happy! anni..v…oh.

Yesterday marked the date that Cody and I became man and wife. Annoyer and annoyee. Our anniversary.

Neither of us have very good skills when it comes to romance and remembering important dates.

Ah well, at least we’re equally lacking in the area.

Before Cody left in the morning to die slowly in the law library yet again study for the bar he gently shook me awake.

OOH! He’s going to wish me a happy anniversary before he leaves for his class! ” I thought.

I made a genuine effort (keyword effort) to roll over awake and happy to see my betrothed and welcome his anniversary greetings.

“So, uh, there’s a dead mouse in the laundry room. In the trap. It may even still be alive, but anyway, it’s starting to smell and I’m running late. You’ll have to take care of it today.”

Oh.

Yes. Well.

Marriage.

Eight years later.

There you have it.

a uterine factory reset is scheduled.

Hi Internet.

How are you?

Me? I’m still kind of having a rough time. Cody has started studying hardcore for the bar, it should be against the law to study 12 hours a day for two months straight for ONE TEST.

But that’s just my opinion.

I have my house, but after having the utilities turned on to have it inspected, a pipe blew up somewhere in the ceiling and rendered a light fixture and bathroom fan makeshift water fountains. HURRAH FOR HOME OWNERSHIP!

(As an aside, the bathroom fan, when there is no shower to void humidity, what purpose does the fan truly serve? Is it to cover up noises? Or suck smelly air out? Because personally I think they suck at the latter. I could give examples but I just ate.)

Here’s the other thing. I have to have real surgery. Like I’m going to be konked out and have to sign release waivers and have things cut into me. My belly specifically. The next step to project moosh 2.0 is to factory reset my uterus with a good deep cleaning via  a laparoscopy (lappa-ross-kuppy).

I’m kinda scared.

They call it a “microinvasive” surgery. Regardless, it has the word INVASIVE in it and invasions are never good, unless it’s the invasion of lots of money into my bank account, or cheeseburgers into my mouth.

I’ve only been knocked out once for my wisdom teeth and I remember McSalad Shakers being the last thing I heard as I drifted under.

But this? I’m going to wake up after having stuff shoved in my belly. Sharp stuff. My uterus will have been roto rooted. That can’t feel good right? I had one friend who had a laparoscopic procedure done and their exact words?

“Oh, just feels like I’ve been STABBED IN THE STOMACH FIVE TIMES.”

eep!

And then there’s all these rumors of gas escaping out of your shoulders.

hold me!

Plus I watched Dateline years ago where they covered the whole topic of anesthesia working on your body but not on your mind. (Called anesthesia awareness, there’s an entire campaign. So don’t tell me it’s made up, if there’s a campaign? I have reason to be nervous.)

So basically you’re frozen stiff and everyone thinks you’re asleep but in reality you’re awake and can FEEL AND HEAR EVERYTHING.

I’m not allowed to watch Dateline anymore for a plethora of reasons, this one included.

Okay.

So.

There you go.

Busted pipes both in my ceiling and in my abdominal cavity.

June 23rd, a uterine factory reset is scheduled.

Good times!

wherein I fight to the death over (not in) green jell-o.

Amidst all this PC/religion/namecalling garbage a new kind of debate has aroused itself.

The religious/regional/cultural food debate.

I will admit that part of the reason I love living around a bunch of different denominations of Christians is the fish fry. Fish fries are proof that God loves us no matter what church we do or don’t go to and wants us to be happy, full of greasy fish, tartar sauce and cheap buns.

The other day I got this comment:

I’m offended because I’m Southern Baptist and we actually eat fried chicken, not fried fish…Ahem.

Lesson learned. (And she was kidding, lighten up people.)

The entire United States is unknowingly engaged in culinary battle. Take the KC/St. Louis BBQ battle. Or the Chicago/New York pizza battle. Utah is legendary for fry sauce (I MISS YOU FRY SAUCE) and Indiana boasts tenderloin as big as your head.

This brings me to Mormon food.

Funeral Potatoes.

Frog Eye Salad.

Hawaiian Haystacks.

Carrot Raisin salad.

Green Jell-O. (Often with pineapple, Cool Whip, cottage cheese and/or shaved carrots. (Dude, I don’t eat the stuff, I just defend it.))

We have entire Mormon Cookbooks and entire restaurants dedicated to the fine art of cooking with cream of mushroom soup and sour cream. WE PERFECTED THE JELL-O SALAD and also spawned Jell-O products Jell-O didn’t even know Jell-O could be used for.

Some guy out there with a lot of guns thinks he can claim Green Jell-O in the name of the Lutherans.

As if the threat of a lot of guns is going to scare me away from the truth.

Mormons are the only reason green Jell-O is still in production.

Ever heard of THE JELL-O BELT? That’s right, an entire area known for its Jell-O love thanks to a high concentration of Latter Day Saints. Utah’s State Snack Food? Jell-O.

In 2001, after an astounding 14,000 people had signed a petition, JELL-O was made the Official State Snack of Utah. Another fact is that the people of Salt Lake City actually eat more lime flavored JELL-O than any other city in the world. (Source and Source)

In. the. wooooorld.

I really didn’t want it to come to this. But Mr. Gunfighter was adamant that he (exact words)

Never.

Loses.

In.

Combat.

Allow me to show you a pin from the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City.

Where’s YOUR green Jell-O pin GUNFIGHTER?

Watch out dude, because I think you just got your Jellass handed to you with delicious pieces of pineapple and a dollop of Cool Whip by a Mormon, the true lovers and proper owners of the Green Jell-O stereotype.

Clean Blog, Clean House.

What is your biggest challenge when it comes to tidying up your house?

Mine? Is piles.

I have piles all over my house.

Piles of toys, piles of papers, piles of books…piles. piles, piles.

Don’t believe me?

WELL LET ME DIRECT YOU TO A VIDEO WITH TRISH SUHR TELLING ME TO GET RID OF THE PILES.

It’s one thing when your mom tells you to clean your room, it’s quite another thing when a perky blonde wearing pink with a thick southern accent admonishes you (and your husband) to get your act together. ON THE INTERNET.

FOR EVERYONE TO SEE.

Whatever, this opportunity has been the best one ever for me. To be able to talk out all my cleaning frustrations. Like that grayish blue furry crap everyone has on top of their fridge. You think my house is messy? GO LOOK ON THE TOP OF YOUR FRIDGE.

HA!

NO ONE IS IMMUNE!

when a stereotypical joke is funny. or is it?

It was  a beautiful day in Heaven.

All the new arrivals were loaded onto a bus at the pearly gates and taken on a tour of the many mansions in Heaven.

The bus driver, a surly man named Hank, welcomed everyone aboard and began the tour.

“On the right is the Catholics manion.” said Hank.

The passengers ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the ornate stained glass and gold staircases.

“Now up here on the left is the Southern Baptist’s mansion.” Hank said.

The smell of collard greens and fried fish was tempting to the hungry people on the bus, getting to Heaven is exhausting work.

Hank continued on showing off the Non-Denominational Christian mansion, the Seventh Day Adventist mansion and the mansion where people lived who didn’t really have a “religion” while on Earth. All were equally glorious, beautiful and ornate. Residents of each mansion milled about the beautiful grounds with residents from neighboring mansions.

It truly was Heaven.

Hank began to turn down a more secluded path, he killed the engine and put in in neutral. “Now I’m going to have to ask all of you to hold your talking for a minute right here and be reeeeaaaaallll quiet.” Hank said.

“Why?” whispered a small Rabbi from the back of the bus.

“Because,” Hanks voice was barely audible, “we’re about to pass the Mormons mansion and they think they’re the only ones here.”

*******

So this was told to me by someone whom I respect in my church. I think it’s funny. But with the recent “namecalling” debate what do you think? Is it okay because I’m the one telling it and am basically making fun of myself? Or is it worse because I’m the one telling it?

If it were coming from the mouth of someone who openly disliked the LDS religion would it cease to be funny?

Just curious.

DO YOU SEE WHY I’M SO PERPLEXED WITH ALL THIS PC GARBAGE PEOPLE?

watching pain.

Since it’s already pretty obvious to those who know me well, the passing of Madeline has hit me in a place I didn’t know I could be hit in. It’s a sort of triangle, from the center of my chest down to my stomach, it seizes, and when it does it leaves my head unable function, I forget to breathe. I have to remind myself to breathe.

And then I think of Heather.

“It feels like a dream. But not this part. The Maddie part. She was so wonderful and perfect, she couldn’t possibly have been real. Nothing that perfect is real. Except this pain. It is perfectly, exquisitely wretched.”

Reminders April 29, 2009

I’ve been on chat with her on a conference call when someone said “We’ve been to hell and back” in regards to an ill child.

Heather’s response was simply “They think they’ve been to hell and back.”

I woke up one morning to an email that said “Today was the second worst day of my life.” And then I thought about the first. Madeline.

Another time I received an email that ended with the sentence “I can’t believe this is my life.”

I was sitting in the Spohr’s living room after picking Tanis up from the airport, her words “You will never know worse pain than this.” suddenly made me feel inadequate, how could I ever help my darling Hedder who now knows the worst pain a human can possibly feel?

My sister and I were loyal ER watchers, have been for as long as I can remember. We were watching old episodes when she was out visiting and one of the actors said:

“When you lose a spouse you’re a widow, when you lose your parents you’re an orphan, but when you lose a child? There’s no word for that.”

There isn’t.

I haven’t wanted to write this post. I don’t want to make it about me. It’s not me who lost a child, yet when I look at the past eight weeks I realize I haven’t been the same. Others around me realize I haven’t been the same. When Heather says “I can’t believe this is my life” I look up and see my daughter playing on the floor, my husband making pancakes and a bright endless future in front of us.

Why Heather?

Why Madeline?

I know God has His reasons. And I understand in my own way why things like this happen. But why did He have to go and mess with my two best friends in less than a year? Why did I come out unscathed?

I’m so far away from both of them.

I miss them so much.

I finally admitted to Heather the other night how I felt. How I feel unjustly busted up over her loss and her pain. Again with all her infinite wisdom she replied “If this were reversed? I would be shattered for you. Sometimes making it all about you is the only way you can realize what someone else is going through.”

I can say this, loss has made Heather immensely eloquent.

When I said goodbye to Heather and left for the airport I was doing okay. But when I got to the airport and realized I was headed back to my life that was still the way I left it and leaving Heather and Mike alone on their couch?

I lost it.

I knew Maddie, I held Maddie, I was mesmerized by her. the moosh was mesmerized by her. She truly was the happiest baby and strongest little spirit I have EVER come across in my life. Her light made the moosh’s a warm glow in comparison.

She was NOT a sickly child. She was a force to be reckoned with.

I made the grown men on my first flight next to me very uncomfortable. I finally had to scribble out where I had been on a napkin and pass it to the man sitting next to me on my second flight.

I haven’t really picked up my camera since leaving LA, the last thing it captured was Madeline’s service. Heather has had a hard time picking hers up too. Her exact words? “My muse is gone.”

four purple ribbons copy

There is still a P.O. Box set up for letters, cards, hand knit tea cozies and Canadian candy (her favorite are Smarties.)

Every Tuesday adds a number to how long Madeline has been gone.

The eleventh of every month is a celebration of Maddie’s entrance into all of our lives.

The seventh of every month is punch in the tenders.

I have received emails from others of you who have had to watch as a close friend truly visits the hell that is losing a child. You realized what was affecting me so deeply before I did. I felt safe replying to you that “Yes, actually. I am wrecked.” but felt that I could never admit it to the rest of the world without looking like an excuse seeking pansy.

I love you Hedder. Thanks for letting me make this about me for a day.

Mike & Heather Spohr
11870 Santa Monica Blvd. #106-514
West Los Angeles, CA 90025

namecalling.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

My church has even put out a formal request to the media about how and when to use specific references to the Church.

The official name of the Church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This full name was given by revelation from God to Joseph Smith in 1838.—

While the term “Mormon Church” has long been publicly applied to the Church as a nickname, it is not an authorized title, and the Church discourages its use.

When writing about the Church, please follow these guidelines:

  • In the first reference, the full name of the Church is preferred: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
  • Please avoid the use of “Mormon Church,” “LDS Church” or “the Church of the Latter-day Saints.”
  • When a shortened reference is needed, the terms “the Church” or “the Church of Jesus Christ” are encouraged.
  • When referring to Church members, the term “Latter-day Saints” is preferred, though “Mormons” is acceptable.
  • “Mormon” is correctly used in proper names such as the Book of Mormon, Mormon Tabernacle Choir or Mormon Trail, or when used as an adjective in such expressions as “Mormon pioneers.”
  • The term “Mormonism” is acceptable in describing the combination of doctrine, culture and lifestyle unique to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
  • When referring to people or organizations that practice polygamy, the terms “Mormons,” “Mormon fundamentalist,” “Mormon dissidents,” etc. are incorrect. The Associated Press Stylebook notes: “The term Mormon is not properly applied to the other … churches that resulted from the split after [Joseph] Smith’s death.”

Okay. *yawn* Are we all on the same page?

Good.

Nine times out of ten I call myself a Mormon. Or LDS. Five times out of ten Mormon is spelled wrong by the general public (Morman, which let’s face it, I have enough man in my life.) and three times out of ten when I use the term LDS, a joke is made about LSD. It’s also really close to FLDS (the polygamists, I cover that one here.) and the RLDS (also a completely different religion.) so for most people I keep it to the simple two syllable term, Mormon.

You’re not going to offend me if you call me a Mormon. If you precede it with four letter words ending in “ing” my feelings may bruise slightly. As long as you’re not trying to be hateful? Call me whatever you want. Same goes for most people I know who share the same beliefs as me, as long as you’re not being a jerk? We can take a joke and you can call us whatever is most convenient (which most of the time is Mormon.)

Now I can’t speak for other groups in the world. Everyone is going to take name calling differently. I have made the grave mistake of deeply offending someone by using the term “Jew.” It was not in a hateful or anti-Semitic way, however taken out of context I can easily see where I went wrong. At the same time I see other people using the term “Jew.” Even Rabbi Shmuley, (who’s totally on twitter HI RABBI SHMULEY!) used the term “Jew” in one of his tweets.

rabbi shmuley's tweet

*sigh*

Is it one of those things where only those who are “in” are allowed to use the vernacular? *deep breath*

I hope you can understand why I’m frustrated. We’ve become so set as a society to take anything as an offense that we react before we think a lot of times.

Sometimes it’s easier to refer to someone as “the Jewish one” or “the gay one” or “the heavier one” or “the black one” or “the one in a wheelchair.”  It’s not because we’re all  Anti-Semites, homophobes, vain, racist or have something against handicapped people sometimes it’s just easier to point someone out with an obvious difference. You all know you have that one Aunt you refer to as “The Crazy One.” Every family has one.  I remember at BlogHer last year trying to tiptoe around the fact that Heather B. was black. So what? She is! And she refers to herself as such on her blog.

But is okay as a white person to call another person black because I’m not? Because I don’t understand what it means to be black? Should I keep to the more politically correct term of “African American?” Is it even okay for me to refer to myself as a white person? Because deep down (okay, my nose) is a Greek person, and under that (my pale skin) is an Irish person.

Honestly I don’t like it when white (caucasian) people refer to themselves as “crackers.” It makes me uncomfortable, much as I would imagine the N term makes black (African American) people feel. (See? I can’t even utter the N word. But you know what I’m talking about.)

Why is race and religion and physical appearance such a big deal? Our president is black, I’d make friends with a Baptist just as quick as I’d make a friend with a fellow Mormon and frankly this whole Prop 8 mess? I speak for myself (MYSELF) when I say that I’ve seen more same sex couples take their unions more seriously than a lot of “traditional” couples. (I’m looking at you Britney Spears.)

We all have value, and short of those derfwads floating around the world who live to hurt people by calling them names like a six year old bully, most of us aren’t out to hurt anyone else.

So if I use the word “Jew” and eat bacon in front of a Jewish person it’s not because I’m a jerk or Anti-Semite. While I’ll do my best to keep my pork consumption to myself I won’t always remember. It’s not my lifestyle.

Just as if you cuss up a storm and drink three glasses of wine in front of me, it’s not because you’re a jerk trying to hurt or offend me, it’s what YOU are used to. (Or your name is Tanis.)

And if somewhere along the lines I offend you or you offend me? I’ll be sure to tell you like a grownup. Just as I’d expect you to do the same. Because the likelyhood that I meant to hurt you? Is smaller than a fish’s eyeball.

moosh at indy 500.

the moosh was invited by one of her little friends to Carb Day at the Indy track today. (Where carb refers to carburetor NOT the carbs in beer. WHOOPS. Naive? I am. However there is massive beer consumption, or so I hear. *ahem*)

I was excited to hear her report upon her return. I mean, hello? Dozens of cars headed straight for you at 225 miles per hour! Fast turns! LIKE THE PISTON CUP BUT IN REAL LIFE! What four year old wouldn’t LOVE THAT?

When she walked in the door I asked “How was it!? What did you see!?”

Her response?

None of the other boys wore shirts. Ewww.

Ah yes. The day my daugther learned about rednecks and race fans.

And I wasn’t even there.