Showing posts with label peppermint dish soap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peppermint dish soap. Show all posts

Thursday, February 12, 2009

The One Where She Got Tagged...Over and Over and Over

The latest Facebook craze is tagging 25 of your friends in a “note” in which you write 25 random things about yourself. Then each of those 25 friends is supposed to do the same thing. I have been tagged about fifteen times, but have thus far resisted the urge. I am not going to post 25 random things about myself on Facebook. I mean, all those people are friends, and I have basically no idea who reads this blog, so naturally I would rather post here. Consider yourself warned…

25 Things About Me You May Wish You Didn’t Know

1. I have spent five and a half years pregnant, 135 hours in labor, and about nine years nursing babies...and you thought elephants had it bad. Oh, and once, I was asked when I was due, about three months after I had one of my kids. It was a grocery checker, and I wanted so badly to get her fired that I sat in my car for fifteen minutes debating how to go about it.. You are NEVER supposed to ask that. Even if you can see the baby’s head actually coming out.

2. My bedroom is so messy right now that you can’t see the bed.

3. I had to go to the emergency room because I almost had a heart attack from taking 12-hour Sudafeds every 12 hours for two days. I don’t make a very good drug user.

4. Once I pretended that my kids were someone else’s because they were so embarrassing. But in a sort of kharmic switcheroo, twice I have breastfed other people’s babies. Believe me when I tell you that it was an emergency both times.

5. In 2007, I read about 90 books. In 2008, about 30. This year, I’m shooting for five. And I’m going to count it if it is the same book five times. In fact, if I flip through a recipe book, I will probably count that.

6. Until about two or three weeks ago, I only had Facebook friends who “friended” me. I didn’t initiate friend requests. However, my self-esteem was flagging, so now I shamelessly cull my friends’ lists for new people to friend.

7. I can eat a dozen hot Krispy Kremes washed down with a Diet Coke, before leaving the Krispy Kreme parking lot. I like guilty, furtive eating binges. When I was little, my mom used to freeze dozens of quart-sized plastic containers of sweetened strawberries. I used to sneak those and eat them like do-it-yourself sorbet, scraping as I went with a spoon, and leaving the empty containers under beds and behind couches. She always knew it was me, but I thought I was pretty sly.

8. I only shave my legs once a week. Unless I have to wear a dress mid-week, and then I take one for the team and do it again.

9. I used to have a red, heart-shaped mark on my lower abdomen. But (please see item #1 for full explanation) unfortunately it has been stretched out of shape, and now I think it might be the mark of the beast or something. Not that I know what the mark of the beast looks like, but I’m just saying…

10. I have sort of ugly feet. I even dropped a table on my foot while working at a law office when I was first married, and now the big toe on my right foot grows some pretty crazy looking nails…I don’t look so hot in sandals. But not as bad as my brother-in-law Joe.

11. I was asked to bring homemade lasagna to a “Sweetheart Dinner” for church once, and I made three containers of Stouffers and stuffed it into my own casserole dish, and everyone asked me for that recipe for months. Suckers. That was the same “Sweetheart Dinner” where someone had the bright idea to have the women come dressed in their wedding gowns. That was wrong on so many levels. They deserved the Stouffers for that one.

12. In third grade I stole arts supplies from my school classroom. My mom made me take them back and tell Mrs. Gunthner that I stole. In retrospect, I think a case could be made that as taxpayers, we actually owned the art supplies. And Mrs. Gunthner wasn’t very nice and forgiving. I’m a little bitter.

13. I don’t like to drink milk. Maybe it has something to do with when we lived on the ranch, and used plastic buckets for milking the cows, and once my mom decided to clean the bucket with PineSol, and then all the milk tasted like PineSol after that. Or maybe I just don’t like milk.

14. I don’t wear a watch very often, because I usually don’t really care what time it is.

15. I would like to waste my life away watching TV. TV is awesome. There are about 75 shows that I would like to Tivo and watch. I could watch all day and all night, and eat goodies. I would blow up like a balloon, and pretty soon wouldn’t even leave the house to go through a drive-thru. I would have to have all my high-calorie junk food delivered, and eventually they would have to remove a wall of my house so I could be taken out the window by a big hauler so that they could bury me in a piano box or something like that. I only watch about an hour a day right now. But someday…let’s just say I haven't ruled that out.

16. I love the smell of dish soap. And laundry soap. Mmm. However, my love for those smells does not extend to their related tasks.

17. Ninety percent of my wardrobe consists of v-neck t-shirts. One should always accentuate the positive.

18. Once I had to do a five-page research paper in Spanish on a Latin-American subject. I did not feel like doing the research, so I made up one about how the ancient Mayans were actually people from the Book of Mormon. I did not back my claim up with a single shred of research. SeƱora Cardoza did not appreciate that at all. Oh! And, that same year, I wrote a children’s story for Spanish entitled “Elefante Embarazada,” which I blithely assumed meant “Embarrassed Elephant,” and as it turned out translated to “Pregnant Elephant.” I think she actually did appreciate that one.

19. I don’t like chocolate all that much, but I really like seeing other people enjoy it.

20. I only ever tell the truth on my blog, even though it would be ever so much funnier and more interesting if I were to invent a really horrid mother-in-law to bash, or if I seemed mad about stuff all the time, or pretended to drink to excess, or if I constantly made fun of people and things. Sorry so bland.

21. I only really enjoy playing games if I win. But I am pretty good at hiding that fact most of the time.

22. I must be a really poor time manager, because despite the fact that I have not implemented my TV-watching plan, I still don’t seem to get much done. What do I actually do all day??? The answer to this one may be related to #14 on my list.

23. One time when I couldn’t find a car ride back to BYU in Utah from my Northern California home, I talked my dad into getting me a ride in a little four-passenger airplane that took off from Montague Airport (try looking that up…you probably won’t find it). It was the middle of the winter and snowing, and I sat in the co-pilot seat the whole way. Now that seems a little crazy. Of course, once we kids rode to Arizona in the back of my dad’s pickup. I guess the airplane seems relatively safe…

24. The most expensive item I own, including cars, is my piano. Once a babysitter allowed the kids to hit the piano with some object or other, and broke a key. I couldn’t afford to have it replaced, and so I superglued it back on. I keep reminding the piano tuner to order a replacement key, but in more than a decade, he has never remembered to do it, so it is still superglued. I still remember that babysitter. She has kids of her own now. I hope they are hell on wheels.

25. Last one. I would probably do most anything for you. Please try not to take advantage of that fact.

Friday, December 12, 2008

The One Where The Big Guy Helped Me With the Dishes

Tonight I was doing dishes at 11:30 p.m. I was using copious amounts of Williams Sonoma Peppermint Dishsoap. You probably think that is really wasteful of me to buy dishsoap at a high-end kitchen store. I do it because it there has to be one tiny little ray of sunshine in the whole dishwashing thing. It smells so good that sometimes I wash my hands even when they are clean, just so I can sniff the stuff. Most people think that clean dishes are their own reward. But you must understand that for me, dirty dishes are the worst job in the house. I would rather clean three weeks of mildew out of the shower than do dishes. I would rather scrub toilets. With my bare hands. I would rather scrub the boys' bathroom with my bare hands. No big deal, you say? Do you have five boys in your house? When you do, then we'll talk.

So, 11:30 p.m. dishes. Peppermint dish soap. Listening to my iPod. Christmas tunes. I turned to pick up a stack of dishes, and suddenly there he was. The big guy. That jolly old elf. Santa himself, in my kitchen. We're not talking about a cheap imitation mall Santa with alcohol on his breath and a fake yellowing beard and teeth. Not this one. He smelled of candy canes and pipe tobacco. I've never been a fan of smoking, but all in all, it was a pretty pleasant combination.

My first reaction was, "Quick, get Skippy! He isn't going to want to miss this." But Santa put a finger to his lips, shhh, and grabbed a dishtowel to start drying my dishes. Santa. He's on the list! You know, the list of famous people that, if they knew me, would be my best friends? It's not an idol list...there are plenty of people I admire that I know I wouldn't get along with at all. The ones on this list are the ones with BFF potential. Santa's right there with Tom Hanks, Matt Lauer, Amy Grant, Orson Scott Card and Gordon Ramsey. And do you know what? I was right. We totally hit it off.

He wanted to know why I was up at 11:30 doing dishes, when I have to be at a rehearsal at 7:30 a.m. tomorrow for a big Christmas concert for which I am playing. I told him it was the first time I've had all evening to do them. A friend called tonight and needed to go for a walk, and I went. The missionaries didn't have a dinner appointment, so I made them some soup, muffins and apple pie. A soloist needed to go over parts for the concert tomorrow, so I rehearsed. There were so many things to do, and so many places to go, that I was just getting to the dishes shortly before midnight. I expected a lecture about how I shouldn't overschedule, but I suppose Santa knows all about deadlines and fitting everything all into one night. So he just nodded sympathetically, and dried dishes.

We talked about my kids, his reindeer, gift lists, to do lists, and cookie recipes. I could tell we were working our way around to the big question. I can guess which one you're thinking: Why doesn't avocado come off in the dishwasher? I know, right? But no, it was the other big one: What do you want for Christmas? I had no desire to sit upon, nor did he offer, his knee. But there was the question, all the same. And my head began to swim with the possibilities. Visions of sugarplums were dancing. And I don't even know what a sugarplum is. I thought to myself, I have the actual Santa Claus right here in my kitchen, and he wants to know what I want for Christmas! New dress, new computer, look good in a swimsuit, movie tickets, a laundry elf (he has got to know some, right?), HD TV, a tummy tuck, laser hair removal (okay, that last one...I don't even know where that came from. No way I am going to let someone laser my hair follicles... and the one before that? I can see the headline now: MOTHER OF SEVEN DIES ON OPERATING TABLE...GETTING A TUMMY TUCK. I would be reduced to a cautionary tale. No, thank you). But even so, the list in my head grew longer and longer.

But then I realized a couple of things. First of all, that it was nice to have a little company while I do dishes late at night. Thanks, Santa. Secondly, there wasn't much that I want for Christmas, and even less that I actually need. That is a good realization.

I told Santa that he didn't need to worry about my friends and family, either, because it is one of my favorite things in life to give them gifts. He laughed at me then, and it was a quiet laugh. Good thing, since, everyone else in the house is snug in bed. But he still shook like a bowlful of jelly. He told me that was good, because a) I am 44 years old, and if Santa was dragging around gifts for people that old, that his sleigh would probably have broken down years ago, and b) I live in the same town as the "Real Housewives of Orange County." Apparently Santa doesn't visit any town that has that many people on the naughty list. "So I'm on my own? That is what you're telling me?" I asked. He winked and said, "Of course not. I'll still help you with the dishes." (I'm not going to lie...I think the old guy was flirting with me) And so he did. The last dish done and the counters all shined, I bent to start the dishwasher. When I turned around, he was gone.

Hallucination, brought on by the potent combination of stress, peppermint dishsoap and Christmas music? Perhaps. But I don't think so.

Yes, Victoria, there is a Santa Claus.