About my ying and his yang

Both Clint and I nervously spoke in church this past Sunday.  Clint's talk was spiritual and thoughtful.  A couple sitting in the second row sobbed.  My talk was irreverent and amusing.  A wife had to shush her husband because he was laughing so loud.   Both Clint and I had the missionaries over for dinner tonight.  Clint asked them how God's errand was going and about their general well-being.  I asked them what's the worst meal they'd ever been served, what they want to be when they grow up, Paul Ryan Yeah or Nay (Paul who? they said), and if we could play a round of guess their first name.  The visit ended either two ways - they left feeling spiritually uplifted or they left feeling refreshed by the change of pace.  Both are good feelings.  So invite us to your parties.  Clint will inspire you to finally make that change you've known you should have made a long time ago, and I'll make you feel like you're doing everything right.

    

about NPR

My unenviable children have only the sweet sounds of NPR's lulling commentary to listen to while driving with me.  

Clint's better at balancing talk radio and Top 40, and is their source for all things current.  For the 8 minutes a week the kids are alone with Clint in the car, they suck up all things Katy Perry and the like, committing to memory every verse and chorus, to later use as ammunition on the playground against the assault of "you're the loser who can't sing along with your friends cuz you don't know the words cuz you're mom's a loser too".  Unfortunately for my children, I'm the head chauffeur so NPR is their primary source of sound waves.  

And they're listening.  Sort of.  Emersen's probably learning a thing or two through osmosis, but Asher's paying attention.  While listening to All Things Considered, Asher's interest was piqued and it lead to a very enlightening, albeit controversial, exchange.

Asher: "What does "the Republicans want Obama out" mean?"

Me: "It means there's some people called the Republicans that don't want Obama to be president anymore."

Asher: "How do they make it so he can't be president anymore?"

Me: "A bunch of grown-ups get together in a room and they say "Raise your hand if you want Obama to go away" and if most of the people in the room want Obama to go away, then he does."

Asher:  "But isn't Obama the President of America?"

Me: "Yes."

Asher: "But doesn't Jesus love America and think that America is the best ever?"

Me: "Yes."

Asher:  "So does that mean that Jesus doesn't love the Republicans?"

Me: "........"

For safety reasons involving myself and family members, my response to last question will not be made public at this time.

NPR's reporting runs the gamut; some reports are preceded with disclosures about possible upcoming inappropriate material for the younger listener. 

Here is the reply I offered Asher to his question while listening at home to a streaming episode of Diane Rehm.  Tell me if you could have done any better -

Me: "Uh, hmmm, well, it's a, it's you know, um, a, uh, thing that maybe, uh, maybe when you're a little older I will, um, I can explain it to you."  





Asher's question: "Mom, what's Gay Sex?"

about free food

Deal of the Day at Sonic: 

When you order a Large Dr. Pepper, 2 Corn Dogs, a Cheeseburger, a Power-Aid Slush, and Medium Sweet Potato Tots, your order is free!  It's a $10 and change savings.  

But you must act quickly

Here's the deets- 

Starting at 9:30am, paint your daughter's ceiling.  90 minutes later, stupidly rinse out a paint tray in the gutter.  Plead to your God that the neighbor cop won't come out of her house since you're clearly breaking a law concerning the proper disposal of a chemical substance.  Swear a bit when you notice that the more hose water you spray, the more you add to the stationary pools of white water in the gutters of the two houses flanking your own.  Swear again and spend the next 20 minutes herding Benjamin Moore Dove White down the gutter towards the storm drain that looks to be 37 miles away.  You'll run out of hose before you can make much of an impact, so you'll arrive at a point where all you're doing is wasting water.  After you feel you've done all you can to shift the culpability from you to another neighbor, run inside and quickly change out of your dedicated painting apparel - very low slung since the elasticity has stretched to it's limits during both pregnancies, gray GAP yoga stretchy pants, with a 6 inch hole in the crotch, that you purchased 20 lbs ago.  On the way out the door to pick up your already waiting at the curb Kindergartner, whose asking at that very moment "why is my mommy always late, teacher? doesn't she love me?" grab your wallet since you promised the little ones lunch from Sonic.  Upon arriving, order the meal as stated above.  Notice you have $6 dollars in your wallet and no debit card (the misplaced debit card is a highly occurring event as most of your friends can attest to since you have a running tab with at least 4 of them) to pay for a bill of $10 and change.  Curse to yourself that YET AGAIN, it's looking like you'll need to drive up to the window to tell them you have no way to pay for your meal (you're no stranger to this).  Pat yourself down and say a silent prayer of gratitude that in your haste to dress, you clothed yourself in the same apparel as yesterday, which has the thin plastic form of victory in your back pocket.  At the point of sale, with your debit card between your legs, patiently wait for several minutes.  The line in back of you will be at least 6 cars deep, all waiting on you and your tots.  Panic will start to set in because you know that when you're waiting in the drive-thru 6 cars back YOU blame the gluttonous driver at the window for the delay because clearly they've ordered too much food for the the poorly staffed kitchen to quickly microwave.  After several more minutes of listening to the employee yell at thirty second intervals "How's it going on her tots?", "Her tots ready yet?", "Lady's waiting for her tots" you're now VERY aware of the drivers in the waiting cars, watching their 30 minute lunch break tick to an end.  After waiting at least 8 minutes, weak with anxiety, Sonic will finally hand you your items; you'll be too relived to notice the outstretched fingers waiting for payment - just gun the gas and drive off with your debit card still between your legs.  

Not to fret.  Hell is still a ways off.  About a mile down the road, you'll realize your folly, but continue on.  5 hours later, swing by and they'll thank you for your honesty by comping your meal.  And they'll throw in a mint.

About my happenings

Bi-annual posting coming your way.  Because I tend to ask more questions about you than I answer about myself, it seems the only insight you can glean regarding my happenings are provided by my hanging on a thread blog.  I'm like a blank canvas.  Let's color it in a little with irrevocably true information about the last 6 months - I've ran a marathon a day; I've slogged through Moby Dick and didn't skip ANY of the whaling chapters; I've learned Cantonese.  Twice. Dà Zhīfáng Sāhuǎng.

For realsies.  Our home address is a little different.  We're a few miles east of our (sniff sniff) Alameda house.  After reviewing 9 offers, we chose to sell it to an older-ish couple who both grew up in Tempe and whose family 25 years ago owned the liquor store I frequented with my mother as a wee lass and from which I 5-finger-discounted a pack of rolos.  The smuggled goods were later quietly fished out from my pants pocket where the warm summer day had turned 10 individually wrapped rolos into 1.  It was devoured in it's entirety, paper and all - the fear of chocking on aluminum wrappings and being caught completely tainting the experience.

The new homeowners won our hearts after writing a letter gushing and goo-ing at the beauty of the house.  We closed on a Thursday afternoon and by Friday morning, the Alameda estate's beauty included a stripped kitchen and several demolished walls.  The homeowners are making room for their custom ordered sink from Paris.  No joke.  Miss you orange Formica countertop.

The children fair well.  Emma's in 5th grade and Asher's in Kindergarten.  Do I have a picture of either of them on their first day of school?  No. Did I have every intention of photographing them on their second day of school and lying about when it was taken?  Yes.  Did I photograph them on their second day of school?  No, and neither any subsequent day.  They'll forgive me for the missing scrapbook page.  Wait, I don't scrapbook.  Terrible mom am I.  A mess all around.  I do have a picture of Asher doing his best impersonation of Ray Charles.  Is it PC to scrapbook a picture of Asher impersonating a blind man?  Jury's still out.

about backpacking

Camping is a bit masochistic, no?  Yet I continue to endure it.  It's difficult and dirty and hot and cold and dirty and tiring and dirty. And while camping is all of those things, this past weekend we Draneys and Sauers made things more difficult, if that's even possible, by packing everything onto our backs and walking a mile away from the dedicated ipod charger that is our car.

After the exhausting mile hike up the most treacherous terrain known to man, also referred to as Horton Creek Trail 1: Grade Gentle, we picked the site we deemed would be most suitable for unicorn sitings...






... and a few gypsy children were spotted as well.







This gypsy girl gave a convincing modelesque pose...

...and of course man did the stupid manly stuff that man does when he's in the manly wilderness environment.











It's the poor, wincing manly-man on the bottom who came up with the grand idea to leave our DVRs and memory foam pillows.  Meals consisted of virtually weightless Mountain House dehydrated beef teriyaki, oatmeal, and a bag of crushed, dry peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Trader Joes sponsored our excursion by providing us with plenty of dehydrated fruit to snack on, as well as a carton of mush that once resembled inside-out carrot cookies that someone thought would last the trek smashed between 2 sleeping bags (all fingers point to myself). We truly lived off the land and used the creek to supply our water for cooking, washing, and re-hydrating.


We only suffered through a few injuries -
a broken toe of a 4 year old after a powerful stubbing and a thrown out back by the 34 year old Clintly-manly-man after trying to escape what he claimed to be a fire-breathing wasp (fly).


I did my best to steal this baby's affections...









... and while her mother slept in until 9am(!!), the cutest baby in existence napped on my shoulder while I whispered subconscious disapproval about her mother still sleeping even though the baby and her brothers had been up since 6am and I would never do that to her and I would never take her backpacking if she didn't want to go and I'll always give her cookies for dinner...











Asher somehow managed to become more God-like in that he suddenly became buoyant enough to walk on water...











... oh, nope, that's just a rock he's standing on which makes more sense since somehow he managed to set the world record for being tattled on for bad behavior 54.9 times in the span of 24 hours.


Good highlights you ask? I'd have to say it was my friend's fabulous pork burrito I finished off at the Mexican restaurant we dined in on the way up to Payson, and the mushroom, garlic, tomato pizza we ate on the way out.  Trend alert:  I like food.


crap, I guess maybe the good company and memories can be considered highlights, but please but don't tell Clint or Ryan I said that since they'll throw it in my face when I say no to the next backpacking trip.

about cheesy yearbook quotes

Stay Sweet!
Don't Change!
2 Good 2 B 4-gotten!
KIT!
Have A Kick Butt Summer!
1953 called and wants their hat back.
Why do your lips look weird?

about losing my stuff

We're going to play a little game called WHERE IS JAYLEE'S WALLET and/or KEYS and/or PHONE and/or WEDDING RING?

At any time, I'm unable locate one or more of these objects. My wedding ring comes in first place as the most sought after article. I frequently remove it to wash my hands, clean the dishes, scratch my bum bum, etc., and I place it on whatever pseudo-flat surface is within arms reach. Last week it was precariously placed on the top of the couch's arm rest where it rested for several days. A year ago, my ring went missing for several weeks and after much searching, I assumed it had fallen out of my pocket (another favorite place I keep it) in some parking lot. To my great relief, I finally found it shoved in the crease of our couch. Afterwards, I vowed to always know where my ring was. That lasted about 9 minutes. Clint once found my ring amongst the carpet fibers on our bedroom floor and seized an opportunity to teach me a lesson. I quickly noticed it was MIA, and searched for several days, not letting it be known to Clint that anything was amiss, unaware that he had full knowledge of it's hidden location and was enjoying my panic. Tird.

The Second place/First loser reigning champ is my wallet. Recently, on a grocery shopping excursion, I grabbed for my wallet as I was getting out of the car, only to find it wasn't there, nor in any other of it's usual 12 spots. I figured it must have been left behind at Sunflower. Without panic, I drove back, secretly thanking the stars that I had left it at a Sunflower rather than a Walmart. Isn't that a terrible thing to say? I associate Sunflower with hippy-dippy, Merrel clad, curry smelling folk who wouldn't dare rock Mother Earth's boat by keeping a wallet's contents for themselves. I associate Walmart with hip-hoppy, nike clad, $5 Little Caeser's pizza take-out smelling individuals who would probably flip off Mother Earth if she unintentionally cut in front of them at a Redbox. I found my wallet in the cart I used, the cart that I had precariously positioned between 4 conjoining parking spots (I'm a lazy cart put-er away-er). Crisis averted.

I made my way to Walmart, bought my Herdez salsa (only $1.68!), and continued on to Frys. As I was getting out of the car, I noticed my phone was missing. I was certain that it came into Walmart with me, and I got in the car and drove back to Walmart. I looked for my strategically placed cart, only to find the parking lot had recently been swept. I spoke with the greeter, my checkout lady, and I backtracked my shopping path, only to come up empty handed. Customer service was a bust, suggesting that I call my phone (with what?). When I got home and had a phone, I called my cell, fully expecting to hear it ringing from some recess of the car, only to have someone answer it. Walmart's customer service was in possession of my phone and had been while I was at the store asking about it. They required that I fully explain my background image before releasing it back to me.



It's an inappropriate picture of a 4 year old?










I think I'm doomed and won't learn anything meaningful from these near misses until one time I actually come up empty handed. Any words of advice?