I am headed to Maverik to buy a cup of gasoline.

To drink.

To get this abhorrent taste out of my mouth.

• A german pancake.  I still have the recipe from my sister’s 7th grade “homeck” class.
• Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, probably Pistacio, Pistacio flavor
• An Arctic Circle cheeseburger, fries, and fry sauce
• A pound of Swedish Fish
• A handful of Oreos
• Pizza with cheese on top
• A royale cookie from the Nordstrom cafe
• Max’s cheeks
• A vat of guacamole
• All things fondue
• Sweet and sour chicken, Garth’s recipe
• A strawberry chocolate shake from Iceberg
• Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory, any flavor
• Another cheeseburger, fry, and fry sauce from Arctic Circle
• An entire key lime pie
• Prime Rib
• A crisp chicken taco from Taco Time
• The ‘Chocolate Bomb’ from Skybox
• Surf & Turf from Happy Sumo
• A fresh tub of Crisco.

My plan was to work at my current job until Ryan was done with school.  It has been a good job and one that I have liked until fairly recently.  But, things change.  People change.  And some people don’t.  It could be coincidental that I have watched a lot of Mary Poppins lately, but I can feel the winds of change blowing me out of my comfort zone.

What I have in my chest is a large, tangled knot of anxiety, self-inspection, grief, excitement, fear, disappointment, responsibility, and hope.  Sending out resumes and emails, making phone calls, virtually trying to sell myself and my abilities is not even in the zip code of my comfort zone.  

All of these experiences are also calling up ghosts from my past.  My adolescence was traumatic, a time when I had to work each day to muster courage, seek courage, sometimes invent courage.  What I am trying to do now is pay less attention to those inadequacies I knew then and draw on the strength I found in myself during that same time.  It was then I discovered that I liked myself.  I liked who I was.  I knew I was a good person. 

So, here I am.  Vulnerable.  Anxiety-ridden.  Terrified and excited for what the future holds.  And busily making a new plan.

It’s so nice to like the person you love.  Happy Anniversary, Ryan.  I like and love you more than words can say. 

I love those days.

Katie, do you think we really watch you because of your stellar news reporting?  We watch because we’re waiting for Matt to leave his wife already and sweep you off your cute little Katie Choo pumps!  (Or at least take you on as a polygamous wife.)  You’re America’s first family mother-figure, for crying out loud!  You think you can just ditch us after 15 measely years?  Did I ditch you, Katie?  Even when you had that hideous haircut in the early nineties? 

No, Katie, I’m still here.  Well, at least when I’m home sick or on vacation.  And happen to remember to turn the TV to your channel.  Actually, I haven’t watched you regularly since sometime in 1999.  Come to think of it, I’m really not that vested in where you end up.  You know what, Katie?  Go where the wind and the $15 million take you.  It makes no difference to me whatsoever.  Except for when I’m sick or on vacation, in which cases, I will just have to console myself with extra doses of Elmo and Judge Judy…

So, it’s Tuesday morning and my internal clock is completely messed up.  I’m craving dinner and my 18-hour bra thinks it only has three hours left.  Actually, I don’t have an 18-hour bra, but I can’t express to you how much confusion that generated for me as a child.  I mean, what happens after 18 hours???  The bra disappears?  Disentigrates?  Turns into a pumpkin?  I couldn’t understand why anyone would spend money on a bra that would spontaneously combust upon the bust in less than a day? Come to think of it–I still don’t understand the theory behind the 18-hour bra, do you?  Please, let me know.

I think I got confused a lot as a kid.  I was completely mesmerized by that old Snickers commercial, in which the screen is filled with a hand holding a handful of fresh roasted peanuts.  The fist closes and then opens to reveal a crisply packaged Snickers bar!  Imagine my disappointment when I finally got my hands on some peanuts.  I closed.  I opened.  I stared in disbelief.  I tried again.  What a crock!

Then, when I was a young adolescent, I could not figure out the uproar regarding the Youth In Asia.  Why was everybody so upset about a bunch of teenagers on the other side of the globe?  Were they breaking curfew?  Dying their hair?  Smoking?  I know they totally dress in mis-matching clothes, but was that really reason enough for people to kill themselves??

So, dear reader, what confused you as a kid?  Or was I the only one wandering around waiting for people’s bras to blow up?

And an umbrella

And a snow shovel

Perhaps a scarf

Thermal Underwear

And flip-flops.  (After all, it is Spring.)

I’ve always suspected that you are not as dumb as you portray yourself to be, but just in case you are, I’ve prepared the following list of things to consider using only mono-syllabic words (that means short words) before you go running off to adopt little Evangelista from the Santa Lucia Lady of our Lord Orphans for Publicity Seeking Celebrities:

• Small kids poop A LOT.  All day.
• Small kids don’t sleep when you want them to sleep.
• Small kids throw up on nice clothes.
• Small kids can’t stay home when you go shop.
• Small kids need help in bath.
• Small kids can’t drive car to pick up lip gloss for you.
• Small kids can’t make their own food.
• Small kids throw up on nice floors.
• Small kids throw up in nice cars.
• Small kids cry and cry and cry and cry and cry.  Then cry more.
• Small kids scream.
• Small kids scream in the mall.
• Small kids kick hard.
• Small kids stick things in small holes.
• Small kids want to know, “Why?”
• Small kids eat dirt and bugs.
• Small kids get big.
• Small kids get big and yell at you and say, “Why you bring me to big house and wreck my life?”

If you found yourself saying, “Are you serious?” at any point during this post, then it is time to reconsider this decision.  Now, being the good friend that I am, I will not turn you away without an alternative.  In fact, I have a suggestion that might be exactly what you’re looking for: My husband, Ryan, happens to be an orphan.  You are welcome to adopt him.  He will not require the 24 hour care of a newborn, will not interfere with your social life or work schedule, will happily let you push him in a stroller from time to time for photo ops, and will get you very nice Mother’s Day presents each year.  He will expect very little from you, other than unlimited use of your black American Express card.  Think about it, you can enjoy all of the delights of motherhood, without all the poop and spit-up. 

You don’t have to decide today, of course.  This is a big decision and you should take your time.  But, I should let you know–Brad and Angelina have already been by this week to take a look at him, and they acted pretty interested…

• Let’s start with my mom, who is one of my favorite people and a pure saint.  She has given up much of her week to help take care of Max and the condition I will not speak of in this post.
• Mrs. Meyers Lemon Verbena All-Purpose Cleanser, which is the cleanser that makes all the other cleansers feel bad about their decision to become cleansers.
• Laughing Cow cheese wedges and Wheat Thins, which are the world’s best snack.  Actually, if you have some of Alicia’s mom’s homemade raspberry jam to put on top of them, that is the world’s best snack.
• The Office, The Office, I love ya, The Office, you’re only a daaaayyy aaaaa–waaaaaaayyyyyyy.  (I know, wrong musical.)
• Email.  I really, really, really love email.  Getting it.  Reading it.  Sending it.  I really do.
• I have a yummy Votivo candle called “Crisp Clean White” that makes me happy every time I smell its waft.  I bet you didn’t know they could capture what crisp, clean, white smells like, but they can.  They can and they did.  http://www.crestdales.com/votivo-clean-crisp-white-candle.html
• A nice, simple, black BIC pen.  Love it.
• If we’re going to start with my mom, we’re going to end with Ryan, Christian, and Max, my top three favorite roommates of all time.  Except when they have the stomach flu.

If I have time, I’m going to set this entry to music and send it to the Hale Center Theatre.  I bet they’d be all over it.

I have to admit I was a little nervous before my first prenatal visit.  I hadn’t been to my OB/GYN’s office for over 4 years, but when I walked in last week, things had changed a lot.  First of all, when I made the appointment, they asked me to come an hour early.  I figured the extra time would be filled with paperwork of various sorts.  After all, it had been a long time and my insurance and job had changed.  I walked in the doors and found that the lobby had been redecorated.  Actually, “redecorated” makes it sound like they changed to another shade of mauve wallpaper and teal upholstery.  Maybe renovated is a better word.  There were cascading waterfalls at either end of the lobby.  The walls were covered in marble and the various chairs and benches were covered in ornate silk fabrics.  There were three cabana boys wandering around the lobby in loincloths with trays of food: ginger ale, soda crackers, pretzels, and pickles.  One of them, a muscular blonde, came up immediately to escort me to the check-in window.
            “You must be Tiffany,” he said and held out his free arm. 
            “Yes,” I said, taking the arm.
            “Let me be the first to congratulate you,” he said, “You look wonderful.  How have you been feeling?”
            “Not so good, actually,” I said, “I’ve had a lot of morning sickness this time.  And afternoon and evening sickness too.”
            “I’m so sorry,” he said and his eyes welled up with tears, “it must be terrible.”
            “Well, it’s okay,” I said, “I mean, I guess it’s a good sign.”  By now we were at the check-in counter.
            “That doesn’t make it any easier,” he said, handing me a ginger ale.
            “Sandra,” he said to the girl behind the gorgeous black marble counter, “Tiffany is here for her appointment.  She hasn’t been feeling well, so please treat her well and use a soft voice.”
            Sandra nodded and took my hand. 
            “I’m so sorry you haven’t been feeling well.  You look wonderful despite.  Anyway,” she said patting my hand, “we’ll get you right in.”
            “Thank you,” I said, nearly on the verge of tears from the outpouring of sympathy thus far, “do you need me to fill out any paperwork?  My insurance has changed.”
            Sandra smiled.
            “We’ve already contacted your employer and tracked down all of your necessary information for coverage.  That’s our job, not yours.  As far as we’re concerned, you need never mention the “I” word again.  Now, please have a seat and rest those tired feet of yours.”
            I sat down in a comfortable chair and began to take in my surroundings.  I hadn’t noticed the string quartet in the far corner.  They were dressed in black formalwear playing Vivaldi.  There were beautiful statues of pregnant women all around and a few doves that fluttered and cooed in the perfectly pruned olive tree next to one of the waterfalls.
            Within three minutes, a door opened and I was called back by Trish, who greeted me and gave me a big hug. 
            “We’re so happy for you!” she said. “Sandra mentioned that you haven’t been feeling well.  I’m so sorry.  We never like to hear that.”
            We walked down the marble corridor to a door labeled, “Wardrobe,” and into a large room filled with racks of beautiful gowns and robes.  Trish stood back and looked me over.
            “Hmm, let me see.  What are you, a size 4?”
            I laughed. 
            “Not exactly.” I said.
            “No, no, I’m pretty good at this.  Let’s try a few of these.”  She pulled three robes down and held them up under my chin.  They were all satin, vibrant shades of pink, green, and purple.  She froze on purple.
            “This purple looks amazing on you,” she said, “what do you think?”
            I looked in the tall mirror, and had to admit that my once green face looked great above the purple robe.  She directed me to a beautiful antique screen to change behind.
            “Just leave your clothes on the floor.  We’ll get them and have them for you after your appointment.” She called to me.
            I changed into the beautiful purple, size 4 robe that fit amazingly well.  Trish then escorted me to another room where I was weighed and had my blood pressure taken.  I stepped on the scale and cringed, as usual.  I always hated this part.  Trish moved the weights on the scale slowly and meticulously until it balanced perfectly.
            “Okay, dear,” she said, “let me just subtract 1.8 pounds to account for the weight of the robe.” She did the math on the corner of my file, “…and round down…perfect!”  She then took my blood pressure and we moved down the hall to a room marked, “Masseuse”
            “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I said as Trish opened the door.
            “It’s so important for a mother to have relaxed muscles throughout her pregnancy,” she said in all seriousness.  The room was lit with warm lighting and there were three different massage tables laid out, with different adjustments for a pregnant woman’s body. 
            “You’ll need table number one, so get comfortable, and just push the red button on the side of the table when you’re ready.”
            I enjoyed a thirty-minute massage from a large woman who looked like Alice from the Brady Bunch.  When she finished, Trish met me again. 
            “Do I get a massage every time I come?” I asked her.
            “If that’s what you choose.  Of course, you can always choose a facial or a pedicure.  It’s really just up to you and how you’re feeling that day.” 
            We walked down another hall to an exam room. 
            “Have a seat on the table and the doctor will be in to see you shortly.” 
            I hopped up on the table which was covered with a soft, 300-count sheet, instead of the strip of disposable sandpaper it used to have.  I also noticed that the once cold, metal stirrups were now covered in plush leopard-skin mufflers.  I couldn’t believe all the changes that had been made since my last visit.  I also couldn’t believe that my insurance would cover such luxury.  I heard a tap at the door.
            “Everybody decent in there?” said a familiar voice behind the door.
            “Come on in,” I said, inviting Dr. Sperry in.  At least one thing hadn’t changed.  But it wasn’t Dr. Sperry behind the door; it was Bill Cosby wearing scrubs, a stethoscope, and a white coat.
            “I’m so confused,” I said, “where’s Dr. Sperry?”
            “Oh, he’s working on a charity project in South America.  I’ll be covering for him for the next year, if it’s alright with you, of course.”
            “But you’re not a doctor,” I said.
            “No, but I played one on TV for 9 seasons,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “so Harvard Medical School awarded me an honorary medical degree two years ago, and I’ve been practicing ever since.”
            Well, who could argue with Harvard Medical School?  So, I lay down on the table, put my feet in the soft stirrups and Dr. Huxtable, er-Cosby completed my exam.  I was growing normally and the baby had a strong and steady heartbeat.
            “Definitely a girl,” he said, “sounds just like my little Rudy.”
            I was overcome with joy.  “Really?”  I asked.  A girl!
            He helped me sit up and we had a long talk about the pregnancy; all of my questions, all of my concerns.  He asked me about my life, my job, my husband’s school.  We talked about things I could do to ease my morning sickness.
            “You’re doing great, Tiffany,” he said, “Now take good care of yourself.  No heavy lifting, and don’t forget to take your prenatal vitamins and some B-6 for your nausea, and I’ll see you back here in a month.”
            “Really,” I asked, “I have to wait a whole month?”
            “Tell you what,” he said, patting my leg, “how about 4 weeks instead?  Now, before I forget, here is my card with my home phone number on it.  If you have ANY questions, you just give me a call, okay?”
            There was a knock on the door and Trish came in with a beautiful gift basket, filled with pregnancy magazines, lotions, bath beads and several boxes of Jell-O.
            “Just a little something from us to the new mommy,” said Dr. Cosby.
            “And here’s your clothes and shoes,” Trish said, handing them to me, “We took the liberty to iron your blouse for you.  It was a little wrinkled, I hope you don’t mind.”
            “Thank you, both.  For everything,” I said and a single tear rolled down my cheek.  I got dressed and left the room and the marble halls and the gorgeous lobby.  I walked out the door, waving goodbye to all of my new friends carrying my basket and wondering how soon I could have another baby.
 

So……what’s up?…………I heard it’s been raining in Hawaii for over two weeks.  And even more rain this week.  That would totally suck if you were taking your vacation during those weeks.  Can you even imagine?  It would be like having your two year old throwing up every day for four days.  Oh, woops!  Sorry.  We were going to depart from that subject.  Excuse me.  On to something else…

I saw today that Bush’s approval rating has dropped to 36%, which is a staggering number and something I didn’t think was possible.  I also didn’t think it was possible for a 29 pound person to output from both ends for four days.  It’s like–where does he store it??  He’s like a little human volcano, erupting all over the carpet, which we end up shampooing every time he gets the stomach flu.  We call on two doctors–the baby doctor and the Rug Doctor.  I will forever equate the smell of vomit with clean carpet.

Oh, dear.  I’m doing it again, aren’t I?  I don’t mean to.  I had every intention of pulling myself together for this post.  I wanted to discuss something meaningful that you might want to read about before, during, or after your lunch without regretting it…………..  This will be the first of many disappointments for you….

By the way, the other day I used the phrase, “yarking chunks” and I want to give due credit–I stole the term from Stephen King.  He coined the phrase in his memoir/writing manual, On Writing, which I highly recommend if you have any spare time (the book, not the yarking).  As for me, I don’t have any spare time.  I have to do another load of laundry, stained with Max’s ralph….

• The throw rug in the laundry room
• A pair of socks
• My belief that I would have a good weekend

Items ruined by Max’s yarking chunks all over the place last night:

• Grey, size 2T pajama bottoms
• Grey, size 2T UTAH Utes t-shirt
• Probably a couch cushion
• My ability to ever buy, prepare, serve, or eat macaroni and cheese again.

This is what we heard for a half hour: “Mrrrfffff  Mrbmrmblm mrlnmg nlmrbbbbllnn nnnllmmmggg ngn nmmlllrr mmmrrr nmn mmrnl nnnbbbll,” because all the news helicopters were hovering overhead to give the good folks at home the areal view of thousands of people they don’t know.

Then, before Karl Malone was even done saying, “Mmrrff ffffbbbllll mmrlnlgg nnbbblllppp,” the herd of people we don’t know started lining up at the Delta Center doors because (brace yourself) THEY WERE GOING TO GIVE AWAY KARL MALONE STATUES TO THE FIRST FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE THROUGH THE DOOR.  So, Ryan and Christian join the herd in the front of the line and I try to keep Max happy in his stoller.  I don’t even want to talk about how hard this is, so please don’t ask.  I quickly gave up on the happiness of him in the stroller and focused on keeping him in it, which resulted in him crying out as if I had taken the stroller and rolled it over his wriggling body 58 times.  Which I considered.  After about 15 minutes of this, I finally told Ryan I was going to take Max and bail.  I headed to Gateway while Ryan, Christian, and the herd of people kept waiting at the door for the glorious statues.

I walked around Gateway for a few minutes with Max who was still moaning, because the only thing he hates more than sitting in his stroller is having the family separated from each other without getting his approval first.

Then Alison called to say that she and Bryant had arrived at the mall.  Our plan was to eat all together before they and Ryan and Christian went to the game.  We finally decided on Z Tejas because there was no wait to get in.  Ryan and Christian were still waiting outside the Delta Center doors, because in case you’ve forgotten, they were giving away Karl Malone statues to the first five thousand people through the door. 

So, Alison, Bryant, Max, and I got seated at roughly 5:50 p.m..  Well, Alison and Bryant got seated, but Max who does not like to sit in strollers or be separated from any family members, also prefers not to sit in high chairs.  I’m guessing this does not surprise you.  So, I tried bending the Incredible Unbendable Child into the high chair, but, alas, I was no match for the Incredible Unbendable Child and could not make his straight little legs bend to fit into the high chair.  Without breaking them.  Which I considered.

The waitress came around and got our drink orders and I called Ryan to see what he wanted me to order for him.  By this time, he had entered the Delta Center and received the magnanimous statue, but could not leave the Delta Center yet because it is impossible to send two people out the door when twelve thousand people are pushing their way into the door, trying to get their grubs on a stinking free Karl Malone statue. 

At roughly 6:07 we placed our order with the waitress, for all six of us, and let her know that we were in a hurry, because they were going to the game.  Don’t even ask about what Max was doing at this point, because I don’t want to tell you that he was climbing in and out of the non-high-chair, which was exactly why I wanted him in a high-chair to begin with.

Ryan and Christian finally made it out of the Delta Center and into the restaurant by about 6:20.  We were expecting our food any second, but we should have known better, because this is OUR LIFE and things never seem to work out as simple as ordering food and having it arrive.

At 6:50, we left the restaurant BECAUSE THEY NEVER BROUGHT OUR FOOD TO THE TABLE.  Apparently, there was some “mix-up” with the computer system.  They were very sorry, and as we walked out the door, a brawny Mexican carried the tray of our food to the empty table.  We left on principle and on time to see the tip-off, because we are principled people.  Hungry, but principled.  Hungry and in our seats before tip-off, but principled

At 7:07, I was driving home with Max, not having eaten and not having a good time.  I briefly stopped by the side of the freeway, set Max on the roof of the car with a cardboard sign that said, “Free Brat” and one on myself that said, “Will do anything for food”, but everybody was on their way to the Delta Center to try and get their damn statue and couldn’t stop, though I did get a few honks as they passed.

Don’t even ask what I finally had for dinner at 7:48, because you’ll just feel bad that I ate Western Family Macaroni and Cheese out of the sauce pan with a tiny fork.  And, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t ask how stupid the statue turned out to be, because I don’t want to explain the way that it looks more like Gary Coleman in an old tiny-white-shorts uniform than The Mailman.

P.S.  Don’t even ask what Max just did in his pants while I was typing this because there aren’t enough words to describe the liquidy, explosive quality of it.  

Let’s take a moment to reflect on the many wonnerful (official Mormon term) memories we have of this wonnerful player and citizen:

• The many looks of Karl Malone–hairy, bald, mustache, goatee, cowboy hat, wranglers, Lakers jersey…
• I know that I always looked forward to the annual Karl Malone vs. Larry Miller fights in which Larry would eventually end up on the 10 o’clock news getting choked up and blubber about how he loves Karl like a son.  (A son you would beat with a rubber hose if he wasn’t 7 feet tall.) 
• Karl Malone was the first non-psychotic person I know of who frequently spoke about himself in the third person.  This was helpful to so many of us who get confused when people say, “I like basketball,” and we’re not exactly sure who they are referring to.  With Karl Malone, everything about Karl Malone and Karl Malone’s life and Karl Malone’s philosophy were crystal clear. 
• Remember when he was really close to joining the church?  You don’t?  Oh come on, it was right around the same time that Steve Martin did.  I hear he still wears a CTR ring.  (Karl Malone, not Steve Martin.  See how confusing that can get?)
• We used to take an occasional Sunday drive to his house up above the old Salt Lake City cemetary.  “See kids?  Behind that gate lives a very rich and powerful man,” we would say.  “Wow, I bet he is really smart,” they would say.  “I thought we told you never to bet,” we would say.
• Remember how he used to drive around that giant semi truck? 
• Remember how he always handled everything with grace and eloquence?  Oh wait, that was Stockton.

Well, that was fun.  No, wait, it was WONNERFUL.

So, I guess $287.54 only gets you the monthly cold-but-not-frozen-to-death heating package?

Sincerely,

Tiffany

I have not seen a Jessica Simpson line of feminine hygiene products.  (Just wanted to let you know an area of the retail market you can still capture.)

Your friend,

Tiffany

Don’t even think about it.  Seriously.

Respectfully,

Tiffany (US Citizen)

You’re the best.  Thanks for all the good times.

Lovingly yours,

Tiffany

It’s really time for you to leave.  I’ve been more than patient.  Leave now or face my wrath.  And more Pepto.

Tiffany

This is what I was afraid of, you wussy.

Tiffany

Time to tone it down, big boy, or we’ll have to call for a wardrobe intervention.  Oh, and lay off the Krispy Kremes.  At this rate, I fear you may gobble Nadine during a commercial break.

Because friends always tell the truth,

Tiffany

I have to admit, I was skeptical about the CrunchWrap Supreme, but you’ve really got something there.

Gracias,

Tiffany

Ryan brought me french fries.  I always want french fries when I’m sick.  And when I’m well.  My mom brought me bread pudding.  I like bread pudding when I’m sick.  And when I’m well.  I took two Airbornes, and a Dayquil cold and flu.  I still feel like crap.  I have to stop writing.  The pressure of the keys on my fingertips is more than I can handle.