Dear Hipsters.

I've longed to have this expressed.  I know it sounds crazy that I could be passionate about a style or movement or whatever hipsters are.  But I love them.  I love them.  I want to be them.  I seriously do.  But only the ones that, as Amy put it, don't think they are better than me for being a hipster.  Only the ones that are just so true to all things beautiful and colorful and artistic and absolutely ravishing.  That's the only word for you sweet/real/beauty-loving hipsters: ravishing.  And I don't give many things the title of ravishing.  But hipsters= deserve it.

I remember watching "my girl" years ago on Thanksgiving Day. (never to forget the loner seat that Jody sat in when we went).  I loved Vada's style.  It was artistic.  I told my mom I wanted clothes like hers.

And then there was and forever will be Punky Brewster.  She (or her character anyhow) was so entertainingly mismatched.  The piecework colored clothes and skawampous (no clue how to spell the word) pigtails were my favorite.  I thought I was Punky, with the truth be told.

But the hipsters got it all.  It combines the perfect mix of the vintage and retro and funky and classy and nerdy and hot and colorful and dull and does the mismatch better than Punky herself.  It's like this deliberate and well executed blend of colors and shapes and styles.

And I love it.

I told my friend the other day I am the type of person who appreciates order in a very vivid way.  I gave her the example of how on Cougar lane every time I drive along there is this manhole cover that makes me want to pull over and park and just rotate it about 64 degrees.  It falls on a middle yellow line of the road, and was apparently painted before it's most recent opening.  And whoever put it back was more of the SB make and I'm sure didn't think twice about the fact that order-appreciating individuals would drive by on a daily basis wondering why on earth it was too difficult to just take 7 extra seconds to align it so the yellow stripe would be one continuous line down the road.

SB says it's because I'm "tight."  He, as a self proclaim artist (which I proclaim of him as well, but there are no boards to take to gain a 'sculpt-out-of-your-garage' license), always explains to me that artists come on a spectrum: from extremely tight to extremely loose.  He falls just short of Picasso on the loose side of things.  We've decided the new slogan for Farmboy Enterprises should be "comes with a wonk."

And though I'm not Matt, I love Matt.  And even appreciate his style.  I just wish his wonk was more intentional sometimes.  I think that's why I love the hipsters so much.  It is organized wonk.  This planned looseness.  No where near the tightness of someone who is completely boring, but shy of the Punky B looseness that gives them a perfect amount of order in their colorful chaos.

Wherever they fall on the spectrum, they fall perfectly.  Which much like SBs self proclaimed title of artist, I therefore have to think I am a hipster at heart.  It resonates with me.

So when I'm hip again, you can bet it will come in the form of the hipster.

And I don't care if my local friends feel like I am jumping on board a bit late.  I spotted it a decade ago in Scandinavia and loved it as much then as I do now.  And my locals that may think I'm slow on the uptake didn't seem to mind it took years to travel here from over yonder.

Long live the hipster.  I love you.

Don't steal my babies and take them to Russia.

This blog is like every journal I've ever written.  (boring).  All I ever do is write about the things I wish I was writing about.  It's been a year (or so) since I got this up and running and needless to say I think I failed with my intentions.

I haven't been taking pictures.  But my kids are cute even if I don't have photographic proof, I promise.

Valentine's was fun.  When I posted my resolutions I don't know if I mentioned that it's the year of the homemade around here.  We are poor and any extra money we have goes to tuition and books and paying admissions committees to process and look at my curriculum vitae.

So all things we do for each other have to be homemade.  For Valentine's Matt got peanut butter bars and a mug. (3 days late).  I got a mug too.  About a week ago.  (That's the thing about homemade, we both have great ideas but it's not as easy as grabbing it off the shelf and checking out).  I took pictures.  I think I'll post them one day.

But I decided I'd quick get on my blog and think about all the great things I could be documenting.  And I played around with the blogger buttons to see what I could figure out.  I decided to click on the stats button.  I never look there (I mean, I never write so why would I get traffic?)  But-- at least from what I can tell, I have had as much traffic in the last week as my blog has ever had in it's year history.  It's not a lot but I haven't even written in the last week.

All the hits = from Russia.

I'm kind of scared.

Not that Russians scare me.  I have a Russian brother.  (Artur is his name).   But why oh why are they blog stocking me?  I hear that people stock your blogs and find out personal information (hence my code names that I use at least some of the time on here) and STEAL your kids.

So when mine end up missing the first place I'm checking is Moscow.

Thank you blogger stats for keeping me and the babes safe.  Or if not safe, at least informed.

a bit behind.

so I have some things to post about and haven't.

like Harry Berry's blessing.  she is blessed now.  I want her to have all the blessings in the world.  but some really great ones are hers now.  hopefully more on her and that later.

and the MCAT = registered for it.   August 16th of this year. I've been talking about that test for 15 years, seriously.  Seemed like it was only for the elect 12 years ago when talking to a pre-med advisor.  I swear it's their job to make becoming a physician seem the impossible task and that no medical school wants anyone to become their student.  but to take the mcat it really just takes 240 dollars. (ouch- but just a drop in the bucket in this process).  anyone can take the test.  and so i am going to, elect or not.

for now I just wanted to quick post an article I read and liked.  and i'm grateful for my friends so I related to it a bit.  so thanks for being my old friend or mentor friend or surprise friend.  and glad to say I'm my own friend.  my mom always maintained that about me... that as a kid I was just as content playing by myself as with someone.  Maybe she taught me that being my own friend was cool.  I still enjoy it, actually-- playing by myself.  But friends are a good thing and here's the article.  I'm probably supposed to just put a link and quote the source  (what's the etiquette here Amy?) but I am cutting and pasting the whole article.  I believe the writer is Elizabeth Hill? There.  Credit given.

Whenever a women's expo or craft fair comes to town, it always makes me laugh at the booths listing wares that we as women are supposedly desperately wanting: goat lather soap, Zumba workouts, Montana-made syrup, and so on. And though I love to do Zumba in the shower while eating pancakes, I'm pretty sure what I really want is not at the expo.

Unless I'm with my friends.

In the last 11 years — while living in four states, three time zones and five homes — I have had a ton of experience making and keeping friends. Across this great continent, I’ve observed that I have consistently needed five types of friends to keep me sane and balanced.

First off, I trust your husband is hopefully your friend — best friend, even. However, he is not, never will be and never should be your all-in-one everything. No person should ever be burdened with fulfilling your every need, wish and whim for companionship. You will still need other women, both older and younger, to mentor you, serve you and look up to you.

1. My favorite and dearest friend is the Old Friend variety, who is like your favorite T-shirt: comfy, worn-in and, no matter what your mood, totally appropriate. This Old Friend knows your crazy family history and can write a pamphlet on why you are the way you are and how they like you anyway.
   She’s probably seen you in your underwear, heard you sobbing over the phone or held you while you despaired over new-mom woes. You don’t have to worry about being far away because, somehow across the miles or around the block, you are still best friends and comfortable in whatever state your friendship is in.
   Here's something to note: Sisters make great Old Friends.
2. Another essential friend is the Deep Friend. She’s the one who is like a therapist, only cheaper — and probably happy to eat ice cream with you as you delve into what makes a marriage really groovy.
   The Deep Friend is perfectly at peace with dissecting your family background and how that formed the person you are now. She loves discussing the world; religion; and how to have a better, happier and richer life. She is worth her weight in gold — or Prozac.
3. Your Mentor Friend is often the age of an older siblings or even your mother. Even though she might say the same things your mother does, you don’t roll your eyes or search for the number to the local mental hospital. It sounds so right and true and a lot less annoying coming from the Mentor Friend. You mother probably sends her a script, but who cares? The Mentor Friend commiserates and validates your concerns.
   The Mentor Friend says, “I’ve been there,” without sounding condescending. She watches your children because she misses her own and she makes sure to remind you often to make time for yourself. Sure, she might be slightly outdated when you compare her to all your hipster sisters, but the Mentor is one irreplaceable friend.
   A subset of the Mentor Friend is the Younger (Sister) Friend. To her, you are the mentor and the voice of reason when all pooh breaks loose with small children. As the Mentor Friend, you get to share your hard-earned lessons, helping steer the Younger Friend toward the light at the end of the nursing or toddler tunnel. It is insanely rewarding to share the small tidbits of wisdom that someone once delivered to you when you were buried under laundry and sporting under-eye bags the size of Manhattan.
4. Our next friend is one of my current favorites: the Surprise Friend. Finding this person is like visiting your local thrift store looking for a cool Halloween costume and you find J.Crew pants for $2. Surprise Friends are like sprinkles on the cake of life: colorful and unexpected.
   The Surprise Friend is the one you meet at a play group or school meeting and your first reaction is that you have nothing in common and she probably has socks that cost more than your entire wardrobe.
   Then you find out, as time goes on, that she’s not as shallow or weird as you originally thought and the notion of spending time with her sitting on a park bench watching your children hang by their toes doesn’t make you gag or feel like getting a root canal. You find that the Surprise Friend is actually funny. And smart! And not shallow! And she’s even willing to share her gold-plated socks!
5. The last and most-important friend you can have is one that took me many moons to collect. She’s one that many don’t realize is a necessity. It’s You.
   You should be one of your closest friends — and no, Dr. Phil did not pay me to say that. I hope that little voice in your head is like a great coach and not the mean girls from 6th grade, inherently critical and smarmy.
   I’ve trained myself to control my inner dialogue so that when I lose it and holler at one of my children for hitting their sibling (again) my first response is not, “You’re a loser mother,” but instead, “You will do better next time.”
   Some women still feel this adolescent need to always be with someone, texting someone or planning daily mommy play dates. But it’s OK to just be — to be with yourself and your thoughts and have awkward conversations like:
   You: “Hi.” Self: “Hi.” You: “How ar—” Self: “Fine.” You: “Are you going to work out at th—” Self: “Eh, probably not.” You: “Really? You know how good you feel afterw—” Self: “I know. I should... OK, I’ll go.” You: “Awesome! You're gonna lose 10 pounds!”
   Awkward, yes. Helpful? Double yes.
   And though I am a certified extrovert who has a habit of slightly oversharing and is a lover of people, I think many women need these distinct relationships to make their lives richer and happier.

Are these five friend styles the only ones suitable for sustaining a healthy friend closet? No. Is it necessary to collect friends like charm bracelets? Unless you're in 6th grade, no.

But I do know that it has taken many types of women over many years to help me be a better person, a better mother, a better wife. I need them. I need their wisdom, their laughter and their genuine humanity to rub off on me.

And that is far more useful that goat lather soap.

grandma mac mondays.

oh how I love my children.  


especially when someone else is babysitting them. 





i would hate it if they were raised in a day care. 

but an occasional monday away does a mom good. 

I just get to sit at home and love this:

while this:

 and this:

reek havoc in Heber.

My kids LOVE their grandparents.  We were playing family fued over Christmas break on the new Wii.  (Haven't played the Wii since, but still appreciate Santa trying to get us in the gaming world).  One of the questions was a survey about kids favorite places to go.  SB and I were shocked to not find grandma's house on the list.  And to be perfectly honest I don't know that it would have been on my top ten back in the day.  But as far as little Lou is concerned, Papa Oxy and Grandma Mac (both Grandmas are Grandma Mac to her, much to my mom's chagrin) might as well be Orlando Florida and the Magic Kingdom.  And as for the Bugman, the aquarium holds up stiff competition to his grandmas' houses, but that's about it.  In fact this morning I was kissing him goodbye as he was asleep on the couch (where he regularly sleeps) and half waking up, but with his eyes still closed he said "snuggle me mommy" to which I replied "Well Daddy is going to take you in just a minute to Grandma Mac's house."   His eyes POPPED open wide as did his mouth, followed by a huge grin.  Pretty priceless.  I wish I could get that kind of reaction out of him.  But I'll let someone else have it.  If they'll have him, too--  but just on an occasional Monday.

Back to the books, what I'm really supposed to be doing when they are away. 

But I wanted to check something off my list since my Organic Chemistry homework won't be coming off the to-do's today.  Blog post #2 in 2012.  Check.

resolute.

That's what I try to be sometimes.  Admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering.


But it doesn't always work out that way.  I made some great resolutions.  One was to blog at least once a week this year.  Judging by the fact that this is my first post in 2012 and we are already in the third week, I am obviously a little off track.


But I'd be in a really sad place if I let every broken resolution get me down.  January 18th doesn't sound quite as even and fresh as January 1st, but I'm trying to learn to just go with it.  Besides, everybody starts something at the beginning of the year.  But 17 days later makes me way more unique, I am sure of that.


As for the rest of this year's goals?  Here they are, but don't judge me for any of them.


-No chocolate till June.  (chocolate flavor is okay though, have to get my fix somehow so I'll be stocking up on the hot cocoa).


-Play at least one game a week. (we have about a hundred and would like to play them at least once every other year).


-Run as many times a week as the numerical month that is, until June.  (once in January, twice a week in Feb., three times a week in March, etc.)


-3.5 hours a week of gospel study.


-7 hours a week of MCAT study. (till June, then maybe I'll step up the gospel study, so sorry to those that feel I've got my priorities wrong).


-Floss every day.  This is why I inserted the "don't judge" comment.  But I'll be honest, it's still not really a habit 32 years later. Brushing, yes.  But flossing, only occasionally.  Until 2012 rolled around.


-Take a vitamin everyday and give them to my kids


-Apply to Medical School by early August, hopefully Aug. 1st.


-Set a routine for my kids and stick to it.


-Read 3 novels by the end of the summer.  (won't get to start this until late June since my reading is focused near solely on physical sciences, biological sciences, and verbal reasoning).


-Organizational goals that are too lengthy to write about, and so numerous they become the least achievable of any of these goals.


-take more pictures of my cute kids.


-post the pictures. because that's the whole reason I have a blogging goal-- to have some kind of history of our family.


-eat healthier as a family.  (SO cliche.  and so immeasurable.  but not hard to do, just about anything would be healthier I think).


oh the goals go on and on.  but there's a start.  Our goal as a family this whole year is:"Organize Yourselves..." (ref. D&C 88:119).   (we actually decided it might take us a lifetime to get where we really want to be, but we're starting this year)  


And we know it's going to be a good year because 32 is my favorite number and 12 is my lucky number and I am 32 in '12 so we imagine good things await. 


I haven't actually started taking pictures much this year so far, but here are some kid pics we got 2 days after Harry Berry was born.  So sweet.

bragging rights.

well here's a post I made a month ago, slightly updated, that I forgot to post

two of my noted summer agenda items come with bragging rights.

first-- SB.  Sculpted 50+ animals for our float.  Have a looksie.  Pretty awesome.  Super big thanks to everyone who helped in the process: sanding, mudding, sanding again, base coat painting.  But biggest thanks to the sculptor who makes it look so easy.  When they asked me to take on this float everyone said there were two things I needed to worry about most immediately.  Finding a warehouse and finding a sculptor.  The warehouse took a little work and was a blessing for sure.  The sculptor, my life's biggest blessing anyhow, was a piece of cake.

On another note.  S. Powell.  I don't have much to say on this blog about it all right now.  I thought for sure they had found her on my birthday... and as Liz McN caught on, it seemed like a bit weird, or perhaps like the stars were aligned.  Nevertheless I trust the dogs.  Not saying it's Susan, just saying I believe the dogs.  And the other S. Powell, Steve = creep.  Oh boy.  As far as bragging rights go?...  Emily Florez of Channel 2 news and I go back a bit.  She got to go down and search in Ely.  I am always beggin' SB to take me  to the west desert and let me find Susan.  And Emily came so close.  I prefer to call her Mac... or if I'm really feeling chummy, I call her Feliz.  She prefers it, I promise.  So if you ever meet her, call her Feliz.  But anyway, bragging rights that I know her, right..  And thanks to my bcf I found my favorite-ever youtube video.  Enjoy.  Even if this video's not your fave, she will be once you meet her.  If you don't believe me, ask Cathy Olsen.  The rest of the world pales in comparison to sweet Em.

oh how the days go by.

SB had to go back to work today.  I know for most of humanity 2 weeks is a lot of time off.  In our world, he gets the whole summer.  That's the beauty of being a teacher.  I respect and love teachers.  Good ones, at least-- of which SB is.  But I do not pity them at all.  Summers off.  Weekends off.  Holidays off.  Nights off.  Prep periods off.  Assemblies, games, in-services = off.  My business is a revolving 24/7 door that doesn't even rest on Christmas Day.  I love my job and don't complain-- but I just vote teachers ought not complain, either.  We pick our paths, right? 

But it's not SB complaining anyhow, it's me.  I love our life when we hang out together for weeks on end.  This summer went by way too fast.  Apparently I never even changed my blog header from "Spring Fever" and now autumn is knocking on the door.

Highlights I intend to cover about this summer in the upcoming days:

-Harriet Anne.  Our daughter to be.

-The Bug's 3rd Birthday and all things dinosaurs.

-4 years going strong since we sealed the deal down at the Provo Temple. 

-The float.  Oh the float.  Munched our summer.  But is almost done.  (No, it didn't end with the Pioneer days parade.  When you are in charge of building a float you are in charge of unbuilding the  float.  We are close, but not there yet).

-School= 4.0.  Not too shabby after years off of academia.  One semester wasn't too bad.  10 more years is a bit daunting still.  But it's still my plan most days.

-The search for Susan P.   I'm obsessed.

That's a good start.  Happy Summer.  It's good to be back.