Blogging Without a Cause

First of all, let me be perfectly clear that I am just as horrified and saddened by the events of last week as anyone else in their right mind.

Second of all, it was a last straw for me.

People of facebook: stop it.

Right now.

I really hoped it wouldn't come to this.

I hoped adults could figure out on their own that "liking" a status or link or picture does not IN ANY WAY mean anything.

It will not save anyone.

Or prove anything.

But more and more I find there are many adults without sense enough to be sensible.

Source: hahafunnylol.com via Dazee on Pinterest

Along that same line of (un)reasoning, is the idea to "(fill in the blank) for Boston!"

Ok. Seriously?

Pray for Boston, guys. Pray like crazy.

If you have cash to spare, send money to the people affected.

Organize a fundraiser, even.

But please.

Do not use it as a marketing ploy.

Or a pandering, desperate way to self-promote.

Or to look important. Or more involved than you are. Or more affected than everyone else.

You don't even KNOW how hard it was for me to keep myself from mocking all the triviality by updating my status all day long like this:

"I'm making breakfast for Boston"

"I'm cleaning my house for Boston"

"I'm eating cupcakes for Boston"

etcetera.

I had to exercise a lot of restraint. And then come over here to post it anyway. So, yeah, not as much restraint as I should have exercised. Give me a break. I have a bruised rib or two. Exercise is painful.

If you are one who wonders whether or not something you see on facebook is a ridiculously idiotic or useless scheme,  here are some questions to ask yourself:

1. Does it make sense? This is pretty self-explanatory, you'd think.

2. Does it make sense?  Ask it twice, because lots of time something will sound good until one stops and actually thinks about it for a moment.

3. Does it make sense? Ask it again for good measure. Will passing it along or 'liking' it have some sort of measurable, actual benefit, or are you suffering from wishful thinking?

4. Do you feel pressured? If you do, run. If something vaguely (or not so vaguely) alludes to your not having the courage or faith or guts to repost it, that should raise the bright red, polka-dotted flag of dumb. These Facebook posts are the adult version of the goofy chain letters everyone passed around in the 6th grade.

5. Does it include an over-the-top shocking photograph to guilt you into 'liking' it? I could be wrong (it's happened a few times), but those posts are NOT about animal abuse or child abuse or spousal abuse as much as they ARE about sensationalism and shock factor. They are a way to magnify the appalling in the name of a good 'cause' (where 'cause' is synonymous with 'facebook likes', apparently?).

In closing, I'd like to reiterate:

STOP. IT.

Cause I'm *this* close to ending my relationship with facebook. All it is now-a-days is shares and links and quotes and self-aggrandisement (which are all well and good in small doses, by the way). Where are all the clever quips of yesteryear? Am I just too old for Facebook now?

*Share and/or Like this page if you are a human being with a brain-to-brainstem connection.
*98.4% of people who read this won't have the guts to repost it because they are either a racist or a terrorist. Or un-Christian. Or just a jerk.

Please Advise

Last night I wrote a post, but I don't think the world is ready for it.

We'll give it a few days.

In the mean time, I am having trouble deciding on a shower curtain.

What I mean is that I have been trying to decide for over a year.

I bought two, thinking I'd reconstruct them.

Then I bought a bunch of fabric.

Then I searched the internet for ideas.

Then I shoved everything under my bed and gave up.

And that's as far as I've come.

I want it white. That's for sure.

Probably.

If not, what color should I use? My bathroom is varying shades of tan, and I want it to feel calm, so do I go spa-esque, and just use white towels, shower curtain, rug (did I mention I need all new towels, too?)? Or do I add a little bit of color? If you've ever seen my house, you know that I am pro-color, so can I handle a white and tan bathroom? For very long?

Black and white is always classy, so maybe something like this:

and nothing says sophistication like an ugly, random pink rabbit:

Or for a subtle hint of color, minus the class, this:

or perhaps whatever this is:

Help.

If every pin is special, none of them are

I am starting to resent Pinterest.

Don't get me wrong. I love it. It is a wealth of ideas, and I use it exclusively for party planning and recipe-finding.

But I worry that soon we will all have the same decor (to be fair, this has been a fear of mine since the invention of the Internet, Mommy Bloggers, and Relief Society). The same parties. We'll play the same New Year's Eve Party games.

We will all be crafting robots. Our children will be churning out paper-plate panda bears and friendship bracelets like assembly-line workers.

If my Kindergartner comes to school without the specialized training that only elaborate schemes involving lamination, intricate scissor work, and hours of prep time done by me can provide (like memorization of the ABC's for instance), will they ever succeed? Or should I just give up now?

If my First Grader leaves the house with a square sandwich (remember those? I'd do a tutorial, but it might just blow your mind), baby carrots (NOT whittled into a working whistle), a cookie (chocolate chip - they're good and homemade, cause that's how I roll, but they are just the recipe on the back of the chocolate chips package, and they're just called 'chocolate chip cookies') and a water bottle (with the original label from the manufacturer attached - will she know I love her if I don't make a label declaring it for her mid-day break?) for lunch, will her future endeavors be compromised?

I fear the day every child brings a Kleenex box monster Valentine box and homemade valentines to school with clever sayings about goldfish or cake pops (oh, the cake pops!).

And what of simple pallets? The run on that market that Pinterest is creating will, I predict, cause the price of pallets to skyrocket. I wonder if in a few years people will be building things out of actual wood from the lumber store because it will be cheaper than using a pallet?

A few months ago, when I was planning Samera's birthday party, I had the oddest experience: A friend of mine asked what we were doing, and I began to explain. She kept oohing and ahhing over my explanations of very last-year things (Samera refused to be swayed. I tried. A baking party? Yes, very cute. But it's been done. Over and over. Apparently kids aren't as concerned about originality as adults are. I should remember this.).

Her enthusiasm was distressing me. I couldn't get a good read on why she was so excited. Was she mocking me? She finally exclaimed over my creativity and asked how in the world I had thought of it all.

What kind of mind game was this???

And then:

Ah. The last person on earth to be introduced to Pinterest.

It all made sense.

and

It was so confusing for me.

I wanted to bear my testimony of the wonders of computerized pinning and how her life would be enhanced,

but

I also wanted to tell her to cherish her naivete. To bask in glorious ignorance of the 500 uses of hydrogen peroxide for as long as possible.

Because there are some bells that you simply can't un-ring.

Although I'm sure someone will figure out how to eventually, and they'll do a tutorial. It will probably involve coconut oil or protein powder. Or an Altoids tin. And possibly an armoire*.

And we'll all pin it.


*seriously, why do people assume I have hundreds of armoires lying about my house, empty and useless? If I have the money for an armoire (have you ever priced armoires? Those puppies are spendy!), I have the money for whatever piece of furniture you can make an armoire into.

Keep On Survivin'

Yesterday in church I substitute-taught a Sunday School lesson for adults.

It made me reflect on all the times I've asked my husband, "How did your lesson go?" after he teaches.

And how unnecessary that question is.

It's not a matter of how.

It's either you survive it, or you do not. And since, for the most part, there is no option BUT to survive, the question answers itself.

Every time.

So, how did my lesson go?

It went. And now it's gone.

Thank goodness.

Ring Whisperer

I know what you are thinking:

"Boy, Andrea must have finally smartened up a little."

But you are wrong.

Don't beat yourself up over it. It's an easy mistake to make, if all you have to go off of is this blog.

It's been ages since I regaled the masses with tales of awkward predicaments or judgmental musings.

But that doesn't mean there haven't been any.

Oooooooh, no siree.

It just means I haven't written any of them down. Which might mean that they didn't actually happen. Right?

Same principle as trees falling in the forest...? Maybe?

Just to be safe, I thought I'd better hurry and write my latest snafu before it didn't happen, too.

So, there we were. At the mall. My friend and I. I was showing her a ring that I really liked, and lamenting the fact that its package prevented me from trying it on. All my complaining reminded her of a time she tried on a ring at a store, and the management had to cut it out of its package to get it back off her finger. We laughed about it, but she insisted that it was traumatic and that it really hurt. Not to mention the embarrassment of it all. She admonished me not to try on the ring.

So, there we still were. Well, I was. My friend continued shopping while I noticed a way to unhinge the  plastic thingy that kept the elusive ring from my eager finger. I slipped it over my knuckle. Where it became instantly and decisively stuck.

I had to get my laughter under control before I could get my friend's attention. 

I am lucky this friend is the kind who doesn't kick idiots in the shin. 

Instead, she tugged and twisted that ring, all the while telling me not to freak out.

My finger expanded and turned red. The ring suddenly revealed its sharp edges, which until that moment seemed perfectly normal.

I no longer found the ring attractive, but was willing to buy it, just so we could go home and take a table saw to my finger if need-be. 

But my friend wasn't giving up. She poured lotion over and around that silver band like there was no tomorrow. She kept saying, 

"Don't freak out...are you freaking out?"

Which led me to believe that she was. Just a little. Which made me giggle.

In the end, she saved the day.

And my finger.

And now, two weeks later, she is still my friend. Even after finding out how high maintenance I am, what with all the care and keeping I require thanks to my bad decision-making gland.

(and my forgetting to eat gland...but that's another story)

So here's to you, friend.

Thank you.

WARNING: This Post Contains 20 Pictures

 I try really hard not to post gratuitous pictures of children and parties and family celebrations. In fact, for the most part, I like this place to be mine alone. My thoughts, my weirdness, my therapy. Mine, mine, mine. Of course that usually involves the mention of my family, as I have no life outside the perimeter of my yard, but I like to believe that I don't often write blog posts dedicated to cataloguing, showcasing, or chronologizing my everyday life. That's what my (nonexistent) journal is for.

But I need to face the facts: I don't have anything to write about, so I don't write anything, so then I can't remember anything. And I don't write in a journal. Plus, my dad keeps urging me to blog, and my sister told me to post about Samera's baptism because she got sick and couldn't come. Blame it on them if you want to.

I am about to inundate you with boring-to-everyone-but-a-select-few-who-pretend-not-to-be-bored-by-such-things photos and details of the last several weeks.

I now present, Samera Turns Eight:

 First, we had her family party. She wanted a cake with oreos on one half and M&M's on the other, and filled with the same, but with the candy switched. Got it? Yeah, it was confusing for me, too.

 Then she had her first friend party. She wanted to decorate cupcakes, so we had a baking theme, complete with aprons and colorful cupcake liner flowers on chef hats.

Of course a pinata was involved. And there was only one casualty: the birthday girl. I was just glad it was my kid that got trampled in the candy stampede and ended up with a bloody lip. No one wants to send a child home from a birthday party with a wet rag hanging out of her mouth.

Then, a couple weeks later, on February 2nd, Samera was baptized. I made her pose, facing the sun, with her cake.

 And with her dad.

 And with my orange thing.

And by herself at the church.

And being fitted for a white jumpsuit.

And with me and Ty

(during which photo I was only praying that the kind ward member who offered to take it was not noticing Ty grabbing my bum)

And with the whole family

(please ignore the strange way in which my limbs are languishing in awkwardness)

We had a small crowd over for an after party. I made a Samera doll for the top of her cake.

My dad is the cutest.

And, since only the top tier of cake was devoured, I recycled the bottom tier for a Super Bowl party the next day. Cause it just made sense.

 Whew! You still with me? You deserve a prize. I am making cookies right now, so I'll eat an extra one just for you.

Twenty Thirteen

It's 2013. We are ten days in, and I have nothing to write about, but feel that the occasion should be marked somehow.

I don't usually make resolutions. Not in the winter, anyway.

But this year (2013!), I am making an exception.

Because I don't want to live 2012 again.

It served it's purpose, but 2012 is one year that I can honestly say I am relieved to be rid of.

There toward the end, it felt like a half-empty bag of chips you forgot about in the back of your pantry because someone set a box of crackers in front of it and a can of tomatoes on top of it.

It was stale.

I still finished it out of a sense of duty, but it was stale.

So bring on the '13! I'm ready!

(as long as 2013 is full of parties and fluffy problems that are solved in sit-com, 30-minute-long, "Oh, it was all just a misunderstanding, hahahahaha!" fashion)