Saying I Love You Without Roses

     There are so many boring ways to say "I love you". You can declare it on Facebook because it's really fun for us to read about, or you can send roses, which are totally cliché' and incredibly lame. Roses remind me of grandmas, high school, and heavy metal butt rock, but not love. My hubby gets it. He speaks my language, or I should say our language.

             He said “I love you” just the other day when he hung Ryan Reynolds on our bathroom mirror.

                                                  

         Come to find out, Mr. RR eye candy serves three purposes. He's full of daily  suggestions. His suggestions are slightly different, depending on who he's talking to.

1. To me- When I look at him he says "I want you." Then I  think "that's flattering Ryan, but Dean is still numero uno. It does feel good, however,  to be doubly wanted by two different men.

2. To Dean- He says "you can have this body if you really want it."  We do Ryan, we both really do, except my husband already looks like a Michelangelo sculpture. I don't know why he's aiming to look like you.

     What does a married man do with a body like this? I want Dean to stay Dean and Ryan to stay Ryan, there's no need for my two loves to combine themselves.

3. To us- He stirs up humor. I ask Dean if he's jealous about the way Mr. Reynolds looks at me. Dean replies "you're delusional, he's looking at me."

      Divine intervention brought Dean and I together. Seriously, we have a significant love story that started with a Hawaiian dalliance, that leaped, twisted and turned for 12 years to this domestic, traditional home of three kids, a white fence, and a now incontinent dog named Kolohe. Poor puppy, he gets weaker as our marriage gets stronger.

     When Jesus was born, a star was put in the sky as a sign and directory. I'm thinking a star was placed specifically for Dean and I to solidify our love. How's that for sappy? Seriously, I'm encouraging anyone to outdo that statement.

     There's just not enough time in our mortal lives for half-ass marriages. I fear dormancy more than drama. I'm trying to decide what's worse: a dead marriage, or a dangerously alive marriage that ends up on the t.v show "Cops." If we ever stop connecting and laughing, I'm 
insisting therapy. It will instantly reconnect us, because I'm betting therapy is funny. We love each other through laughs...it's just our way.

     I'm hoping for some interactive role playing. I want to play him, while he plays me.

    The results: him realizing how crazy he is.

      I adore the good crazy Dean; the playful uninhibited crazy, where he answers the phone as "my uncle Leroy from Louisiana."  I'm still trying to figure out where he learned how to speak like a southern black man who eats chitlins and collard greens with his hominy and grits.

      But the bad crazy Dean? My "uncle Leroy" turns excessively efficient, giving everything a two step process. I forget to turn off the lights and leave open doors and all kinds of hell break lose. That will be the crazy that televises our faces on "Cops."

     Here's how it all adds up: Me+Dean+3 kids= a mental house, but an upscale one...you know... the kind you take a crackpot to and convince him it's a resort.

     Through average, good, better and best...he's my man. My Statue of David. My Adonis. He's my little lamb and roaring lion, my sly secret agent and computer geek. He's my Rock Star...I'm his groupie. I've got my own personal Adam Sandler+brains + spirituality. Take a little Kelly Slater and add in some Brad Pitt and Kevin Bacon and you've got a taste of Dean. He tastes good, like fresh peach pie.

     It really is the little everyday things that count. Remember how I said that we show love through laughter? I pulled out a couple of our love notes to share. It is our twelve year anniversary after all. Also remember, I hate ordinary roses.

     There are no rules saying when or where to leave love notes. You might use the lunch box for an exchange, Dean used the tampon box.  I laugh every time I see this box. Again, laughs=love.

     What's funnier than five different tampon sizes leading up to the big mama super plus fit? It's my husband noticing, and further, taking the time to write it out for me. Not only do I go jumbo size to save money, but I get  the knockoff Equate brand as well. I'm cheap. 
Dean says "I don't work all day to buy Equate, and Western Family doesn't go on or in me." He's a product snob, I'm not.
  
      I never know what's coming. Then one day I look up and notice it in the mirror.  What the ....?

       I told him the truth, these were bikini cut, it says so on the label. 

       He didn't believe me. 

      I'll get him back,... I always do. He's had it coming for a long time now. I'm going to have the last laugh when he sees me in these.

     They're looking mighty comfortable these days. Nothing says "I love you" like these do.

                           Happy Anniversary Baby!

    

Media, Morals and Mayhem

           Here's the thing.....

If my children turn out to be completely bizarre and hyperactive, it's not because they have me as a mother. I was actually a very calm, gentle, soft spoken, shy child. It will be because I didn't control the television.  It starts with cartoons. 

       You might think "It's a cartoon, how strange can it be?" If you find yourself saying this, I encourage you to sit down and watch a little Cartoon Network. I watch it often, for multiple reasons. First, being it's a bonding moment with my kids. And second, well, who am I kidding, I freaking love cartoons. Saturday  morning... waking up with the sun, cuddling in front of the tube in my footsie jams. Hours of cartoons are checked off the list before mom and dad even roll out of bed. Ahhhh, good times.

       Somewhere along the way, however, "Smurfs" turned into "Total Drama Island," and He-man turned into "Almost Naked Animals." A few other titles to avoid... you might want to write this down.

Adventure Time
The Problem Solverz
Ed Edd N Eddy
Regular Show
Angry Beavers

       There is a good chance I just saved your child from ADHD and alarming weirdness.   
                                                       You're welcome.
        I can't pretend, though,  that I don't love Spongebob. I think that show's ingenious.
The guy that plays spongebob's voice probably never gets laid, but man, the character development is brilliant.  Some lame "study" suggested that Spongebob watchers have lower test scores than non-Spongebob watchers. I can't trust statistics. We don't need to run no study to show what makes them kids dumb. I can tell you right now. 

Dumb parents.

         It's not just cartoons I'm worried about. Have you noticed that every year around October, the scary movie trailers get more and more demonically demented ? Like cartoons, I love scary movies, but when did it get taken too far? Is society getting so numb that we not only seek for, but pay for these twisted movies?

          I love a good cinematic thrill, but really?  Seeing this movie would brand my name on the psychopathic spectrum. I'm not saying you're a psycho if you've seen this, I am just saying you're baby stepping that direction. As if it's not gross enough that body parts are being sawed off, it's now offered in 3D!  And if that doesn't do it for you sickos, you can rent the "uncut" version which is very misleading since everything in the script is getting cut. Gross.

         How does a mother train her child's brain to be repulsed by "explicit" images instead of enthralled by them? This is one of the many reasons I go to church. I don't want to raise a sociopath!  I need  good vs. evil, or my life is meaningless. I can't be perfect and that's o.k, but I 'm comfortable wearing these naivety goggles.  Everything around me is a pleasant shade of light gray.

        It's important to me to raise honest, hard working, morally clean children. This is why I've saved my Human Sexuality college textbook. Some images I want far away from innocent minds, but others, I plan on using to instill fear. "This is what happens when you have premarital sex...cue genital warts picture. Mary Jane wasn't born retarded, she became that way when she did the pot".

       Alright, I'm not really going to do that to my children. I just find the following

claim ridiculously  humorous: "Organized religion is used to instill fear and control." I'll tell you what O.R. is really about; It gives me structure, choice, and truth. It takes away fear, and shows me a higher level of happiness(we repeated this phrase over and over last Sunday). Truly though, the only thing I fear in life and death is regret. That, and raising children. It's enough fright to last me two lifetimes.

       If there's a God, there's also a Devil. It's the balance of nature. Every good has a bad. For everything moral, there is something immoral- and you can find it in Vegas. While wearing my naivety goggles, I had this great idea of taking the kids on a Vegas vacation. If you remember, the theme wasn't always "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." There was a time when Vegas appealed to families.

       Here's how my decision played out. First I said "screw that" to the Vegas theme, then booked a room in the Excalibur castle. After telling my kids we were staying in a castle, I told them our plans for "seeing white tigers, humongous fish tanks, light shows, water fountain shows, rides, circus circus". They had saucer sized eyes full of astonished joy and excitement. I couldn't wait to see their first look at a casino. We see with greedy eyes while they see with video game eyes. Thrills begin early in life.

       My husband didn't share the same enthusiasm. He hates the "City of Sin".

       Regretfully, the only thing left in Vegas was my seven-year old's virgin eyes.

       He can't remember Disneyland or previous Christmas's, but he still remembers to this very day the "naked lady  on the ground". Damn pornography. It pollutes both the streets and human minds. "She had red hair" he says, he remembers every flippin detail. If he grows up and has either fears or fetishes of red heads, It will be all my fault.

      I hate pornography. It's a mother's worst nightmare. It's obvious I'm a mom. Not because I wear high waisted jeans with nine inch zippers(because I don't). I became a mother when my view of the world turned to the protection of children. It's no longer about sombody driving too fast, it's about a person who's going to run over a child. To quote my kids, it's no longer "that girl dancing on the table in her underwear." It's somebody's daughter who needs to put her clothes back on. So now my kids have seen a stripper perform in the Excalibur casino. So much for good parenting, and our castle experience. While simultaneously exiting Vegas and discussing  wrong and right with our children, I discreetly rolled down the window and gave Sin City the middle finger.

       Everyone believes differently; what a relief that is! What I think is horrible might be perfectly fine to somebody else. You can go to Vegas and become a Chip n Dale, good for you-really. Maybe your mom shows up to cheer you on, good for her. I am trying to find happiness in God and religion while you're finding it in strip clubs and horror movies. I'm not better than you, we're just different -really.

       I don't want to sound condescending, I sincerely want to meet someone who enjoys the movie Saw. If they promise not to kill me, I want to pick at their brain....but not literally.  No matter where we stand in life, everyone of us can find common ground,  something to agree on. For instance... Paris Hilton sucks, Donald Trump's hair is ugly, and reality T.V is not really....uhh....real.

      

     

        

happiness invader ( a letter to myself)

        Our frigid house woke me up early this morning. An alarm clock is more inviting and predictably loyal. My body is confused this time of year when the days are warm but the nights are cold. It's also very aggravated. No longer can it wear the bare minimum to sleep in. Every season is like a beautifully wrapped gift I'm excited to tear open. Winter, however, gets placed in the corner of the room like an overeager, neglected puppy. I prolong opening Pandora's box until Christmas, a time of giddy anticipation . I even feel sorry for tropical island residents who miss out on these seasonal gems. Winter time unwraps  like a ginormous rainbow sucker to a child. It tastes sooo good at first, but quickly turns blase'.


      While I'm decorating myself with scarves and a smile, I fail to notice this creature walk into my life.

Sandra Ronja illustration

                "Hello there, I'm depression. It's delightful to see you again."   

      

        He holds hands with the cold weather and shows his face in different forms. Right now he's packing for a visit. The image below shows his current position and residence. I'm pretty sure he's Russian. Their country makes everybody nervous. I wish he'd stay the hell in Russia.

 K-hos illustration

           Experience tells me he'll be knocking on my door by January and sleeping in my bed by February. That's what he does. He sleeps. He slothfully moves about; that is, if he can break away from paralyzing stares. He wears a robe, his day and night uniform. He'll shed his robe when the sky sheds warmth and light. A robe is one of those ambiguous items that exist on both ends of the sexy meter. He wears it at a -1 when 0 says disgusting.

     Don't feel sorry for me, I've had enough training to kick him where it counts. Lots of people experience his treachery and horror- in far worse forms than I.  I see him as more of a nuisance. A constant influenza with red nostrils and ugly skin. I can hide the melancholy, but my drab skin and hair..... is worth a fight .

     Here's the thing. I want to be a vigilante. When I saw Kate Beckinsale in the movie "Underworld", I was mesmerized. If there was only a way to become her character. She is absolutely stunning and powerful.

        In addition, she's a vampire and fictional. It doesn't change the fact that I want to wear leather capes, carry weapons, stalk the night, and hunt evil forces. The problem is, I don't want to kill people. It's very gory and unglamorous(l hear).  I want to kill werewolves. Bring it on evil flesh eaters! I want flashy adroit maneuvers and stealthiness; mother by day,stalker by night. Basically I want to become a fantasy novel. I want a wicked-awesome cause to fight for, but the cool stuff doesn't naturally exist. I'm left with a boring battle of blah... depression and anxiety. Lame.

      Tips for winter endurance and stupid happy living

                          p.s I might have to hurt feelings to get my point across

Tip 1 Control the anxiety. Depression rarely appears without anxiety first. They come in a pair. It's not only worrisome thoughts, it's that hyperactive mode your body experiences while you lay awake at night thinking "why does it feel like I just drank 3 redbulls?" Recognize this feeling and take action, or prepare to sink with despair when the jitters expire. It's easier said than done, managing stress- just do it!

Tip 2 Will power over mood power. Your mood says "I can't, I don't want to," but your will power says "I pity the fool"(or is that Mr. T?). Use that insolent will power.  Get up, get showered, and for hell sakes don't put sweat pants back on. A little make-up wouldn't hurt either. No one is vain and superficial for wearing make-up, it's the face of effort. No matter what your mama tells you, physical appearance does matter. You've got inner beauty, that's great, now grab hold of it and wrap it around your face.

         Next to do, run. Pump that heart like it's your body's v8 engine, even though you hate it. Make yourself. Getting your heart rate up takes creativity when your body has handicaps. Be creative.  Exercise your mind as well.  Just because school ended, doesn't mean your brain should retard. Read a challenging book, do a math problem(what's that?). You hate it, I know, so do I. Sometimes you have to force happiness like forcing down veggies. Find a healthy routine that works.

       Last of all, Call a friend. You don't feel like playing? Make yourself. Don't wait for friends to come to you, they might not. You create your own joy, humor, and smells- so brush before visiting. Poop smells should never come out the mouth.

Tip 3 Nothing is working? Get your butt on medication     Utah is known for Prozac and plastic surgery. Don't ask my why and don't mention it.  It's best swept under the rug like polygamy. Nothing botches the brain like neglect. Medication is the perfect jump start, and sometimes the only solution. It's very liberating, herding your emotions like cattle, taking the power back. Unfortunately, it can be very frustrating finding the right pill and dosage. Humans are not meant to act like robots. Our hearts should be warm while our brains are logical.

         Tears are precious in healthy amounts. Tears are sooo ridiculously farcical when they constantly overflow and your new name becomes "Unstable at Best". At this point there are two options, because we can't handle you. One is swallowing a happy pill, the other is calling an exorcist. One way or another that beast needs to be cast out and sent back to Russia. I just hope he doesn't take your sex drive with him. "The good news, Doctor, is my brain is fixed. Now my vagina is broken."


Happiness enemies                              Happiness Friends

Television                                     Yellow sunglasses. My world looks good, what's wrong with yours?

Twinkies                                       Music. Blast it everywhere, except Chris Isaac "Wicked Games."

Turtle necks, ewww                      Space heaters. Again....blast it.

Flesh colored panty hose,  double ewww

Did I mention sweat pants? triple ewww

The last three enemies might not depress you, but they will depress me, so don't. Just don't.

I hate advice. I hate that I'm giving advice, like I know anything. I hate that I'm in for a fight against depression and not werewolves.

.

                        

          

                                                                                     

to laugh or not to laugh

           Knowing when to laugh can be very complicated . Sometimes I accidentally laugh in the middle of family prayer. Other times, I will drift off in my thoughts and laugh out loud in the grocery store checkout line. The mentally ill and I get similar looks. Really, who laughs out loud without company? Lunatics, that's who. If you are still laughing about a situation days later...you have a wonderful life and it's well worth the "crazy" label. The most notorious laughter is cracking up when a person is telling a tragic story.  I think to myself "laughing would be the worst thing you could do right now, don't freaking laugh". What naturally happens when you try not to do something?.....you do it. You become a huge insensitive ass. I laugh in uncomfortable situations because I don't know what else to do or say, it's a coping mechanism. If you fall , there is a 99.9% chance that I will laugh. It's not because you're hurt, it's the way you looked while getting hurt.

      I have a friend that roars with laughter during violent movies. It makes him creepy and me  uncomfortable. There are two situations that will never appear in my life's comic strip.
          1. Anyone being  blown away
                          and
          2. Self inflicting pain for the amusement of others.
Women agree, it's not funny. But men, don't ask me why, love to see each other act disgustingly idiotic in a painful manner(MTV Jackass). If you don't know what that is consider yourself ignorantly blessed.  Each of us have a sense of humor like our thumb print, unique. Christ taught us that imperfect people should not throw stones.You won't get a rock at your head for what I find inappropriate, but you will see me leave the theatre. I'm just too sensitive. I'll have to exchange my ticket for another flick, where zombies are blasted- not people.

      Who doesn't love to laugh? It's medicinal, it takes the edge off. You can become drunk with laughter alone. The little things make life joyful, even if they're accidental. My three year old daughter will "toot" and look directly at me because she knows I'll laugh, I always laugh. I've taught her that farts are funny, except we don't say "fart" in our house. The "f" word is not allowed. We sugarcoat unpleasant things, it's also a coping mechanism.

       "When life brings you lemons, make lemonade". I don't know who originally said this, I'm pretty sure  he or she was beaten and left for dead. Who would dare utter such phrases to a person dealing with trauma? The message remains optimistically clear however. I truly believe you can find comforting laughter in any scenario, but heed this warning- Do not repeat those words back to me if my life is unraveling...the results will be messy and frightening.

      A grandma passing away is tragic. When the cause of death is a hungry bear, it's disturbing- but it's got my attention. When grandma thinks the bears are her children, and she steps in to break up a fight, I can't ignore the humor, even though it gets the best of granny and makes me an awful person for laughing. This is a true story, I saw it on Animal Planet. It wasn't meant to be funny. The reason it's comical to me is  because I see myself in the grandma. It's like looking into a crystal ball of my future adding  years+eccentricity. Someday I will own exotic/wild animals. I have thoughts of being a falconer(seriously), but first I need to raise the children and convince the husband. Matlock and Costco are just not going to cut it. I already can't stay in the house longer than an hour. I'm apologizing right now to my children who are going to have to pry my old stubborn fingers from the car steering wheel. With my car restricted, my animals and I will begin our "walkabout". I'm going to walk directly off a cliff, straight to heaven.

      Dean and I find ourselves center stage with the kids in a lot of hilarious/ sketchy situations. When my eight year old gave himself a Dumb and Dumber haircut, I  wanted to explode with laughter just looking at him. If I did that, he would have thought his naughty actions were funny, or, he would have become extremely self conscious. It's the ultimate knockdown  when your own mother makes fun of you. So we calmly told him why we "don't cut our own hair," then, my husband and I gently shut the door and laughed our butts off at the person we had created.

     When I was in junior high, I got two words very mixed up. One word was organism. The other was the same word minus the n and i. I was telling mom about my science lesson using this wrong word and she probably wanted to laugh out loud, but she didn't. She restrained explaining, and I thank her to this very day for that. There are some things in life that are far more pleasant to find out on your own. She just said uncomfortably, "don't say that word. It's or ga nism, not asm." It took me years later to finally understand that two letters can create a significantly different meaning. I imagine my children will have many "a-ha" moments in their future.

      For Family Night Monday, we had a lesson taken straight from the book. The title was "Love is a Doing Thing". Needless to say, the jokes began flying between Dean and I until I was laughing to the point of tears and the kids were looking at us like we've lost it. We each drew names to determine which person we get to do something "nice" for. Dean got a wink and a couple of raised eyebrows when I drew his name. Sooner or later, our children will catch on and say a-ha! A light bulb will turn on and they'll curse their new knowledge. Then they'll continue the cycle of inside jokes in front of their children.

    We roll with the punches and find ways to make living fun. Life is not all about laughing and fun, but learning, love and pain need a comic companion to make it bearable.