What's your Kryptonite?

Recently, one of the nation's foremost authorities on motherhood suggested the following: In spite of possessing incredible powers and heroic abilities, every Supermom has her weakness, something that sucks energy faster than a Suburban in need of a tune-up. Question is, what's yours?

I pondered this question as I was helping Cameron make an Albert Einstein sock puppet at ten-thirty last night. Why, you might ask, were we working so late into the night? Well, it seems that the magician who performed at the Cub Scout banquet earlier in the evening not only did some amazing card tricks, he made Cameron's memory of homework disappear. It's never good when, as he's passing by his backpack on the way to bed, your child says, "Uh-oh. I forgot about this." If you hear these words, you can be sure your over-taxed brain cells have just been called up for active duty. Kryptonite Source #1: Absent-minded children. On the bright side, because I resisted the urge to donate all my miscellaneous craft items to Deseret Industries on Monday morning, I didn't have to find a store that sold gray faux fur at eleven o'clock on Thursday night. Does hoarding craft supplies, just in case you might need them sometime in the next twenty years, count as a superpower?



I accept the fact that as long as we live in a civilized society which encourages the wearing of clothing, I will have to do laundry. I can live with this. The issue I have is not with the task, but the piece of machinery I must employ to accomplish said task. I know what you're thinking, "How bad can it be? You have a front load washer that is less than eight years old." True, but my washer has developed a nasty habit: it leaves black marks on the clothes. I feel like I'm playing laundry roulette every time I put a batch of clothes in the washer. The odds are against every item of clothing emerging unscathed. I have had the repairman come several times and he assured me that the problem was caused, not by any malfunction of the unit--like, perhaps a grease-leaking bearing--but by using too much detergent. So I use less detergent, and guess what? Black marks still. Let's examine the evidence. Grease tends to be black, and when it gets on things, it leaves--say it with me--black marks. Detergent is white, and when it gets on things...you know the rest. And so, Kryptonite Source #2: My washing machine--and the repairman. On the bright side, I plan to buy a new one with my tax refund. Know any former Jedis in need of a free washer?



It was brought to my attention recently that I am rearing culturally-deprived children. One of my boys announced that he has never seen Mary Poppins. What kind of red-blooded American mother doesn't feel duty-bound to sit down and view this timeless Disney classic at least once each year with her children? Apparently, mothers like me. I guess I kind of took it for granted that all the boys had seen every Disney movie ever made. To be fair, we don't even own a copy of Mary Poppins--singing-and-dancing movies aren't real popular in a house full of men--which partially excuses my lapse in parental facilitation. Kryptonite Source #3: Reality Checks. On the bright side, I intend to rectify the oversight this weekend. Anybody have a DVD I can borrow? On a semi-related note, Kryptonite Source #4: Arbitrary Societal Pressure. What?! You haven't read the Harry Potter or Twilight series? Have you been living in a cave for the past decade? No, I just prefer not to be a crowd-follower, a condition also known as contrariness or non-conformity--it's actually quite harmless when tempered with good judgment. BTW: I don't own an I-Pod, either. :o)

Heaven is a place on Earth...

...this week its name was Grand Targhee. We had a much better experience skiing yesterday than we did last Saturday. The sky was a clear robin's egg blue most of the day, the temperature was bearable, the wind light. Exactly the kind of day Paul would have loved. Maybe that explains why my eyes kept watering as I rode the lift up the hill. I should invest in a pair of mirrored goggles. In spite of these few minor floods of emotion, we had a great day. Lynn and Gentry came with us. I didn't see much of Hayden, he and Gentry skied together all day. Cameron has officially mastered the art of carving. No more snowplowing for him! Jacob is well on his way to joining the club. Parker opted to stay home--he had a date. We skied from 10:30 a.m. until 4 p.m. with a half hour break for lunch. I've decided the higher the price of a hamburger, the better it smells, especially if it's being cooked on an outdoor grill. I can proudly say we resisted the siren call of charbroiled animal flesh and ate our PB&J sandwiches. And so, the word of the week is fortitude. When we got home I was so tired, I went to bed at 9:30, completely uncharacteristic for me, but it felt great! I might have to make a habit of it once a week. Oh, man--I'm beginning to sound like a grandma, aren't I.

In the words of Tennyson, "Tis better to have skied and froze, than never to have skied at all."

Wait a minute--I guess I'm the one who said it. But I'm pretty sure there have been scientific studies done to confirm it...maybe.



The weather at Targhee wasn't exactly picture perfect, but we did our best to enjoy the day. It snowed off and on, mostly those tiny flakes that sandblast any exposed skin. Cameron, Jacob and I hit the lodge early; we were cold and visibility was poor. We're hoping for better conditions for Brent and Lynn's visit on Monday.

Jacob

Cameron

It's Alive!

The Suburban has been spared an ignominious death, receiving a stay of execution in the last hour. It turned out to be the fuel filter. And in spite of my complaints about the redundancy of the Social Security office, I have to say I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly they processed things, once they got the information they needed. Two days has to be some kind of record.

Today's mail brought the final piece of the puzzle I needed to file our tax return. I had it all complete, with the exception of four or five ridiculously small numbers (dividends.) It was hardly worth waiting for; I don't think it made a bit of difference in the amount of tax we owed, but rules are rules. On to the next bureaucratic hurdle--dealing with life insurance companies.

Your tax dollars at work, or not...

A few weeks ago I called Social Security to begin the process of obtaining benefits for the boys and me. I spent nearly an hour on the phone while the representative entered our information into the computer. This, she assured me, would save time when I went to my appointment at the Social Security office in Idaho Falls, which she kindly scheduled for me. All I would have to do is bring the relevant documents (birth, marriage, and death certificates; social security cards, bank information) to be verified. Great, I thought. I'm all for streamlining whenever possible. Fast forward to this Monday. I arrive at my appointment, armed with everything I need, except for a lengthy novel to read while the Social Security agent takes the documents back to his cubicle--you see where this is headed, don't you--to enter the information into the system, again. I inform him this was done already, when I scheduled the appointment. His explanation: "She must have been new. There's nothing in the system." It's days like this that make me proud to live in a bureaucracy, I mean democracy. By the way, the word of the week: redundant.

Yesterday Dr. Hancock was kind enough to meet with me. I had some theories about the things I witnessed with Paul and the process of dying that I wanted to have confirmed, which he did. He also showed me and Darla--she came with me--the last PET/CT scan Paul had. In spite of his being on chemo, the changes that took place in six weeks were incredible. We did everything we could to fight the cancer, but it was obvious from the scan that it was no longer working. Dr. Hancock e-mailed me copies of all the scans Paul had. He uses them when he lectures around southeast Idaho to promote the benefit of using PET scans as part of a cancer treatment regimen.

On a lighter note, we're all doing well. Tyler and Brandi are excited for their baby to arrive. If she's on time, that will be in two weeks. I don't think I own any Grandma clothes. Isn't there a special uniform or something? The boys are busy with school and homework. Hayden finished the Camping and Environmental Science merit badges at a pow wow sponsored by our stake over the past two weeks. He's pretty happy to be done with them. Cameron is practicing for a play at school. He was originally assigned as part of a rap group, but that didn't suit his personality, so he negotiated with his teacher for a change of roles. Now he's a narrator, a much better fit.

On Saturday night Cameron and I were looking up the meaning and origin of first names and surnames on Ancestry.com. After we finished with our family names we decided to look up surnames from our ward. By the time we were done, we were both laughing hysterically. At church the next day I had to avoid making eye contact with Cameron during sacrament meeting so I could keep a straight face when I saw some of the ward members. Don't bother asking, I refuse to disclose names.

We plan on making good use of President's Day weekend by going skiing at Grand Targhee on Saturday and Monday. Anyone care to join us?

Spaghettification: Is that a real word?

Tonight I took the boys to the planetarium at the university to see a show about black holes. Produced by the Clark Planetarium in Salt Lake City, it had incredible graphics, and appeared to be based on sound scientific data. We were about halfway into the presentation and learning some interesting facts about black hole physics when the narrator threw out the word spaghettification. Okay, maybe it's just me, but it sounds like a totally made up word. He used it in describing what would happen as you approach the event horizon of a black hole. In essence, your body would stretch, getting longer and skinnier, until finally the sub-atomic particles from which you are made would break apart; your particles would mix with the other sub-atomic particles being sucked into the black hole like dust in the wind (hey, isn't that a song?) I haven't consulted the dictionary yet, but I'm pretty sure I won't find an entry for the word. (Feel free to file your tax return or grab a snack while I do some research.) I'm back, I was right. (Incidentally, Spellcheck didn't like it either.) But because it made everyone giggle when he said it, spaghettification is the word of the week. I encourage you to seek every opportunity to use it in your daily conversations. Let me know how it goes.

Earlier in the day, I attended a lecture sponsored by the BYU-I English Academic Society entitled, "Oh, Blast!" A Linguistic Examination of Expletives. It was quite entertaining. It's interesting how language and meanings of words have evolved over time. The quote of the week came from the lecture. Maybe some food for thought the next time you're called upon to speak in church?