Transforming Christmas

When I was in the fifth grade, my parents announced that they were separating and would likely divorce. As time drew on, my dad got his own little one bedroom apartment, and it became apparent that the separation was permanent. My sister and I spent our Tuesday nights and some weekends at my dad's little bachelor pad. We watched the A-Team on a little 13 inch screen and ate a lot of spam in that apartment. While the divorce was relatively amicable, things seemed ugly and dull.

I guess that's how my dad felt at Christmastime when he said he wanted to get the ugliest tree on the lot. The scraggly little twig that he placed atop his homemade oak end table for us to decorate was a hideous little thing--dead needles and big gaping holes, barely strong enough to support the lights strung about its pathetic little branches.

With a bit of care, however, we transformed that unsightly little "tree" into something quite lovely. Despite its drooping branches, the glow from the colored lights somehow warmed that lonely little apartment and brought some Christmas cheer to the three of us.

My dad's intentions suddenly made sense to me: Life was a bit ugly for now, but would warm up and be enjoyable soon... ...Either that, or he was just rebelling against the fabulous 7 foot evergreens that usually adorned our living room at my mom's house. "Take that!"

Why I'm Pretty Sure Ebenezer Scrooge Hailed From L.A.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Nutcracker, performed by the San Francisco ballet, when I was in the second grade. I have never forgotten sitting high up in the balcony, peering down at the dancers below with my dad's binoculars and studying the glittering, beaded costumes. I was taking ballet at the time, and I was studying how remarkably pointy all the ladies' toes were... Would I ever be able to stand on my tippy toes like that? It was a magical experience.

Sadly, I have never had the chance to go back to see the Nutcracker since. So when my mom got our family tickets to see a production by a local dance academy, we jumped at the chance.

And by jumped, I mean sat in traffic for three hours to travel 39.39 miles. That's right folks: on the freeways of Los Angeles, we traveled an average of 13.33 miles per hour. I'm sure I don't have to elaborate on the mood in the car. Let's just say, if I had any delusions of reliving my magical Nutcracker experience from childhood, I got totally screwed by downtown traffic... Or more aptly put: I got scrooged.

Bah! Humbug!!!!

Twelve Days of Christmas Tag

One amusing Christmas Memory: When I was a kid, we had a cabin in the mountains. It had a cozy fireplace in the living room that had been amped up by my dad's favorite obsession in the early eighties: The wood burning stove... Which could thaw the Sierra chill in no time flat.

Above the mantle sat a stuffed bobcat that came with the cabin. We named him George. The taxidermist who stuffed George had attempted to mummify him with a snarl on his face, but had failed miserably--It looked much more like a smile. So we always decorated George with a Santa hat around the holidays because he looked so very cheerful.

After a full day of playing in the snow, we would come inside and dry out all of our wet clothes by the fireplace, sometimes hanging things from various parts of George. So my amusing memory is simply a snapshot in my mind of George the smiling bobcat, smiling ferociously atop the fireplace, with a Santa hat on his head, and a pair of pink underwear hanging from his mouth to dry.

Two theories as to why Santa chooses the chimney as his best means of entry: Theory #1...His first job as a cat burglar was interrupted by a brief stint in a federal prison. As he was being busted for his third strike for breaking and entering through a chimney, he concocted the story about breaking IN to the home to deliver presents, and the judge threw out the case... but the FBI never got off his back, so he's been forced to keep up the ruse indefinitely;

Theory #2...Santa was raised in 'da hood and was afraid if he was seen in his neighborhood wearing his slick red suit, he'd get shot. He would Fo' sho' end up gettin' capped in a drive-by if the gang wearing blue suits (Hanukkah Harry, I'm looking in your direction, yo!) ever saw him walking in through the front door.

Three things you want for Christmas: Warm clothes; Cute clothes; Liposuction to fit into cute, warm clothes.

Four of your favorite Christmas movies: "A Christmas Story," "Christmas Vacation," "Elf," "Love Actually."

Five ways you've been naughty this year: I'll never tell!

Six ways you've been nice: I can't think of anything. Hmmmm. I wonder which of Santa's lists I'm destined to wind up on!

Seven people you suspect are elves: Ummmm. ME?!?; Anna Holgerson; Chris Kattan; Bjork; Tori Amos; Kiera Knightley, Nicole Kidman

Eight of Santa's reindeer: Flasher, Exotic Dancer, Prancer (sorry... That one's just funny as is), Nixon, Comic, Putrid, Mumbler, and Dissin'

Nine uses for snow: Skiing (Side Note: I really like writing words with double vowels in them... Vacuum is another favorite); For some reason, just BEGS to be played in; Finding creative places to put Frosty the snowman's carrot decoration; Making polar bears invisible so they can successfully sneak up on their prey; Cool to look at the individual flakes under a microscope for the split second they survive on the glass slide before the light bulb melts it (I had a fairly nerdy childhood, eh?); Creating a most impressive scene during the aerial shot of outdoor football games in Buffalo; Gives me an excuse to wear cute hats; Fabulous ammo for pelting small, unsuspecting children (plus, the weapon melts or is obliterated without a trace upon impact); My favorite sound in the world is the way snowfall seems to absorb all other sound.

Ten least favorite things about Christmas: Trying to think of creative gift ideas for men; Bragging Family Newsletters; Mall parking lots; Gaining weight because I can't say NO to homemade confections; Hanging the lights on the tree; Taking down the decorations when all is said and done; Boy bands taking liberties with sacred Christmas hymns and turning them into pop crap; Deciding whose house to go to for the festivities; Living in Southern California, where it's likely to be 80 degrees on Christmas day; Receiving a gift that you know has been regifted.

Eleven word associations to "figgy pudding": (1)I'll (2)bet (3)that (4)would (5)look (6)like (7)a (8)big (9)pile (10)of (11)poop.... Seriously. Pudding made out of figs?!? Blehck!

Twelve reasons you love Christmas: Christmas songs (the good old timey stuff and the Nutcracker are my favorites!); Hunting for impressive light displays; Christmas Eve crab feed at home with the boys; Quietly reading the nativity to focus on what Christmas is really about; All the homemade goodies that make me fat; Only one hour of church the Sunday before Christmas, and it's usually an hour filled with beautiful music and great, uplifting stories; Cold weather (in every part of the country except So.Cal); Christmas movies; The smells of Christmas (fireplaces, baking pies, pine trees, cinnamon, gingerbread); Visiting with family and friends; A little extra time off work; Feeling like there is still magic to be had... No matter how old you are.

I tag the first twelve people to get through this entire post... Just sign your name in the comment section when you accept the challenge.

"Clark Griswold on Crack"...and a bunch of other stuff I pilfered off of other peoples' blogs because I sucky suck at finding anything good on YouTube

I'm hoping to have 12 posts about Christmas done before the holiday actually arrives.
You know... 12 Days of Christmas and all that.

That would be a great idea if I had any talent for finding good stuff on YouTube (which, I have learned, is a wonderful means of filling up your blog with really funny crap with very little effort... BUT, also means you have posts for which nobody takes the time to pause your music player, and will probably pass up the opportunity to watch the funny crap and become enlightened...) But I digress.

My point is this: I have no knack for finding anything good on YouTube. Whenever I try, I end up stuck watching cute little babies burping, or kittens batting around balls of yarn. Or even better is when I find some embittered chick with hairy armpits ranting about the oppression of mistreated avocado farmers. So I give up. I will just stumble around the blogosphere on occasion and happen upon little gems like these.

May you delight in the Holiday mirth which I have been enjoying so much on the blogs of those far more imaginative and YouTube-capable than I.

First, I pose a question: What if Clark Griswold did crack? Imagine what his house would look like at Christmas time. If "Sparky" could have gotten his hands on something a little stronger than the egg nog he shared with cousin Eddy in his festive Wally World mug, I think his house would have had a similar resemblance to this astounding display.



Secondly, I wish to share a little Christmas story I stole from Wayne's sister's blog:

Once upon a time, a little babe was born in Bethlehem. A star shone in the East upon His arrival. It was a magical night, and visitors from many lands came to pay homage to the newborn king: Shepherds travelled far after learning of his coming from a Heavenly Host. Wise men came bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, myrrh. And a great big gorilla tried to snatch baby Jesus and carry Him away to Jane Goodall. But Mary and Joseph fed the gorilla a nice banana, and the great ape was placated. THE END.

At least that's the gist we got when our little two year old niece "enhanced" the nativity this year... Although there is still some debate as to whether or not it was really her, or if perhaps her daddy snuck one past mommy when she wasn't looking.

Lastly, in honor of the Twelve Days of Christmas, here is a video that makes me smile, no matter how many times I watch it. And you betcha... I stole it from my sister's blog in light of my disability with all things YouTube. I wish I were this amazingly talented. I think it's true genius when you can SING comedy.


Thanks to all who posted their super-fantastic uncopyrighted material.

And (once again) Merry Christmas from the Van Cleaves!

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

I have reached a momentous occasion

in my pediatric dental residency...

Undergone a right of passage, so to speak.

Today was special--

A truly marvelous experience.

It was a time to be thankful for a job that allows me

to give to the community.

Some days, you get to enjoy the patients

who are so generous as to give back.

I will cherish these moments...

Always.

Today...

I got barfed on for the first time!

YAY, Puke!!!

How could this POSSIBLY be worth $10 an hour?

• Fake Santa wig and beard: $25
• Jenny Craig plan to aid in working off those extra pounds used to get into full character: $100
• Dry cleaning bill for urine and puke stains on red velvet suit: $30

Terrifying kids 8 hours a day all in the name of Christmas Cheer: Priceless!

In Lieu of Fancy Schmancy Christmas Cards

I used to be quite the Martha Stewart... Handmade, glittered, stamped, sealed-with-a-kiss Christmas cards for everyone. And none of those generic,obnoxiously bragging newsletters that so many are fond of: "Nathan scored 837 on his IQ test last month. And Hayden wrote his own piano concerto for Easter this year. We're so proud of them." Nope. They were hand written, baby! But alas, I have resorted to this form of greeting for all of my loved ones... At least the ones who check my blog. I even went one step lazier than last year, as I sent the "Elf Yourself" greeting via email last year.

So enjoy your Holiday Greeting, Van Cleave style. Notice Timmy has returned to the family, thanks to an astute and very highly regarded friend back in San Rafael. Thank you, Christine for sending him back to us. It wouldn't have been Christmas without him!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

What Do You Mean He's Not Real?!?

"You're a LIAR!" I shouted to my mother when the truth finally came out. A dirty, rotten liar... That's how I felt when my Christmas dreams were shattered. When it came time to reveal the stinking realism to Hayden, we tried not to break his heart. Somehow, it seemed so much easier if we could just get him to sneak up on the truth on his own.

We started with the tooth fairy. We asked Hayden to tell us what he thought about her and how it works... You know, hauling teeth around all night long. His response was, "Well, she's magic! She's very little, leaves me notes under my pillow, and she LOVES teeth." Wayne and I exchanged knowing glances, which quickly degenerated to raucous laughter. "Well," Wayne said, "She's little all right... And she does love teeth..." At which point Hayden's expression flashed understanding, and he pointed to me and said, "IT'S YOOOOUUU!!!"

We worked our way through the Easter Bunny, Leprechauns, etc. before we got to the Big Guy. With each debunking of his favorite magical characters, he would say, "But Santa is real! I KNOW he is, because he eats the cookies we leave for him, and the reindeer eat all the carrots!" But when he realized Daddy was the cookie culprit, he shed a tear or two.

At least we weren't considered dirty, rotten liars.

Poor Me

No. Really, REALLY poor.

You know it's bad when you start looking around the house for things you might be able to post on Craig's list to score a little extra coin. I wonder if there is anyone out there in cyberspace who would like to buy a periodontal surgery textbook for somebody on their naughty list.

But this post is not meant to be a pity party. I've learned a lot of cool stuff from being flat broke...

Such as: when you can't afford presents, you don't have to get trampled to death by greedy shoppers. I can't go shopping right now, therefore, I get to avoid the crowds and think about what I would buy for all the people I love if I could. And that gets me thinking about why I love them. And then I get to spend my time thinking about all the really nice things people have done for our family instead of wondering if they would like the harvest spice tealight candles or the ones that smell like cucumber-peppermint-chamomile... Which they would probably end up putting in a drawer somewhere in their house, never to be lit... Or even worse: Regifted at their office white elephant gift exchange.

I also LOVE to put up my Christmas decorations. Especially my tree. It looks like a glowing snowball when it is all lit up, and it reminds me of the strange and wonderful circumstances by which we acquired it.

A few years ago, while we were living in Riverside, we all got the nastiest of flu bugs. We all felt like dying. To make matters worse, our heat was not working, and the gas company could not come out to fix it for a week. There was a ridiculous cold spell, such that we could see our breath in our own living room. And to top it off, Nathan needed to go to the doctor to get some antibiotics because he had an excruciating sore throat and fever that made me suspect strep. However, I was in no state to take him and neither was Wayne, so my mother-in-law kindly stepped in. While at the pharmacy, she called to see if we wanted a tree: Green or white. I quickly said green (as I am such a traditionalist), but was persuaded by Nathan to try the white, as he believed I would really enjoy it once I saw it. And he was quite right. We also enjoyed the heat Lynne brought along with her in the form of portable space heaters from the same drug store. I have the hardest time taking down that tree every year, because I love to bask in its soft glow every evening. And each time I do, I think of that Christmas, where we hung our ornaments clutching our barf bowls, and basking in the warmth of our little space heaters.

I've also learned how abundantly rich we are when it comes to family. Between my divorced parents and my in-laws, we have a plethora of choices as to where to spend the holidays. Granted, this has its pros and its cons. We recently got calls from both sides of our families dictating our holiday schedules: "Here's all the goings-on... Sorry you'll have so much travel time, but at least the gas prices are down... We'll have so much fun, we'll be whistling zippidy doo-dah out of our ---holes! (Sorry. It's a movie quote. Just think EARholes if you want the G-rated version.)" I first felt annoyed and a little put out by the presumptuousness (Sorry Mom and Mom, but it's true). And I thought, "Does this side of the family forget that we have that side of the family to accommodate as well? What about my own little family? When do our traditions get to happen? WHAT ABOUT ME?!?"

However, I have chosen now to look at the situation this way: "It is wonderful to know how many people want to share the Holidays with us! That's pretty cool!" While it is not likely we'll be able to make everyone happy and attend every family gathering we have been invited to, I will still enjoy spending time with some of my favorite people at the time of year when I feel most festive and joyous!

'Cause family is great. Isn't it?

The Difference Between B's and V's

I was brought up at the head of the class--Not because I was particularly brainy or gifted, but merely due to my alphabetical circumstance. You see, I was once named Shana Berger... as in second letter in the alphabet Berger... as in, "Sit at the front of the class," "Go to the front of the line" Berger. Due to my short stature, I was also shuffled forward whenever height was the determining factor in student placement. Bottom line: I took a front row seat everywhere I went.


Life placed perpetually at the front of the classroom does something to a person. Sitting in plain view of the teacher, unable to get away with passing notes, dozing off, or daydreaming; unable to mutter anything under one's breath without being heard... It all adds up to a very tightly wound student. Being a B makes one type-A by means of simple classroom logistics.


Enter Wayne Van Cleave: My V-man. I took his name almost sixteen years ago as a matter of fact and didn't have any clue how different life would ever be at this end of the alphabet.

I learned the difference between B's and V's quite plainly in dental school. Our class was set up according to alphabetical order. We spent most of our first year of dental school toiling away in the sim-lab, arranged (of course) alphabetically. The sim-lab was a gigantic room wherein we would work on little rubber heads with plastic teeth to learn the fundamentals of restorative dentistry before they would let us loose on real teeth. The room was so large, I barely got to interact with the B's during the day. I was relegated to the side of the room housed by the students at the END of the alphabet: The V's.


What I learned from my carpool that year (Ballew and Bevens, who sat at the B end of the sim-lab, but remained outliers in the following statements about said B personalities), is that the B end was quite studious and very tightly wound. They took everything super seriously, would haggle over grades, talked endlessly about dentistry, sat silently doing their work, would freak out if something went awry... You get the picture. Many of them sat at the front of the class in lecture, too, and got quite a reputation for shouting out answers and asking endless questions. Bottom line, had I remained a Berger, I would have sat around a number of stress-cases and my perception of dental school may have been completely different.

As for my experiences with the V side of the room: All I can say is PARTAY!!! Our side of the sim-lab was MUCH more relaxed. We blasted "The Final Countdown" before every practical exam, we had weekly potlucks, decorated the walls with Christmas lights, drew faces on our rubber-headed patients, and basically lived in levity and fun (That's right folks. Despite the intense pressures inherent in dental school, I liked it! It was fun!). I thanked Wayne every day for showing me life with the V's.


But tonight I sadly learned I am still a B at heart.



Hayden recently chunked it on a Social Studies exam: 25 out of a possible 100. "Dang it!" I thought. "I'm raising a V! He's living in the end-of-the-alphabet-partay, and now his grades are starting to suck!"


Today, however, he received notification from his teacher that (aside from a smattering of A's and B's) the whole class had sucked it up on that exam. Therefore, he would omit those grades for everyone in the class. He acknowledged that it was kind of a bummer for the kids that had done so well--far above and beyond the rest of the class, but thought it better for all involved to drop the test scores.

For a brief moment, my heart stopped. I stopped chewing my dinner. I tensed up, barely able to breathe. My autonomic nervous system had reverted to my B mentality, which screamed, "NO FAIR! Those kids who got A's deserved them! They worked harder than the rest of those little slackers! Reward them for their efforts!"

The rest of the V slackers at my dinner table laughed at me, and I found myself feeling guilty for dredging up emotions directly related to my front-of-the-classroom-upbringing; emotions that stood in direct opposition to the success of my child on this particular exam. But there I was in all of my raw, type-A, competitive, stress-case B-ness. I guess you could say something along the lines of, "You can take the B out of the front of the classroom, but you can't take the front of the classroom out of the B."

I'll conclude my saga from one end of the alphabet to the other with a simple footnote: Our class valedictorian's name was Yetzer. How do you like them apples, B side?!

Mentisms

What better way to reenter the blogging arena than with a good old fashioned tag? Natalie Nelson posted this a couple of weeks ago and was probably feeling totally dejected when I didn't respond... Actually, she probably could have cared less, but I'd like to maintain my well practiced self-delusion, thinking my opinion actually matters to people. But when I finally found it, I responded to her witty answers in a comment, wherein the word verification was "Mentisms." I think I found something to add to the vernacular.

Mentisms (pl. n.): Musings of a person with questionable mental faculties. Ex: "Three Men and a Little Lady" was full of mentisms today.

So here they are... Mentisms galore in the form of descriptors about me.

I Am: Freakishly short
I Want: Chocolate at any given moment
I Have: A big butt (see above)
I Miss: Northern California
I Fear: Hurting my patients
I Hear: Wayne playing the X-box
I Search: For a complete set of socks for the boys EVERY day. Where do those little buggers go?
I Wonder: Why, when you have children, does everything on your entire body change shape, but we can't grow an extra hand or two to keep up with all the multitasking.
I Regret: Torturing my little sister so mercilessly as a kid
I Love: My boys... All three of them.
I Forgive: But there better be a darn good excuse for the offense. (I know, I know... Not very Christlike.)
I Ache: When I see a special-needs patient that is not being well cared for.
I Always: Cringe when somebody smacks their food.
I Try: To whistle, but it sounds like I'm just hyperventilating.
I Am Not: Frou-frou.
I Seem: Like I know what I'm doing.
I Know: A lot of random crap that will never matter in my life. I'm a trivia trap.
I Feel: Bummed that the wonderful Holiday weekend is drawing to a close.
I Dance: In a manner that brings great embarrassment to my children.
I Dream: Very rarely. I have difficulty sleeping.
I Give: and I give and I give...
I Listen: To the most ridiculous conversations between my boys sometimes. And I think to myself, "Where in the world did you come from? Surely you don't have my DNA!"
I Sing: Like a Mermaid these days.
I Laugh: Quite often. Wayne is a funny, funny man.
I Can't: Believe how bad our economy sucks right now!
I Write: My mentisms for all the world to read.
I Cry: Very rarely, but usually at the lamest of times, and usually when I have wicked PMS.
I Sleep: With lots of pillows, elbowing Wayne whenever he comes near me, flopping back-to-front and front-to-back... Basically, I'm a high-maintenance sleeper, and even if all the conditions are just perfect, I still don't achieve much in the way of a good REM cycle.
I Am not always: Tolerant of whining. Correction...I am rarely tolerant of whining.
I See: Christmas decorations that need to be put up.
I Need: A massage and a great hairstyle.
I Should: Finish my book.

Eventually, I will put up a post of things that went on while we were on our forced hiatus from the blogosphere. For now, I tag anybody who is related to me (In-laws count).

Thank Goodness!

And thank Remy, who has kindly offered up a mildly temperamental laptop with power cord issues for our use right now. We are finally able to rejoin the blogging world once again. No longer will you have to wait weeks on end to hear my rambling, nonsensical pontifications. No longer will I have to wait after work to get a quick peek at other blogs, but not have enough time to comment. Oh! There will be comments once again! Such comments will I give! Get ready blogging world... I'm BAAA-AAACK!!!

Surreal...

Our computer is still D-E-A-D, but couldn't NOT write about what I experienced yesterday.
After work at UCLA, I emerged from the children's dental clinic and found about six helicopters circling the skies. All the buses had been rerouted, and I found myself wandering down the streets to find a way to get home to watch Hayden's chorus concert. Traffic had stopped. Sirens wailed. Streets were blocked off. Random people with signs were coming up to anybody who would listen saying, "If you wanna join in, we're converging on the Mormon church!"

...And by "Mormon Church," I knew they meant the Los Angeles Temple, which was just a few blocks away.

As I plodded along, now within a couple of blocks of the temple, and a half a mile from work, more sirens began to wail. On three flat bed trucks, standing ready to jump off as soon as they reached their destination, dozens of police in full riot gear made their way to the sacred, usually serene grounds that people of my faith worship.

Let me make clear, this is not an ordinary meeting house. This is a step beyond--where we make sacred vows to our Heavenly Father; where we kneel across an altar to marry for time and eternity. The interior is usually so quiet, you can almost hear a pin drop. Once patrons enter, they shrug off the cares of the outside world and devote their minds and hearts to prayer, meditation, and learning. The environment is peace and tranquility in its purest essence.

But yesterday, the outside world came clamoring to the temple gates. And with their venom and a form of bigotry I have never experienced before, a SWAT team followed in their wake. 2000-3000 gay and lesbian advocates loudly expressed their disapproval at the outcome of the recent Proposition 8, which put in place a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage. Wrongfully, they assumed the many members of the church that contributed to the cause had an agenda that included hate.

I thought this picture summed up the hostility that I witnessed very succinctly:
In the background is a sign saying "No on 8... End Hate." I see in the foreground the very personification of hate, as an angry man shouts and incites contention at the top of his lungs.

I have many thoughts on this battle that rages, and I hope you'll indulge me as I purge my system of these thoughts:

1. Can you imagine what would have happened if this protest had been organized in front of a Muslim Mosque or Jewish Synagogue? Or what about in front of one of the Catholic churches or Baptist ministries that inspired "Yes on 8" sentiments to their parishioners? 70% of minorities in California voted "Yes" on this very matter, but you don't see angry protesters yelling horrible insults to Blacks or Hispanics as a whole. One would never even dream of doing such a thing in a state which cries "Tolerance!" for everyone. Apparently, these folks have no tolerance for Mormons, because we are often marginalized and misunderstood. We are thought by many to be a satanic cult, or a dangerous brainwashing machine, hell-bent on converting the populous whether they like it or not. We are often confused with the polygamous FLDS-type sects that wed their 14-year old neighbors. And this, along with an ideology that does not encompass gay marriage (but does NOT diminish gay civil unions), has put us on the radar of many who wish to stir things up against members of our faith.
2. The political process went forth. The majority has spoken. Other states like Florida and Arizona passed similar amendments on the same day. They are not suffering the same insults as we are here in the Left-Coast. I am reminded of a boy who came up to me on my first day of High School in Georgia. He sat down across from me at lunch, peered at me with skepticism and said, "Did y'all have a hard time gettin' dates out thar in California?" When I answered,"No. Why?" He said, "Well, aren't all them guys out there gay?" I was taken aback, because I had not expected that perception of California... Surfer dudes--yes. Gay guys--No. But this is another one of those events that is going to further embitter people about gays and perpetuate the reputation of California as "The Land of Fruits and Nuts."
3. I have no ill will towards gays. I have worked with several. I know them to be regular people who feel deeply about their partners. I am NOT a gay basher because I voted yes on Prop 8. I do NOT feel any hatred toward them. But PLEASE don't spit on my beliefs and desecrate the things that I believe are holy because your cause did not persuade the majority. We are not tyrannical, bigots as you spew in your negative campaigns and protests. We simply believe in the sacred and divine institution of marriage between a man and a woman.

I walked the three-or-so miles home and managed to make it in time for Hayden's concert (which was great, by the way). But I will NEVER forget that walk. I will forever be changed by the imagery of that night: particularly the juxtiposition of the peaceful temple grounds and the SWAT team serving as a blockade to prevent violence on its soil. I now know I live within walking distance of a temple. I have blisters on my feet from the trek, but I know it's really only a stone's throw away. I have no excuse to take it for granted. If the protestors were aiming at putting into doubt my ideology or intimidate people like me into feeling shame at my faith, their plans sorely backfired. I have never desired more to enter those temple doors and shut out the ferocity of the world outside.

If you are interested, you can click on this link to see the LDS church's response to the recent protests.

Pardon My Absence...

It seems our computer has malfunctioned. Once it is replaced, I will stop wasting time at work putting up lame posts like this, and I can once again blog my usual nonsensical pontifications.

That's What She Said

Today we had a very informative lunch meeting with an electric toothbrush company. I've never really seen toothbrushes in this light before... EVER.

It all began innocently enough. The company rep (a very attractive woman in her late twenties) realized she had forgotten her laptop, which had her entire spiel on its hard drive. She excused herself to run to her car while we got situated and began to eat our lunches. A few moments later, she reentered the room, huffing and puffing.

"Whew! That seemed like it was long! ... That was a LONG, LONG run," she panted. "Does anybody mind if I take my coat off while I recover?"

A few enthusiastic nods from the males in the room... To which she responded in a manner that did not disappoint. Off came the grey pinstripe business suit coat. Beneath: a flesh colored cami and a pair of very perky high beams... BRALESS high beams. "Wow! I just cannot cool off! I am so hot right now!"

The tongues lolling out of their heads could have been mistaken for enthusiasm over their sandwiches, but it was pretty obvious that it was NOT the turkey cold cuts that were directing the guys' attention in the room.

The attending doctor turns to our chief resident and says, "I need to come to these lunch-and-learns more often! They're great! When did we start getting strippers for these things?"

As the presentation went on, her sales pitch was met with rapt attention from her many admirers. To finish things off, she informed us of one of the new features of the improved electric toothbrush she was pedaling. "Notice how nicely this one vibrates compared to the old one? See how this one is so much more vigorous than the other." Now she is holding up the twelve inch long vigorously vibrating hardware to give us an adequate visual. It continues to vigorously vibrate as she exclaims, "OH! And I almost forgot! These things are hermetically sealed! If you need to save yourself some time, you can just take this in the shower with you and do your thing in there!"

Super.

You'll Be a Dentist! You Have a Talent For Causing Things PAIN!

Parking at UCLA for dental appointments: $10

X-rays to start orthodontic treatment: $150

Orthodontic treatment while in residency: $0, but hours and hours of work.

Making your kid sit in the dental chair for two hours with his lips pulled out like a large-mouthed bass and gluing implements of traction and pain to all of his teeth: Priceless!

Yep. That's my oldest son in the chair as the process begins: Nathan is one of my first orthodontic victims... I mean, patients.

All told, Nate was a pretty great patient. He sat still throughout the very lengthy procedure. Even now, he's been amazingly cool about his new metal mouth, though eating is a bit tricky for now. But there's been no whining, "Ow! My teeth hurt! When do I get to get these off? I'm never going to show my face again!" (I actually had a patient go home with a bag over his head on the day we gave him his braces. Yah. That's MUCH less embarrassing than braces!)
Look at that widdle punim! My baby's all growed up!

Orange and black elastics: Very festive for this time of year.

Hayden needed something to do while his brother got all the attention. We cemented a little wire behind his bottom teeth to keep them from crowding, but his procedure was done in about 10 minutes. Luckily, the assistants found a few things to keep him busy... Like playing dress-up with him. Here's Dr. Hayden, complete with "bloody" gloves. Just remember, Hayden: If it doesn't fit, you must acquit!

He looks like he's enjoying this far too much! In fact, as he walked out to the car (still wearing his get-up, mind you), he said to me, "Maybe I will be a dentist when I grow up!" ...Certainly better than the NASCAR driver or hockey player aspirations that have always seemed to be his ultimate goals, but I hope this picture never surfaces while he's in practice!

To My Female Readers Only... Seriously! Chad, Dan, Jason, Bryce, etc. Do NOT Proceed or Things Will Get Awkward Between Us.

Husbands are funny creatures. For some reason I can't figure out, they do not understand buying feminine hygiene supplies. When Wayne and I first married, I discovered this Y chromosomal handicap that prevented him from being able to procure the proper accoutrements when Aunt Flo was coming to town. So, in our newlywed wisdom, we developed a system involving football team names:

• For those very heavy flow days, only Super will do. Super tampons = St. Louis RAMS.
• For moderate flow, Regular tampons. Regular = Washington REDSKINS.
• When the last vestiges of the week remain, I just need some pantyliners or Lite tampons. These = Cleveland BROWNS.

It's never failed.

Usually, though, I buy for myself and spare Wayne the disgrace of purchasing what is OBVIOUSLY for a female loved one. I never understood the shame men feel, but ...Whatever, you wusses! (I mean, it's not like I'm asking him to buy Queen Size Panty Hose, for crying out loud!).

I've learned that the humiliation is not isolated to male consumers purchasing for their desperate housewives. Bag Boys are not immune to the embarrassment. One time when I was very much in need of monthly supplies, while checking out at the grocery store late at night, a squeaky clean young man about 16 years old was bagging my groceries. On the conveyor belt lay four items: Super Tampax, Maxi Pads, Midol, and a value-pak of chocolate confections. The innocent young man (prior to looking at my purchases) addressed me in an oh-so-polite and cheerful manner and said, "How are you doing tonight, Ma'am?". Before I could reply, he glanced down at my supplies, turned beet red, stared blankly at my necessities, and walked away... Without even bagging them.

Someday, in another life, he'll be making those emergency runs for his wife.

Hope she likes football.

Biproducts of Raising Children While Trying To Study A Lot of Random Stuff

I get a lot of questions about how I ever managed to get my biochemistry and DDS degrees while raising kids. First of all, it really doesn't seem that weird to me because I've never really known any different, so I can't really imagine it any other way. Secondly, I am a chronic multitasker.

When I first started back at school and I was still managing apartments to pay the bills, I was considered a full-time employee, a full-time student, and a full-time mom. To illustrate the many hats I had to juggle, I recall an experience that highlighted all the ways I was being stretched:

I was sitting in my office, which happened to be attached to my apartment. It was the first of the month, so there was a lot of traffic coming and going as people came in to pay the rent. I was also trying to study for a midterm exam I had coming up. Hayden was still in diapers, and Nathan was in kindergarten.

So I'm sitting in the office with a biology book on my lap, my shoulder holding a phone to my ear as I was talking to a prospective applicant, another tenant sits waiting on the couch for me to complete my phone conversation, I'm cutting an apple for the boys' afternoon snack with my right hand, Hayden clings to my ankle begging for said snack, and I'm cradling a baby hummingbird in my left hand because Nathan had just rescued it after it had been pushed out of its nest (did I mention I'm a humanitarian, too... *barf*).

I remember that day very vividly because it was my life, personified: Every limb occupied with a different task, trying not to drop the ball in any respect.

Usually, however, life was not so crazy. I actually enjoyed some of my conversations with the boys as they watched me study for various classes about physics, chemistry, and especially anatomy. Sometimes I would even take them to class with me. My boys have both attended lectures at a four year university. Ask them about the time we calculated rotational velocity in physics class. They thought it was a hoot! (They actually did, as the demonstration involved my professor "rotating" a hockey puck through the wall of the auditorium with a formidable slap shot.)

One time, while studying about the brain, Nathan came in and sat next to me as I studied the images carefully, trying to compartmentalize all the various regions and functions of the human "noodle." The cerebellum caught his eye, as its texture and shape look a bit out of the ordinary, comparative to the squiggly grey matter that comprises most of the brain. So I took the time to explain a little bit about it, pointed to its general region on the back of his head, and that was that...

Or so I thought.

Weeks later, as I was helping him wash his hair in the bathtub he points to the same region I had demonstrated to him while conversing about cranial anatomy, and says, "Mommy, don't forget to wash my cerebellum!"

My studies of anatomy were not lost on my (then) three year old Hayden, either. He came to sit with me as I studied about the inner ear. A picture of the cochlea was particularly fascinating to him, as the organ looks like a snail. I explained to him that the cochlea helps us to hear. I then proceeded to explain to him the semi-circular canals, which give us the capability of balancing and, when spun around too much, give us the sensation of dizziness. I figured my toddler was just humoring me, trying to find some time to cuddle with mom, and all the while he was listening to "blah blah blah."

Nope.

Once again, my words came back to me at the oddest of times. Hayden, performing one of his favorite past times, spins himself into oblivion, loses his balance, falls dizzily to the floor, looks up at me and says, "Oh mommy! My cochlea is so messed up!"

So there's proof: Our kids DO listen to us every now and then. You just never know what's going to sink in and make a big impression.

Happy Birthday to Me

Halloween is almost here! Time for creepy movies and trick-or-treating... AND BIRTHDAY CAKE!!! When Wayne first told his mom that I was born on Halloween, she replied, "She's a SPOOKY little girl." Here's a fun little online quiz that confirms her assessment of me.

You Are a Witch

You are deviously brilliant and a perfect manipulator. You somehow always end up getting what you want - without anyone knowing you're working behind the scenes. Crafty and cunning, you can work your way out of any jam. And it's easy for you to get people to do what you want, whether you're working for good or evil. Your greatest power: Mind control Your greatest weakness: Making people your puppets You play well with: Ghosts

What Kind of Monster Are You?

The Wonderousness That is Autumn

As I browse around at friends' blogs in other parts of the country about how "crisp" and "colorful" and "wonderous" their autumn weather is, I am baking away in Southern California in my shorts and flip-flops, staring at the palm trees that never change color. See that map down below? See the "97" in the darkish red spot? Yah...That's me. That's where I live.

Yay global warming.

The World According to Shana

I have a host of very weird quirks. I don't notice them anymore. Wayne thinks most of them are cute. But most of my acquaintances don't ever notice the internal dialog that goes on when any number of situations crosses my path. So consider yourselves privileged (though perhaps a bit frightened) to enter the madness within me. Here are the rules of my world:

• One must NEVER say the following: I haven't had a cold/parking ticket/speeding ticket/jury summons in so long! As soon as you say such ill-fated mumbo jumbo, you have doomed yourself, and will be unable to truthfully say such things in about a week.


• If you say, "Traffic is not bad today," you will find the road ahead of you has suddenly jammed itself into parking lot status.


• Food should be eaten very carefully. Whatever you are eating, you should try to nibble away at it until you have composed the "perfect bite." This means that as many elements of a dish that make it yummy should be corralled into a center piece and eaten as a grand finale of culinary ecstasy contained in a single bite. For example, pizza should be eaten in the following manner: First, bite off the floppy, pointy part at the end. Next, tear most of the crust off and eat it, but save yourself a little piece in the corner to hold onto. Eat most of the rest of the pizza from the fat side. Finish with the bite that has the most toppings, usually somewhere in the middle of the piece. (Incidentally, my sister eats her pizza this way too, and we formed this weird little ritual independent of one another.)


• Before bed, the following routine must be carefully performed each night: Get into jammies. Take out contacts. Brush teeth for two minutes. Drink a big glass of water. Pee. Wash hands. Wash face. Put lotion on face. Put on glasses. Put body lotion on legs and feet. Wash hands again. Put chapstick on. Drink another glass of water. Set alarm. Read or watch a movie until the sandman comes calling. Always keep covers on, even if it's 90 degrees outside (just don't put the covers on your feet when it's hot.)


• When talking on the phone, rock back and forth as though you had a sleeping infant in your arms. If you are feeling particularly energetic, wander through the house at the same time. But whatever you do, don't sit still!


• Solve a sudoku puzzle when you are sitting through a long, boring lecture. It is impossible to sit and listen to "blah blah blah" without doing something with your hands. Numbers and doodles are great, but NEVER crossword puzzles.


• When too tired, never try to use your thumbs. They won't function.


• When very annoyed, wiggle your feet back and forth in a perturbed, fidgety manner. When relaxed, circle your ankles back and forth in a contented fashion.


• While sleeping, scrunch up your face like an angry old man. The crease developing on your forehead will abate itself with Botox someday.


• Always, ALWAYS keep your pinkie up when drinking a beverage.

I fear if I post any further idiosyncrasies, I will have made too clear a case for my neuroses. What are some of your weirdest quirks?

Aaaaah. I Needed That...

For those of you unfamiliar with all things Mormon, this was a weekend of the proverbial recharging of the batteries: General Conference. What it entails, is hearing the thoughts of very wise and inspired men and women who offer words of upliftment and counsel. This is something that transpires on a global level twice a year. Every time General Conference rolls around, I think to myself, "Wow. Almost two full days of churchiness. Am I going to be able to pay attention for that long?" And with every session, I then think to myself, "Wow! I really needed to hear that! I'm glad I listened."

What astounds me each time I hear from the leaders of our church, is how a small consortium of little old men in Utah can be so in touch with our time. They address the issues of our society as it relates to today's challenges. While I love to read the Bible and the Book of Mormon, I feel doubly uplifted by the words of our living prophets.

Of particular note today, was the talk given by President Thomas S. Monson about gratitude. I have a strong testimony that gratitude leads to a much closer relationship with God, and our prophet articulated those sentiments perfectly at the conclusion of this morning's session. Here are my thoughts on the subject: God has given us all that we have, and every little thing that we recognize as coming from His hand, will strengthen our understanding of His love.

Another talk today that seemed particularly poignant was one that focused on overcoming trials through our relationship with Christ. Realizing that our Savior overcame all when he suffered for us in the Garden of Gethsemane, has always put my paltry little problems in perspective. For those of you who don't know, this crash on our economy has put my ability to continue in my residency in jeopardy, and this has been weighing on our minds quite heavily. But suddenly my burdens feel much lighter, and I feel resolute in my faith that whatever happens, it will be for the best.

If you've read this far, thank you for indulging me. I know this is an unusual little break from my posts on pasties and periods, but this may offer another little insight into my perplexing personality. I hope you've all had as great a weekend as I have. Now, on to this week's challenges!

I'm A Pretty, Pretty Princess... But I Don't Wear Sea-Shell Pasties

If this whole pediatric residency thing doesn't work out for me, I have a back up career in mind: I figure Disney might want to hire me.

You see, in the Children's Dental Center, I am Ariel: Able to woo frightened little girls into relaxing through their dental procedures. I have even been requested to leave my own patient in order to help my colleagues in another room when they have a particularly scared patient of their own.

So how did this remarkable talent surface?

One of my co-residents asked me to assist her with a three year old patient one day. "She screamed and cried during the entire exam last time she came in, and now I need to give her a filling. I just need someone to help contain her while I slap the material in her tooth as fast as I can," she pleaded.

When I walked into the "quiet" room (which, for anybody who doesn't understand that euphemism, should more appropriately be called the "Screaming" room) , a beautiful wide-eyed little Hispanic girl was perched in the seemingly giant dental chair, looking like she was ready to bolt out of the room at the first sign of trouble. BOTH of her parents were holding her hands, and her blankie was on her lap. She was wearing sparkly shoes adorned with the Little Mermaid, with a shirt to match, and socks, and her blankie, and a hair clip... all of which was covered with the love-lorn bikini-clad princess.

So I just started singing a refrain from (what certainly appeared to be) her favorite movie. "Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat?" and I held up a mirror. "Wouldn't you think my collection's complete?" ...and the girl had suddenly loosened her grip on the blankie and was staring, slack-jawed at me. Mom and Dad were easily able to convince her I was the ACTUAL Ariel from the movie, come to help fix her teeth (despite the fact that I had blonde hair instead of fiery red, and I had obviously traded my shell-shaped pasties for dumpy, bluish-gray scrubs). For the rest of the appointment, I just kept singing while handing the other dentist the equipment she needed. And for the rest of the appointment, our little patient was completely entranced and never uttered a peep. She even left smiling.

So from that time forward, I have been met with, "Hey, Ariel! Can you give me a hand?" ...and I'm off to one screaming kid after another to soothe the savage little beasts with a tune or two.

I really need to expand my repertoire, however. I have yet to find anything that works for boys as well as "Part of Your World" works for girls. Somehow I don't think Mulan's "Be a Man" would have quite the same effect on screaming little boys.

I'm Beginning to Think I'm Being Plagiarized

Does THIS sound familiar to anyone who knows me? Pay particular attention to the last paragraph. Once you've read the post in question, join me... Let's tally this up:

1. Chick from a broken home
2. Chick going to dental school
3. Dude is a teacher
4. Chick has big boobs
5. Chick voluntarily went on a mission (Okay... Wayne snatched me up before I ever got the papers in, but I was GONNA... Voluntarily!)

Doesn't "Seriously So Blessed" sound strangely reminiscent of THIS post?

Does THIS look suspiciously like THIS?

I am beginning to feel I am being watched and made fun of by the entire Utah Molly Mormon Sect. Would the real Tiffany/Amber/Megan/Nicole please reveal herself? AND STOP STALKING MY BLOG YOU HOSER!!!

Perhaps I Miscalculated

Wayno, here are three words you don't get from me very often... Particularly in so public a forum:

You were right.
(click if you want to find out why)

Just Because I Haven't Laughed Very Much

The past few days have been emotional, and I've been wavering between feelings of grief and numbness. I need to laugh a little. This little ditty has been like a year of therapy all wrapped up into one little You-Tube Clip.

Wayne's cousin (and one of my best friends... That's right! I LIKE my inlaws!) Kelly posted this on her blog with the warning "You'll laugh until snot runs out of your nose." And HOW!

So, Kelly thanks for the "Little Help From My Friends." I needed that.

Thoughts on a Life Cut Far Too Short

My cousin Scott and his wife Maiko had a beautiful baby girl about two weeks ago. They named her Sayumi. She was welcomed by her big brother Aiden, and met her grandmother from Japan just in time for a sudden, inexplicably relentless virus to lay waste to her perfect little body. One helicopter ride and a thousand needle sticks later, she lost her fight with the invisible villain that invaded so swiftly.

To my grief-stricken cousin and his beautiful family, I offer nothing but my deepest condolences. You were expecting the antithesis of this day just a few weeks prior, and so very recently celebrated her entry into this world. I cannot imagine watching that fragile little soul drift back out so few days after her arrival.

I can only issue my paltry offerings (as every good Mormon mom does), of food whenever you need it. I'm happy to lend you my ear whenever you need to vent. Our home is open to you in whatever state of grief you may be in. You are loved. Sayumi is so very loved. We ache for you.

Getty Center

One of our new favorite places around here is the Getty Center. This is a ginormous institution devoted to art and archeticture. We went a couple of weeks ago, and went back again today with my Mom and Chuck (These pictures are from the previous trip.) Currently, there is an exhibit of Bernini portraiture: the first ever showing of Bernini's art in North America. We couldn't take pictures at that exhibit due to proprietary rights and blah blah blah, but were able to get up close and personal with gorgeous marble busts, delicately carved into lace garments and the most intricate details of the human face. We also got to poke around within inches of works of art by Van Gough, Monet, Degas, etc.


If I were a better photographer, I would have LOVED to spend all day, pointing my lens at all the amazing little nooks and crannies of the structures that house these priceless works of art. It was creatively inspiring, but alas I have only these pictures to convey my awe at the many lovely things we saw.

According to My Children

If you asked them, my kids would likely say I reminded them of these stellar motivators:

I beg to differ...

And the winner is.....

Angie Sobek with 30 correct.
2nd place was her big sister Diana, who missed the big prize by ONE POINT!!! Sucks to be you, Di!

Congratulations! And thank you all for confirming that I definately watch too many movies... I really need to get a life!

Here are the answers:

1. A Series of Unfortunate Events
2. Zoolander
3. Superman
4. Anchorman
5. Emperor’s New Groove
6. Ferris Beuller’s Day Off
7. Meet the Parents
8. Drop Dead Gorgeous
9. Star Wars
10. O Brother, Where Art Thou
11. Shrek
12. Better Off Dead
13. The Wedding Singer
14. Wayne’s World
15. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure
16. So, I Married An Axe Murderer
17. Napoleon Dynamite
18. The Wizard of Oz
19. Dude! Where’s My Car?
20. Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life
21. Christmas Vacation
22. Top Gun
23. Home Fries
24. As Good As It Gets
25. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
26. Spaceballs
27. Young Frankenstein
28. The Jerk
29. Dumb and Dumber
30. Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl
31. Time Bandits
32. Parenthood
33. Nacho Libre
34. Strange Brew
35. The Waterboy
36. Mystery Men
37. Amadeus
38. Billy Madison
39. What About Bob?
40. Tommy Boy
41. A Christmas Story
42. Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
43. Blazing Saddles
44. Gladiator
45. Batman
46. Forest Gump
47. Sixteen Candles
48. Weird Science
49. Mars Attacks!
50. Bruce Almighty

The Ultimate Movie Smackdown and Glorious Givaway

On Diana's blog (Wayne's sister), she has recently posted a movie quote challenge. Most of my readers are probably not privy to her blog because she's one of those private folks, but let me assure you that you are missing out. She's quite funny. But these days, she pukes a lot, so she has resorted to lists of movie quotes, challenging those of us privilaged enough to partake of her wit and cynicism in a battle of cinematic knowledge. So I'm vollowing in her vootshteps! (..any guesses which movie inspired that line?)

Here are movie quotes that float around the Van Cleave house on a pretty regular basis. See if you can guess from whence they came.

When you have given it your best shot (AND NO CHEATING ONLINE!!!!), email me your answers, and the person with the most correct will get *drum roll* a new toothbrush, xylitol gum, and some floss! Yay! Maybe I'll even throw in one of those crap-a-dellic toys we give out to the good kids at work... Maybe even a sticker. Bottom line: the winner will have fresh breath AND be able to boast a superior knowledge of some of my favorite movies!

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will terminate at midnight on MONDAY (Extended time, since only THREE people have submitted thus far!!!!). This message will self destruct in 10 seconds...

Good luck! Email answers to nokandy@gmail.com .

-----------------

1. I’m sorry. I don’t speak Monkey.
2. What's the dealio, yo?
3. You've got me? Who's got you?
4. That's how I roll.
5. Thanks for that. I'll log that away.
6. He'll keep calling me. He'll keep calling me until I come over. He'll make me feel guilty. This is - Alright I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, alright I'll go.
7. I will be watching you and if I find that you are trying to corrupt my first born child, I will bring you down, baby. I will bring you down to Chinatown.
8. Boy: Uhhh you have some lutefisk in your hair.
Girl: Lutefisk - well must be Wednesday, then
9. Pull out (name)! You can't do any more good back there!
10. Baptism! You two're just dumber'n a bag of hammers.
11. Oh no no no, dead broad OFF THE TABLE!
12. Now that's a real shame when folks be throwin' away a perfectly good white boy like that.
13. Once again, things that could've been brought to my attention YESTERDAY!
14. A gun rack... a gun rack. I don't even own *a* gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack.
15. What you're telling me, essentially, is that Napoleon was a short dead dude.
16. Alright, give your mother a kiss, or I'll kick your teeth in.
17. Do the chickens have large talons?
18. For twenty-three years I've been dying to tell you what I thought of you! And now... well, being a Christian woman, I can't say it!
19. Look, dude. It's those two totally gay Nordic dudes at 10 o'clock!
20. Would monsieur care for a wafer thin mint?
21. Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?
22. It's classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.
23. You can't be the father and the brother! That's the kind of thing that messes kids up!
24. Never, never, interrupt me, okay? Not if there's a fire, not even if you hear the sound of a thud from my home and one week later there's a smell coming from there that can only be a decaying human body and you have to hold a hanky to your face because the stench is so thick that you think you're going to faint. Even then, don't come knocking. … Not on this door. Not for ANY reason. Do you get me, sweetheart?
25. It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing.
26. So you see, (name)... Now you see that evil will always triumph over good because GOOD IS DUMB!
27. SEDA-GIVE?
28. I have a special purpose!
29. What are the chances of a guy like you and a girl like me... ending up together?
30. I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Means "no".
31. Mom! Dad! It's evil! Don't touch it!
32. Lady: He likes to butt things... with his head. Man: How proud you must be.
33. Don't you want a little taste of the glory? See what it tastes like?
34. I am your father, Luke. Give in to the dark side of the force, you knob.
35. My Mama says that alligators are ornery because they got all them teeth and no toothbrush.
36. Don't mess with the volcano my man, 'cause I will go Pompeii on your... butt.
37. Here. It's all right here in my noodle. The rest is just scribbling. Scribbling and bibbling, bibbling and scribbling.
38. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
39. ...baby step onto the elevator... baby step into the elevator... I'm *in* the elevator.
40. Ugh, I can actually hear you getting fatter.
41. I didn't say "Fudge." I said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the "F-dash-dash-dash" word!
42. I'm fine. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
43. The sheriff's a Ni---(GONG!)
44. Those giraffes you sold me, they won't mate. They just walk around, eating, and not mating. You sold me... queer giraffes. I want my money back.
45. This town needs an enema!
46. Sometimes, I guess there's just not enough rocks.
47. I can't believe my grandmother actually felt me up.
48. Boy 1: By the way, why are we wearing bras on our heads?
Boy 2: Ceremonial.
49. Wow, he just made the international sign of the doughnut.
50. Anyway, I'm here with Katherine Hepburn's mom. Tell me, why did you toss the "blue heart of the ocean" jewel over the railing of Titanic? Did you feel bad at all letting Leo DiCaprio drown, while you were safe floating on the big door?

The Little Pituitary That Could

When Nathan was a toddler, he stopped growing. I'm not exaggerating. He flat out STOPPED growing. We had this Winnie the Pooh growth chart on his closet door, which had all these little marks with dates on it... except all the marks were on top of each other, and we were running out of room on that one spot for the dates. When I took him to his pediatrician, he would say, "Don't worry. You're short. Your husband is short. Sure, his growth doesn't even track on the chart, but statistically speaking, he's right where he ought to be."

Right.

So I put up with that answer for a couple of years, and then found out (through the amazing insights of a pediatric dentist), that all we needed to discover if there was anything pathologically wrong was a wrist x-ray. That would tell us his bone age, and we could decide from those results if further inquiry was necessary to determine the source of the problem. (If there actually was one. Which I was pretty sure there was, despite my lazy doctor's opinion.)

So I went back to the dolt of a pediatrician and demanded a wrist x-ray. Reluctantly, he agreed. Lo and behold, our 5 year old had the bone age of a 2 1/2 year old. "Okay Dr. Smarty Pants. Now what?"

So we were referred to an endocrinologist and several blood tests, MRIs, and consultations later, we had a diagnosis of Growth Hormone Deficiency (GHD) for Nate.

Treatment for GHD? Daily injections of synthetic growth hormone... to the tune of about $50,000/year, which our insurance company did not like to pay. So, after about a year and a half on the stuff, and six or seven inches of growth later, he was no longer eligible to receive the treatment.

Bummer. He was left to drop off the charts again.

But don't feel bad for Nathan. Oh no! It seems his pituitary has a mind of its own these days. It seems to have forgotten that it doesn't work properly.

In the past year, his clothes have apparently all shrunk. His voice, which used to sound like mine, has suddenly begun to echo his father's deep, resonating tone. And the rage... Oh! the hormonal rage... Yup. Nathan seems to be growing as quickly as he did during those first few months of treatment (4 1/2 inches in 6 months! ...It was like watching Gumby stretch!)

But after all that hard work getting him diagnosed (a process that took about a year, and was actually the motivation for my return to higher education), I actually said these words the other day as he pointed out another pair of jeans he can no longer fit into:

"Nathan! Stop Growing! We can't afford you any more!"

...Definitely one of my prouder parenting moments.

Ode to Wayno

Wayno, Oh, Wayno...

Wherefore art thou Wayno?

This poem will be lamo,

But my love is like a ....volcano (?)

So here is my prose,

Though you'll want to turn up your nose.

You once gave me a rose

When you were a gardener with a hose.

Your birfday is here.

Let's all shout and cheer.

Your 40th is near.

I sure wish you could hear.

You're such a good dude,

Even when you're in a bad mood.

But don't give me 'tude

Cuz I feed you good food.

I love you, my sweet

(Except for your feet).

Marrying you was a treat,

You really are neat.

Here's to million more kisses

And Happy Birthday wishes

Before you sleep with the fishes.

I'm off to yell at the boys to do dishes!

I LOVE YOU, Baby! Happy 10th annual 29th Birthday!!!

I'm a Winner!

I really am... at least according to my new Bloggy friend , Kelly Beeson, from Mesa, AZ. (As if I don't have enough friends who live in Mesa! Though this one wound up there by other means than completing dental school at UOP. Seriously, Kelly...If you click on about half the names on my blog list, you will find a bunch of your neighbors that just opened up dental offices in the Mesa area. It's better than 1-800-DENTIST. )

Kelly is a sharp witted California transplant who is much like me, in that she loves chocolate hazelnut, loves Disneyland (especially the Indiana Jones ride, which Kelly Rochester and I rode about 7 times last time we were there in April), and dances around in her kitchen wearing heels and a fabulous apron to do housework.

...Okay. You caught me. I've never actually done the last thing.

We quite unalike, however, in that she is supertall and I am super-not-tall. I think if we ever did meet in real life, we would be a very funny pair, seeing as how I am about as tall as her inseam. We'll have to document that if she ends up out this way for her family's potential Thanksgiving getaway.

In celebration of Kelly's 1 year blogaversary, she gave away a gen-u-ine Chinatown Coach bag... AND I WON!!!! So, Kelly, I promised you a fetching outfit to go along with the stylishness due a gorgeous knock-off like this but unfortunately, I hardly ever dress in anything besides necrotic gray scrubs these days. So here it is, in all its glory, hanging off my short little arm.

Thank you!!! I will wear it well!