Self Check-Out

I'm at the self check out line, when the screen says to wait for assistance from the cashier. I just ignore it, or push whatever button will let me keep on going and continue ringing myself up. I know the machine has just detected that I have no children with me to sabotage me today. It feels personally responsible for trying to make up for their absence. I try to avoid these encounters as these machines are out to get me, but sometimes it's inevitable. I used to avoid the auto cashier completely. I have my reasons. I'm not a total techno-idiot like you're thinking and I am not paranoid. It's simple post traumatic stress disorder. Plus, technology likes to vomit in my face. I have bad Karma that way.

The first time I ever saw a self check out was at a K-Mart in 2002. I should have been suspicious, it being K-Mart and all. However my judgment was impaired by the fact that I was with my children, then ages 11, 3, 3, 4 months and 4 months. I know what you are thinking. Haven't I heard of family planning? Sure, it just means something different in Utah. People with these demographics in their home don't get enough sleep, and they do not enjoy shopping alone with children, especially at K-Mart. They are capable of giving up their birthright to get out of that place quick. There were lines of people waiting for the cashiers, but, "AHHHH!" (Heavenly chorus) there was an aura around a new and unusual thing called the self check out. And there was NO LINE! Remember that advice your mom gave you that went something along the lines of, "If it looks too good to be true, it probably is"? Don't forget that advice. Alarms should have gone off in my brain when I realized there was no one using the thing, but my brain was numb from an hour of multitasking "find it in K-Mart" with screaming, squirmy child wrestling.

So, we navigated towards this novelty. Eventually, we got there, all 6 of us and our two carts. We hadn't picked up all that much, but there were 4 boys to fit in too. Hmmm. I took in the whole setup. Here we had my own little bar scanner and screen over it, and racks with plastic bags to bag my own items on a counter to the right. The instructions were pretty simple and straightforward. I'd been a cashier before, so how hard could this be? I ran the first item over the glass. Beep! I put it in the bag. At this point the natives had gotten over the novelty of the new check out and they started getting restless. One 3 year old, we'll call him Houdini, starts trying to escape the confines of the cart. I reach over to put the boy back in the cart while trying to ring up item number two. But now three year old number two, we'll call him Rambo, had started climbing out the other end. I implore the 11 year old, whom we'll call Lucy, to handle Rambo. Beep! Two items in the bag. The 4 month old boys have gotten sick of sitting in the same spot and they start to howl-in two separate keys. I start to rock the cart. Houdini escapes again and goes running away, towards the quarter candy machines. Eleven year old runs after him, loudly threatening him with his life. I grab item number 3, while trying to rock the cart with my foot. I ring it up. I go to put it in the bag. Rambo is standing on the counter, straddling the rack that the bag is attached to. I put down the item on the scanner and grab the boy to put him down. The screen is flashing all over the place, telling me to get assistance. Yeah, I could use some assistance. The babies are wailing, and everyone in the vicinity is staring. Houdini runs laughing by, Lucy in hot pursuit. I try to clear the machine and bag my item. Rambo is climbing up again. I set him to rocking the cart, then try again.

Mercifully, a clerk comes to assist at this point. She tries to clear the screen, but it won't work. Then we discover that Rambo and Houdini, who recently returned are hanging on the bag racks. The clerk explains that the counter detects the weight when you bag the items to make sure you don't bag things you haven't rung up. So, the kids can't even touch that area, or it will not work. Now, that might have been helpful to know before I started this escapade! Of course, I didn't have the common sense to give up and go get in a line, I just toss the three year olds back into the cart and ask the eleven year old to keep them there. Except she is humiliated at the scene we are making and she has gone off to hide somewhere. I continue alone, secretly plotting to leave her there. At this point, we are the K-Mart side show and everyone is watching. There is even a second worker, who seems to have nothing else better to do, leaning against the counter across the aisle from me, snickering. Clerk number one sees I need help, so she offers to hold a baby. I tell her she can try. Baby, however most definitely does not want to be held, so he starts howling even louder and kicking her. Meanwhile, Rambo is biting Houdini and he starts to cry. I grab Houdini, quickly threaten, I mean, chastise Rambo, and start ringing up the next item. Flashing lights again. Rambo has escaped and is sitting on the counter. I pull Rambo off. Lucy shows up, with some teen magazine in hand, wondering if I will buy it. No, I will not! Would she like to hold a baby, or live at K-Mart? Sulkily, she puts the magazine on the counter and picks up a baby. Another alert! Unauthorized item in bagging area! Grrrr! Nice clerk helps clear it. Baby in her arms is purple with rage, so she puts him back in his carrier. Obnoxious employee on the sidelines is guffawing.

I ring up another item. Now I need to use another bag, but the next rack over has a set of bags that seem to have been permanently glued together. After pawing at it the best I can, I put down Houdini and manage to pry some apart, after wrestling the massive clump and ripping a few bags. Now I bag the item, but Houdini has gotten onto the counter. Nice clerk clears the screen again, and goes back to trying to get the baby 2's attention and distract him. I grab Rambo seconds before he reaches the bags again and plunk him back in the cart. Save! I quick like ring up another item and get it in the bag. Lucy is whining that baby is drooling on her arm, Rambo is yelling because he doesn't want to be in the cart, Houdini has run off again and baby number two is still testing his lung capacity. Several people over at the regular check out line are staring, mouths agape. Obnoxious employee is laughing so hard, she is crying. "I'm only too happy to provide your comic relief for the day," I think, glaring at her. She doesn't get the hint. Nice clerk is giving up for the second time at calming a baby. "I'm sorry," the nice clerk is saying, " I wish I could help more, but the babies don't seem to want to let me hold them. " That's alright. What if she just rang up the remaining items? Um, except it's a self check out and she's not supposed to do that. Nice, but not too bright. After bugging my eyes at her in disbelief for a sec, and only getting a blank stare in return, I decide the fastest thing is to just move on. I quickly ring up the remaining items, stuffing them all into the same bag in order to avoid more complications. Meanwhile, I toss Houdini out of the way approximately 5 times. I grab the bag and go to put it in the cart. It breaks. Nice clerk scrambles to help me pick it up.

I choose to pay with a debit card. The computer won't take my pin. My eardrums have ruptured from the chorus of my progeny and I feel like I'm in a tunnel. Everything around the screen is blurry. I send Lucy to find Houdini. The clerk tells me how to clear it and try again. No luck. We key in the card and pin. This time it takes, just as Lucy shows up with Houdini. "Run for the exit!" I hiss as I grab my receipt and push my howling boom box of a cart full of children out the door. The obnoxious clerk is pulling herself up off the floor so she can go waste time somewhere else. I silently bless her with quadruplets. Mercifully, the door alarm doesn't sound and we make it to the car alive. I was so shell shocked I never went near another self check out for four more years. Can you blame me?

Scarred 4 Life

One day my mom asked, "Did you hear about the 3 year old found walking his dog at 3 am along the avenues?" Why, yes! I had seen that on the news. "I thought of you," she said. While the people interviewed on the street may have ragged on those parents, I didn't. Plus, what were those unthinking critics uh, thinking? I felt like asking them "How many of you are awake at 3 am supervising your children to make sure they're still asleep? " As a matter of fact, if your kids stay in bed all night, and LET you sleep, I'd consider yourself lucky. Here's my story:
As best I recollect, it was about May or June of 2003. Papi had just recently acquired a huge quick set pool. Carino was a fish in the water, but it made me a little nervous having a pool with such small children. The Things were just one year old, Carino was just 4, Gigio was 4 and Enigma was almost 13.
So, Papi was working at night and I was so burnt out(don't ask me why, ha ha) and the children were not at all tired. I just didn't have the energy to put them all to bed so, I ended up with all of them on my bed watching a video with the lights off in hopes of inspiring them to doze off into dreamland. No such luck. I was the only one dozing off. When the movie ended, I sent them to the other room with a boob tube and another riveting video along with blankets, pillows, lights out, etc. Often a nice camp out with the siblings will bring on some zzzz's, right? In any case, they were much more likely to stay put and not get in much trouble that way. It was now about 10:30. they probably wouldn't finish the movie. Any pediatrician will now chew me out for not putting them in their beds, without a TV set, but I was absolutely dying from sleep deprivation. I would have to be a model parent another night.
I went back to bed and collapsed. That was all I remembered. Then next thing I knew, the doorbell was ringing and I shot out of bed to get the door. Occasionally my husband will forget the key to the house and have to ring the doorbell to get in. I unlock the door, expecting my dear mate of course, and I am shocked to see, upon opening the door...Carino, bawling his little eyes out. My first thought is how rude of his siblings to lock him out, probably over some squabble. I pick him up and hug him and comfort him while asking him how he got out there. He wasn't extremely verbal at this point so the description was cryptic and chopped, punctuated by sobs. I carry him to the other room to start the big inquisition with the siblings, ready to put someone on the racks for this one, but everyone is fast asleep. I look at the clock as the fog starts to clear from my brain. It's nearly a quarter to one a.m. So how did Carino get outside and then lock himself out? I was mystified. Then I discovered a side door unlocked and a chair next to it. Hmmm. Once he got outside this door, there was a step down, so he probably couldn't get back in. I'm glad he eventually thought to go to the front door. He was probably terrified alone in the dark like that.
I put him to bed and soon got him to sleep, but now the sleep was completely gone from my eyes. My mind was going in a million directions. I was thinking of the stories of kids who get out at night in the winter and freeze to death. Thank goodness it was summer. What if it hadn't been? What if he hadn't found the door in the blizzard howling outside? What if he had just curled up on the doorstep to be found frozen like a popsicle the next morning? My teeth started chattering. Out of fear.
What if he had wandered off, or decided to go play at friend's house, or some creepy person were outside and saw him and took him away. What if there just happened to be a burglar looking for a great spot to hit? What would have become of my little boy? Why was he awake anyway? He's my sleeper. Put the guy in a dark room, he's gone in 10 minutes. Why was he so awake? Maybe he was turning into his siblings and was going to stop sleeping at night. Now THAT was a really scary thought!
Why did he even go outside? Oh my gosh! The pool! What if he had gone into the back yard and tried to climb into the pool and got in but then couldn't get out? Eventually he would fall asleep and drown. Now I'm having visions of his little body floating face down in the pool the next morning, when it was eternally too late!
I had to do something. I couldn't let any of these terrible things happen to him or any of the other kids. I started playing the piano. I know, great solution. Don't ask me why, I'm a terrible pianist. I'm not being modest either. Truly, I am a terrible pianist. So terrible that it is preferable to sing a capella in lieu of my accompaniments. I just didn't want to fall asleep until my husband got home.
He was the one with the huge look of confusion on his face when he walked in the door and heard my "music" and I jumped up from the piano bench and told him we had to put another set of latches at a greater height on each door to the outside, ASAP. He didn't do it that night, but he did do it within the next few days. To this day I still don't sleep as easily as before. Yep, I'm scarred for life. How about you?

Illustrations for the Last Random Update

Here's the Pompeii floor. I understand the dream now, the tomato sauce stains and grease are going to be eternally trapped under the new tile floor and I will never be able to clean it up. :) Either that or I have hidden subconscious garbage in my brain I can never reach in my waking moments. Or, I need to get out and play more. Or, all of the above.

Here's what playing with stepping stones does to fingers. As you can see, we struggle to wear the splint correctly.
Here's what it does to your garden: the only plants that have survived were previously established, the rest fared much worse than the thumb.

BUT, I just might get some tomatoes to grow to maturity! Whoopee!
As for the PMS, it is gone and the chill pill is not chocolate coated, it is entirely made up of chocolate, it's called Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Chips. It does nothing for my memory, however, which has reached all time lows recently. It's annoying the heck out of me, I get sidetracked and lost in thought way too easy so I am not a paragon of efficiency like I wish I was. Maybe a higher dose of chocolate? Laced in Ritalin?

The Demise...

I'm like seriously overdue for a post and even more overdue for a random list of updates on our home, but THIS is the big story. I'm so sad...I'm not sure I can live without this little friend of mine...today we "buried" the trampoline. (OK, buried in a garbage.) Technically, it's skeleton is still on exhibit in the back yard, too.
First, I took down the totally useless netting that was hanging all over the trampoline itself, waiting to catch someone and propel them off the thing. Next, I removed the shreds of the outer lining of the padding that used to encompass the ring of springs, but was dismantled by little engineers or doctors in training who have to see the guts of everything. What I didn't do was remove the foam that goes on all the enclosure poles since they were removed and shredded into monkey tails oh so many moons ago. Then I watched kids start to swing around the now exposed poles and even bend one out of shape. I forbid them to do it, so they only do it every time my back is turned. So, then I spent too much time on the internet searching for the correct replacement parts at an affordable price. Finally, after much deliberation and consultation, I placed an order late Friday afternoon. I cringed but I did it because, A) I got a tax refund and B) I want everyone to be safe. I knew most of this stuff needed to be replaced a long time ago, but what was the point if they were just going to shred it and use it for mulch? Now that everyone at least speaks and understands, I figured I could threaten them with their lives if they damaged anything. Most likely they would ignore me, but after popping off a few of them, I mean, giving them consequences, I figured they'd behave.
Fast forward to Sunday afternoon, when I go out to see the boys on the tramp and discover that the mat is full of holes. Twenty-six holes to be precise. A few of these holes are big enough to get a big toe stuck in. Arg! I had a heart attack and died. They just threw me in the trash with the mat. (Just kidding) I started into CSI mode. It didn't take long though, because there was an informant present who was ready to squeal on his mates. "The Things burned it with the magnifying glasses from the bug catching kits. Great! They just lost their 2 favorite things; the tramp and the bug catchers.
I don't know how I missed the signs that this was coming. Gotta stop being so easily distracted. First of all, red flag #1: I spent money replacing all the tramp accessories. You know that's dangerous. Second, a few weeks ago we had a Sunday School lesson, and don't ask me how this fit into the scripture we were studying, but the teacher mentioned something about a big huge magnifying glass at the Smithsonian that if you take it outside and the sun hits it, whatever it magnifies gets melted. Seriously, everything known to man, nothing is safe! And I remember thinking that you could probably destroy the world with that, and good thing my kids didn't have access to it and all. Did the little alarms go off when the Things got the bug kits? Oh, no! I'm too dense for that!
When oh when will I be able to listen to that still, small voice, guys?
So, very quickly, so quickly, I didn't even write another classic letter, I sent an email message to the tramp company that I needed to cancel my order because I no longer had anything to enclose: the tramp went up in smoke. I could have spent another $100 replacing the mat, but then once I added it all up, I could probably get a new tramp and enclosure for not much more. Papi adamantly insisted that their trampoline days are over since they respect nothing. I really can't bring myself to waste the extra money or reward their deed with a new tramp, so... we are trampless. I'm not sure how we will survive. I thought of sending them to any and all neighbors with tramps to play, but seriously who will let them in their yard when they hear how our tramp died?
I finally contacted the tramp people again on Monday to make sure they got my message and of course they hadn't but they think maybe they got the message to the truck that had just gone out with half of the order to not send my stuff any further. What are the odds that I won't get a big package soon? I'm so bummed for me and my kids. The first thing Enigma said was, "Now what do I do with them when I have to babysit?" Is this how God feels when He can't give us what we need and want because He just can't, as much as He'd like to? If only we were more responsible with what He gives us.
SO, hopefully we all learned something from this. The boys all got a big lecture about every angle of this thing, so they don't do anything like it again, while I had to keep pulling a very impish Thing 2 off the tramp to try to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation.
I learned things could have been worse: Thing 1 told me Thing 2 was also chasing him and trying to burn his hair. Maybe that explains why he has a hair horn on one side a lot lately?
There it is, the whole scoop. Sniff!

Scarred 4 Life

I have been planning to start a series for a while now called scarred for life. The idea came about because I often find myself summing up some of the incidents in my life with the expression, “I’m scarred for life.” Then one day, for some reason we were discussing family photos at my mom’s house and she said something about, “…the group picture we got once when Shellie refused to dress up” etc, etc, and it was this big traumatic hoopla, “remember?” Apparently every detail was seared into her memory, but all I thought was, “You mean I didn’t do that EVERY time we were going to get a family photo done?” I couldn’t conjure up that specific memory, even after her cues, to save my life. That was when I realized it. I may be facetious when I say I’m scarred for life. Some people have big, really big, really truly traumatic and terrible experiences that leave big ugly scars, but all moms have these little scars left over from the old battle wounds of motherhood. Wouldn’t it be cathartic, validating, and cleansing to share those moments that are seared on our consciousness forever? Everything is so much more amusing in hindsight too, isn’t it? So, here’s the first scar I’ll share.

Yeah, well, it’s really two. It’s called the ANNUAL ESPINOZA BASEMENT FLOODING TRADITION. (Tradition we plan on breaking this April, right, boys???) My eye is starting to twitch already and it’s only the middle of March.

Chapter 1 April, 2006

This chapter takes place right in the middle of a 1 ½ week period of time that shows this was really a scarring experience if I still remember it in the backdrop of when it occurred. For the background on the week this happened in, read the excerpt here from my old e-mail.

Here’s the incident
Papi went up to the hospital to stay with Carino that day because I had to take Gigio to his appointment, then I had to take Enigma to go buy some things for her concert. Later that evening I was on the phone with Papi in my office and the boys were jumping on the tramp. I hung up the phone and immediately stepped into a puddle. It was coming from under the freezer. I assumed the freezer had died and was leaking. I picked up all the important stuff that was piled on the floor and went to go get towels, but when I went to do that, I discovered and even bigger puddle on the other side of the wall in the family room. Then I heard what sounded like water outside and before I thought what could be happening, I opened the door to the backyard to investigate and a wave about 4" high came whooshing in. The Things had put the garden hose in the bottom of the stairwell leading to the basement and turned it on full blast. They had made quite a swimming pool since the drain was clogged with leaves and mud and wouldn't drain at all anyways. I quick shut the door (too late) and ran to turn off the water. Then I went around the house to unlock the gate on the other side so I could get back in the house without letting in more water. Right at that moment a neighbor came up to see how Carino was doing. Right on cue, she was so inspired. She had knocked on our door and was about to leave when she thought we might be out back. She hurried off and hustled up a huge wet vac and some more people to help. Luckily it's mostly tile down there, and Enigma's room was the only room spared completely which is where the carpet is. We had a lot to wash after because all the linens and extra blankets were stored in the closet under the stairs and they all got wet. As it was, with all the help, I was up till way late. I would have been toast without that. Gigio claims he had no idea the hose was on in the stairwell and he helped unclog the drain and play with the babies while we cleaned up.

Chapter 2 April, 2007

This is why I never want to talk on the phone. OK, this is just one of the reasons why. Here's the background to this incident:

I’m still alive. Sorta. Papi has been to Chile and back since last I wrote. You know, the first few days the house seems quiet, like a whole herd left. There is a big hole. Then you notice you have less stuff to do without taking care of the missing mate. Nobody telling you he needs his back scratched RIGHT NOW while you were already doing 3 things at once. No one is adding new tasks to your day. You can do things that annoy him and he won’t even know. You can watch a chick flick and nobody complains. You can leave the T.V. off all day or at least not put it on Spike TV. He- he: don’t tell him, but this is kind of fun! Then by the end of the first week, it seems like he’s been gone a month and you start getting misty eyed, but hey, life is busy, and no disasters occur so the second week just zips by without a hitch. I’m a toughie, I can handle this separation even if it is no longer fun. Then the third week happens. It is a bomb. Everyone is falling apart. Disasters all over, life gets overwhelming, you get sick, you get irritable. By the last day alone, you tell your husband he may not get himself killed on the way home under any circumstances because he will probably find you comatose or catatonic when he gets there and he needs to take over the family again. Every 5 minutes I tell him never to leave me.

Here's the deja vu incident itself:

The last straw was the Espinoza Annual Basement Flooding. Just like last year, the stairwell drain was clogged with rotten leaves. Just like last year, someone left the hose running in the stairwell. (Except this year he talks and told on himself proudly-Thing 1. He was “washing the window!” No matter that we have no windows on that side of the house.) Just like last year everything was under close to an inch of water except Enigma’s room was spared. Just like last year Papi was not here. Just like last year, I had just gotten off the phone with Papi. Just like last year, Enigma was at a ballroom rehearsal. Unlike last year, there were things lying literally all over the office floor and there was two weeks of clean laundry waiting to be put away in the family room. Unlike last year I discovered the problem on the opposite side of the door and of course didn't open it. Unlike last year, no one walked in on cue to help me. I guess I’m more wicked now. I had to call all over the place trying to get a wet vac (only to find out from Papi the next day that he's gotten one since last year. ARG!) Eventually I got help though from an army of neighbors and everything got dried up but then I had to redo all the laundry and everything that was in the drawers in the boys’ room because it was all musty. That set me back terribly. I was already on the edge of functioning, and now I was off the cliff. So what do you do when you hit rock bottom? Try not to think about it too hard and give up on your grandiose plans of getting back on top of things. The next day I heard a sprinkler spray water on the pavement and I freaked, I thought the hose was on again. Don’t worry though, I’m sure after years of therapy I will be back to normal again.

That's it. I'm still in therapy. Now it's your turn. The doctor is in! Tell me about one of your scars. If we have enough fun doing this, we could make it a regular event with linkies and everything.

BLAST FROM THE PAST- April 6, 2005

This is the sequel to my Family Heirlooms post.

I would have written sooner but...

I was a little incapacitated.

I spent a good part of one spring break day paying the price for mopping the floors. The big boys were downstairs, I’m mopping upstairs and when I get ready to go towards The Thing's room, they go running downstairs. I start cleaning up the floor so I can mop and about 5 minutes later I find the fingernail clippers case empty on the floor. I call down to ask Gigio what the babies are doing, thinking it is something with the clippers and he casually answers, "Oh, they’re in the office." The office is kept locked and off limits at all times. Bells go off, and I run to my doom. This is what I find:

The blue stuff on the keyboard is toothpaste. Ironically they used the family heirloom of a gutted knife I was keeping "safe" in there to remember the yogurt incident with to pry up the keys and then smeared the toothpaste all over. Where do they get these ideas from? How do they get and act on them so quickly? Like, " Quick, pry the latch open with the broom handle, get the toothpaste from the bathroom and the knife from the desk drawer: now let's get to work!" Why??? Maybe it was to distract me from the missing nail clippers.

For All You Who Didn't Believe It

This is the video of Danilo undoing the electrical socket panels, age 2.

The latest letter

July 17, 2007

Dear Dr. Johnson,

I’m just writing to warn you in advance that I have not been able to be a regular flosser. I’m so sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to or that I don’t believe in all the benefits of flossing, quite the contrary. It’s just that I have to hide my floss in a different place each day to keep my kids from finding it. It gets really exhausting trying to come up with new places and not forget where I put it. The other day was the last straw. I was cooking in the kitchen when I looked over to see a floss line going across the doorway. Once I could safely leave the kitchen without burning anything, I found that one end of the floss was tied to the top of a step stool and strung around the door handle, then across the family room and out the front door. Outside, it was wrapped around the banister to the front stairs and then went straight across, about a yard off the ground, clear across the next door neighbor’s yard and driveway, through to the fence on the corner of the street where it was tied off where it ran out. So, the only one who got any flossing that day was the neighbor’s car. Do you think anyone makes a voice activated dental floss dispenser?

Sincerely,

Shellie Espinoza

FAMILY HEIRLOOMS

EXHIBIT A : PROOF THAT GUARDIAN ANGELS REALLY DO EXIST

We still own this knife, mutilated in September 2003, to hand down to our posterity. It commemorates son Gigio's first day of Kindergarten. For those who didn't get my e-mails back then, it went something like this...

We came home from school to find Enigma with the babies covered in joint compound; Papi had just fixed a hole in the wall in my room before he left and while Enigma was trying to get the kids next door to quit ringing our doorbell, the babies attacked it. So I set out to clean up the babies, then everywhere they had slimed, then their clothes and lastly to try to fix the hole again. I didn’t do as good a job as Papi, but while everyone attacked me again I did my best and all that only took about 2 hours. After initially displacing his aggression on everyone in the house over his first day of school and threatening to pack up and leave us, Gigio settled down. Then while I fed the babies, Carino the gypsy flew the coop again. A kind neighbor called us and then came behind him with his trike which he had left behind. Finally I got the babies to sleep and got to work on dinner after several interruptions from the remaining 3 kids, so by the time the babies woke and started wailing I was almost done. Then finally they left the kitchen and quieted. I was wondering what had captivated their interest when Thing 1 showed up in the kitchen “talking” and gesturing towards my room, obviously accusing his brother, whom I found eating the patch job off the wall; Enigma left the door open to my room again. SO we cleaned up and got to the table, and after making sure there was nothing toxic in the drywall, I got them to eat real food while I got more practice at patching walls. Then after dinner the boys went downstairs to “play” while I supervised my eldest in her reading, and after 15 minutes of that agony, Carino shows up with a spikey hairdo that smelled fruity, something like some go-gurt we had on hand. Soon after Gigio followed and confirmed that it was indeed yogurt, so after getting both Gigio and Enigma to read, I gave Carino and the babies ANOTHER bath. Then when I sent Carino down to bed, he says he can’t, there’s yogurt on his bed. Silly me, why did I think it was all on his head?? Wishful thinking?? Then I saw the room, which looked like someone had blown up a balloon filled with yogurt in there, it was splashed all over everything. Then as my alter ego, the witchy mom took over and bawled them out, the angel on my shoulder reminded me I didn’t want to really strangle them; should I break down and cry? No, that’s what Gigio wants, to get me back for being so mean, at least that’s his excuse for his messes lately. As I’m yelling and contemplating what to do about this, I notice the night light, with not only yogurt but a black charred looking area around it. Next Enigma came to see what the hullaballoo was all about, all the while secretly hoping I would switch over to the dark side and eliminate her brothers. I start telling her that they must have gotten yogurt between the outlet and the light, and from the looks of things set off a flame, which Gigio refuted, saying they were just sparks at which point I decide to start lecturing on the properties of electricity. That's when Thing 2 walks up with Exhibit A in his hand. All I can say is I thank the Lord above that I still have a house and live children. For some strange reason, the boys had gotten the idea to stick the knife between the socket and the night light. Maybe to clean up the yogurt? I start telling them they could have been electrocuted. Gigio says, "No, Mom, it didn't, it just went, BZZZZZZ! (shaking hand motion with this)" So there you have it. I believe it is impossible to really hurt yourself with 110 volts. Good thing we're in the USA! The boys got grounded from the basement for 2 days and had to sleep with blankets on the hard floor upstairs. They also got grounded from yogurt until they are old enough to buy it themselves.

P.S. the sequel is here now...

UTAHNS ANONYMOUS

Hi, I'm Shellie, and I'm a....I'm a (sob!) Oh my Heck! I'M A UTAHN!! There, I said it! I shall face the truth and swallow my pride. I thought I could be IN Utah but not OF Utah. Pride comes before the fall. No offense to all you other Utahns. After all, you were born here, and it's the natural thing for you to be. For all the quirks, I love you guys so don’t send me hate mail!!!

When I moved here in late 1979, I went into culture shock. Being from the state of "Gypsy"(Thank you IBM for employing my father), I was used to _____________________________________(Any of the 49 states that don’t start with U).
Probably a big part of the shock was that being an idealistic (How old was I in 1979?)1 year old at the time, I expected the kids at my new high school to conform to my idea of what a school full of fellow believers of the dominant religion of the area would be like. Of course I’m generalizing, but there were a lot of Sadducee and Pharisee attitudes around. And how would you say narrow minded in politically correct? Their limited exposure to other ideologies, geologies, and lifestyles made their thinking patterns somewhat nearsighted. Then there was the fashion issue. Apparently, not much had happened on that scene since Brigham Young. This designer named Jessica Mc Clintoc (sp?) was making a killing on these guys by designing revamped pioneer clothes. I walk in with my long straight, sun-streaked California hair and tight ditto jeans, seam running up my leg, around my derriere and down the other leg, and jaws dropped. My toes were going through their own culture shock as flip-flops met snow. O.K., we adjust our attire a little. But the frame of mind bewildered me. I stood in line waiting to graduate with one married girl, one engaged girl, one about to be engaged girl and they are all reassuring me that I would be engaged by the end of the summer! Over my dead body! What were they THINKING? I was just about to start living. Not that we die when we get married, but we ought to at least figure out who we are before we attach someone else to our hip, get a little experience under our belts. Apparently, you are not a whole person though until you get married. But wait, then you’re not really whole till you have a houseful of children. I just didn’t get it. SO, the next day I moved out of state.

Unfortunately, parents have a way of getting their kids to live near them, so I kept finding myself back in Utah. I escaped to Arizona, I escaped to Chile, I escaped to Montreal. Then I got caught. I got married. In Utah. Then we were too poor to escape. But we were by no means Utahns. We just lived here. We waited 2.5 years to have a child. We only had one child for 7 more years. I was smug. I was sure I wasn’t a Utahn. Then we went from 1 to three children. My husband ran right out and got mini-van. We stopped trying to move away. We got complacent. I should have realized I was a Utahn by then, but I was blind to the fact that this living in Utah thing was getting to be a habit. I’d forgotten I’d swore to never raise my children here.
Two years later, I found myself in the OB’s office, completely in denial, wondering what in the heck was wrong with all these pregnant women holding an almost toddler in one arm while a preschooler trailed behind. Seeing as how I had the common sense to leave my 2 and 3 year olds at home, I could forget about that little detail as I sat as alone as a first –time mother. Then I had twins. Now people were asking me how I managed and telling me how brave I was. What a dizzying turn of events. Our mini-van was full. Any more slip-ups and we’d have to move on to a hefty van. I kept catching my firstborn talking about getting the “mell” out of the mailbox and so and so “sluffing” school. We started speech therapy. And then I made the most horrible realization. I might have lived in 8 other places in my life, but over half my life had now been spent in Utah. Not only that, but I would actually miss it if I moved away. (sniff!) BUT I’D GET OVER IT!!!! Which part of the 12 steps am I on?