Fluent Brittish

A few weeks ago I overheard a lady say that she doesn’t like brownies.

First, I was like, “Wha?!?”

Then I was like, “WHA?!?”

Because brownies? They are their own food group, like soft pretzels. And cheese balls.

Who doesn’t like brownies?

(Okay, so there are occasional brownies that just aren’t great – but brownies, over all, are excellent).

After a few days of being dumbfounded, I came to terms with the reality of Brownie Dislike.

You see… I don’t care for cookies.

I’ll eat them because I’m the kind of person that stuffs fattening food in my face whether it tastes good or not, but I don’t really like cookies.

Chocolate chip? Oatmeal raisin? Snickerdoodles?

Meh.

So I have come to the conclusion that if I don’t like cookies, it must be possible for someone to not like brownies. I guess there are more brownies in the world for me and more cookies in the world for her.

Unless she dislikes brownies and cookies, in which case, I’m back to being dumbfounded.

The other day I was walking past the kids’ room during Daisy’s nap when I heard Daisy stirring. I went inside and knelt down next to her bed.

She woke up and just stared at me like this:

It reminded me of when she was a tiny baby with deep, dark eyes that could see right into my soul.

It’s been a long time since she looked at me like that.

My kids are both Daddy’s Boy and Daddy’s Girl.

I remember, before I had kids, my sister-in-law telling me how absolutely devastated she would be if her kids liked their dad more than they liked her.

Even without kids, I knew I’d never feel that way.

I love seeing how much my kids love their dad. They will choose him over me every time, and I don’t mind one bit. To me it’s just a reaffirmation that I married a fantastic man.

Last year, I gave a little mini tour of my house. Not because my house is magazine-worthy or anything like that – I just thought it would be fun for you to see. When I first introduced the Fluent Brittish Home Tour, I said I was going to show you five rooms of my house. After four rooms, I changed my mind, and went back to edit the original post to cover my tracks.

Carrisa caught me, however; and totally called me out on it.

Now, several months later, I’m going to make it up to her by showing you my bedroom.

First, a brief history of my bedroom:

When we bought our house, our bedroom was painted beige – the walls, the ceiling, the baseboards… everything. I hated it. One day I came home from work and painted the ceiling white whilst watching Oprah give away free cars (funny how our minds remember things like that, eh?) A few months later I painted the walls blue. I loved it for a minute, and then I realized I had accidentally created an Americana color scheme since I had a red comforter. I ended up just letting my room go.

It became the arm pit of our house.

A few weeks ago, Scotty had a day off work, and we got motivated to do a mini bedroom makeover. We had less than $100 to do it, so our options were slim. Our priority was the paint. I really wanted something light, serene, and versatile, so I chose the color Oyster in satin Behr Ultra. Basically, it’s cream, which I would have hated five years ago, but I’ve changed my ways. I didn’t want to use paint that would become “color complicated.” Also, since our room is quite small, and our furniture is quite large, I needed the décor to be simple. This project was less about the “look” and more about the “feeling.”

Here’s the end result:

(I decided to just photograph it as it really looks rather than move cords and fluff pillows to impress you. Note the red crayon on the bed post – you’re welcome)

All of the accessories were chosen to create a feeling of peace and calm.

On my side of the bed, I hung a small shelf with framed subway art declaring “We can do heard things,” (yes, I understand the innuendo there – keep it to yourself) and one of our engagement photos.

On one of the walls, I hung a picture of the Salt Lake Temple, where Scotty and I were married, and photos of our babies. Swoon!

Over the dresser, I hung some canvas art – again remaining nice and calm without complicated color.

Then on the dresser, there is a picture of Christ lifting Peter from the water – a depiction of something that has special meaning for Scotty and me.

It’s definitely not anything unique or eye-catching, but for the first time EVER, I love being in my room. Forest-green carpet and all!

(You didn’t think I would talk about a room in my house without mentioning the forest-green berber, did you?)

My daughter eats her boogers.

I know this isn’t uncommon among children, but it’s new to me. You don’t have to believe me, but I never ate my boogers. I tasted my snot a few times, but I never had any impulse to eat a booger.

Never.

I promise.

Nicky, surprisingly, also never ate boogers.

Again, you don’t have to believe me (but do believe me – Nicky and I are not booger-eaters).

When Daisy started casually eating her boogers, I was all sorts of grossed out. If it had been the boy-child, it wouldn’t have phased me – boys are natural booger eaters, right? But it had to be my GIRL!!!

The first thing I did upon this discovery was ask Scotty if he ever ate his boogers. He did, of course, and he was in complete disbelief when I told him that I never ate my boogers. To him it makes perfect sense for a child to want to eat her boogers, and he refused to believe that I never ate boogers.

“How else could you get rid of them?” he asked.

“Uhhh…. Wipe them somewhere! Duh!” I said.

So I went forth and tried to get Daisy to stop eating her boogers. This only made her more intrigued by booger-eating because she started thinking it was freaking hilarious. I would say, “Ew! Don’t eat your boogers! Yucky!” and she would put the booger in her mouth ever more swiftly and laugh hysterically at herself. Then I tried, “Don’t eat boogers! They’ll make you sick!” but again, that just makes it funny.

I don’t understand why I’m not convincing!

I use my serious face and everything!

So after several failed attempts at reasoning with her, I decided to try distracting her. Any time she’d put her finger in her nose, I’d try diverting her attention to something else (this is something I read about somewhere in relation to nose-picking and filed the info away for when my kids started digging for treasures) (or maybe I made it up – I don’t really know).

Yeah… it didn’t work.

So I surrendered and decided to just let her eat her boogers.

Whatever, child! Eat all you want. I’m not fighting the booger battle anymore.

So if you see my in the grocery store with my little booger-eater, go ahead… be disgusted.

I don’t care anymore.

Sometimes I think that there should be awards for split-ends.

Like this one:

How do I not have a trophy for that?

For Valentine’s Day this year we gave our kids something special: a trampoline.

And by “trampoline” I totally mean “old, free mattress.”

(Well, a box spring, if you want to get technical).

Our kids just got hand-me-down bunk beds, and they don’t require box springs, so what else is there to do with an unnecessary box spring?

I kid you not, this is the best thing I’ve ever done!

I have a hard time taking teenage romances seriously.

(I’m sure that many of you do as well).

When I read a book about 17-year-old high school students who are hopelessly in love with each other, I can’t help but roll my eyes incessantly.

In a book I read recently (Attachments by Rainbow Rowell*), one of the characters says in reference to Romeo and Juliet, “They would have broken up if they’d lived for the sequel.”

That’s exactly how I feel. I just don’t think you’re in any position during your teenage years to be head-over-heels in love and be taken seriously.

What can I say? I’m a cynic.

BUT…

I don’t know where this opinion comes from because I knew at age 14 that I wanted to marry Scotty.

Fourteen!!!

I was one of those teenagers, and it worked out for me. You might say that I’m a rare exception. I happened to meet and fall in love with my husband at a young age, that doesn’t mean that it works for everyone.

BUT…

Perhaps the odds are pretty good.

I was thinking this morning about my high school friends, a lot of whom I’m still in regular contact with, and I realized that in my circle of friends, many of us met and dated our husbands before we graduated high school.

Obviously there’s me – I married Scotty.

Then there are Adam and Jillian.

Megan and Cody.

Jessica and Regan.

Jason and Jamie.

Kattrina and Brian.

Emily and Andrew.

Amber and Josh.

Shayla and Trevor.

PLUS…

There are dozens of other couples that didn’t date in high school but knew each other and ended up married to each other a few years later.

AND…

My best friend from elementary school, Michelle, married her high school love, Kyle (who happens to be Scotty’s step-brother), which shows that, not only is it possible to marry your high school boyfriend, you can also become your best friend’s sister-in-law, just like you always dreamed.

So perhaps Romeo and Juliet would have worked out after all.

(Although I don’t think that’s any reason to encourage a teenager to go fall in love).

*Don’t read this, Grandma!

I’m currently in the process of listening to a talk on CD by one of my favorite speakers, G. Sheldon Martin.

Why I love G. Sheldon Martin:

Brother Martin is a licensed mental counselor slash seminary teacher. He is equal parts behavioral science and gospel, which is sort of what I want to be when I grow up. I love me some psychology, and I love me some religion. Putting the two together is like putting gravy on mashed potatoes. It is so right.

But I’m not here today to go on and on about Sheldon. I’m here to go on and on about something he said:

Writing is the most refined form of thought; to write it, you have to think it.

Oooooo! Do you love it?

Let’s say it again:

Writing is the most refined form of thought; to write it, you have to think it.

Notice that it doesn’t say, “To write it, you have to believe it.” But you do have to think it, which means anything you write has made a path through your brain and down to your finger tips and onto paper (or screen). Anything you write has been contemplated, pondered, and processed in some way.

I love this thinking/writing connection, and as I contemplated the association between the two, I thought that there might be some articles published online about the health benefits of writing. So I did some official Google research and found a lot of great information. As I assumed, writing has been shown to have positive healing effects for mental illness, cancer, and even AIDS. I could list thousands of amazing statistics and facts about writing, but I will just sum it all up with this:

Writing is good for you.

I don’t claim to be an expert writer (or even a good writer), but I love writing, and I feel that writing consistently throughout my life has helped shape me into who I am.

Writing has healed me, comforted me, and pacified me.

Writing has connected me to other people and encouraged me to think with depth.

Writing has allowed me to express myself creatively and to explore new perspectives.

I know that writing doesn’t appeal to everyone, but even in small doses, it can be therapeutic. Here are ten ideas, all requiring different levels of commitment and time to get you writing if you aren’t already:

1. Start a blog (or pick up where you left off over a year ago on the blog that you already have)

2. Write a letter

3. Keep a journal

4. Keep a page-a-day notebook

5. Fill someone else’s writing with marginalia

6. Document a single story from your life

7. Write a list

8. Write a family mission statement

9. Model a piece of writing after something someone else has written (with proper credit, of course)

10. Write thought bubbles in newspapers or magazines

In slightly adapted words of country singer Lee Ann Womack:

I hope you dance write!

Reason #1: There are signs everywhere reminding you that you have to be self-sufficient to shop there:

“Clean up your own dishes so we don’t have to hire additional employees and raise our prices!”

“Find everything on your own so we don’t have to hire additional employees and raise our prices!”

“Use the self check-out so we don’t have to hire additional employees and raise our prices!”

Reason #2: Their shopping carts are all-wheel drive.

When those things are chucked full of kids and rugs, they gravitate right into on-coming traffic. Sure, it’s fun to spin them in circles in the gigantic elevator, but they are NOT practical navigational devices. Do you know how many times I’ve steered those dumb things sideways into a display of glass vases?

Too many, friends. Too many,

Reason #3: Their shopping cart return stalls are further away from your car than the entrance to the store.

I am a kind patron and always return my shopping carts, but IKEA is the exception. Would it hurt you, IKEA, to get a few more shopping carts stalls? Think of it this way: more shopping cart stalls = less stray carts in the parking lot = less employees you have to hire to round them up!

Genius, right?

The stalls will pay for themselves in ten months, and you can go right back to cutting costs.

Reason #4: Their hot dog combos are $2.

Why is this a problem? Because their hot dogs are gross! But two hot dogs, a bag of chips, and a drink?

You can’t just walk away from that kind of junk.

Reason #5: Their cinnamon rolls don’t have enough frosting.

Really, IKEA? You think that little drizzle is going to make people happy?

Reason #6: Their instructions are in doodles.

You buy a bookshelf, take it home, open it up, and find a series of kindergarten drawings to walk you through the installation process.

Reason #7: Their return policy is crap.

You can only return unopened products, so if you are unsatisfied with the bookshelf that you just spent $100 on only to discover that you don’t speak doodle and can’t put the darn thing together, you are stuck with it.

Congratulations!

And if that bookshelf was a gift that you want to return secretly, you better pray your momma paid cash for it because you have to provide the credit or debit card that it was purchased on.

Reason #8: Their bistro has no seating.

It used to, but now it only has pub-height standing tables. When I eat two hot dogs, a bag of chips, and a drink for $2, I want to eat SITTING DOWN.

Reason #9: They try to make you enter on one side of the store and exit on the other.

And when you make a sneaky attempt to exit through the entrance (because that’s where your car is parked), you have to pass a sign that tells you to make a u-turn.

Not that it matters. You’re going to spend the next half-hour of your life trucking across the parking lot to return your cart anyway.

Reason #10: Whatever you went there to buy isn’t there.

It doesn’t matter if you saw it on the internet or bought it there once before, it’s gone.

Those hooks you want to hang by your back door? Not there.

The super cheap potty training toilets you want on each floor of your house? Not there.

The spice racks that will make awesome bookshelves in your kids’ room? Not there.

You will walk out of there with zero things you went in for, no less than seven things you don’t need (and that you won’t be able to return), and four gross hot dogs, two bags of Doritos, and two cups of Sprite mixed with lignon berry punch.