has a conspiracy against mothers. First, they force us into buying their movies with their very skilled marketing. Second, mothers are allowed a false sense of relief when the kids happily sit and watch a Disney movie for hours on end. Then they pump anti-mother doctrine into our kids…think about it:
Disney killed Bambi’s mom. Cinderella’s step-mom is EVIL, and who knows what happened to her real mom. Belle doesn’t have a mom. Mulan wants to be like her dad. The only conversations between Ariel and her parents were with her dad. Sleeping Beauty’s mother poisons her with an apple. Tarzan’s mom got eaten by a tiger. Nemo’s mom…. well, you get the picture. Poor Bambi. Poor Mother of Bambi!!
Alice
I hated my name while growing up. I was always the only ALICE, among many Alissons and Ali’s. I was called Allison more often than I was Alice. I had serious conversations with my parents about legally changing my name, but I never did.
I have now grown to love my name. My campaign theme, “Alice in Lancerland”, won me the title of Sophomore Class President. Alice is a good classic name and I guess my parents were wise in their choosing. Even if I was the only child who bore the name of a Sr. Citizen, it is o.k. now. I grew into my name somewhere between 25 and 30.
As you can see from my previous post, Cialis, my name tends to get me into trouble.
One of the most memborable examples was the 4th grade. My sister and I made some new friends down the street and were reluctantly allowed to spend the night. We took home with us some new teeny friends….headlice.
Well, when I was in elementary school, about every 6 months, the school nurse would come into the classroom and perform a mass screening. You know, the nurse would come in with her gloves on, holding her stash of long Q-tips, and each of us would get a chance to sit in her special chair and have her pick through our hair like a chimpanzee.
To my complete humiliation, I was called out 30 minutes after the screening was through. EVERYONE knew exactly why. I was the kid with the headlice. When I got up to the school office, I was totally relieved to see my sister got sent out too.
Well, my sister had fine slick hair, and getting rid of her lice was easy. When we went back to the office the next morning for our readmittance test, she passed with flying colors. I, on the other hand, with my course, thick, long hair, was sent home again. This happened the next day also. Finally after 15 bottles of RID, and a really short hair cut, I was allowed to come back to school.
You may wonder how this has anything to do with my name…..well, here is the sob story. Really, it is going to break your heart. Oh, by the way, the Harvard School of Medicine calls these mass screenings totally unacceptable. (I suspect one of their doctors had as much of a traumatizing experience as me. – although, I don’t know who could top mine)
Man, my head is itching right now, just thinking about it. So, you would think that I was redeemed when I went back to school, right. NO WAY! The kids were terrified of me. They wanted nothing to do with me and my head cooties. For the rest of the school year, whenever I was privileged enough to be addressed….I was affectionately known as “A – lice”. How quaint.
Oh, and if you don’t think that stereotyping happens in the classroom. You are dead wrong. My teacher, Mrs. Steadleman treated me like the TRASHIEST kid. Even though I was very bright, my report cards always reflected the detest that she had for me. The only thing I could figure is that she was terrified by headlice, just like the rest of the kids in my class.
Cialis

For erectile disfunction….Cialis!?!?!? 
A while back LG and I were watching TV. We had tuned out during the commercials. All of the sudden we hear, “For erectile dysfunction, See Alice.”
Come to find out it was really “Cialis“, the new viagra. We weren’t sure who should be more offended, ME or LG!
Goodbye

Good news….you have the advantage over the telemarketer 
One of the joys of having a husband in law school is screening all of his calls from loan consolidation firms. Because he is rarely home, they are unlikely to ever get a hold of LG here, but it doesn’t stop them from trying.
After a semester of an average of three calls a day, I got fed up. These people just were not getting the clue. They would ask me,”When is the better time to get a hold of him?” I would tell them, “Never, he is NEVER home.” I always suggested that they give me their number and that I would have him call them back. They would always end up hanging up on me and calling ME back again a little later. UGh! They had the resiliance of a dandelion.
So, I came up with an ingenious plan. Whenever a telemarketer would call and ask for LeGrand Gold, I would say, “This is him.” Now, I do have a low voice, but it isn’t THAT low. They would always say, “Excuse me.” I would say with the upmost confidence, “This is LeGrand.” Then, the telemarketer would stumble into their spiel. I would then gladly cut them off, tell them that I wasn’t interested, and kindly instruct them to take us off their calling list.
One time this guy called and he had the nerve to say, “You have to be kidding; You are not a man.” Oh, this made me REALLY mad! How dare he say that I have a woman’s voice!? I gave him a piece of my mind for his insult and then gladly instructed him to take us off his calling list.
THIS IS PRECISELY THE ADVANTAGE THAT YOU HAVE OVER THE TELEMARKETER. They don’t know you, therefore, they cannot tell YOU what your voice should sound like! Face it, we all know a man with a mousy voice of a whimpy woman and visa versa. Just the other day, I was caught off guard when I called a new friend. I said, B*** (Her husband’s name)?” , only to find out that it was her mother-in-law (quite the smoker).
Well, I must have been successful in my strategy. We are now the proud receivers of less than one student loan call per month. They may have won the battle, but we won the war.
If you have trouble with telemarketers and you can’t come up with as elaborate of a plan as above to get rid of them, may I kindly suggest what my witty father-in-law does to get rid of them?
He cuts them off and says, “Let me ask you just one thing?” The say, “What is that?” He then inquires,”Is this a good buy?” They say,”Of course it is a good buy?” He then says, “O.k. goodbye.”






