Little Green

I'm afraid that I have a new best friend. Sorry, Ally, you've been ousted. (Okay, not really. We'll just pretend for the sake of a good blog post)

So, there are a few things you should all know about me.

1. I like to have a plan. I don't do well with spontaneous, or fly by the seat of your pants.

2. I'm just a hair on the wrong side of OCD.

3. I get frustrated rather easily.

So, all of that being said, this is my new best friend:

Yes, my new friend (and pretty much constant companion) is the little green jealousy monster. And guess when he strikes the hardest? When things don't go according to my plan. I try not to be jealous of other peoples' fabulous lives. But it hurts a little bit everytime a friend buys a house. Or goes on a fabulous vacation. Or announces a pregnancy.

I don't want to be a Debbie Downer. I try and look at the positive things in my life:

~I've got a fabulous husband who loves me very much.

~We live in a great neighborhood/ward where we get to rub shoulders with some amazing people

~I have the best family in the whole world.

~I have an education and a stable job.

~We don't hurt for anything worldly.

And yet, I can't keep that little green monster from crawling into bed with me at night. I can't stop him from whispering in my ear how great it would be if we could buy a house, have a baby, etc. I can't seem to shake him from my shoulder when I'm at the gym and I see a skinny girl on the treadmill next to me.

So, oh wise readers of my blog, I come to you for advice. How do you keep the little green monster at bay? How do you reassure yourself that your life is just fine the way it is, that you don't need the things that so-and-so has? How do you become content in the knowledge that things will come your way when Heavenly Father decides it's time? How do you stave off jealousy?

The Bebe

Well, we've made our way through my family and are on the last member.
Blog friends, meet McKay. McKay, meet my blog friends. He is my little little brother, also known as Mac, Macsta, and Scooby (or Scoob). Mac is the baby of the family by a lot of years. The next sibling is 7 years older than he is, which makes me 12 years older. Consequently, I feel like we have a special bond. My favorite thing to do with McKay is our fieldtrips. Every summer that I've lived in the same city and owned a car we've taken weekly fieldtrips together. We've seen some cool places, done some awesome things, and learned a ton. I love getting to spend some one on one time with him every week, just because I missed a pretty big chunk of his growing up years.


Mac is a great kid. He's quickly shaping up to be the life of the party, and can already hold his own in our crazy family.

A more recent story about Mac: A few weeks ago we were at a fireside put on by a friend of ours who went to help in Haiti after the earthquake. At one point in the fireside, he showed a picture of one of the orphanages (cribs stacked 3 high, with 2 babies in every crib). I started to cry and McKay leaned over to me and said, "You know that one of those babies is waiting for you, right?" He is so excited to be an uncle. He asks me all the time when Curious George and I are going to start having babies.

Now, don't go thinking Mac is all fun and games. While Zach is on his mission McKay is holding down the fort of the lawn business. He is so smart and has so much potential.

So, little brother, I look forward to watching you grow up into the amazing man I know you can be.

Love you, Scooby!

Little Brother

Hey everyone, it's time to introduce you to my big little brother, Zach.
Say hello to Zach, Zig, Elder Hatch, or Little Brother (you can choose what to call him). He is currently serving a mission in Honolulu, Hawaii. He has about 6 months left, and I can't believe how quickly it's gone by! He is the first sibling in our family to serve a mission, and we are all so proud of him and the work he's doing.Zach has a way about him that just makes everyone want to be his friend. He is a gentle giant, and immediately puts people at ease. Ever since he was a little boy he has loved to talk to people. We'd be standing in line at the grocery store and little 5-year-old Zach would strike up a conversation with whoever was standing nearest to him. In fact, he used to talk so much that my mom would tell him, "Zach, my ears are tired of listening to you!"

I'm sure all of this friendliness has made him a great missionary, and I know that he has made a lot of friends, both with the other missionaries, and with the members and investigators. The Tongan wards that he's served in have adopted him as one of their own. His mission president even told him that if he peeled back his palagi skin, there would be a Tongan underneath.
I remember when Zach was younger he played ice hockey. He loved the sport, and he loved being part of a team. What he didn't love, however, was the locker room talk. He decided that his morals were more important than playing hockey. So, showing great integrity, he quit hockey and took up tennis. I like to tease him that he's so tall he could be a doubles team all on his own, just put a racket in each hand.

Zach's friends all love him, too. One of his mission brothers, Elder Eteaki, has even offered to bring all of his brothers from California to sing at Zach's "homecoming." Zach is the least judgmental person I know, and will love you despite any faults you may have.

In case you can't tell, I love my little brother, and look up to him so much (both physically and spiritually!).

Ofa lahi atu, Little Brother!

Maddie-Moo

"Sisters is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship." ~Margaret Mead

Ok, it's time for the next installment of "Meet My Family". Everyone, this is my sister Madison.
AKA: Maddie, Mads, and for awhile, she was Mamo (the baby couldn't say Maddie).

Seriously, when I grow up I want to be like my little sister. She's amazing. She's 22, almost 23, and she's in school studying to be a pharmacist. In 2 years, she'll graduate with her Doctorate Degree.

She is so much fun! She has a quick wit, a great sense of comedic sarcasm, and a healthy sense of adventure. Her friends all love her, and she is incredibly loyal to them. However, I happen to know, that her favorite place to be is at home with her family.
Maddie is such a great example to me of how to live life on the straight and narrow, while still enjoying it. She is kind-hearted, gentle, and has a way of putting people at ease. She always dresses modestly and looks fantastic doing it (one of her friends told her that this is the reason she's not married, she doesn't wear low-cut enough shirts). I seriously envy her sense of style, though, and wish I were small enough to raid her closet.

Maddie is also one of the best brownie bakers that I know. She's always up for a bowl of ice cream and a little bit of girl talk. We used to fight as kids, like all sisters do. Now, however, I consider her one of my best friends. I can't imagine going through life without having a sister.

I know that someday she's going to make a fantastic wife and mother. So, here's to you, Mads! Even though you're my little sister, I will always look up to you.

Love you!

Mother, I Love You!

Now that you've all met Pops, it's time to introduce you to my mom. Everyone, this is Mom:She is also known as Ma, Momma, and Mother. Any of the previous names will work... most of the time. If there are other moms in the room, the easiest way to get her attention is to actually call her name.

Anyway, I always heard women talk about how the older they got, the more like their mom they became. The older I get, the more I'm finding this to be true.

My mom has a lot of really fantastic qualities. As you can see from the picture above, she's very driven. She graduated from college with her Bachelor's Degree when I was just a toddler. She's spent the 20-something years since working as an elementary school teacher. She recently decided that she wanted to do more with herself, so she went back to school for her Master's Degree. I'm so proud of her for this.


The two pictures above are from our "girls trip" to New York. It was originally just going to be my mom, her sister, sisters in law, and my grandma. My mom thought it would be nice to invite her girls along, since we'd never seen New York City. After crunching the numbers, I wasn't going to be able to afford the trip. My mom, the kind woman that she is, offered to pay for my hotel costs to ease some of the burden.

My mom is very organized, and definitely keeps the family running. Pops affectionately refers to her as The Social Coordinator. She's a fabulous teacher, and a great example of motherhood to me. My children will be so blessed if I can be half the mother that she has been.
Ma has stood by me through some of the hardest times in my life, and wasn't afraid to tell me when I was making dumb choices. I am so lucky to have such a great mom.

Love you, Momma!

Back to My Roots

I feel like there are a lot of fairly new readers to my blog. Some of you know me outside of the blogosphere, and some of you don't. This is ok. However, I feel that in order to truly understand who I am as a person, and as a writer, you need to meet my family. Once you know them, you understand me... and it has so to do with so much more than genetics. So, I'm going to spend the next few blog posts introducing you to the people that have shaped me into the person I am today.

We will start with my dad, who we affectionately call Pops.Everybody, meet Pops. Really, you can call him that, too. Everyone does.

Anyway, I love my dad. He just gets me, you know? We share more than just our looks. We share a sense of humor. We share our "colorful" language habits. We can have whole conversations with just one look. As you can see from this picture, I definitely look like him. We share the same coloring. I have his blue eyes and curly hair. We even have the same dimples. I remember once when I was about 10 I found a picture of him from when he was about the same age. He was wearing a baseball hat, and it looked like me in the picture.

A quick story to give you the essence of Pops:

Generally on Sundays there is a rather large crowd for dinner at my parents. We had an innocent with us that night (he later became a regular, but at the time was fairly new to my family). For dinner that evening was an elk roast. After we finished dinner we were sitting around chatting and the innocent at the table mentioned that he liked elk much better than venison. He stated that his dislike of venison came from it being "tough and gamey". Then, just being himself, Pops chimed in from the head of the table, "Yeah, and it tastes like shit."

Pops is the baby of 7 kids (plus a couple of cousins thrown into the mix). His siblings love him and affectionately call him Eddie (which, by the way, is not his name). They also refer to him as the "bouncing baby boy" even though he's well into adulthood, with adult children of his own.

Anyway, I love my dad. He's always there in good times and in bad. He's not afraid to cry. He's willing to help anybody, anytime. And he always pushes us to be the best we can be.

I love you, Dad!

What's in Your Wallet?

Actually, this blog post is brought to you by my friend Jill, who got the challenge here. Again, I've been feeling a little low on bloggable material lately, so I decided to play along.

The challenge, in case you don't want to follow my link trail, is this:
~Dump your purse
~Take a picture
~Analyze what the contents of your purse say about you

So, without further ado, I bring you my purse. (I've numbered the items to satisfy my organizational tendencies and to make this blog a little easier to follow):
1. My adorable purse. My sister gave me this super cute purse for my birthday. Curious George doesn't like it. He says it looks like it's wearing a skirt, and that purses don't need clothes. I love it. It holds a ton of stuff without looking like I'm carrying around a duffle bag.

2. My mirrored makeup bag. This bag doesn't actually hold makeup. It has various lotions, hand sanitizers (hey, I'm a nurse), and probably 8 different chapstick options. It also holds various "unmentionable" feminine products.

3. I always, always, always have a book with me. I go a lot of places where I end up waiting for whatever reason. Currently I'm reading "Running With Scissors." Pretty disturbing, but also laugh-out-loud funny.

4. Yes, that is a gun. For my 25th birthday I got myself a concealed weapons permit. I don't carry all the time, mostly just if I know I'm going to be outside, alone, at night, etc. I'm just exercising my 2nd amendment right.

5. Oakleys, along with their carry bag. Love these sunglasses. And, shocker here, they're not pink!

6. My Palm Centro phone. I never leave home without it. Yes, the cover is pink argyle.

7. My wallet, pretty self explanatory. Really, it could hold a blog post all on it's own.

8. My ipod, complete with pink skull candy ear-buds. I love my music, and sometimes night shifts get REALLY loooooooooong.

9. Yep, a tube of hydrocortisone cream. Trust me, when you're allergic to the sun you need it a lot.

10. My cutesy coin purse. It also holds extra bobby pins... just in case.

11. A single piece of gum. Huh?

12. My point-and-shoot camera. Pink again!

13. My favorite pen. My husband "borrowed" it from the Joseph Smith Memorial Building on one of his runs at work. I love this pen so much. As a nurse, I get rather attached to particular pens.

Eek, I just realized that I had an unlucky 13 purse items. What does that say about me? It's a little ironic that I would choose today to dump my purse. Just this afternoon my little brother told me that if I dug deep enough I might find a third-world country in my purse. So, those are my deep, dark, purse-hidden secrets.

I'm not sure exactly how to psychoanalyze myself, so what do you think my purse says about me?

Nurses Are People Too

Sometimes I don't understand people. I don't understand why they do the things they do, say the things they say, or act the way they act.

I realize that in my work as a nurse I see people at their worst. I see them when they are scared, frustrated, and at their wits end. I know that the area that I work in is a difficult one for patients to accept. When I see them, they are learning how to live their lives again... while dealing with the changes life has dealt them.

However, I don't think that being a patient in the hospital entitles you to be rude. When I chose to be a nurse I wasn't choosing to be any of the following:
~A doormat
~A personal slave
~Silent

I am here to help patients heal. I am here to educate, to push you, and to help you while you learn to do hard things. I realize that patients aren't always going to like the things I'm making them do. But...

That doesn't give you the right to be mean to me.
It doesn't give you the right to call me names.
It doesn't give you the right to attack me on a personal level.

I am still a person. I have feelings.

And it hurts when I don't get the respect that all human beings deserve.

Porsche? Yes, please...

I've always loved Porsches. My favorite? Easy: Porsche 911 Carrera. If that's not sexy, i don't know what is.

So, flash back with me to the Sunday following my 12th (I think) birthday. Church was over for the day, and my family was just hanging out enjoying a leisurely Sunday afternoon. Suddenly, I hear a car horn honk in the driveway. "I think that's for you, Pippi," my mom said. I ran to the door, peeked out, and there in my driveway sat the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen... a Porsche 911 Carrera.

"Hop in, little one, let's go for a ride," said the gentleman standing there, holding the car door open for me.
"Can we go fast?" was my intelligent response.
"Of course we can, what do you think Porsche's are for?" he replied with a chuckle.

I climbed into the car, barely containing my excitement. The car looked, felt, even smelled like luxury. The gentleman got behind the wheel, and we were off. We purred our way through the streets of Holladay until we reached Van Winkle Expressway. "Rule number one of this trip," he said to me as we pulled up to a red light, "You can't tell your mom and dad the numbers you see on the speedometer." The light turned green, and we were off. I watched the needle climb higher, and higher, and higher. I felt like I was flying. I grinned so hard that tears came to my eyes. "Rule number two of this trip," he said with a smile, "Forget that it's Sunday while I stop for some gas." Oh yes, did I mention that this lovely gentleman was in my bishopbric?

An hour later he returned me to my home a changed girl. He'd given me my very first taste of "rich". I liked it. But more than that, he gave me a birthday that will live on in my memory forever.

I will never forget that day as long as I live. I will never forget the kindness of that man for making my every 12-year-old wish come true. I will never forget the impressions he made on me that day. I will never forget...

New BFF

So, I've had a lot of new friends cropping up on my blog lately. Most of them have wandered over from Mormon Mommy Blogs (which I will now be contributing to about once a month, hooray!), and a few I don't know where they've come from. Anyway, in light of these new friends I've decided to let you all in on a few secrets to being my friend:

1. If I invite you over for dinner, don't offer to do the dishes. You are my guest, and I am very particular about how my dishwasher gets loaded.

2. If I'm at your house and I use your bathroom, just know that I'll probably look in your medicine cabinet. This is mostly because I'm nosy.

3. I wish that life really were like a musical, with random song and dance numbers interspersed throughout.

4. I will probably talk to you about my diet. My husband doesn't really care, so I have to talk to someone.

5. I will monopolize your baby. If there's a baby in the room, I want to be holding it.

6. I want a drag queen to teach me how to put on fake eyelashes. So, if you have a friend that's a drag queen I expect you to share.

So, now that you know a few of the rules of being my friend, what are some of your dirty little secrets?

A Bit of Spring

My life is really boring. It's true, you can ask anyone who knows me. Pretty much all I do is eat, sleep, read blogs, work, and sew baby quilts.

Speaking of baby quilts: I know 35 pregnant woman. Yeah, you read that number right: 35. Yikes. Apparently I'm not drinking the right water, or making enough soup, or something. Spring really is in the air. It makes me think of that one song from 7 Brides for 7 Brothers. You know the one, where they're all sitting in meadows, and holding baby animals, and then Millie has her baby. Spring. Finally.

I'm excited that it's finally warming up. Maybe Curious George and I will take the motorcycle out this weekend. Yeah, I'm the girl on the back of the bike. You know you envy my utter coolness. Or at least we'd be cool if we didn't run out of gas in Parley's canyon, and our bike weren't older than the hills, and my helmet matched my jacket. I should remedy the pink-helmet-but-red-jacket issue.

I've been spring cleaning my house and it's a glorious feeling. I love throwing the windows open so the sounds of Mexican party music from the next apartment building over and the sirens from the passing fire trucks can flood my house. At least it lets a little sunshine in. Really, though, the fresh air has been wonderful. I hate that stuffy feeling and smell that fill a house after a long winter of being cooped up inside.

Weight Watchers is going well. I lost 5 pounds during week one. It's actually been easier to stick to than I thought it would be. I'd probably lose more quickly if I exercised more. Now that it's finally warming up I can start walking more. Hopefully I can keep up the plan and the weight loss.

Who else is ready for spring?

Tag, you're it!

I was tagged by my lovely friend Jill in a game of blog picture tag.
The instructions were this: Go to your first picture folder and pick the 10th picture and explain what it is.
The picture:The story (get ready, it's a good one):
At work we sometimes have a little problem feeling compassion. I know, probably not the best thing for a nurse to feel. Anyway, something was said one night about needing the Compassion Fairy to come visit to bestow upon all of us the gift of compassion. So, Jill and I had the brilliant idea to create a magic Compassion Fairy wand. It came complete with glitter and curled pipe cleaner. It was a sight to behold. So, this being 3 in the morning and all, I decided to take it one step further and made some ultra-fashionable Compassion Fairy wings. They were made of (unused) bedpans, wrapped in some elastic-y stocking, and tied on. This picture is of me modeling this seasons latest Compassion Fairy Couture. Lovely, aren't they? Anyway, we decided that we needed some photographic evidence of the night the Compassion Fairy visited rehab... just in case anyone doubted us.

I sort of hoped that these pictures would never surface, bedpan wings are not my most flattering of outfits. But alas, now they are out there for all of the blogosphere to enjoy.

Oh, I tag: Mom, Greg, Amber, Tara, and Elmo. Have fun, friends!

The Other Woman

Curious George is having an affair. It's purely emotional in nature, but I know it's going on. He's never tried to keep it a secret from me. I've met the Other Woman. I like her. In fact, we're rather close. I'm sure some of you have met her, as well. But I'm tired of this being a dirty little secret in our house. So, I'm calling out the Other Woman.

Her name is Gunna, Gunna Ammo to be exact. Yeah, my husband has a deep and abiding love of his mistress. In fact, Gunna and her sisters have taken up permanent residence in our home. He drools over pictures of her online. He takes her out on dates while I'm sleeping. He buys her expensive things. She's even been in my bedroom. Sometimes he likes to bring her with him when we go out together. What's a girl to do?


In all seriousness, however, I knew when I married him that Curious George was a "gun guy." I just don't think I realized that it would occupy his every waking thought. He eats, sleeps, and breathes guns. I thought that some of the mania would slow down when we both got our concealed weapons permits. It didn't. I thought it would slow down after we both got our "carry" guns. It didn't.

When we did our e-free week the thing I missed the most was blogs. The thing he missed the most? Shopping for guns on KSL Classifieds.

I told him once that when I married him, I married HIM. I didn't marry his motorcycle, his cars, his tools, or his guns. I love that he loves all of those things, but I love him. The person. I embrace his love of everything redneck (sometimes). I support that he has hobbies different from my own. In fact, for Valentine's Day, I bought him a belt buckle and cufflinks made from shotgun shells.

However, I'm afraid that he feels like he is defined by his stuff. What I see, from an outside of his head point of view, is that he loves these things because he loves people who love these things. So he loves motorcycles because his friends like motorcycles. He loves cars because his dad belonged to a car club. He loves guns because all of the important men in his life love guns.

I like guns too. I like to shoot. I like that I have a power beyond my own body for self-protection. But I don't want to lose him to his love of guns. I want to be able to talk to him about something else. I want him to be able to talk to other people about something else.

I'm afraid that his love of all things gun-related is going to overtake his ability to have a real connection with other people. But how do I tell him that?