Those Darn Kids and Their Internet Machines

Nobody over the age of 25 (least of all me) should be allowed to post videos on Youtube. I apologize for my moment of stupidity in the privacy settings and encourage you to try viewing my post of a few days ago. You'll be glad you did.

Juiced

This is why steroids are illegal in professional sports (and in general, I believe). If they can make a baby do this, imagine what they would do for an actual athlete.

Heavyweight Juvenile Wrestler Caught Doping

This week has been brought to you by Jane's incessant need to put random objects in her mouth. I'm not sure when it happened exactly, but sometime last week, Jane's mouth made contact with a surface with which a sick child had also recently made contact. A small thing, really. Nonetheless, it led to a wasted week and a lot of misery for everyone involved, most of all Jane.

When Jane got sick last week, I was irritated and tired. Mainly because I had to go in to her in the middle of the night and hold her while she screamed and coughed. I am not a good night nurse. Both my kids slept through the night before they were three months old and I can't help but think it had something to do with my less-than-cheery disposition in the wee hours.

Monday it finally became clear that the cold, which should have passed long ago, was getting worse. Three hours of Healthreach fun later, Jane was diagnosed with "the beginnings of" pneumonia (which I believe was gentler way of saying that she has pneumonia but it isn't to the point where she's coughing up blood on her white lace handkerchief like they do in all the Jane Austen novels). I was given the choice of taking her home or checking her into the hospital. Of course, I chose to take her home. Chris canceled his work trip (thank goodness) and went to pick up the giant mystery bag o'meds from the pharmacy.

Jane is finally starting to improve, thanks to the miracle of modern antibiotics and a healthy dose of steroids. Just in case you're wondering, yes, babies do get roid rage and, no, it isn't fun. Another perk is that she will have a lingering cough for two or three weeks. That means I'm going to get paid back for all the skunk eyes I have given parents for bringing coughing kids out in public.

Now that Jane is over the worst of things, I can start being annoyed at the fact that I am sick for the fourth time in six weeks. Before I had kids, I hardly ever got a cold. I thought I had a super immune system. Turns out I just had a hand washing compulsion. Those sorts of things don't keep you well when you are hauling around a 24 pound sack of germs for several hours a day.

I am adding "not being sick all the time" to the list of things I'm looking forward to when my kids get older. Right behind "not having to wipe poopie bums" and right in front of  "being able to have a meal out with the family without wanting to kill myself". This list will come in handy when my kids are cranky teenagers and they hate my guts. And in the meantime, it will give me hope that this too will pass.

R.I.P. Or Not - I Don't Care

It wasn't that long ago I said goodbye to my first beloved treadmill. It lasted six years and many thousand miles. Was I dumb to expect the same from my new Horizon treadmill? I guess so. 21 months (which actually includes a pregnancy where I was only able to run a couple miles at a time) and barely a thousand miles later, the "new" treadmill is effectively dead. I say effectively because it works fabulously until it suddenly dies in the middle of a run.

After realizing we would have to replace $700 worth of parts to appease the beast, we purchased a new treadmill, which will be here in 4 weeks. A long 4 weeks. Yes, I know it's spring and the weather's beautiful, but DFS comes down pretty hard on moms who leave the house to go running while their kids are asleep. Crazy overprotective government anyway.

I am very excited about the new treadmill, though. It's not club quality, but it's a lot closer to it than the ghosts of treadmill past. The motor has 50% more horsepower and better cooling capabilities. And... (drumroll please)... wireless chest strap heart rate monitor compatibility (the preceding should be read in a high-pitched borderline little girl scream while jumping up and down). In just four short weeks, I'll let you know how I like it. And hopefully, treadmills aren't like dogs - none of them ever live up to the memory of your first. (This does not, by the way, apply to me. Did any of you ever met Mike? Worst dog ever. No wonder I'm thrilled about Emily's dog allergy.)

Conclusion:

1) I should have bought another cheap Proform instead of this piece of junk.
2) Our car savings account will never, ever grow again and I will never, ever get a new car.

A Heap of a Helping

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no Julia Child. Or Alton Brown. Or Nigella Lawson (although my husband wishes I was). I am, however, not a total loss in the kitchen and I must say I turn out a decent meal every now and again.

So of course I volunteered to help cook for the Young Men/Young Women fundraiser. I enjoy cooking and I think that camp is an excellent opportunity for the young people of our ward to escape the ills of society and associate with good friends for a short time. If they needed to raise money so they could go, I was more than happy to lend any help I possibly could. That is, until I got the recipe.

Taco Joes

Ingredients:
1lb hamburger
1/2 small onion
1/2 cup salsa
1 can condensed tomato soup

Directions: Dice onion. Brown hamburger in medium pan. Add onion. Saute until for one minute. Add salsa and tomato soup. Simmer for 3 minutes. Serve on a bun and top with sour cream.

If you would like, I invite you to try this for tomorrow night's dinner. My husband, who even loved Washakie Cafeteria food (he worked there a semester in college) didn't even like it. I considered altering the recipe to just include tomato sauce and taco seasoning. That was a great idea until I realized that all three women cooking had received the same recipe and the same box with family size cans of condensed tomato soup. Someone would be sure to notice that I refused to go down with the ship. I resigned myself to cooking the Taco Joes in all their original glory.


So here I was, showing up with a 16-quart bright red stockpot of the stuff to the fundraiser dinner, ready for a gym-full of my friends to partake. I tried to deny my hand in it. I didn't want anybody to know I had cooked this. It was in vain. The giant stockpot didn't lie. Neither did the untouched dinners that graced so many of the plates. The results were unanimous, "Um... it was uh...fine, but probably not something I would make for my family". Next time someone needs help, I'm signing up for cleanup committee.

Totally Floored

Kids are loud. They demand every minute of your time. They seem to get delight out of getting every variety of bodily fluid on you. They throw tantrums when you suggest they have something other than chicken nuggets for lunch. Pound for pound, they are the most expensive substance known to man. But kids aren't all bad. Every spring they give back in a beautiful way: a nice fat check from the IRS. Before we had kids, our tax refund was hardly enough for lunch at McDonalds. But this year, it bought us freedom from gross, pilling, stained carpet.


Kids and all, our tax refund wouldn't be enough to have the floors installed, so in order to get rid of the carpet, Chris had to get in tune with his superhero identity. By day, he sits in a cubicle and hides from daylight. If Klingons invaded our planet, he would be able to strike up a crude conversation and perhaps hammer out a peace agreement. He is more interested in what application Google will come out with next than who wins the superbowl. He owns a t-shirt that says "I'm fluent in the language of love: C++". Perhaps I exaggerate. But here's where I don't exaggerate: If Chris puts his mind to a home improvement project, he turns into this guy:



Er... no. Not that guy, this guy:Sorry about that.

So without further delay, here is the before:



And after:


More before:


And more after: Yes, I still have a gross blue couch, but I think even it looks better with bamboo flooring.


Did I help? No, of course not. We weren't even there. We were here:
I hauled the kids to their grandparents' house for three days while Chris worked like a slave to fulfill my wishes. Isn't that the way marriage is supposed to work? If not, please don't anyone tell Chris otherwise because I got a good thing going.

Thanks, Chris for all your hard work. It looks great.