smells like swagger

Paul just got new deodorant.

Not just new as in never been used, but also a new scent.

Swagger.

Uh huh.

What, you may ask, does swagger smell like? Is the scent meant to remind us of someone swaggering, or does the scent cause one to swagger?

Well, let me tell you, I can't wait to find out.

I have long been intrigued by the marketing for men's products. I just adore the names. So silly and man-ish. Lots of words like "ultra", and "max", only they like to add lots extra of the letter "x". Or should I say, exxxtra.

Plus there's the whole man and nature factor. Arctic force. Mountain rush. Axe makes a deodorant with a scent entitled "tsunami". Um, tsunami? For reals? As in a huge ocean wave caused by an underwater earthquake or volcanic eruption? Yummy. I personally would find that irresistible. I'm picturing some guy in marketing thinking "Hmmmmm, tsunami. Sounds powerful. Let's go with that."

So, swagger.

It was either that or pure sport, and the allure of this new and most confident scent was too much to resist.

For a moment I felt the need to compete, and considered switching to a new scent myself. I was concerned. I mean, my own tried and true green tea and cucumber scent has worked very well for me in the past, but this flashy new scent was making me think.

Maybe I want to swagger, too.

I was almost decided upon arctic apple when I realized that I am no longer twelve, and what the heck am I doing, considering switching to a scent like arctic apple? Sheesh. None of my lady scent options were really very cool. I mean, Spanish rose? Asian pear? Powder fresh? Mystic rain? Come on!

Nah. I decided to stick with green tea and cucumber. I still have a little self respect.

This morning as I showered, Paul entered the bathroom. I heard the medicine cabinet open, and then:

"The scent of confidence!!"

I chuckled.

"What? I swagger sometimes."

Paul just walked in. He asked what I was posting about.

Deodorant, I said.

He grinned.

"I'm getting my swagger on!"

Geez.

i heart moms

mom. i love you so much, mom!

mom in law. i heart you forever!
the best sister ever. ever!
the best sister in law in the world

My mom just totally blew my mind. In the best sense. She was telling me about how she felt when she first became a mother, and I have to say that's one story I never, EVER get tired of hearing. Fitting for a first child, right? Me!!! I was the first!!! I could listen forever to her tell me about when she first saw my face, and we looked into each other's eyes, and how she felt like I looked into her soul. Which I did. Also I was probably trying to communicate with the power of my mind that I really wanted some milk. Anyhoo. She said, and this is what blew my mind:

" Motherhood is.....a revelation. Just a complete revelation. I have never understood so well just how much, and how completely God loves us as when I've just had a child. I experienced it for the first time with you. I've experienced it five times.....each time, just pure revelation. God loves us so much."

Mind blowing, no? Yep, that's MY mom. Boo-yeah!!

I love it. I love moms. You know what? I think in a way, all women are mothers. My sister? Kids aren't even a blip on her horizon yet, but this one time, when she was a senior in high school and I was going through a difficult time, she woke up at 3:00 in the morning, just so she could read me a favorite scripture of hers before I left for work. Tell me that's not the work of an awesome mom! See, I knew you couldn't. My sister in law? Well, I don't know if I've EVER seen someone so good with kids in my whole life, and when she has kids she's going to rock that whole scene like crazy. For reals. And my mother in law? Let me tell you. You go over to their house, and you just try to not feel loved. Go ahead. I dare you.

And my mom. I don't think the words have been invented yet for how much I love my mom, but here's an attempt:

crazystrongunbeatableeternalheartloveforever

I think that covers it, almost.

Nice work, Heavenly Father. Thanks for moms.

anniversary post (or why I should not eat only cake all day)

P-Dog and I just celebrated our seven year anniversary on Monday. For reals, seven years. And I don't itch at all, not even a little bit. I have been meaning to post about this all week, but I wanted the time to create a post that would sufficiently communicate the depth of my feelings for him. They are very deep, I assure you. Now I have plenty of time, but I have eaten only cake up until now, and have a beyond splitting headache. Paul is at work, and I am really wishing he were here right now because I want some 7-up and for him to rub my back. Paul, come home from work, okay? I know your job is important and all, and that you're probably keeping someone alive right this moment, but I need 7-up, okay? Dang. I think I'm going to go puke now.

old macdonald had a bus

I am riding the 31 bus to work today when two sisters board the bus. One looks about four, and the other maybe five or six, and they are very cute indeed. Curly brown hair, huge dark eyes- the cute market is cornered with these two, I tell you. I have to grin because not only are they insanely adorable, they are singing Old Macdonald Had a Farm, and who doesn't enjoy a rousing chorus on the way to their place of employment? Or pre-school?

They sit behind me. There are two seats, but they kind of squish into one, and continue singing.

"Old Macdonald had a...."

"Bus!! Old Macdonald had a bus!!"

"No, Old Macdonald didn't have a bus. No buses."

The older sister takes charge. They resume:

"Old Macdonald had a tree....."

Here I am waiting with bated breath to find out what sound a tree makes, because all this time I am not able to figure that one out, and no one yet has been in the forest to hear a tree scream when it is cut down (that I'm aware of). I don't get to find out, though, because the older sister has just changed her mind. Maybe Old Macdonald did require public transportation, after all. She sings reverently:

"Old Macdonald had a tree........and buses...."

"Eeeeyi eeeeyi oooooh. For you and me, for you and me."

Clearly they have mixed up Old Macdonald with This Land is Your Land, (obvious to a seasoned singer of nursery rhymes such as myself) but seeing as they are both cute as a button, I let it slide. I exit the bus, and here I am.

Still grinning.

change

You know how I've been talking about going back to school? I've been talking about it for a while, right? And you know how it's been bugging you because I'm all talk and no action, and you'd really like to smack me and tell me to GET MY ACT TOGETHER AND DO SOMETHING, but you're too nice?

Well, I did something.

I gave my notice at work.

Effective....sometime in July. Exact date to follow.

I was having a great talk with Miggs, and she's just so good at being inspiring that before I knew it I was jumping up and down on her couch like Tom Cruise. That's a slight dramatization, but I really was jumping up and down on a couch in my head, I swear.

So, I got to thinking about how if something is good, we should do it. Right away. This helps to avoid people wanting to smack us, and also it's a good way to show Heavenly Father we really do want His help, by being obedient. Even if what He wants us to do is hard, and we would rather hide under the table and suck our thumbs.

Then, at work on Monday, without even really trying, it just popped out.

I'm going back to school, I said. I'm really going to miss you guys. I'm feeling kind of scared, but a good kind of scared. The kind of scared you feel before you try a new roller coaster.

Just like that, I told the best boss in the world that I was leaving.

I'm going to go hide under the table and suck my thumb now.

Thanks, by the way, for not smacking me. Your kindness knows no bounds.

brand new me

Guess what?

I'm assertive now.

Uh huh. Didn't think I had it in me, did you?

Well, I did.

There comes a time in every passive girl's life when she must decide: is she a mouse, or is she....not a mouse. Because mice are generally not all that assertive, I take it. Also, they can't even talk, so if the mouse wanted to be assertive I think it would have a rather difficult time.

Well, I am NOT a mouse.

I was on my way home from work, minding my passive business, all ready to swipe my metrocard when my spidey-sense told me there was a tourist kid in front of me who needed help with his metrocard.

Swipe, THWACK. Swipe, THWACK. Swipe, THWACK.

It's always a little embarrassing when you get stopped by the turnstiles. Now, being the passive person I am, normally I would have been quite content to stand behind him as he swiped incorrectly for a good long time, cheering him on, or I would have maybe hopped lines, but yesterday was different.

"You have to watch the little screen. It will tell you if it worked."

Didn't register. Swipe, THWACK.

I grabbed the metrocard, swiped it, returned it to the hand of my greasy-haired buddy.

"Uh, thanks."

I swiped my card, walked through, and then I chuckled.

That was awesome. I'm so assertive now.

The Gender Olympics

Paul Boerem is not a girl.

Well, he isn't.

I think I got ahead of myself.

So there's this documentary called The Business of Being Born, about women, and they're having babies, and should they have them in the hospital, or at home? There was a free screening at the hospital, and I thought, I'd like to have a baby sometime, so I'm interested in this, plus it's free, and that's pretty great. Also I've been concerned lately that my hypothetical children are taking their sweet time because I don't yet have my parent license, and I am wondering if that's how you get it, by going to see documentaries like this.

I watch as women, well, um, give birth. On film. It looks painful. I totally want to do it. I marvel at just how crazy that is, that I can see something that really does not look like a walk in the park, and here I am ready to sign up like someone just said "Would you like some free cheesecake?" Heck yes, I do.

Well, the movie ends, and I go home, and I'm all intellectually charged with woman power and stuff, and naturally I want to talk to Paul, because I want to impress him with what a smart wife he has. Except, remember I'm not really good at debating, because I don't like it? Yeah, well, I forgot about that.

We start to chew the fat (I've been waiting to use that phrase....) and at first we are really having a very nice time, and I'm patting myself on the back in my head and thinking, look at us. Look how smart and open minded and enlightened we are. They should make a documentary about us, is what they should do.

Naturally I was surprised when we both got all mad and stuff. I mean, okay. Here's how it happened:

So we're talking about episiotomies, and I was like, so I don't think I want one, and then he was like.........hmmmm. Funny, I actually can't remember exactly what he said, because I was pretty busy planning my rebuttal. I like to stay ahead of the game.

At any rate, he says something that sparks a little of the feisty in me, and then, I tell him that he can't really understand because.....

He doesn't have any girl parts.

Yep.

I busted that one out. The gender card.

Here I would like to remind everyone of one minor detail:

Neither of us has ever given birth. We are in no way qualified to be having this conversation.

I would also like to point out that if these questions were actually applicable to us, we'd be so psyched, giving birth in Taco Bell would be fine, although I would prefer not to. No offense to anyone who has labored at the Bell.

Still, it is immediately apparent that each of us is representative of our respective genders, and as such we each bear the solemn responsibility of attempting to force the other to SEE THINGS MY WAY!!

Paul stands up, states that he will not dignify my comment with a response, and huffs out of the room.

I sit on the couch, pondering. Am I amused, or do I feel a huge sense of injustice? I go with amused, until it's time to go to bed, and it's my turn to say the prayer, and I extend my hand so we can hold hands during, except I decide, you know, I don't think I'm going to say the prayer just yet. I should apologize to Paul.

So, I apologize. Well, kind of. It was the sort of apology where you think, yeah, I'm apologizing, but really I'm using my apology as a jumping off point to continue the debate because ACTUALLY I'M RIGHT!!!

It didn't go over as well as I'd hoped it would.

I led off with saying that I was sorry but, well, he didn't have any, um, girl parts, and then I can't really remember exactly what we said, just that this time I got mad, got out of bed, stomped out of the room and shut the door.

Hmmmm.

I don't believe in sleeping on the couch.

Also, I can't sleep alone because I really like how Paul snuggles.

I am lying on the couch trying to come up with a way to go back in to bed without completely groveling or admitting defeat because I AM RIGHT, but really missing Paul, when the bedroom door opens.

I close my eyes to fake like I was asleep, but let's face it, I'm a really bad faker.

He sits down on the couch.

Looks at me. A little confused, a little like he wants to laugh.

Can you come back to bed, please?

I smile.

You missed me, didn't you!

He smiles. Puzzled.

Yeah......WHY, I don't know, but.....yeah!

I say the prayer.

This time, I say it for reals.