All I'm Saying there's a joke in here somewhere

When you're in your first decade, girls night out consists of taking your Donald Duck sleeping bag to your first slumber party and being incredibly relieved that you didn't have to call your parents to come get you in the middle of the night because you were too scared.

In your teens (at least for me, the Goody Two Shoes), girls night out meant hanging out at The Joint and eating cheese fries with ranch dressing and playing Foreigner's "I Don't Want to Live Without You," thirty-seven consecutive times on the juke box until some old rancher gets up and slaps the Stop Play button and glares at you on the way back to his table. (Dude clearly had forgotten what it was like to be unable to exist without a pimply-faced peer from your French class.)

In your twenties, girls night out means you get dolled up in your hoochie best, get utterly plowed on dollar well drinks, and see how many phone numbers you can collect. And your girls are supposed to help ensure you don't go home with some skeevy guy because your beer goggles needed adjustment.

In your thirties, it means going to the mall and buying new shoes, then wrapping it all up with drinks, dinner and cheesecake. It's also entirely appropriate to listen to your friend slag on the bitches in her Parent/Teacher Organization and thank your lucky stars that your own PTO bitches are awesome.

I'm not sure what it'll be like in the 40s, but I bet it involves wine and Botox parties. I'm aiming for pot and mah jongg in my 50s. Then it's bingo cruises, baby!

As I sit here typing tonight, my back aches. My back has hurt me every single day for months. It doesn't matter whether I've exercised or not, whether I was at work or not--by the time evening rolls around, I'm hurting. In fact, I actually wake up with my back hurting pretty often too.

I've been going to a physical therapist for about a year now. I started going to her to work on my hip, which used to get seriously wonky due to piriformis syndrome, where the nerve and the muscle that run through the side of my pelvis along my buttock would pinch each other up against the bone. Between therapy and exercise, that's pretty much worked out.

However, several sessions in to therapy, I mentioned that sometimes my shoulder goes numb and tingly. The therapist got to rooting around in there and discovered that my top two ribs on my right shoulder won't stay in joint, and so they tend to float up and tweak the hell out of my muscles and nerves there. We haven't been able to make huge progress in that regard, I'm afraid.

And now I have an aching back. I come home every night and sit with my back against a heating pad for an hour or more. It's pleasant, but doesn't seem to cure anything. I'm trying to get monthly massages, but I'm achy again by the next day. I talked to my therapist about getting a prescription for Flexeril, a mild muscle relaxer, but she advised me strongly against it because one can develop a dependency on it.

So I'm kind of stymied. I'm too young for chronic pain, aren't I? I'm going to discuss it with my GP when I go in for my yearly physical in a couple of weeks. Anyone have any suggestions as to how I could be making this better?

The state of Idaho has spent somewhere in the neighborhood of $100 million renovating the state capitol building. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time it was voted for. Actually, as Representative Nicole LaFavour (love her) noted on her blog, let's hope the kids today who grow up to be the adults of the next decades look at the building someday and think, "I'm glad they spent the money on this. It really is beautiful," rather than, "Gee, I shore wish I cud reed becuz there never was enuff money to buy my skool any bookz."

Idaho is having a dreadful budget crunch, much like many other states. But politics and finances aside, it is a gorgeous building and Matt and I took Freya on a tour of it today. Let me give you a look:

Here's the exterior of the building. Obviously, it is modeled on the nation's capitol building, but at a significantly smaller scale. Hopefully, the ominous storm clouds above it aren't some kind of foreshadowing.

Here's a statue that I remember well from my grade school field trip to the capitol. It was carved out of wood by a man who lived in the community I grew up in. It's a good thing we've got such a dry climate in Idaho--I'm not sure it would have weathered well in a more humid state. Anyhoo, it was gilded and then given to the state and has been a fixture in the capitol for many years. (It's George Washington, in case you couldn't tell. And his horse.)

Here's another statue. This is a copy of Winged Victory of Samothrace. I really haven't the faintest idea why this particular statue ended up in the capitol. Maybe someone had it just sitting around the house and thought it was possibly "a little much" for their decor, and donated it to the state. Or perhaps the plaque next to the statue explained it, but I'm not one for getting the facts. Note Freya's adorable tights. Winged Victory wishes they came in her size.

And this is what it looks like when you lay on the ground floor with your head smack in the middle of a mosaic centered in the building and take a picture looking up into the rotunda.

Purty, isn't it? I like to think it was a good investment with a long view to the future. I'll try to remember that as I drive past all the schools with classrooms stuck into modular buildings because there's not enough space to go around. Or books. Or teachers. Or salaries.

As I was meandering through a Facebook friend's profile tonight, I discovered she's a member of a group that proposes to boycott buying licenses and tags from the Idaho Department of Fish & Game as a protest to the existence of wolves in Idaho. From their group description:

This groups purpose is to finally get the attention of our so called "game mangers" to what the people really want. And that is no or much less wolves in the great state of Idaho. Our elk are gettin slaughtered and we're just twittlin our thumbs. It's time to do something. Screw the fed gov, screw the state gov and lets get this problem fixed. If we boycott fish and game by buying no tags or licenses next year than they will be forced to do something. And hopefully that something is gettin a grip on this out of control wolf population. With all do respect :)

How can they fail with such skilled writers? Believe it or not, this statement was written by someone who claims to be a student at Boise State. I have to believe he's there on some sort of athletic scholarship, because I can't imagine his spelling ability getting him through admissions otherwise.

Snark aside There are a lot of problems with this philosophy. One, IDFG didn't have much control over wolf reintroduction in Idaho. It all came from the US Fish & Wildlfe Service, a federal agency. States' rights don't hold much water against things like the Endangered Species Act. Two, they've got a whopping 39 members. That's not going to make much of a dent in the overall scheme of things. And two-point-one, I'd say the odds that anyone in this group does a successful boycott and forgoes hunting this year is pretty damned slim. And two-point-one-point-one, if they hunt without a tag, their little tea-bagger-esque protest isn't going to hold a lot of water in court.

I get not liking what goes on in government sometimes, I really do. And I guess I should be grateful when not very bright people come up with not very effective plans--it's a form of mental birth control that ensures that some of the worst schemes never pan out.

On the other hand, there's a little cave-woman dancing around in my ego that just wants to smack the living crap out of them.

We've discovered that our new dog Cookie sadly seems to enjoy eating the other dog's poop. I did some internet research and it turns out it isn't a nutrient deficiency as folk wisdom once dictated: it's really just a gross habit.

When we had Cookie at PetSmart this weekend for obedience class, we decided we'd pick up some pills that we feed to Grover so that his poop (get this) becomes distasteful to Cookie. You'd think it was already rather distasteful, wouldn't you?

That got me to wondering about the people who developed this product. Could it really be as bad as I imagine it? Did they have to take a baseline poop taste test to establish what it normally tastes like? And then...how much trial and error did they ultimately go through? "Hey, Joe! Try this poop. It tastes like shit!" "Yes, yes it does." "Soooo...back to the drawing board, huh?"

You know, I've made a very conscious effort over the last year or so to moderate the amount of activity I do on the weekends. It used to be that I'd see the weekend as the opportunity to clean the house top to bottom, grocery shop, make extravagant meals or put up food for the winter ahead, etc. All I did was work. Then I realized I didn't have to be Superwoman and just slowed things down.

That's why it was a bit of a surprise for me to realize just how much I had going on this Presidents' Day weekend. Friday night we were invited to a Silpada jewelry party at a girlfriend's house, and while I am not a fan of jewelry at all, it sounded like a fun get-together and the husbands and kids were invited, so why not? Saturday morning, Freya and I had our usual visit with Grandpa Larry, then we went over to my friend Ann's house, where Ann's husband took care of our girls while we went out for a 3 hour lunch. Yesterday I had brunch with Jodi, which, while it was the first time I met her in person, felt like we were just taking right up from having seen each other the day before. It was a wonderful time and I'm so glad we did it. From there, I went to obedience class with Cookie (who was brilliant).

We were all set to go to my nephew's birthday party after that, but it appears half their household has been taken over by plague, so we got a brief reprieve from society. Today we took Freya to a nearby gymnastics school to try out a class. She loved every minute of it, but doesn't appear to care if she ever does it again. (She mystifies me--she really does.) And tonight we had a couple of my girlfriends, two preschoolers, one friend's husband, and Matt all gathered together for burgers and Tivo'ed "Project Runway."

Sheesh.

I'm glad tomorrow is a work day: I need to rest!

When I arrived at the Montessori today to pick Freya up, the directress said, "Oh, did you get my phone message?" Seeing the panicked look in my eye, she said, "Nothing major, just call me if you have any questions." I filed that away in the mental file, and went to collect Freya.

As she was changing into her outside shoes she said, "I got in trouble today."

I sat down and asked what happened. In a roundabout way she explained that she had been "not nice" to one of the other little girls there and the directress made her go play by herself. After we loaded up in the car, I pulled out my cell and listened to the message. To make a long story short, Freya's best friend at the school is a little girl we'll call Q. Freya and Q play together all the time at school, and her mom and I often get together with the girls and hang out while they play. They're so close that they tend to exclude the other kids, though I think Freya is a little more pushy about it than Q is.

Turns out that the directress had been talking to the girls this week already about being nice to the other girls, and that the school rule is that two friends can't just play with each other and no one else--if another child wants to join them in play, that child will be allowed to join in. If there is a child that they simply do not want to play with, the girls need to say, "I want my own space right now," and then separate from each other and go play by themselves. They don't have the option of playing with just the two of them and keeping another child out. I'm good with that, especially because Freya and Q get lots of extracurricular play time.

Well, another little girl, B, wanted to play with Freya and Q today, and Freya told her, "No, I never want to play with you again!" It was overheard, and the directress made Freya go play by herself. B, who is a littler girl, was pretty sad about it.

Freya and I talked about it in the car on the way home, and I think I got the message through to her that it wasn't okay. We talked about rules, and we talked about how important it is to be nice to everyone, and that it makes Mommy feel very sad to know that Freya isn't nice to everyone. I don't know what, if anything, else to say to her.

Aside from my normal motherly chagrin, I'm also aware that I'm projecting my own experience onto Freya. See, I was bullied as a child (not all the time, but enough), and thinking about it still makes me sad and angry. I hate to think about Freya being either bullied OR being the bully.

What's a parent to do? Any advice out there?

I drive past a Denny's restaurant on my way to work every day. As I tootled on past this morning, I realized suddenly that not only was the parking lot entirely full, but the shoulders of the road on either side were stacked up with probably another 50 or more cars.

I got to work and confirmed online that it was, indeed, Free Grand Slam Breakfast Day at Denny's until 2:00 or something like that. So I guess everyone who went to Denny's got some vittles for free.

Now, forgive me for being an obnoxious foodie type, but seriously, people: DENNY'S?!?! There was a line of people out the door waiting for their food. And Denny's food tastes like ass like a lot of effort was spared in its making. I assume a fair number of these people had jobs. Not all the cars were total wrecks. And the breakfast costs around six bucks, regularly.

That's why I ask, "What's your time worth?" Is it really worth standing in line for an hour to save six dollars on pretty damned mediocre food? It certainly isn't to me. If we go out to dinner and there's going to be a wait of more than about 20 minutes, we bail. And that's food we pay for! Food that we expect will deliver a high satisfaction level in the matter of taste.

It's beyond my comprehension that people would wait in line for that swill. Is there something here I am missing?

To My Big Girl on her Fourth Birthday:

Happy birthday, sweetest girl. We just spent a wonderful day with you. Your birthday party with your friends was held at The Little Gym, and you guys romped around and completely wore yourselves out. You were brilliant on the balance beam and the parallel bars--your confidence is growing faster than you are, I think.

We had another party at our house tonight for family, and your Grandpa Larry and Elaine came, along with Uncle John, Aunt Nancy, and your cousins Corwin and Spenser. You were all smiles. You'd requested spaghetti for your birthday dinner, and I'm pretty sure there isn't enough OxyClean stain remover in the world to clean up your dress. But you were happy, so who cares?

The earliest years of my life that I have clear memories of started when I was four, so there's a part of me that worries a little that the bumps of life won't clear your mind as easily now as they did before. It's a tricky balance for a parent to try to find--making sure that you've got all the freedom you need, and yet trying to shield you from as much ugliness as is good for you. You're going to see bad things happen all your life, not just to you, but all over the world, and it would do you no favors if I tried to protect you from everything. Sometimes we learn lessons better from the bad things, so we've got to let them in so that we can grow. But enough of that...

You say such amazing, funny things these days. Yesterday you and I made gluten-free cupcakes for your dad and other friends coming to your birthday who have food allergies, and you took a little taste of the batter as we were getting ready to bake them. "Eww," you said, "This tastes like salamanders!" How you know what salamanders taste like, I'm not sure. Still, you might have been right--I'd imagine there aren't a lot of predators out there who'd like the taste of those cupcakes!

You're the brightest light I've ever seen, and somehow I still can't stop looking at you. Thank you so much for the gift of your self that you've given to us. I'm so proud of you every single day. Every molecule of me loves every molecule of you, little girl.

Always yours,
Mommy

On this, the last night of her third year, Freya asked Matt to massage her feet. He raised a brow, but went ahead and rubbed her dogs for her. When he finished up, she said, "Thank you, Jenkins."

Clearly, she's been watching a lot of self-entitled TV where girls have butlers who moonlight as masseurs.

She turns four years old tomorrow...it's been an amazing ride so far, and each day gets better.

Just to close the loop on a couple of items I may not have ever fully brought closure to:

1) We are definitely keeping Cookie, our rescue dog. She's been a great little pup. She's got a little work yet to do obedience-wise, but we have her in a weekly obedience class at PetSmart and it is going really well. She's very smart. She's also extremely good with people. We had two little kids over last night in addition to Freya, and Cookie was right there playing rowdy games with them, but she wasn't being bad or scary. I was very proud of her. She's just a little buddy to everybody.

2) I decided to NOT do the Juvaderm--the stuff to fill in the emerging wrinkles near my mouth. With a 93% occurrence of side effects (bruising to lumpiness), I don't think the creases are anywhere near bad enough to take the risk. I may choose to revisit the issue in 5 years. Stay tuned--if I do it, you know you'll hear all the gory details!

Sometimes it seems like it happily doesn't take much to improve my mood. Of course, I guess the exchange is that it doesn't take much to tank my mood, either. Regardless, I got an e-mail today from a friend with the following information that will make it so you quit getting all the damn phone books delivered to your door. That's worth getting out of bed for right there.

I now share it with you:

Are you tired of the phone directory companies dropping off directories on your front doorstep each Spring and Fall!? Do you want to help the environment by helping to stop the printing/delivery of those directories? The following links allows you to opt-out of delivery of the directories:

Qwest Dex: Enter 0 under the quantity to be delivered,

Yellow Book

Impact Directories

Phone Directories Company: Send email, optout@pdcpages.com

That should lighten your load a little, and it'll make it a lot easier on the environment if we all cut out a few of these books each year.

I read an article in the recent Time magazine where the author Michael Pollan (he wrote The Omnivore's Dilemma) gave a great tip about eating healthy food.

He said said that we should consider ourselves free to eat however much junk food we want.

Here's the kicker, though:

We have to make it ourselves.

He used the example of French fries. You can eat them as much as you'd like, but you have to make them at home, from the essential ingredients: potatoes, oil, salt. When you think about the ingredients used in fast food fries, it all starts to make a huge amount of sense. I mean, most French fries have artificial flavorings and preservatives, so obviously the homemade version will be tremendously better for you. Then there's the work factor: I'm not about to go through the ordeal of making French fries at home. Not unless I can pull them out of the Ore-Ida bag and toss them on a baking sheet, which is cheating. But I know I could have them if I wanted them badly enough.

This is a totally different mindset than denying yourself food. If I said, "I can't eat French fries," I'd immediately want them terribly and would eventually cave to the pressure and just go get some at Wendy's or something. But if I know I can have them whenever I want, the lure of the forbidden is gone.

So I'd like to thank Michael Pollan for the huge batch of chocolate chip/peanut butter/oatmeal cookies cooling on my counter right now. And for the six or so in my belly. I earned those bad boys!