I Caved.

So, I caved.  Well, not I, the mrs. but I, the person with a real name.

I joined facebook this afternoon, and tonight went to a presentation by an FBI agent with a great southern accent who deals strictly with crimes against children that technology has effected in some way.  And guess what his attitude about social networking sites was--not good. 

What have I done?

If you are here visiting because of FB, welcome --and you can see more of my legs up in the upper right hand corner. (I've worked very hard for those legs.)

I probably should change that little FB thing. 

(Just in case I do change it, here's the description:  My profile picture is the same as the one here, only it's the front of my legs.  In the something section, I put, "Like my legs?  See more at becomingversed.com."  That probably would not look too good to that FBI agent, would it?)

Anyway, welcome.

I hope you can take a minute to look around and hopefully enjoy.

My favorite posts are in the funny section.

If you'd like to be introduced to my family's legs, go to the Introduction.

If you want a bit churchy with some personal notes, go to sunday school.

You can look forward to some posts about dog wrestling, true confessions and some lessons I've learned in my time here on earth.

(One of the most wonderful being that I've found a great colorist.)

Oh, and I don't usually use our real names here because of paranoia I had before tonight's presentation.  If that causes some confusion, let me know and I will try to make things a little more clear.

Hasta la Vista

and I hope you come by to visit often!

Sincerely,

the mrs

Little mr. j loves babies

portrait of baby by little mr. j

Before we get into this, I want you to know something about little mr. j. 

He is a go getter. 

He makes things happen.

Last Saturday I cut my boys' hair.  (Even my mr.'s.)

It's a selfish economic deal really.  I save money on their hair so I can spend it on mine.

The clippers are easy and they usually come out looking pretty handsome.

It works.

(Side note:  The clippers I bought this time have the coolest eyebrow attachment.  We're keeping very good care of my mr.'s old man bushy brows.)

It's a very fun time. 

Lots of interesting conversation.

And it all takes place in my bathroom. 

My bathroom, where earlier in the day a tweener son decided to go through some drawers that belong to me.  His mother. Who is female.

This is how the conversation went:

my mr., "little mr. b, why don't you ask your mom what those things you found in her drawer are for?"

little mr. b (with- I can't believe you said that dad- eyes), "mom, what are those things in your bottom drawer for?"

the mrs., "little mr. b, did you get in my drawer?" (purpose-to buy time and to think how I was going to get back at my mr. for not dealing with it when he knew about it --so not fair.)

little mr. b, "yes."

the mrs., "well, you know how mom's have babies, right? (he nodded head) well, the babies grow in a place in the mom's abdomen called the uterus."

At this point I have decided that my revenge to my mr. would be honesty.  As totally honest as possible-as far as I could take it. It's time little mr. b knew and I knew it would make my mr. un-com-fort-able.

the mrs. continues: "Every month, the uterus gets ready, just in case a baby gets made and it needs a healthy place to grow.  If an egg doesn't get fertilized by some sperm, there isn't a baby, the stuff that lines the uterus has to empty out. That stuff that lines the uterus is blood and about once a month, a women's body bleeds."

little mr. b, "Where does it come out?"

Oh boy.

I'm not writing this part.  You know it. 

We talked about how the female body is different than the male body.

little mr. b, "So how do you use that stuff?  Do you swallow it?"

fyi-said stuff he is referring to are called tampons.

I'm not writing this part either. You know it.

We talked about how the female body is different than the male body.

Then, because, I wanted to make my mr. squirm, I said, "and did you see those other things in there?  The ones that look kind of like skinny diapers?  Well, those are called pads and women use those, too."

And then, because the conversation was going swimmingly,
I added, "Would you like to know how sperm fertilize the eggs and how babies get made?"
little mr. b did not.


I had forgotton that little mr. j was sitting next to his dad, listening to this.

little mr. j wants a baby.

In a very bad way.

He jumped up and said, "YES, YES, YES, I want to know how to make a baby!"

I stopped there.

Sunday School

Today in Sunday School, we talked about Noah.
Lesson: Have faith & prepare.

Short lesson.

Ok-but this church world is so small sometimes, it's awesome.
The family we sat behind in our main meeting had an uncle visiting.  He used to live right by where we used to live in Washington state in a much different time period.
And.
I sat by a woman, in our third meeting, who lived in our Texas congregation and moved to a different one in the same area right before we moved in.  So funny to know some of the same people and to have never met until they visited some of their family who recently moved into our congregation . They've also left Texas and it was so nice to comisserate on how much we miss the lovely city we left.
(Oklahoma- I do love you.)
And.
There were no Utah connections. I don't have many Utah connections.
How about that?

How a sugar cookie set my course in life

cookies baked by the mrs, gloriously decorated by the misses

A while back, there was a television program - I think it was called "Secret Life of a Soccer Mom."  I could be wrong on the title, but here's a synopsis: they take a stay-at-home mom, find out what her dream life/career would have been had she not chosen the life at home, put her in it and see how it works.  At the end, they would offer her a chance to keep a part of that dream.

My kids asked me what I would choose to do. 

I used to want to be a spy.  I used to want to be a teacher. 

But for as long as I can remember, all I really wanted to be was a mom at home.

That's what I told them.  "My dream was to be a mom and be at home."  That probably wouldn't make the show very exciting, but I don't need documentation-I'm living my dream.

Then I started thinking--why? Why?  Why is what I've always wanted?  It's certainly not glamorous and there's little if no external validation. 

If my mom is reading this, she's going to go down the guilt road--it's all her fault, guilt, guilt, guilt. 

Stop now, please, mom. 

You were the best for me and my choices were made independant of the choices you made. 

I love you.

My choice was made all because of a sugar cookie.

A sugar cookie at a Valentine party in third or fourth grade.  Mark's mom made it.

The heart shaped cookie was thick and soft.  The frosting was light pink and beautiful.

The edge of the heart had a flowing white scallop and written on the inside was my name. 

In cursive.

Spelled correctly.

And there wasn't just a cookie for me.  There was one for every child in that class.

I was going to do that someday.  I would be that mom.

Now ask me-have you ever made those cookies for your children & classmates? 

Answer-look at the photo-I can bake, but I lack the decorating skills, besides, at all the elementaries we've attended, you have to practically knock other women over to get to the sign in sheet to be room mom & call the shots about treats and parties & all that (not that I am complaining). I'm just not into fighting other moms.

(We are blessed.)

And yes, I am that mom. 

I care. I love. I'm there.

(Well, not at every class party, but you know what I mean.)

Thank you, Mark's mom from a very, very long time ago in a classroom at Theresa Bunker Elementary.

Thank you, my mom.

Thank you, my mr.  Children don't make themselves.

Thank you, miss h, miss s, little mr. b, little mr. j for helping me eat all those cookies this weekend.

And thank you dear sugar cookie for getting me to where I am today.

The Little Fish That Died or The Dog (preface part deux, deux)

mr darcy

I am sad to report that the fish was brought home.

It was alive.

It is now dead.

It is not my fault.

As for the fish's name,

it is not my fault either.

If you would like to know what I am speaking of,

go read The Dog (preface)

and

The Dog (preface part deux).

Sunday School

Today was high counsel Sunday.
That means a man comes to speak in our main meeting and brings along another speaker.
The LDS cultural stereotype of this meeting is that it is B-o-r-i-n-g.

We have had three of these Sundays in the last five weeks.  --because of all the bad weather with canceled meetings and shortened meetings and the like.

So I went into our main meeting with a little trepidation.  I was worried about falling asleep. I was worried about my mr. falling asleep.
We are a little sleep deprived at our house.

But, hallelujuh, it was pretty entertaining and enlightening.

Topic: "Joy in the Journey"
First speaker -older gent- softer spoken- used entertaining stories from his youth to make his points about the journey of life.

Second speaker- younger gent- reminded me of my cousin, Ben-loud and fast talker (ok, Ben's not loud or fast, he just looked and used words like Ben)-far from the norm

When he said the words "suck" and "minutia" over the pulpit, I had to stop myself from laughing and saying out loud, "He said 'suck'-at the pulpit!"

I did not fall asleep. 
And I noticed my mr.'s eyes stayed wide open the whole time (ask if that happens every Sunday-it doesn't-main meeting in church is a very peaceful place for my mr.).

Speaker two's main point was finding joy through service to the Lord (by serving others).

He talked loud, he talked fast, and every one of his main points could have been a 15 minute speech in themselves.

Awesome.

I learned (again) that I really shouldn't judge.  I should just accept.
I should go to bed earlier. And---
I found joy in the journey today.
Hope you do, too.

Bad Dreams

We've  had a rash of bad dreams at our house.

I remember walking down my little girl hall, trying to find my parents, only to have the wall be a wall of monsters-moving, little monsters trying to get me. The hall kept getting longer as I walked. I can still feel the fear.

I remember having to go back to my own bed and having to be brave.  It would've been so much easier to not have to be brave alone.

So here is my statement of beliefs regarding the dreams that get to us-be they monsters or falling or deepest fears:
When they come, you should scream loud and run to your mommy's bed and get in as fast as you can and stay there.

When heads are clear and mommy asks what the dream was about.  Answer as bravely and honestly as you can.  It will help.

Especially when your dream can be described as this,
"Miss s took my cookie and then she ate it."

Oh the horror.