To The Great Ones of Parenting

For those of you that don't know, my children are geniuses... At least that's what the grandparents think.

Well, I thought so too when my Kindergartener started reading my Biology textbooks and could succinctly explain to me what the differences between polyp and sessile cnidarians were. Or when Nathan spelled the words "myocardial infarction" a few months after he got bored with "Hop on Pop."

People used to say, "How did you do it?" "How come you have such miraculously intelligent children?" I would chuckle silently to myself because I knew the real secret: They liked T.V. and poop jokes.

I did read to my kids a lot. But I also found other teachers to help me out. For instance, I would often let Steve from "Blue's Clues" read to the kids via Closed Captioning. When you live in a small apartment, and your husband is hard of hearing, those annoying little words that scroll across the screen when you're watching a loud movie can be quite handy. They are also handy when your toddler is plopped down in front of The Tube while Mommy is performing her slumlord duties. I didn't really think anything of it, until one day Nathan said, "Mommy, can you turn the words off the T.V.? I can't stop reading them and I want to watch the show." "Why, of course not, Nathan. They are doing my job for me so I can artfully neglect you while I collect rent."

The other mechanism by which I fed my kids' intellect (can you call it that?) is by letting them read as many "Captain Underpants" books as they could get their little paws on. Earlier tonight, they were reminiscing about the amazing exploits of Dav Pilke's characters: "Do you remember the time when Deputy Doo Doo turned into poo and then somebody stepped on him and he was flat?" *giggle, giggle, giggle* "Do you remember when he got into a nuclear power plant and mutated into a giant turd? and then Captain Underpants saved the day by attacking him with toilet paper?" *hee hee hee*
Emily Dickinson, eat your heart out.

So, yes... My kids are very smart. But I owe a big debt of gratitude to the great ones that aided me in my parenting. Thank you, Super Diaper Baby and Deputy Doo Doo. Thank you, Blue and Steve. May my children carry on your legacy throughout the remainder of their lives.

They're doing a pretty good job already, doncha think?

The Whole Boring Month With One Almost Exciting Highlight

This blog has been D.O.A. for the past month. And I'll bet you thought, "Gee. Shana is usually so faithful about these things! She must have had a REALLY exciting month that kept her from dutifully blogging!"

*insert obnoxious buzzer noise here*

WRONG!!!

There has been lots going on, but nothing exciting. Basically, it just boils down to lots of work, the Primary program, and wading through 200 applications for prospective pedo residents...

Oh yeah... and a Halloween-slash-birthday, wherein I have magically maintained my chronic age of 29.

Oh yeah, and Wayne said Bono was in the DMV on the day I was renewing my driver's license (but didn't point him out to me because he was afraid I would totally freak out in the DMV. AS IF...!!!)

So, since I have nothing of value to offer the blogging world as of now, I pose this very important question to you--my 3 loyal readers of this blog:

If you were in the DMV (the most boringest place in the whole wide world), and in walks your spouse's most favoritest celebrity in the whole wide world (...well, maybe Larry Mullen Jr. is a little more favoriter, but that's beside the point...), and you know she has been lusting, I mean admiring this celebrity since she was 11 years old, and you know she is having a crappy week because she has to work for 12 days straight and this is, like, day 5 of that span of time... Would you point said celebrity out? Would you do it in spite of a possible scene involving high pitched squealing and jumping up and down, which would inevitably become obvious to the 100 or so people in the DMV because the mood there is very Shaun-of-the-Dead zombie-esque and squealing with delight is kind of the antithesis of the typical DMV ambiance?

If you answered "Helz NO! I wouldn't allow my spouse to make such a dang fool of herself just to say she saw Bono at the DMV!" ...then we are no longer friends.

If you answered, "Shiz YAH! That's the most exciting thing that could ever happen at the DMV! Not to mention Bono would have been even more excited than when he won the Nobel Peace Prize to have some random housewife fawning over him while he stands in Line 14-F to get fingerprinted and photographed!" ...then you can still be my friend.

Wayne is going to suffer for this one for a loooooong time.

Meet the Newest Addition to the Family:

This is Hayden...

This is a tuba...

This is Hayden with his tuba...

Any questions?

KNOCK IT OFF! IT'S TIME TO PRAY!

General Conference was awesome this weekend. It was a spiritual feast. And by that, I mean a veritable Butterball turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy and ALL the fixin's. It nourished my soul and made me fat with testimony.

I especially loved Elder Holland's talk, and have never heard such a powerful declaration of the truth of the Book of Mormon in all my life. Many of those same thoughts came to my mind when I first read the Book of Mormon, but as a 16 year old girl I would have never been able to articulate the impressions that he so succinctly put into words. If you missed it, here is the link. It's from the Sunday PM session, and it's the 5th segment.

I also loved Elder Bednar's talk from Saturday A.M. (11th segment of that session) and his assurance that we need not put pressure on ourselves to be perfect in our parenting. He put it all into perspective: Our kids aren't going to remember any solitary lessons or prayers for the rest of their lives. But they will remember that we prayed and that we taught them correct principles. And I was so thankful to know that someone whom I esteem so greatly has endured the same things we all have as parents: "Quit touching me!" "Tell him to stop looking at me!" "Mommy! He's breathing my air!" ...during family prayer. Just the other night, I was getting exasperated with the boys' stall tactics at bedtime and caught myself raising my voice, saying, "KNOCK IT OFF! IT'S TIME TO PRAY!" We had a good chuckle at that one.

I know. Not a typical joke bag post from me this time, but food for thought. Not a feast, mind you... More like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder Bread.

All this talk of food is making me hungry. I should go see if Wayne needs help in the kitchen.

I don't know how to put this ...but I'm kind of a big deal.

I know it's hard to believe, but I've never really been all that popular. When tell people I was a cheerleader, I know people instantly think of me like this:



And when I mention that I was student body president, I know for a FACT that people flash upon what that might have been like for me. As crazy as it sounds, it was nothing quite so glamorous as this:

Nope. It was more like this:
I know, I know. I don't mean to make you jealous of all the hotness that is embodied in this one picture, but I'm sorry. I can't help it. You're just going to have to cry yourself to sleep at night, envious of me and all my super-hot friends and our totally rad bangs.

But now my blog has apparently received global attention
...thanks to famous writers like the author of this awesome blog, who lavish me with gifts like this:

Now... I have to tell you, I was initially morally opposed to posting this award simply because it says plainly in my blog description, "anything frou-frou is very out of place in our mostly masculine home." It doesn't get any more frou-frou than dainty pink roses on gingham and a title that Kleverly misspells words in a Kute way. But I figured, "Hey. It's for my peeps." (BTW, Leah #2, you're considered peeps now.) And I think it's kool that somebody I've never met before thinks I'm Kreativ. Thanks Leah! (Apparently, my biggest blogging fans have lately all been named Leah. Who knew I could carve out such a niche in the blogging world.)

I'm soooooo hot right now.

The Shoe Is On the Other Foot

I have never had a cavity in my life. Never, that is, until dental school. Then the Diet Coke started flowing like water and Everlasting Gobstoppers became the mechanism by which I could pull all-nighters. That is when tooth #12 became traitorous on me... Just a little cavity hanging out in the dark little crevice between my two left bicuspids.

So like any responsible dental professional, I waited four years until residency to get it fixed. I knew all the tricks to keep it from progressing rapidly, and kept my eye on it with x-rays and checkups, but I just never trusted any of my colleagues to perform microsurgery on my precious #12.

Well, yesterday I mustered the courage to hop in the chair. A very competent coworker gave me the chance to see first-hand what I do to my patients every day...

HOLY CRAP!!!
I CAN'T BELIEVE I DO THAT TO PEOPLE EVERY DAY...
AND THEY LET ME!!!!!

I didn't mind the shots. We had to practice those on each other multiple times in dental school, so I was somebody's guinea pig on several occasions and I know that after that first little pinch, everything is going to go right to sleep and everything will be just fine.

But the drilling... Oh, the drilling!!! All that noise and vibration!!! It felt like a jack hammer in my skull!!! I thought my brain was going to rattle out of my head at one point! Not painful at all... Just otherworldly and weird!

I do this to young children daily, and most of them don't care!!! HOW?!? How do they sit there so unconcerned? How is it that my singing "The Wheels on the Bus" and "The Little Mermaid" is distraction enough to keep them from shooting out of their chair and clawing me in the face?!? It is a WEIRD sensation!!! ...and I do this to people a l l t h e t i m e. AND THEY LET ME!!!!

And as I watched my co-resident at work, and watched as my saliva and little tooth bits flew up into her face, glistening in the overhead light as they caught flight, I thought "YUCK!!!" That's what's in my hair when I come home from work every day... Spit, blood, plaque, and tooth bits... in my hair and on my face... every day!!! *shudder* This is fair warning to anyone who associates with me on a regular basis: Don't ever touch me again until I've had a shower after work. I am stewing in Au De Gingivitis.

So now I finally understand why dentists are portrayed as such bad guys. Now I understand why people think us sadistic and mean. We do weird things to you in your head with your mouth wedged open and a light shining in your face, and we talk to you while you can't respond, and we stink with spit in our hair.

I get it now.

......

Please don't hate me.

I'm a WINNER!!!

I just won a major award!

No... Not THAT award, silly!
This one....

It's spunky... It's clever... It's mildly inappropriate... Just like ME!!!
Thank you Leah!