We Can Do Hard Things!

Packing for china...easy. Turning 40...easy. Walking on hot coals...easy. Having your oldest son turn 18...NOT EASY!!

As I've said before, many times before, I don't mind aging. I like it. For me and for other people. As long as it's not my own children! It's always a little painful for me when they have birthdays. A little melancholy, a little pang of reluctance, considering that they are one step closer to leaving me. When they were infants, at least with the last few, I shed tears at the most miniscule of milestones. Sometimes they looked older in the morning than they had the night before. Tears. Or they'd grow out of their newborn sized clothes. Tears. I was losing my babies and I knew it, and I didn't like it.

Eventually, the babies were gone and I was sad. But I had these great new "kids." They were funny and talkative. I finally got to hear what I had wondered about for so long: what they were thinking. They could dress themselves. They didn't wear diapers. It wasn't entirely devastating.

Those bookend kids, though, they give me the most heartache. When Andie turns 5, 8, 10, it smarts! I don't like it. When I see the last of them moving forward I find myself wishing I could turn back time.

But watching my oldest is usually more fun. It's all the firsts; first step, first lost tooth, first day of school, first teenager, first driver/dater; those things are not only firsts for him, but for me, too. So it's exciting new territory. Fun to be in on and to watch.

So I was caught a little off guard when, the night before Tanner's 18th birthday, I started to panic. No! I'm not ready! Waaaaaiiiiiit!!!!! Just wait a little while, k? Just until I can get ready for this. We're not in any hurry, right? Heh, heh. *Sweat droplets on forehead.* You don't need to do this. Think about what you're doing, Tanner. You don't need to do this! Don't do it! DON'T DO IT!!!!!!!

Okay, I was kidding about the sweat droplets, but I really did say that, or something to that effect. And by the time I finished, tears were streaming down my face. I was laughing, though, and smiling, but also crying. Tanner got a kick out of it and egged me on with, "No, I'm doing it! I'm totally doing it! This is the last time you'll ever see me as a non-adult. When you see me in the morning, I'll be an adult! So goodbye -- for - ever!" He was joking around, but a part of me was feeling denial/sadness/regret/PANIC!

Knowing what an incredible person he is eases the pain somewhat. But he was my incredible person, and now he's his own incredible person. Well, he's still mine, but not in the same way. Here's how incredible he is: at his birthday dinner he told the kids who were telling me how I couldn't boss Tanner around anymore, "Just because I'm 18, that doesn't mean I don't still need to respect my parents." I know, weird. But he said that. That's the kind of person he is. Respectful, kind, good, honest, trustworthy. He's also very funny, and super-smart, and smoooooth; joe cool. I could tell you stories to prove my claims, but I'd need a lot longer than one blog entry. I can say, however, that I don't know of anyone who doesn't love Tanner. And I know lots of people who adore him. He's pretty great He'll be a great...oh...uh...um...eew...ungh...man.

There! I said it! Ouch. That stings.

Yeah, well, at least he doesn't wear diapers anymore, so, you know, I'm cool with it. I'm fine. No problem...

Waaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Tanner's Birthday

So I have to quick tell you about Tan's b-day last night. And then I swear, I'm going to finish getting ready for China. We leave in the morning. Yikes! Anyway,

I knew Tan would way rather do something with his friends than with the fam, but I also knew I'd resent it...unless it was my idea. So I called his friends and we hatched a plan:

At school one of his friends told him that they were going to pick him up around 5:30 and take him out for his birthday -- the best night ever -- a surprise! Tanner knew we were planning dinner and stuff, so he called me and, as diplomatically as possible, told me what he'd just heard and asked if we had plans (which he knew we did, but, you know, diplomacy...) So I acted perturbed and told him of course we did and why did his friends plan something without checking first and they would just have to do it another time.

"Can we maybe do dinner another time?"

"What? Of course not! Tanner, it's your birthday, and we're going to have a family dinner and cake and presents! Your friends will have to reschedule!"

"But -- they arranged to leave basketball practice early and everything! And what if they've, like, bought tickets or something?"

"I doubt it."

"Okay mom, that's okay. Uh...it'll be fun. Yeah, dinner's good." He's so polite - tee hee! He won't be rude to me, even if he's dying inside of regret, having to miss out on the best night ever with his friends. And a surprise, no less!

Later his friends kept calling and texting him, saying that if he hurries they might still have time to do it. So Tanner was tempted to pick a fast food restaurant for dinner, and even suggested some semi-fast places before we called him on it and made him choose a sit-down, peruse the menu, take-your-order, tip-the-waiter restaurant. He was so fidgety. I was doing an amazing job of keeping a straight face. I don't know how I did it! I always give it away with my face -- but not this time. I feigned sympathy for Tan with a side of irritation towards the friends. I was so smooth. And the rest of the family were perfection -- no slip-ups whatsoever.

The friends kept up a stream of, "Are you done yet?" "We're running out of time...best night ever...surprise..." and finally, "It's too late. We'll have to do it another time, dang it. We still won't tell you, but it will be the best night ever." Maybe a little overkill on the "best night ever" stuff; I was worried he'd be let down. But it was awesome watching him squirm, torn between his massive regret of missing out on the night with friends, while still trying to be kind and not make us feel like he'd rather be somewhere else.

After dinner we got home and prepared to eat cake and open presents. Tanner went down to his room for a sec and...SURPRISE!! There were his friends. Then I broke it to him that we'd planned it days ago and I'd bought them all tickets to the James Bond movie that starts in an hour.

Boo yah!

Whoa. I gotta go. China calls...

HB to Melissa and Me!

My friend Melissa and I are twins! Well, I mean, other than the fact that yesterday I turned 40 and she turned 18. But still twins, give or take. We were chatting on Facebook the other day and she was telling me she had lots of funny stories from her apartment-living down't the BYU. I asked her to write one and email it to me for my birthday and she said she would. You will, right M'liss?

I asked her what she wanted from me and she said she wanted me to dedicate a blog entry to her. Perfect!

Here's the thing: getting old is SO awesome! Okay, I will admit that, for me, age 17, 18, and 19 can never be replicated in terms of freedom and fun. But eventually, and a little painfully, I had to give that up and move on. I did that by DECIDING that getting old is so awesome. I didn't believe myself at first. It took me a few years during my mid-twenties to learn to relish every age, every year, every new number I got to be. But once I believed, I believed. And I love getting older!

In my mid-twenties I was having children. Actually, in my entire twenties I was having children. During every year that started with a nineteen-ninety I was either pregnant with, or nursing a baby. Nothing can ever compare to that decade. It was awesome. I loved nearly every minute of it. I knew it was going to fly by and I could never get a moment of it back, and so I cherished my babies. I miss them.

The day before I turned 30 I had a brief mourning period for my twenties and wistfully kissed them goodbye. It stung a little, but the next day I ripped the band aid off and dove into the 30s like I'd won the lottery. Not like the big lottery, you know, not the 16 million dollars. More like a decent sized lottery, like maybe about 16 thousand dollars, around there. But I loved it. I thought of myself as all mature like. Like when I clip-clopped through the church gym in heels and thought I sounded just like my mom. So cool. I was a WOMAN. It was strange to think of myself as such, and I still much prefer to be referred to as a GIRL, but technically -- woman.

By then I was volunteering in the schools and when the kids said, "Hi, Mrs. Farley!" it made me smile. And when my young women and primary kids, or anyone, for that matter, call me "Sister Farley" -- love it!

Part of the reason I can love getting older is that I know I don't ever have to act older. I learned from my mom that there is no such age when you can't sit on the floor or have a water fight or have regular doses of hard-core laughter therapy. There's no such age when you have to stop doing anything. Wait, I'd better qualify that. There may be an age when you should stop wearing pigtails. Should, but don't have to if you really feel strongly about it.

Here is what I love about aging:

~You can do whatever you want. You are the boss of you and you can make your life exactly what you want it to be. You might have to work really hard and make sacrifices, but, again, you get to choose.

~You go through hard stuff and come out okay on the other side. You come out stronger and wiser and more grateful -- and way cooler. I love being able to look at anyone older than, say, 35 and know that they have, in all probability, had their heart broken. One way or another. And survived it. That's pretty impressive.

~You get smarter. You know stuff. Lots of stuff. You've been there, done that, and if not you, then someone you love, and you still learned stuff from it. And you can give some pretty good advice about just about anything. Or at least you think you can, and that's really all that matters.

~You get prettier. At least in my opinion. I think everyone should share that opinion, but we're not quite there yet.

~You get wrinkled and saggy. What? You don't think that's awesome? Psh! Whatever! Do you even know how much you have to smile and laugh to get good wrinkles? A TON! You can also get them by frowning a lot, but I wouldn't recommend it, because people will be able to tell if you have frowny wrinkles or smiley wrinkles. The wrinkles don't lie. But they do say, "Check me out! I've been through life! And I've loved it!" (Or not loved it, but that's not what I want mine to say. *Crossing fingers*) As for the saggy; well, let's just say I carried, birthed, and nursed a lot of children to get this saggy. And I'm proud OF it! And besides, they have really good bras and shapers nowadays.

~Gray hair. My fave. No, I'm not joking! I love me some elegant, sophisticated, silver hair. Seriously, if you could get past the 'old' factor, you'd have to admit it's a beautiful color. Don't give me that look! It's the truth.

~Many other things that I would list right now if it weren't for that pesky down side of aging: I can't remember.

So, happy birthday, Melissa! It's not hard to love being 18, so no prob for you. But when it gets a little harder, just remember: One year cooler, smarter, and more awesome.

Or my kids' version: One year weirder, geekier, and more embarrassing.

What do they know? They're young. Poor things.

Log Out. Always Log Out.

Phew! That's so much better. I thought that pink and blue background was going to burn my retinas. I'm liking this seasonal and pleasant background. For now, anyway.

Well, I guess Ali is harder to please than I thought. Now she wants music. Sigh. Okay, Ali, I'm working on it. Gimme a little breathing room, would ya? Geez!

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm kind of excited about the music thing. I just have to figure out how to do it. I will. Really, I will.

On a more embarrassing note...

My friend Craig, husband of April was checking his Facebook at our house last week. The next day when I went to Facebook it was already on Craig's page! He didn't log out! I laughed my evil laugh (Mwa ha ha!) and got to work, first sabotaging his profile. I put his interests as ogling, overcompensating, posturing, and I forget what else, changed his favorite books to the Twilight Series, changed his schooling, degrees, job title, religion (Sikh), political party (Boston Tea Party -- it's real! I looked it up!), and etc. Then I wrote on people's walls, posing as Craig, of course. I told his son to stop going around telling people I had a big hole in my underwear, I told his brother I didn't want to be brothers with him anymore due to his being too "high maintenance," "emotional," and "uncoordinated" and said I'd decided to be brothers with Matthew McConaughey instead because he was more fun and likes to be nude a lot. Which is true. Which I didn't really think through. Which could be taken wrong. Which Craig didn't appreciate.

If I were to name the funniest person I know, it would be Craig. No contest. He can throw a punchline before the end of your sentence. He can be intelligent funny, dry funny, and goofy funny. He can be both laugh-with and laugh-at funny. You can count on some gut-wrenching laughs when Craig's around. In fact, April keeps trying to get me to write the embarrassing story of when Craig said something funny while I was drinking a Lime Rickey at Arctic Circle and I coughed, spewed, gagged, and subsequently THREW UP Lime Rickey all over my tray of food. We didn't know Craig and April very well at that time, but after that bonding moment we knew we'd be friends forever. Did I mention I was exceedingly pregnant? Did I mention I also peed my maternity pants? Good times. (And now you don't have to bug me about it, Apes.) But I digress.

Craig is also extremely serious. He's all smarty pants and stuff. He's a JAG officer in the Air Force. He's always in some leadership position in church. He's a stickler for the rules. I don't really see that side of him all that often, and I'm not a big fan of that side of him, either. Don't EVER make him mad, especially if his family is involved. I've seen it. It's not pretty. Admirable, yes, but NOT pretty.

Let's move on back to the Facebook story, shall we? I didn't hear anything for a day or so, so I texted his son, "Tell your dad to check his Facebook." Tee hee hee! It was going to be so funny when Craig saw my handiwork. Yeah, he was just going to change everything back to the way it was and explain to his brother and stuff, but it would be SO funny! Then nothing. And some more nothing. Finally, I called April and told her, "Has Craig seen his Facebook yet?"

"YOU did that?" she said.

"Well, duh! Who else would do that?" I said. Turns out Craig was convinced that someone had hacked into his page and planted a virus and is stalking his family and is a terrorist and is going to assassinate the president. I went back to reevaluate whether anything I wrote was over the line, but there was no page. He took it down! The whole thing. Grrrrr! I was so irritated that THAT Craig had emerged! I wanted the funny Craig to have found it. But no. So then, after stomping around and cursing "serious" Craig's lack of humor for a while, I called him to apologize. Of course he was totally nice, we're couple BFF's, after all. He explained about his professional and church related reputation and specifically mentioned the Matthew McConaughey reference. That's when I realized it could be taken differently than it was meant, which was supposed to be innocently funny. We worked it out and mutually apologized. He said it wasn't as bad as when baby Tanner threw a brass llama (camel, if Bob's telling the story. But Craig bought it in Peru and probably knows what it is, don't you think?) at baby Brach 15 years ago. "Really?" I said, "That was worse?"

"Kimi. He tried to kill my son."

Oh, Craig. You're so funny.

Techno-Genius

My Sis-in-law/BFF, Becky, calls me a techno-genius. I'm so not. If I was I wouldn't have deleted an entire entry just trying to put a little picture on my blog. Seriously, I'm still hesitant to add pictures because of the painful and, of course, embarrassing fiasco. Also if I was a t-g I would have made my blog cuter a long time ago when a helpful young friend told me, with the best of intentions, no doubt, that my blog was boring. "Not the stories! Just the background," she said. I've been shaking in my boots trying to figure out how to cuten up my blog without deleting it or something. The only thing that makes me appear to be a techno-genius (and may I say, no offense intended, that in order for one to think I'M a techno-genius, one would have to be either techno-clueless or have never seen a blog before or something) is that I will usually at least try something. And the more you dare to try something, the better you get at it.

Up until now I haven't dared try to cutitize my blog. Today I dared. I know it's a little...well...brightly colored, but it was a first attempt. I'll make it even cutier another time. Something a little more...me, perhaps. After I figure out what "me" would look like. These free backgrounds are way too put-together and creative to represent me very well. Something a little more clumsy and/or goofy and/or trying-hard-but-not-quite-pulling-it-off would be a better fit, I think. I probably won't find anything like that. Maybe I'll pick something that represents what I'd LIKE to be if I weren't such a doofus. Mmm, yeah, I think I'll go with something like that. Tune in next time to see what I've found that someone else came up with that I think is an adequate representation of what I'd like to look like, scapbookingly speaking, if I could actually create something like that on my own - which I totally can't.

To do:

I do NOT have time to be writing this right now! I'm leaving for China in two days! My list of things to do has 21 items on it and I keep adding to it every few minutes. In fact, I'm spending more time managing my list than actually doing the things on it.

Here's what I do: read through the list. Try to decide which things are most pressing. They are all pressing. Put an asterisk by the very most pressing. Think of something else to put on the list. Add it. Look through the list again to see if I can check anything off as "done." End up choosing a task that is not very pressing because it seems easier to do, therefore whittling the list down faster. Cross that task off my list and read through it again. Try to decide which things are most pressing. They are all pressing. Go to the computer and look through the lists and instructions I'm leaving for my mom. Rinse. Repeat.

I know what's going to happen. I'm going to keep this up until the last day when I am forced to cross most everything off my list as unnecessary and let my mom just deal with it. I know that because I've done this many times before and that's what I do. But maybe this time will be different. Maybe. Maybe not. But Maybe. Geez! I don't have time to sit here writing! I've got stuff to do. Let me just read through this list real quick...

Update

Diane wanted to know how my super-sweet, G-Force, kick-butt computer is doing after the Apple dude with the missing humor chip got through with her. We added some more RAM. BAM! And now even Bob can't diss my rockin' Mac. She's fast and sassy now, just the way she was always meant to be. We worked lightning fast this week to make a super-fly movie of our trip to Lake Powell. Wish you could all see it. I'm going to post it on my other website soon -- maybe even today, in case you can't live without it (which you probably cant, but you just don't realize it.)

Anyway, just wanted to fill you in on the rest of that story, because I know your lives were out of balance without the full conclusion.

Now you can get back to whatever it was you were doing.

Ette and the Evil Twin

Okay, fine. I'll rewrite it.

I talked about our little yellow Toyota pickup truck in a previous post. Well, after we had traveled that thing half to death, my parents gave it to me to drive when I was in high school. I loved that little truck! She did have her issues, though. The worst one being that in the winter she would often just not start. Usually on the coldest days, of course. My favorite.

We lived on a hill, and on those super cold days I would have to push-start her. I had about two blocks to pop the clutch and get her started before the road leveled out. By the middle of the last block I would be pleading and coaxing and begging that truck to start. If she did, I'd drive off to school happily. If she didn't, I'd have to walk the two blocks uphill in the snot-freezing cold* and get my mom to drive me to school--and usually be late.

The poor thing was on her last leg for years. But somehow, no matter how many potholes I hit or jumps I went over or jump-starts we pulled off, she'd just keep on running. For that reason I named her Ette (etta) for Endure To The End. It fit her, and she and I got along great. Good times.

Recently Bob got a little Toyota pickup for cheap. Real cheap. Free. It's just like Ette, if Ette was red. And jacked up. And had cool smitty bars for bumpers. The boys were way excited, mostly because we're going to sell the old minivan to pay for the repairs the "new" truck will need to get it up and running. I'm sure they'll miss the minivan. No, I'm kidding, they won't miss the minivan one bit.

Anyway, we went boating one day and on the way back Bob was giving out assignments for when we got home. Mine was to jump out real quick and move the little red truck out of the way so he could pull the boat around. I was excited and anticipating the nostalgia, even though I had yet to even sit in the thing. But I had been regaling the kids with stories of my Ette adventures and no one else knew how to drive a stick shift.

So when we got home I jumped out of the big red truck and jumped into the little red truck. Andie got in with me. It was dark. I couldn't see anything at all. That's okay, I had driven this same truck for years and I was sure my muscle memory would take over and it would be a piece of cake.

I turned the key and started it up. It lurched backwards. The windshield wipers (or half-wipers, as they were broken off at the joint) scraped across the glass. I stabbed at whatever pedals I could find with my foot, to no avail. I heard Bob honk behind me. I slammed into Bob's nice, red truck. Hard.

All I wanted at that point was to have the last 20 seconds of my life back. I wanted a redo, a mulligan, a do-over. I was distraught because, well, I guess driving cushy automatic transmissions for the past 20 years had taken over my auto-pilot and I had forgotten about a little thing I like to call...

A CLUTCH!!!!

*I've been using this term since junior high, when I would stand outside waiting for the bus on those days when it was so cold that each nose hair was an individual icicle. And upon sniffling my nostrils would freeze closed, stuck, sealed. I'd have to do a little Bewitched move while flaring my frozen nostrils in order to release them. Snot-freezing cold, that's what that is.

THIS JUST IN! SHOCKER! KIMI DOES SOMETHING DUMB!

This is not going to be long. I'm still bitter about it. Yes, it's embarrassing, but more than that -- maddening! Last week I posted a lengthy post about a recent EM. After a day or so I decided that I would take my young friend Ali's advice and make my blog less boring by adding photos. Hmm. Well, maybe it's a sign that I'm too big of a lame-o head to actually be able to add photos to my blog without DELETING AN ENTIRE ENTRY!! Which is what I did.

I tried to recover it. No go. I wondered if I had it saved somewhere else. Of course not. Could I remember it and rewrite it? Har, har, har, NO! I can't! It was hard enough the first time! Well, maybe I will. Ugh! I don't want to, but I probably will. I don't know when, I'm still pretty stunned. And bitter.

Sigh.

A Legacy of Dorkiness

Oh man. After that last post I thought of so many things from my childhood, and every one of them embarrassing! Sheesh, I was such a total nerd!

I remember my tic-tac-toe shirt that had removable vinyl X's and O's that stuck on with high tech VELCRO. I wore that to school! And played tic-tac-toe on my own torso!

We used to have a little yellow Toyota pickup (who will co-star in my next post, so stay tuned) with a shell on it that we would travel in with my parents in the front and my four sisters and me in the back with sleeping bags, pillows, coloring books, and travel size games. We made up lots of songs back there, some of which I can still sing to you today and if this blog had audio I would post them here because they would fit perfectly with the theme of EMBARRASSING!

As you can kind of see in my banner picture, my canine teeth didn't come in for like, 2 years, so I had this really goofy smile for a very long time.

In another shirt debacle, I convinced my sister to go along with the idea of getting matching shirts that said "I Heart My Sister," but with a heart, not the word "heart." I believe we got in a big fight about it before she finally relented and we got the two pink shirts declaring our sisterly love.

And one of my favorite memories is when my best friend Becky White and I decided we could be like CHiPs (remember the tv show?) and ride our bikes next to each other down the street like Ponch and Jon. We did it often. We had the best cheer! Here it is: Bips! Bips! We are the Bips! Bimi and Kecky! Kecky and Bimi! Bips! Bips! Yaaaaaaay...Bips!

Are you lucky enough to have had something happen in your life that is so funny (to you, anyway) that you can recall it any time you want to lol? I have more than one. Some of them involve bodily functions, and fall under the "untellable" category. The best one for me, though, is when Becky was going to get a game down from the top shelf in her bedroom closet. No bodily functions involved, so you can keep reading.

That closet was packed to the ceiling! It had blankets and games and dress-up clothes and toys and the humidifier and wrapping paper and stuffed animals and who knows what else? I mean, I made most of that stuff up anyway. Like I'm going to remember what was in my friend's closet from when we were 9 years old! But you get the idea. It was kind of like how they say the California Redwood forest is the largest living organism because the trees are all connected to each other through a giant root system. I'm pretty sure that's how her closet was configured.

Becky couldn't reach the top of the closet, obviously, so she rigged up a little tower of objects to help her climb up. The game was under a bunch of stuff, so she was struggling to dislodge it, while propped precariously on no less than 4 different random doodads. Shockingly, her hazardous little improvised step ladder began to give way and the shift of balance nudged pretty much that entire Redwood forest of a closet into a massive cascade of storage matter.

At that moment, she squeaked out my favorite childhood line: "ACK! HERE COMES IT!" And we were buried in a pile of everything.

It took us HOURS to clean that mess up! But every few minutes we would revisit our initial giggle-fest that had outlasted any previous giggle-fest I had ever had, and can even rival the best ones I've had since. And up until now, to this very day, the vision of that moment can still make me L right OL.

I still use that line occasionally. Maybe even frequently. In fact, a while back I visited an entirely different friend from a different era of my life. She had heard this story years earlier and had heard me use the line several times. I loved it when she was showing me around her apartment and said at one point, "Don't open that closet there, or we'll have a 'here comes it' situation." Nice one, Sarah! Badoom ching!

Happiness is...My Blog

See that picture down at the bottom of the page? I was just looking at it and I was noticing my banner in the background. Then I thought of how the banner is nearly as embarrassing as the look on my face and the reason for it. You guys remember the Young Women Banners? They were all the craze back in the day. I made this banner in preparation for the big ol' banner exhibit at the Stake House with the theme of "Happiness is..." Which phrase was also all the craze back then, remember? 

Anyways, my banner said "Happiness is..." at the top (guess the Polariod couldn't fit the whole banner in the frame), but I can't for the life of me remember what I put at the bottom!

Here are some of my ideas:

Happiness is...a guitar solo in Sacrament Meeting (maybe Bridge Over Troubled Waters)

Happiness is...flipping my friends' bras!

Happiness is...Pennies by the Inch for Primary Children's

Happiness is...getting a perm!

Happiness is...Hush Puppies for school!

What do YOU think my banner said?

A Clean Desktop Makes For a Happy Heart. And Fewer Awkward Moments.

So, I took my Mac in to the Apple Store today to have one of those cutie-pie Apple dudes figure out why she's so excruciatingly slow. I love my Little Miss Macintosh. She's awesome. But she does have some, oh, let's call them quirks. Well, one, really -- only one, pretty much. Bob always says she's slow, and danged if I've ever been able to prove him wrong! Yeah, she's a little slow, but she's worth waiting for, I say. At least until recently. One click o' the mouse and you're stuck waiting for, like, 30 seconds!

Oh, ha ha. Make fun of Kimi for not having 30 seconds of patience. But think about it -- every click? No, it was getting bad. Especially when I'd accidentally click on the wrong thing! I'm not that coordinated and I often miss the little icon I'm aiming for. Those mice are hard to drive! (Doh! Funny pun! Hard? Drive? Hard drive? Computer? Get it?! Hoo-wee, I crack myself up!) It's the worst when I click on the wrong thing. I start pleading with my little computer friend, "No! Wait! I didn't mean it! Just kidding! Jay Kay! Aaaawwww! Come on! Don't show me the twirly timer thingy! Aaarrrrrgh!" That little twirly timer thingy is getting on my last nerve.

Anyway, remember when I said, "cutie-pie Apple dudes?" Well, normally the Apple dudes are cutie-pies. Some of them are even GIRL cutie-pie Apple dudes. But occasionally I get a not-as-cutie-pie Apple dude. (Um, yes, I do go in there often enough to know all of this. I took Mac classes, okay? You should all be so lucky, seriously! Right Erin? Diane? Taffy? That's right!)

Today, not only did I get a not-as-cutie-pie Apple dude, I got a dude with no sense of humor! And we spent like an hour and a half together! Well, you know how I like to try to make Embarrassing Moments funny instead of embarrassing? Well, you can't say I didn't try...

For some reason I forgot that he would be booting my computer up in public and in full view of anyone and everyone in the store. I should remember that because they always do and I always feel a little violated and exposed. Today I immediately noticed what a mess my desktop was! Pictures, files, and programs scattered willy nilly over my Lake Powell screen saver. Shoot! I should have cleaned that up and lined them up in neat little columns. And even though I'd already figured out my Apple dude was lacking a funny bone, I still went ahead and said, "I feel like I just let the cable guy into my messy room, you know, with my desktop looking like that." Pause. Then I had to do a little "that was a joke" laugh. No response. Nice. Way to make an awkward moment out of a bonding opportunity, Apple dude.

Next time I'm going to check the box marked Request Cutie-pie Apple Dude when I make my appointment. I must have missed that one and checked Request Humorless Apple Dude instead. I've really gotta learn how to handle that mouse better.

Nobody Puts Kimi In A Corner (Not Even Kimi)

Oh my gootness! I'm so EMBARRASSED!!!

Did you wonder why I haven't written for so long? I did. I knew it in the back of my brain, but I hadn't said it out loud and faced the facts. Until my friend Melinda pointed it out and she was SO RIGHT! I've limited myself, confined myself in a little tiny genre of my own invention! I can't write about EMs forever! And, you know, truthfully I still have them all the time, but -- and this is embarrassing to admit -- they are more often than not untellable. I know, not even a word, right? But who are you -- my English teacher? Fact is, most of my recent EMs are so bad I can't even write them in my blog. Why? Because my blog is supposed to be funny, not sad. That's why.

Many of my EMs have to do with my insensitive nature, my callous disregard for people's feelings. But only for the split second of time between thinking something stupid and saying it. After that I immediately come back to my senses and can't figure out why I would say/do something so awful. These are not funny moments. Embarrassing? Yes. Tellable? Nohohoooo-uh! UNTELLABLE.

Also, I have lots of funny stories that I'd love to blog about, but they aren't necessarily embarrassing. Well, it's my blog! Why can't I write what I want? Oh yeah, because I smooshed myself into a teensy category -- that, frankly, seemed big enough at the time -- and now I'm limited to a strict state of embarrassment only. Man, that's embarrassing!

Now I have to come crawling back here and change my blog. I'm going to leave the title the same, but I'm not going to limit myself, or you, for that matter, to endless EMs. Not that I won't write about any tellable EMs, I totally will. But I'll also write other stuff. Whatever I want. I'm the boss of me. And I'm the boss of my blog.

Revvin' My Engines (Sorry!)

One time I was at my daughter Andie's softball game, watching from the car because I'm a wussy girl and I don't like to be cold. At all. Even if my children are outside being cold. No sense in both of us being cold, I say. So I was hanging out in the car with Maddie and we were chattin' it up, even though there was some kind of loud motor sound going on around us. It was in the background sort of, so I didn't think much of it, other than thinking there was some construction going on or something. Eventually Maddie said, "What is that horrible sound?" "I know, right?" I said. Pause. Why is everyone looking at us? I thought. All the people who chose to stay out in the cold were looking my way. Don't judge me! I came early to get this front-row parking spot so I could watch from the car. I do it every week. You're just jealous that you didn't think of it early enough to get the spot! I worked hard to get this spot! Then I noticed my foot. It was pressed to the floor. With the gas pedal under it. Embaaaarrassiiiiiiing!

Is that all? Of course not. After the terrorized crowd got back to watching the game, I wedged my knee up on the steering wheel, partly to keep my foot from pressing the gas pedal to the floor again, and partly to get comfy while I read my book, er, uh, watched the game.

Oh, that poor little girl.

I'm talking about the child who walked in front of my car just as I shifted my position to get a little more comfy and accidentally pushed my knee into the horn. Poor thing jumped a mile. I tried to give her the "never mind" sign when she looked at me with a question (and possibly a tear) in her eyes, but I didn't really know that one, so I winged it and made some strange hand signal that only had her more confused. Then I tried to go with the "that was an accident" sign, but I'm not really proficient in my international gestures, so by then she thought she'd better just walk away from the creepy woman in the car who revvs her engine at the crowd and honks her horn at little girls and makes weird imaginary sign language motions.

At least Andie had a great game. I'm pretty sure.

Let's Get One Thing Straight (Or Two...Or Three)

I didn't realize how risky it would be to open up a free-for-all on my Embarrassing Moments until the very first comment on my last post. Now I have to defend myself from said comment, since there were all kinds of irrational accusations thrown around recklessly and with no regard for the dignity of my family and neighbors. Overstating is fun!

But still, I do need to clear a few things up. First and foremost, I have never flashed a neighbor kid as far as I know. And I know Tanner doesn't want me telling you how he's scarred for life since I a) once thought he was Bob when he knocked on the bathroom door after I'd just turned off the shower (with the glass doors) and said "come in." Don't try to picture it, it's best for everyone if you don't. And b) once sneaked out of the master bathroom into my room to get some underwears, noticed the door was open, and went to quickly shut it just as Tanner popped in. (He popped back out in record time, too, poor thing.)

Also, that whole "Twinkies" incident is getting on my nerves. I have been caught eating any number of things in my bed during the day. It's one of my favorite places to eat, while watching tv, while folding laundry -- or pretending to fold laundry. But I have NEVER been caught eating Twinkies in my bed -- or ANYWHERE, for that matter. Eewwwww! That would be like eating....holy cow! I was trying to think of something grosser than Twinkies to use in my analogy and I couldn't! At least not that you'd understand. I could say I'd rather eat a straight up marshmallow! But that wouldn't get you right in the gag reflex, like it does me. Or that I'd be happier eating a cupcake with more frosting than cupcake! But you'd probably think that actually sounds good. Or a cinnamon bear with chocolate all over it! Ahhhh! I can't do this anymore! We're just going to have to agree to disagree about which treats are disgusting enough to convince you that I just plain wouldn't be eating such things, let alone getting caught eating them in my bed! See, I'm not trying to hide anything. I have no shame about fixing a big ol' bowl of Maple Nut ice cream, heading into my bed, cranking on some Ops, and learning about how crucial it is that I get properly fitted for a bra! I'm just saying that it would NEVER involve Twinkies, for criminy's sakes! That's just gross! So GET OVER IT, JACOB FOSTER! IT NEVER HAPPENED! Jacob Foster is Collin's 11 year old friend who started this vicious rumor in the first place, and has since embellished and perpetuated it ad nauseum. After he accused me of the whole Twinkie thing he asked how old I was going to be on my impending birthday. When I told him 39 he laughed and said, "Oh, Sister Farley! Everybody says that. How old are you really?" "No, Jacob Foster. People say they're 29, not 39, and I was not eating a Twinkie in my bed!" "Okay, Sister Farley. Whatever (snicker, snicker)." Jacob Foster remains convinced that I both eat Twinkies in my bed and am older than 39. He also thinks I'm lying about both because I'm embarrassed to admit the truth. Do I look like someone who lies to cover embarrassment? I think not.

I did, incidentally, receive a lovely Twinkie for my 39th birthday from guess who? Thoughtful little guy.

Oh, I just realized why you thought I flashed a neighbor kid, Si Foster. It wasn't a kid, okay? It was total strangers at the gym across from our house. And it was an ACCIDENT! Sheesh! I now know that you can see in a window if it's dark outside and light inside. Give me a break -- it was a long time ago. Back when I was 8 months pregnant with my second child. I just needed a towel for my shower and the laundry was on the couch by the big window. Hmmm...I'm starting to see now why I prefer to fold the stuff in my bed...

Help! Help! My Memory's Gone Missing and I Can't Remember Where I Left It!

My Embarrassing Moment from today is...I CAN'T REMEMBER ANY EMBARRASSING MOMENTS!

I wanted to write a story today. I have a little time and I'm feeling a little writey and I sit down at my Mac and BLANK OUT! Kimi! Woman of A Thousand EMs! What's happening to me? Is this what they call "writer's block?" Does that make me a real writer? Ooooh! Look at me -- I've got a case of writer's block. Forget embarrassed. Now I'm cool!

Sorry peeps. Got a touch o' the writer's block today. Better go back to bed I guess. I'll need some rest, food, fluids (maybe carbonated, or with a high sugar content at least), videos, candy, you know the drill. It's a strict regimen for the w.b. afflicted.

While I'm resting up and recuperating from this difficult and painful affliction, you can help. If you know of, have heard, remember, or (most likely) witnessed one (or more, most likely) of my Embarrassing Moments, will you remind me? You can email me or leave it in a comment. You can call me or send it by post. You can come over and tell me in person. Just remind me! I need you! Heeeelp!

'Preciate cha 'n' all thetcha do.

Now I have a sore throat, too! From screaming.

Now that my kids are old, they're all in school during the day -- well, I mean not right now, since it's summer and stuff. But when school is in session all my kids are gone during the day. Settled? Okay.

One school day the furnace guy came. He was working on the furnace while I wandered around the house doing random things. One of those random things was going into the guest room downstairs near the furnace room to clean it or something. I don't really remember what I was doing and it is irrelevant to the story anyway, so settle down, you. So I went into the guest room and as I reached to pick something up from the floor a male voice coming from the direction of, indeed, inside of the bed said, "Hi." (In a low, male-sounding voice). "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I said, just as what I thought was a spider, but was actually nothing at all landed on my arm. "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I reiterated. This was accompanied by a little scaredy-dance and flailing arms (trying to dislodge the imaginary spider, of course). When I came to, Tanner was smiling amusedly/bewilderedly at me from the bed. "Did you forget I stayed home with a sore throat?" He says, in that now-familiar throaty voice that had scared the skidoobies out of me moments before.

"Oh yeah," I say.

"Geez," he says, eyebrows raised mockingly.

"Sorry," I say. And then I have a giggle-fit. Part of the giggle-fit stemmed from the fact that the furnace guy was in the next room. I giggled wondering what he must be thinking at this point. He could only hear the screaming, not any of the resolution. And then I stopped giggling and started wondering why the furnace guy hadn't come in to make sure everything was okay. I mean, from the alarming--nay--blood-curdling scream I had just let fly, he could have reasonably surmised that I had been attacked by some...some...I-don't-know-what!

Well, I was never one for confrontation, so I sneaked back up the stairs and acted like nothing happened. Eventually the furnace guy finished his job and handed me the bill. I thanked him and added, "Oh, sorry about all that screaming. I forgot my son stayed home with a sore throat." "I wondered what that was," he said. I didn't say Thanks for saving me! I could've been being killed, for all you knew! or anything like that. I had said that to my kids once when I found a giant Chinese cockroach in the washing machine (while doing Bob's China laundry, obviously) and screamed bloody murder for a solid 15 seconds. They had no response to that and I figured the furnace guy wouldn't either, so I let it go. Still, the kids know about my overreacting tendencies. What was his excuse?

Did I mention I'm easily startled?

Kimi Clampit

Ever like to think you're classier than you really are? Like to hobnob with the hoity toities and pretend you're just as posh as all get out? Well I usually know my place in life as a first-class nerd, trying to maintain at least a semblance of low-scale sophistication. Just enough to keep my friends from rethinking the whole arrangement, that sort of thing. But I know deep down I'm a full-throttle band geek who, though my instrument was piccolo (at least a halfway cool-ish instrument. I mean, if you have to be in the band in the first place), I nearly tried out for sousaphone (that's giant marching-band-sized-and-shaped-TUBA if you're a normal person) because I thought it would be cool to be able to say I played the sousaphone! I can't remember now why I didn't end up playing it, but OH MY GOSH! Can you imagine?! Nonetheless, I still wanted to at the time, and I know that about myself, so I know my own potential for Olympic-level Dweebhood. This knowledge keeps me humble for the most part. Except for the occasional delusion of elegance. The mental slip ups when I think I have the same level of chicness as the people I'm around.

I once left one of my earrings in the car. Not a pair. Just one earring. No, I don't know why. That's not relevant right now, so don't worry about it. Anyway, every time I got in the car I would be like, "Doh! I HAVE to take that earring in the house!" But it stayed in the car for a long time. Eventually I tried tricks to remind myself to take it in, like hanging it from the thing that's hanging from my rearview mirror. I was sure this would work, but no. Then I had an even better idea! I hung the longish earring from one of the longish earrings I was wearing at the time. That would totally get the earring into the house! Aren't I clever? Aren't I just the shrewd one?

Later that night Bob said, "We must go to the Bosendorfer piano showroom tonight! We must!" I know Bob doesn't talk like that, but it's making me laugh right now picturing it in my mind's ear. But he said essentially that. So we went. Bosendorfer pianos are (according to Bob, who would know) one of the two best piano brands made in the whole entire world. And probably the better of the two, so really the best. I can't figure out how to get the two little dots above the o in Bosendorfer, but you have to picture it and say it like the Bosendorfer reps do: Boooooeesendorfer. Again: Boooooeesendorfer. Make your lips say "oo" while the inside of your mouth says "ee." That's right. Good. That is meant to have you appreciate the swanky upscale nature of the Booooooeesendorfer piano. And they like to say it a lot when you're at the showroom, pretending you would ever be able to buy one. And not only that, but that you'll probably be buying one real soon. (Right after you pay off the house. And win the lottery.)

The reps are all dressed in practically-but-not-quite formal gowns and nearly tuxedos. I kept thinking they should have a glass of champagne in their hand as they gestured dramatically at the selection of Boooooeesendorfer pianos in the temporary showroom. (Utah's not cool enough to sell Booooooeesendorfers, they're made somewhere cooler and taken on showroom tours.)

So as you picture Bob and me, putting on airs, if you will, or at least doing our best to fake it, you may start to put two and two together. Well, you're one step ahead of me if you do. Remember the lone earring I have at this point hanging from one of my two earrings? Yeah, I didn't. I didn't remember it at all. Not until I got home from Booooooeesendorferland and prepared to go to bed did I catch a glimpse of an anomaly hanging from the side of my head! Yes, of course I asked Bob why he didn't tell me. No, he hadn't noticed. It's usually a perk that Bob doesn't notice any of my flaws, but this time he could have helped a girl out, you know? I know I really should stick to my roots and not try to elevate my social status in my own mind. But a girl can dream, right? Someday, maybe someday I'll get the chance, if I'm lucky, to finally...PLAY THAT SOUSAPHONE! Yeah!

Kimi Gonzales

Yesterday - yes, just yesterday! - I had to run my son up to the church about a mile away. We weren't all ready yet, but he had to be there early. So I ran him up there and was speeding home to finish getting ready and take the family up. Literally speeding. Right past a cop. So there I was pulled over in front of a neighbor's house ten minutes before church starts. "Yes, hello Brother So and So," I wave. "That's right, Sister Such and Such, I'm getting a ticket on this lovely Sabbath morning," I smile. "Good to see you, too, What's-yer-faces," I nod. Neighbor after neighbor passed me on their way up to the church house, waving and smiling.

And, no, I didn't happen to grab my driver's license on the way out the door, thank you very much. Would you? Yeah, probably, but we're not talking about you right now, okay? Then the officer comes back to my window and tells me it's my "very lucky day." "Really?" I say. "It doesn't feel like my lucky day, what with my neighbors driving by and laughing at me." (Yes. Yes, I really did say that.) He doesn't crack even half a smile as he tells me the state wide computer is down and he doesn't want to take the time to hand-write me a ticket without my license, so slow down, stay buckled up (whew! At least I had that going for me!) and grab my wallet next time.

It was especially fun walking in late to church, knowing that lots of people knew exactly why I was late.

It's a DARN good thing I live in the most accepting and non-judgemental neighborhood I've ever known or I might be REALLY embarrassed!

Breaking the Chains of Shame

"What was your most embarrassing moment?" Yeah, right. From this week, you mean? Or of all time? Take your pick. I have many. Too many. So many I could write a whole blog about it.

Wait a second...now I'm on to something! Over the years when asked that question, I never had to think very hard, except to narrow down the list. I could even do categories. Gross; Happened in Public; Happened in Private; Happened in Front of Someone Important; Probably Should Have Kept to Myself; Light Fare; Truly Mortifying; Not To Be Shared In Mixed Company; This Week; Last Week; Week Before That (you get the idea); G Rated; PG Rated; PG-13 Rated (you get the idea).

A long time ago I realized, if I was going to continue to have such regular occurrences of embarrassing moments, (and I knew that I was), well I was just going to have to find some method of coping. Over time I noticed that sharing my experiences with others helped lessen the stigma, and even the embarrassment of the event. It also seemed to make people laugh, even if it was at my expense. I can handle that, especially if it means someone thinks I'm funny! "Ha! Ha! Kimi's funny!" (More like "ridiculous," but at least they're laughing).

While I was working with the Mia Maids for a couple of years, the calling that stole my heart and still has it as of this writing, a routine developed where I would tell the girls my Embarrassing Moment from the week -- and believe you me, there was no short supply! They looked so forward to it that I'd hardly enter the building before they'd be begging for my latest story. I do also have a slight (or maybe giant, but who's measuring?) short-term memory problem, so sometimes, even though I knew I had been embarrassed (or embarrassing, depending on who's telling the story) that week, I sometimes went blank. Never fear! I always had a good standby from days past. Years past -- whatever. The point is, I could always come up with a fresh Moment of Embarrassment for the girls. Soon they were saving their own EMs to share with me. Painful high school Moments of Embarrassment that made me glad to be a boring ol' grown up with no one to impress anymore.

After I was released from YW, but called as Camp Director (or Keemp Director, if you will) I was driving with one of my former Mia Maids to pick up camp supplies and she told me something. She told me, "Remember when we used to tell each other our Embarrassing Moments? Well, sometimes I felt insecure and stupid and it would be so horrible when something embarrassing happened. But after a while, when something happened I would be so excited to have a good story to tell you, I would forget to be embarrassed! It made me feel better about myself." Okay, well, I don't really remember what she said. I shouldn't have used quotes, but it was something like that and it looked better in quotes, so DEAL with it.

Anyway, what she didn't know was that that was my hidden agenda all along. To take the embarrassment out of Embarrassing Moments and make them Awesome Stories That Make People Laugh. I don't know if she knows how much it meant to me to hear her say that. I'd hoped during my years with those awesome young women that I had been able to do something, anything to make their lives a smidge better. Knowing I helped to lessen any of the pain that comes with being a teenager is good for my heart. Maybe reading about my experiences will be good for yours. I mean, at least you'll have someone -- er, something -- to laugh at.