SPIRICHAL GROWTH

Sooooo sorry about that last post. It was so unlike me. Usually when my bucket runs dry, it's a slow leak and I'm prepared for it. I can usually staunch the flow before I bleed out. But this time, well, let's just say Julia needs a new hairbrush. (whack, whack, whack) Bless her heart.

So missionary son wrote to us yesterday, and we were THRILLED to read of his 'spirichal' growth for the week, with the BEST story of all consisting of having a horrible urge to laugh at a really inappropriate time. ALSO, having an equally terrifying urge to break wind, at the same indecent moment.

Trying his best to stifle BOTH the hilarity AND the bowels proved to be too much for the poor lad, and he had to choose one or the other to blow out of an orifice. He chose wrong. A giant flatulent rrrrrriiiippped right through his trousers, filling the air~with sound and essence~(two senses at once~he's an overachiever like his mom) in front of an entire room full of missionary peers... as well as a woman investigating the church.

I know. (Head tilt, heart pat) So proud. (two handed tear fan)

Unintentional though it was, not his proudest moment. In fact, his words were, "MY LIFE IS OVER!!!" And it very well may be, since his own mother just posted about it on her blog. Honestly! Can you believe her? That dame is so self serving.

Anyway, apparently they serve these 2,500 young men a diet LOADED with fart-inducing fare. And let's face it~these are NINETEEN year old young men~BOYS, really~donning zits and Adams apples bigger than their skulls~being sustained with a steady diet of churros, broccoli and processed cheese. (I'm just guessing) So really...REALLY...what is the disgust and faux outrage all about, people? I mean, have you EVER known an adolescent male to be discerning about where or when he rids himself of discomfort? Answer: Eyebrow raise.

By the way, I'm still waiting for more "Best of blog" input. Remember, your donation comes with an all expense paid "acknowledgment" shout out...which I think we all agreed, was very meaningful to everyone. OK? OK. (hand claps) Now let's get bizzy!

Early church tomorrow. Nine year old sleep over last night. Saturday Mom all day today. 'Nuff said.

ADORE

Speaking of fish (I know I wasn't speaking of fish, but I was thinking of fish)~my second son was asked to a girl's choice dance tonight. Which is DELIGHTFUL, as we adore the girl.

Now, lest ye think me daft, let me clarify~

Not the kind of adore that goes with a witless and simpering, 'Oh my heck, aren't they just the CUTEST couple?! We just LUUUUVVVV HER, (she's on the drill team, you know) and when she comes over we give them lots and lots of privacy, (so they can fornicate) and we hope they NEVER, EVER break up, (when they get in a fight, I text her and tell her to take him back, because that's the kind of mother (stupid) I am.) And surely, there won't be any adjustments to their personalities (like maturity)...or lost opportunities for progression (like DATING or an EDUCATION)...or baby bumps underneath prom dresses (They can live in our basement~after all, it's OUR grandchild)...over the course of these critical years that might destroy their young lives, because these are gooood kids.'

Yeah, not stupid "adore." More like great family, smart girl, modest dress, no possible hooter action, kind of adore.

By the way, did you know that you can answer a nine year old girl the exact same way about 14 times in a row, and she'll still ask you the exact same question, switching a couple of words around and demanding that you give her your full attention each and every time, and then be furious that the answer stayed the same. I just told Jules I was getting "irritated." (Hi. My name is Lisa Understated Bingham.) And SHE replied, "You NEVER, EVER, EVER LISTEN TO ME!" and goose-turded out of the room. My GOODNESS, isn't she enchanting. (that was a statement, not a question. A question could have been answered)

Where was I? Oh, yes. Fish. There was a humorous story here originally, but Julia sucked me dry. Bone dry. Not a happy or creative thought remains.

I can't even figure out a way to end this post.

Sorry.

G'nite.

PYRAMID BASE

Did I ever tell you all that I was the base of every pyramid I was ever a part of? Yes. Yes, I was. The base of every...single...pyramid. (she said dejectedly)

The brown trunk for the leafy treetops.

The unnoticed stem of the blossoming rose.

The earth's concealed magma core.

Which is the position they save for the most feminine, elegant, teeny tiny Disney princess on the team. Obviously.

Which brings us to a gem I like to call, "Snake-face Stephen and his venomous comment that almost drove me to sucking down Tablespoons full of vomit inducing Ipecac." Let us commence...

Stephen was in the gym early, before the basketball game, and sadly, so was I. He had slithered and perched right in front of me with his permanent wave hair, tortoise shell glasses (with gradient shading~they got darker the higher you went~like a windshield) and brown knit shirt with horizontal stripes. (Mm hmmm. Just sayin') He then leaned over to the girl next to him and fork-tongue HISSED while pointing strait at me with obvious glee, "That's Lisa. Yeah, her. She's the biggest cheerleader." And the girl nodded as she looked me up and down in critical assessment.

And I bent over to tie my shoe...

...and died a thousand deaths.

That night I went home, went to the medicine closet and pulled out the case with first aid supplies. "In case of poisoning" it said. Exactly what had happened~I'd been poisoned. But fortunately for me, the antidote was already in my system.

Self worth, a comforting gift from my Heavenly Father, kicked in immediately and the anti-venom had been at work since I'd bent to tie my shoe. I didn't realize it yet, but as soon as I held the bottle in my hands, I almost laughed aloud at my own melodrama. "Are you kidding me? You know who you are, Lisa. And THIS is NOT who you are." And I pushed the case back into the closet, arose and went into the kitchen for a treat. (Apparently, THAT is who I am. Surprise, surprise.)

I don't really know how it happened~that I was saved from a life filled with self doubt and destructive choices. A tender mercy, absolutely. An inborn spiritual strength, positively. A raising up by goodly...and Godly...parents, as the BASE for who I was...and am...and will continue to be, undeniably.

And so, I AM THE BASE of every pyramid. Every. Single. Pyramid. (she said majestically)

The mother of the family.

The rock for the wise-man's house.

The Spanx underneath the little black dress.

Go ahead. Climb on. I hold strong.

CREATIVE TWIST

So, Valentine's Day is approaching and I was thinking last night, around 1:00 AM, that I would share with you an adolescent Valentines Day luuuuuuv fantasy I had. Which sounded like a brilliant blog topic at the time. And then I woke up this morning and knew that, just like an acid-trip flashback, I'd had what I refer to as a creative twist flashback. Let me explain.

See, years ago, I would be up at all hours of the wee, with a child attached to a portion of my body, sucking the life juices out of me~which may have been made up of brain cells, but we'll never know for sure, right? Anyway, where was I? I forget. Wait a sec, it'll come. It usually does.

Oh yes. I'd be up all night long~intermittently, and in order to stay awake, I'd have to think~creatively.

Well, one night, I was doing some of my BEST visionary thinking, eyes propped open with toothpicks and slurched over in a rocking chair, when I had thee MOST. BRILLIANT. IDEA. THAT. HAS. EVER. FORMED. (IN A NURSING MOTHER'S BRAIN)...and that was...drumroll please...to take creative twist (remember the wrinkled craft paper from the 80's? Yeah, that) and unravel it, (oh my gosh, this is so fantastic!) pinching it together every 12 inches (oh my heck, I can't believe nobody has ever thought of this before!) and hot glue a navy blue silk flower (never really seen one in nature, but that must be an oversight by Heavenly Father) with fake maroon baby's breath, (navy blue and maroon, totally timeless! ) at every pinch~and then attach it to the wall (with push pins, because we were renting) as a border!!! SO A CREATIVE TWIST BORDER!!! I KNOW! I KNOW!

If only it weren't 2:47 in the morning, I would SOOO pull this suckling child from my breast and call my sister to tell her about my idea. But alas, against my will, I had to go back to bed (an energizing three hour milk production break) and wait for a more appropriate hour to share this significant gift with the world.

Aaaaannnnddd....enter discernment and clarity. Two things that had open-mouth snory slumbered while I'd been up nursing and innovating. They arose when I did that morning, fully refreshed and clear headed, but unfortunately NOT quick enough on their feet to stop my fingers before I dialed Nicki's number.

Then they started arguing about who's fault it was that this rancid idea had gone unchecked for an entire 6-8 hours and didn't even notice that I'd started speaking in wild excitement into the receiver.

When they finally shut up long enough to hear me, they both ran screaming and flailing around in my brain, knocking into gray matter walls and trying to disrupt me mid-sentence. Then they shook my eyeball roots and slapped at my equilibrium until I had to grab a chair and sit down like a sobering drunk, while they briefed me on what had transpired the night before.

We had a good laugh, Nick and I. Aah. Good times. (wiping a mirthy tear) She'd been a nursing mother, too, so she understood toothpick eyelids and rogue ideas. But she's never let me live it down~and I have to say I don't blame her. That's just a gift from the sibling-rivalry and power-lording gods. And you don't look one of those in the mouth. (yeah, I don't get that whole 'gift horse" thing either~but I say it like I do)

Anyway, back to the luuuuuv idea. Not gonna share it. Nope, nope, nope. Discernment and Clarity won't let me. They're mean. They wear camouflage. And they two-finger-eyeball-point while mouthing "creative twist," when I even LOOK like I might share something silly.

So don't even ask.

Talk to the hand.

Not.

Gunna.

Sayit.

(I lied. They're on vacation. Don't be surprised if you get a call about 2:47.)

WISE FAME SEEKING

Hello there, dear BBFF's! OK, here's what's goin' down. I need some input. Putting together a "query" letter for agents and I need to send my best work...so that I can be published...because remember, I already have the perfect 'book tour' outfit and shoes? (see above picture, which may or may not be the right pair~because there are just so many other shoes in the sea, and I don't want to limit myself to only one option, just in case we're not fully compatible) But apparently I need a book to publish in order to go on a book tour, and to be seen in the perfect book tour outfit and shoes...so I shall need YOUR help. YOUR intelligent, brilliant insight. Would you be so kind as to put together your "top ten list" of Lisa's blog posts? Or if you can't stand to re-read so much tripe, just your top three.

Then I'll compile, add, subtract, ignore some, trump up others, paint blue and sprinkle glitter and we'll come up with a final list together. Then it's like you're RIGHT THERE WITH ME when I'm spurned...over...and over...and over again. But remember that misery loves company, so we'll ALL hang out by the mailbox, sipping our Dr. Peppers over rabbit poop ice and cackling and laughing in unison, reading the rejection form letters and mocking the stupid editors and agents, as we huddle and freeze in our nightgowns like one big, happy BBFF family. (everyone remember to brush your teeth, cuz there will be lots of 'close talking')

Now, just to cover all bases, in case an acceptance wiggles and worms it's way through the postal process, I SHALL NOT FORSAKE THEE, FRIENDS. In fact, so beholden to you sweeties will I be, that I will give EVERY ONE OF YOU A SHOUT OUT in my "acknowledgments." Which is very meaningful to all of you, I can tell. But you deserve it, dear hearts. You deserve it. (head cock, pursed lips, heart pound and two fingered kiss)

But only if you send me your list. The rest of you shall remain anonymous, and that's sad, because as everybody knows, the reason for existence is fame. That's right, fame. Because it's long lasting...and eternal in nature...never changing and definitely not fickle.

Which is why I'm seeking it. My wisdom and foresight amazes even me.

Oh, I can hardly wait! Good times await us, blog friends. Good times.

So let's get to readin' and list making! And if by chance, your comments on the blog will not publish, as has been known to happen WAY TOO FREAKIN' MANY TIMES...which MAKES ME REALLY ANGRY...but should that happen, then send me your list to my email address:

slacsjbing@hotmail.com~and we'll call it "WISE FAME SEEKING" in the subject box. There.

Consider me mouth breathing over your shoulders right now. That should hurry things along.

ME-TIME

"Hello me-time, my old friend....I've come to talk with you again..." A little slightly altered 1960's hippy music to start the year out. Did you hear that? Me neither. Isn't it wonderful?!

I luuuuuuv me some me-time. And by me-time, I mean thoughtful pondering and really righteous, just trying to be a better mom by filling up my own bucket so that I have enough bucket juice (which tastes suspiciously like Dr. Pepper) to splash all over my family, so this me-time is obviously for THEM and not the least bit selfish like some (many) people might suggest. (Also, don't even THINK about dropping by during this me-time, or my bucket juices will dry up and my family will suffer with life-threatening dehydration as a result, so in order to save their lives...because remember, me-time is really about them~as so many other things I do that might LOOK selfish to the naked eye, but are in actuality very UNSELFISH~trust me on this~...it's best not to call or expect me to be up and dressed~or really accomplishing anything~during this very unselfish and critical juncture.)

Me-time is my favorite.

I also love the fresh New Year sparse. (see above vintage displays~my only New Year fluff) Because for the last, oh, I'd say four months now, there hasn't been a single flat surface in my home that hasn't housed some sort of seasonal decor that needed to be nurtured. And by nurtured I mean dusted, fussed with, rearranged, added to, watered, regrouped, changed out or sprayed with glitter...just like my own children. Which is part of being a homemaker, and I knew that going in, people. But still, one can only go to Target with glitter flakes clinging to nose hairs and eyelashes so many times, before one is mocked by cashiers.

And speaking of cashiers, I've once again become acquainted with a new batch. Another duty of a housewife fighting the war against Winter blues, so she's taking her mental health very seriously and has STOIC RESOLVE that includes a daily financial workout (beating.) Yes, she is THAT committed to being in peak mental condition.

Would that I were that committed to being in peak physical condition. But I've started down the right path. I intend to, friends. And as we've discussed before, the pathway to Heaven is paved with good intentions, which means I'm even closer to being in the Celestial kingdom than ever before. And yes, it does feel good.

OK, so it looks like this year has begun "prit-near perfect." Me time, rabbit poop ice, a strong defense for Winter blues and intentions.

My bucket is getting heavier by the second. I should probably get a straw.

RESOLUTIONS

HAPPY NEW YEAR, PEEPS! And now for the most pressing issue...resolutions.

Yeah, I know you're smiley all over, just like me, at the thought of fixing what has been corrupted over the past year. So, shall we take stock?

Let us begin with our 41 year old bodies and what they're made up of after the conclusion of these 365 days. Question: Can Dr. Pepper (or Diet Coke with lime) take the place of the 70% of our bodies that should be made up of water? Answer: Yes. Yes it can. And you can quote me on that. Also, feel free to pattern YOUR diet after MINE, (misery loves company)...because it can only do you good. And by good I mean not good.

Next, how is our exercise regime coming along? Well, I think we all know the answer to that. It's apparent by the fact that I post on this blog day after day after day, doing tireless finger crunches on the computer keyboard. My fingers are in PEAK PHYSICAL FORM, friends. I can actually see the bones under the skin, (rib cage) and the sinew is strong and controlled (six pack.) The skin is taught and tan, stretching over strong knuckles, (no stretch marks.) I think you get the picture (but really probably not, as I shan't be taking one of me and sending it to you, because I've heard they're worth a thousand words and I don't want those words getting all jumbled up in your mind's eye.)

Okay, what's next? Let's go with financial responsibility.

Moving on...

And finally, parenting skills. Another question: How many times can you whack a daughter on the head with a hair brush without causing long-term "repercussions?" Answer: An undetermined number~I'll let you know when I've stopped and we'll see if there is any lasting damage. (For novice whackers: The hair hides any tell-tale signs, so all is well as long as it's done in the privacy of your own bathroom every morning before school starts and she is whining and whining and wants to wear another ugly boy outfit and you have been nice...to...her...just...as...long...as...you...can.) Just sayin'.)

In conclusion, I think it's time for a pact. Let us all cut, (I'll wait while everybody gets a razor blade. NO, THIS IS NOT OPTIONAL! Okay, now then~) squeeze and raise our fingers to the computer screen, repeating these words together..."What happened in 2009 STAYS in 2009." There. Go ahead and wipe off the screen. I think our secret is safe.

Now if only I could get my chins to stop bearing witness against me...

PS~Somebody just "dropped by" a few minutes ago, forcing me to run and hide like a squirrel eating nuts behind my bedroom door. As if there is an appropriate time to drop by on New Years Day. FYI~there is no "acceptable" time (not even 3:14 PM) on New Years. There is only "too early." Now you know.

PSS~I punished my hair for being entitled~washed it today with crappy shampoo. Hair straightened right up cuz it KNEW I meant business. So to all you hair enablers out there, take heed. A firm parental hand does wonders for spoiled tresses. (If the problem is small, Pantene will do. If it's out of hand, I recommend Suave.)

PSSS~I've attached a picture of Jules and her friend after playing the "blindfolded application of makeup on each other's faces" game. Good times. Good times. Now where is that hairbrush?

PSSSS~I know it's supposed to be "PPPPS" but that sounded too much like something I do every time I sneeze (if I don't cross my legs in time) so I went another way. And all of you who noticed and thought me un-edumacated, you're kind of a snob. Just sayin'.