Not My Day

Yesterday my day started off great. I woke up refreshed, got a good workout. . Let that be a lesson to me. Things can always get worse. Observe.

When blow-drying my hair, I began smelling burning. . .curious. Ah! It's me, or rather, it's a chunk of my hair now lying in my hand! I panic because today is Sawyer, my future stepson's birthday party at Discovery Gateway (the Children's Museum at the Gateway Outdoor Mall), which I have pretty much planned and am super-excited for. I'll be seeing lots of people today, some friends of Stuart's that I have never met. . . .Now, they get to meet Stuart's bald fiancee. With Katie's help I discover it's not that bad. Okay, moving on.

Next, it's time to get Sawyer's birthday balloons. Walking into the store, I can tell this is going to be a moment involving special people. . . and don't worry, they made special balloons. At the rate of paint drying. Okay, little hiccup, but I can recover.

I am now on my way with a car FILLED with balloons (I'm serious, I can't see out the backseat) to meet Stuart and Sawyer for birthday brunch before going to the party.

Sawyer declares on the way to breakfast that he will only be eating cake today. Stuart and I retort that if he wants cake he will be eating breakfast today.

. . .Something is wrong with Sawyer. We get served delicious French toast and Sawyer just sits there (and I mean, he curls himself into a ball and moans, whines, and yawns). Stuart and I roll our eyes, assuming this is some sort of stand-off for cake.

Soon Sawyer is saying his tummy hurts.

Try as we might, we cannot get Sawyer to eat anything. 45 minutes later, we decide that he may have a stomach ache from all the junk food he ate yesterday at the Bees Game. Sawyer's crying in the backseat is further supporting that conclusion.

Stuart runs in the store to grab kids-whatever-make-Sawyer's-stomach-better-so-he-can-have-a-fun birthday-party-medicine and I put Sawyer on my lap while we wait.

"I'm sorry you don't feel good, Buddy."

Sigh.

More Sigh.

Now Heavy Breathing.

"That's weird," I think. "Maybe he's just.. . . "

We are now standing outside the car. Sawyer's popcorn from yesterday now lies on the ground in front of us. And on my pants. . .and shirt. . .and my seat in the car.

Stuart comes out of the store to see his fiancee covered in vomit and his son crying because this has just scared him to death. Stuart cleans off what he can using some clothes found in the car and changes Sawyer into new clothes. I am not so lucky.

Sawyer seems to feel better now and now we are off to the party, after Stuart realizes he has left his debit card at the restaurant, which we decide to get it later, which means we will be paying with the debit card that is in the car, mine.

We are late. Can you blame us? And party-people are standing outside with gifts and smiles (and probably secret laughter after they see me). I stand as far away from the information desk as possible with still being in proximity to it so the perky girl at the counter can hear me speak. . because honestly, I am starting to ripened at a dangerous level.

I quickly grab the wrist-bands for the party, fling them at Betty and walk as fast as I can (Damn heels!) to the closest retail clothes store. Walking in, I bark orders at the closest anorexic salesclerk to get me a pair of jeans in my size (yeah, right, like I'd tell you what size I am) and find the least expensive shirt in my size. When I get to the register I REEK! The salesclerk is nice though.

"My four-year-old threw up on me." I say.

"Oh." Click. Instant understanding. And probably more inside laughter.

I change in the dressing room into vomit-free clothes, and now I am running back to my car, where the "special" balloons await and throw my clothes in the trunk.

Special Balloons - $12.00

Uneaten Breakfast - $6.00

New Replacement Outfit - $70.00

Employees at the Gateway getting the laugh of their lives - Priceless

When I arrive at the party, it seems to be going well now. . .until Sawyer, the saddest birthday boy I've ever seen loses his steam again and it's determined that he has a bug, not just a bad eating habit. The remainder of the party is spent with Sawyer being passed from lap to lap in between more rapid trips to the bathroom (thank goodness it's across the hall). He lack-lusterly opens his gifts and barely has the energy to blow out his cheery candle.

Sawyer is the first to leave his party and my parents and I are the last as we pack up his presents, I cut my finger badly on one of them, and cry myself back to the condo, where our birthday boy is now comfortably resting in bed.

Later, Sawyer wakes up feeling a little better. He plays with his balloons and new toys, but declines any birthday cake, the only thing he had wanted to eat all day.

We end the day with Hungry, Hungry Hippos, new books, and Stuart and I passed out on the couch (But not before we eat the rest of the Kettle Corn from yesterday and two huge pieces of Sawyer's birthday cake) with stomach aches.

Can I have a do-over?

10 Days and Counting

I am 10 school days left.  I'm not sure that it will come soon enough.  My students are basically checked-out.  I can't even get some of them to bring a pencil at this point.  What's next, their shoes?

Some people think that school teachers are lazy people who picked their career based on the words, June, July, and August.  While this might be true for some, this is one teacher who is tired, and finds that she works a lot of hours in the other months to sort of even it all out in the end.  Not to mention, I'm getting a money-itch so in no time, I'll be at my other job full-time through the beautiful summer months saying, "Thanks for calling Marriott,"

Does work ever end?  Retirement seems a long, long ways away.

I Love My Mommy!

Moms are the best. In my almost 28 years, my mother has been there for me through thick and thin. Has guided me, fed me, has worked numerous hours for me, has shown me how to be a lady, taught me how to color, cook, sew, wash and clean things, write, read, drive, shave my legs, curl my eye-lashes, and be a good and honest person, has sacrificed things for herself for me, has laughed with me, cried with me, cried for me, scolded me when I needed it, praised me when no else has, is my biggest fan, has advised me, has been example of a true friend to me, has taken me in when I had no where else to go, would still take in if I had no where else to go, has listened to me, talked to me, spoken on behalf of me, prayed for me, and is basically my hero. I know no one else who is as selfless and giving as my mother!
I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day!

All Carrots and No Ice Cream Makes Cambria A Dull Girl

C-Note: So, Stuart started a diet.
K-Fab: Oh really, what diet?
C-Note: A diet where he doesn't eat ANYTHING! No ice cream, no nothing.
K-Fab: Oh, so the NO-FUN Diet?!
C-Note and K-Fab: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

I give!
I have a fiancee on a diet. A BFF on a diet. And the character in the book I'm reading is on a diet!
I can't deny the signs. But you better expect to see me grumpy without my proper ice cream intake!

Perdiddle!

Last night, Stuart and I were driving home from the movies. . okay, we were actually driving home from ice cream after the movies, when all of a sudden, passing us was a car with only one headlight.  Without any hesitation, as if some instinct in me was controlling my arm, I punched Stuart as hard as I could and yelled "PERDIDDLE!"  

Poor Stuart, and his non-savvy, California-ways, was totally clueless as to why his fiancee whom he had just made happy moments before with ice cream was punching him (in all fairness, and Stuart will attest to this, I really did not punch him all that hard because I was laughing so much.  Still, the very act was confusing.). 

After I regained my composure (No I didn't), I was utterly clueless as to why Stuart had never heard of this delightful game.  My sister and I spent years giving each bruises playing this game and when I became a teenager, it was no less fun beating up my nearest and dearest friends with one hand on the wheel.

Then I thought, "maybe it's a Utah thing."  I was sure that Katie would know what it was, but when I asked her, she had never felt the joy of yelling "Perdiddle" and smacking her friends either (well, she smacked her friends, she didn't have a cool word to yell with it).  Weird, weird.

Am I the last cool person on earth (insert joke at my expense here)? 

I Heart Brownies

I don't know how anyone could not like brownies.  They are chewy,  soft, and they are full of chocolate.  What's not to like?  Today I brought brownies to work for an after-work baby shower.  This pan of brownies has been sitting here next to me all day taunting.  "Cambria!  Cambria!  Don't you want a brownie, Cambria?!!"  As if I am not already going to look like a freak for having two brownies missing from the pan.  Now, there might be a third.

Next to ice cream, there is no dessert I would rather have.  It could be the most exquisite delicacy from France or somewhere exotic and I would always take the brownies.  Call me a Utah girl.  Call me hoakie, but brownies are where it's at.

When I was in college I would make a pan during finals week and enjoy chew chocolately-filled hours writing papers.  No one was allowed to eat them except for me.  Not my ex-boyfriend, not my ex-roommates.  I am pretty sure I would not have shared them with my own mother (Love ya, Mom!)

I LOVE BROWNIES!. . I just realized that writing about brownies is only making me crave this pan next to me more.  I'll have to make another pan tomorrow (Love ya, Stuart.  You know I am so bad for out diet).

These brownies are making me nuts.  Ew.  That is one thing I do not LOVE, nuts in brownies.  I hope you agree, readers.  Seeing brownies with nuts is like seeing a pair of fabulous shoes on sale and then being told there are no more 8 1/2 left.

Who writes a whole blog entry about brownies?  Better yet, who reads a whole blog entry about brownies?

Reading Is The New Black

So yesterday, one of my favorite new authors had her new book come out.  Jen Lancaster is so funny she literally makes me laugh out loud when reading her delightful books.  Her first book was so awesome in fact, that I was trying to device a way in which I could buy the rights and write it into a screenplay.  It's that funny.  

So her new book came out yesterday (I have all my favorite modern authors' book releases penciled into my calendar.  Yes, I am that awesome.).  I want nothing more than to get out of work with my adorable teenagers and dash to the bookstore.  Only problem is that I have many obstacles in my way.  My night class (stupid Tuesdays), going to the gym, grocery shopping, and making brownies for a baby shower I am attending today (don't worry that the pan mysteriously has two brownies missing.  I'm as surprised as you).  So, with all these conflicts, I think that maybe i can still get in maybe two hours of reading before my 10 p.m. bedtime (11 p.m.).

However, when I get to the lovely Barnes n' Noble in Provo (don't ask. . .my class in is happy valley), there is no "Such a Pretty Fat" in sight.  In fact, the only book I can seem to see is Stephenie Meyer's new book.  Now I love Bella and Edward as much as the next gal, but seriously?!  Upon asking the nice, but helplessly dumb salesclerk to find my book (PRONTO!) can can't find it.  Not in the back..still not in the back.  "I'm sorry.  Do you want me to order it for you?"  yeah right.  

So, after I skip out of my class early, I drive to yet another two bookstore and it is nothing but The Host" as far as the eye can see.  Who does Stephenie Meyer think she is, anyway?  

Finally, an intelligent soul finds it (I swear, sometimes, I imagine myself in another world being a friendly book clerk.  But then I would probably turn out like the snobby record store clerks in "High Fidelity.").

Major Disaster avoided.. . .oh yeah.  I totally bought the Stephenie Meyer book too.

Books are my crack.

The Test Is In The Directions

Today, I have to administer I very boring and very "important" state-standardized test to my students.  This goes on pretty much all week and it sucks the life out of me while I sit in careful silent checking my email and sucks the soul out of my students who must succumb to rows, dictatorial teacher-authority, and awful silence (all in the midst of spring, otherwise known in the teenager world, as goof-off season).

But, while I do have a certain empathy for my students, I still must wonder at the competency of some of their listening skills.  When the directions of a test state "Do not open your test booklet until I have told you to do so," you would think that this would be simple enough, right?  You would think that a fifteen-year-old could handle this, yes?  But NO!  Not so.  Many of them just can't help themselves.  They must open the booklet.  It is like some sort of  magnetic force inside them is prompting them "Open the book!"  

So. . .I, of course, get to stop.  Look at the student.  Watch the wheels turning inside their heads. "Why is the teacher staring at me?"  Pause.  "Why is the teacher staring at me?"  More pause.  Teacher, "Please DO NOT OPEN YOUR BOOKLET UNTIL I Have instructed you to do so!"  Oh.  Student is embarrassment.  Teacher. .really, is embarrassed enough for everyone.  Jeez. 

 Simple instruction.  50% failure from students.  Perhaps I should grade them on whether or not they are able to accomplish listening-skills during my instructions. . but, then I would probably be sending too many to summer school.

Sigh.  20 more school days.

One Year and A Day

So, my fiancee and I have dating for one year yesterday.  He is wonderful. Utterly the best man I've ever met.  He took me to sushi yesterday (we met at a sushi restaurant) and we had an awesome weekend together hanging out, eating, and watching Twin Peaks.

Ladies, don't settle until you find one like this one.  Stuart was totally worth the wait and trials.  He is my best buddy, my confidant, one makes me laugh, smile, and so so happy.

Baby, I love you!