In honor of the season and my girlfriend’s invalid husband, this week’s Standard Examiner article discusses the idiocy of motorbikes. When I mentioned this to my brother in law last night, he just about ripped me a new one. Wow, who knew boys were so attached to their big buzzing toys?

I have learned that reading your scriptures does not magically a good mommy make.

Yesterday was day three of our Summer Betterment Program. I must say, once I’d screamed at the kids and bribed them into doing their worksheets, things went quite smoothly. And I read my scriptures again this morning (it did require that I trade fifteen minutes of my novel for the Word of God–I honestly thought I might get translated at any second, I was so impressed with myself.)

The first two days went so well, and I felt so good about life in general, that by Tuesday night I was actually depressed. I knew I was at the top of the roller coaster, and any moment could plunge me back into miserable mommy mode.

Sure enough, yesterday I did a little screaming at my kids, a little weeping over my aching back, and realized that righteousness doesn’t solve everything. I’m okay with that.

Now, I know this will come as a shock to you, but Jason has been out of town with the scouts this week. Is it any surprise that I hardly noticed his absence this time? I’m getting so used to hoofing it alone (translation: laying around on the couch avoiding house work and meal preparation) that I almost don’t notice when he doesn’t come home at night. Almost.

As far as the scouts go, this is their yearly High Adventure trip. Is it just me, or shouldn’t “high adventure” translate into things like mountain climbing, and dirty water, and possible exposure to poisonous plants? Shouldn’t it include a lack of toilet paper and severe blisters, interspersed with sponge baths from frigid water? Shouldn’t the boys come home reeking of body odor, begging for a shower and a Big Mac?

Unfortunately (and it goes to Jason’s credit that he agrees with me here), the boys he took were not interested in anything that required such strenuous activity. Since they got to choose the outing, and something has to give, the leaders ended up with a compromise: they spent the week on a luxury three story house boat on Lake Powell, water skiing and enjoying day hikes.

Poor dears.

Truly, what’s this world coming to? My son would rather play the Wii than shoot hoops (no, I don’t let him), and the very thought of sitting outside in the warm weather makes me want an air conditioned nap. I swear, we’ve all been bit with the laziness bug and it’s getting more aggressive each year. There should be a shot or something.

If you’re wondering why I haven’t posted any pregnant pictures, go check out DeNae’s blog, where she so kindly posts an action shot of me going into labor. It’s the last posted picture, and it’s a real doozy. Tell me a photo like that wouldn’t make you get all prego-agoraphobic. And please, remember that I am six and a half months pregnant (I have no idea how many weeks that is, so don’t ask).

A photo is worth a thousand pounds, for sure.

In case you’re wondering how Harrison’s whole baseball fiasco from last week turned out, check out this week’s column. I’d paste it in but I can hardly stand to relive the event again.

I am going to do something that is the equivalent to goal setting suicide. I’m about to tell you my summer plans.

We all know that the worst thing a person can do is talk about what they want to achieve. Hey, if I never say it out loud then who cares if I do it or not? Besides, that way the Devil won’t know what I’ve got up my sleeve and therefore cannot thwart me at every turn.

But, on the flip side, my mother always says, “When you write things down, you open doors for angels to help you.” Just in case there is any truth to this, I’m posting my otherwise private plans right here, for the world to see and judge me by.

1. Go to bed at nine pm every night. I did this last night and woke up before my kids, read my scriptures for the first time in seven years, and ate the last two chocolate chip cookies before anyone else could get to them.

2. Moderate the television. My plan is to have it off by ten am, with one movie after three in the afternoon. I have no idea what my children and I will do with each other in the meantime, but it will probably include biting and clawing.

3. Summer school. Every day at ten, we’re going to sit at the dining room table, as a family, and do our daily devotional/Be Attitude, plus summer school. I am planning to sit also. No, I will not blog, read, clean or yell at this time. I will help my children further their education through previously purchased workbooks and duct tape (if necessary).

4. We will leave the house. I have every intention of taking them on regular outings to places that require no supervision, like the park or other people’s houses. I also don’t want to spend any money on them if I can help it, so I hope my friends have plenty of food handy.

5. We will eat dinner as a family. With the exception of the six weeks this sumer where Jason is gone (I KNOW), we will sit at the table and break pizza together. While Jason is gone, I will fill the freezer with Lean Cuisines and frozen fried food for the children, because that’s what all smart pregnant husbandless women do.

So go ahead and hold me to it, it can’t hurt. I’m also planning on spending as much time on the couch with a stack of books to read as I possibly can. Anything to avoid swelling and housework. (Notice the condition of my home was never mentioned? That was on purpose.)

My good friend Braden Bell’s book was just released. He insisted that it’s a must read, so what could I do? I read it.

I’ll tell you right now, I’m not a big LDS fiction buff. I prefer books where people drink blood and turn into supernatural beings, or at least live on a foreign planet that has dragons.

But as a past theatrical nerd who at one time planned to take Broadway by storm, the very title of Braden’s book, The Roadshow, intrigued me. Roadshows are my secret passion. I haven’t been in a ward that did a roadshow since I was seven, and I consider this the greatest tragedy of my life to date. Roadshows are very short theatrical productions produced on a limited budget and performed in front of a lot of disinterested people who are mostly there for the food. Awesome, I know.

Braden’s book is wonderful. I decided that I’d ask him a few questions about how it came to be, things I wondered while reading it. If you’re looking for some good LDS fiction for Father’s Day (depending on whether or not your husband can read), or just want an inspiring, uplifting story, get yourself a copy. I was totally impressed with Braden’s ability to tap into characters, and I don’t think I put the book down until I finished it. And yes, my children were slightly stinky by the time I was done.

Me: Have you ever been in a roadshow or written the script?

Braden: Yes.  I was in road shows when I was a young man in Utah.  That was back when they were still big.  Then, about seven years ago, I was called to direct one.  It was in a smallish ward in Nashville and there were very few youth–so almost everyone in the cast were adults.  I believe the theme was about pioneers.  I was pretty low in my theatrical career at the time.  I’d directed a play a few years earlier that had been a HUGE flop and my confidence was shot.  The road show experience turned out very well and helped me get my confidence back, which is good since I make my living directing plays. The idea for this book occurred to me during that experience–but, and I want to emphasize this, the characters are fictional.  There was an elder’s quorum president in the road show but he was a loving, saintly man.  And the leading lady did not have depression.  And so on.  But while we were on the steps to the stage waiting for our turn, I started thinking, “Hey, what if….”

Me: One of your characters, Stephanie, is a washed up BYU music major who took the road more traveled and now sits at home with her children all day, miserable. As a guy, how in the heck did you come to understand how a young mother like this might feel?

Braden: That’s a good question.  First of all, I have struggled with depression myself.  I think it’s important to talk about that because it is a problem a lot of good people deal with.  So, I drew on things from my own experience when writing about her depression. As far as the challenges of being at home with kids, I guess that is drawn from watching my wife’s experience (and my sisters’, and friends of ours).  My background is in theatre and the whole point of a lot of acting training is to learn how to empathize with and portray someone’s experience and emotions, even if you haven’t had that experience yourself. There’s one other thing here.  I haven’t had the exact same experience as Stephanie.  But, I have had the experience of having to sacrifice things I wanted to do, put my dreams on hold, and so on.  I think anyone who tries to walk the road of a disciple is going to have experience with those things.  Certainly any parent, father or mother, will have had those times in their lives.

Me: One of the big themes in the book is pornography. As a former bishop, what do you think has been the most healing thing for families and individuals dealing with this?

Braden: I’m glad you asked that.  This is a vexing and growing problem.  I think there are a lot of causes and everyone is probably unique.  I want to emphasize that my experience is ecclesiastical not professional.  But, in my experience, I found that coming to Christ in a raw, honest encounter of the soul, with no rationalization or justification was painful but necessary.  Once that happened, I saw redeeming grace flow into people’s lives, and other things such as professional counseling could augment and enhance that.  But (again, this is just my experience) that was the foundation.  Without it, counseling didn’t seem to work for people.  I’m NOT criticizing professional help.  It’s an important component.  But I think most counselors agree that a desire to change is required for counseling to be effective–and true repentance helps generate repentance.   Understand that this is a quick answer to a complicated subject.  I am not just saying that someone can fast a few times and be done with this.  But I do know and have seen, that there is tremendous healing power available through the Atonement–and I don’t think we draw on it.  That is true both for the individual battling it as well as his or her family (and it is a growing problem for women, especially young women).

Well folks, there you have it, straight from the horse’s mouth. I’m a huge fan of Braden’s work, and I think his book is amazing. He takes topics that many Christian authors would probably shy away from and mixes them all together in one wonderful story. Get your copy today, you’ll be glad you did.

So Jason and I had our weekly visit with the therapist yesterday.

I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not far off. While couple’s therapy comes highly recommended from yours truly, this wasn’t that doctor. This was kid therapy. Parenting therapy. How-to-raise-your-children-to-be-gracious-civilized-adults-without-beating-it-into-them therapy.

We usually go to discuss Rex, our four-year-old and his overanxious/quirky behaviors. Come on, the kid has a panic attack when he has to put on church clothes, people, we needed some for real help here.

Things have been going amazingly well with him the past two months. Between the two of us we’ve managed to incorporate most of the skills the Dr. has taught us and rarely fight about technique. (“The doctor said to do it this way you big idiot!” That kind of thing.)

So as our session is winding down, I decided to utilize the last five minutes and ask for a little Harrison advice. He’s seven. He’s independent. He’s more dramatic than Barbara Streisand.

“So,” I say, “Our seven year old is big on meltdowns. He’s more easily offended than the ACLU, and is constantly breaking into tears and throwing himself on the floor. What should we be doing with that?” (For the record, I haven’t thrown myself on the floor while crying for at least three months. My stomach doesn’t allow it at the moment.)

The doctor went on to suggest a few simple techniques–all things we’re already doing.

“That’s great, and that’s what we’ve been doing. But, I mean, can’t we, like, fix him? Make him so he doesn’t emote like this?”

“I hate to break it to you,” he says, “but it is what it is. He’s seven, it’s not unusual, don’t be too hard on him.”

And that’s when it hit me. Some things can’t be fixed. Some things we just live with. Call me an optimist, but I’ve been thinking that if we could just find the right switch, we could turn him into some kind of vegetable, the kind you can paint a face on and set in the kitchen for company.

When it comes right down to it, we all know I wouldn’t want that anyway. Oh well, at least we have things like bedrooms and ear plugs, right?

It is Tuesday and I think I’m officially recovered from the Casual Blogger Conference I attended over the weekend.

Here are a few things I learned from my weekend rendezvous:

1. Google cares how you title your posts. Unfortunately, I do not. Seriously, I’m not about to give up my sly little titles because Google promises me a little popularity if I’ll just be more straight forward. In fact, I think Google isn’t nearly as cool as he thinks he is.

2. TGI Friday has the best bread sticks on the planet. They’re like this donut/bread stick hybrid. I’m pretty sure they’re deep fried. Whatever they are, I ate about nine of them in one sitting and am slightly concerned this kid will come out with a breadstick in its paw.

3. I learned to make my own lipgloss. Since I spend an exorbant amount of money keeping my two-year-old stocked with makeup (it keeps her out of my fridge/hair products/underwear drawer), this is a critical new skill I am putting right up there with home canning. (She actually woke up in the middle of the night last night and wouldn’t go back to sleep until I had tracked down her lipstick, followed by her needle, which were both playing hidey hide in the haystack.)

4. I realized that despite the fact that I spend the majority of my life sequestered away in our house, I have not lost the ability to make friends. Holy purple dinosaur, so many new friends.

5. I learned that sometimes, even when you’re exhausted from laughing your guts out and brain fried from all the juicy new blogging information you never knew existed, you can still cough up the energy to take your four-year-old to the emergency room in the middle of the night because he broke his arm while you were out dancing.

Not only was it a great conference, but I’ve got to give props to Motherboard, the Big Boss behind the conference. I was amazed that this was a first attempt, she had so many of the details in order. The giveaway’s were phenomenal, the entertainment was hot as all get out, and every single class I attended was well taught (especially that one on taking your writing to the next level, taught by that blond pregnant woman).

Love you, Elisa. (Feel free to swing over and give her a little praise. The girl has honestly worked her toes off on this event. She deserves a pat on the fanny for a job well done.)

It’s amazing how much I can swing these days just because I’m gestating and the world can see it.

For starters, no one bats an eye when I order a refill on my entire dinner because, obviously, I’m pregnant and determined to consume a jarzillion calories before I deliver in three months. (By the way, I thought jarzillion was appropriate since I eat entire jars of things like artichoke hearts and hot fudge sauce on a routine basis.)

I can pair flip flops with just about any outfit and it totally works. Semi-formal? Cocktail? No problem. Have you seen what a pregnant woman’s feet look like by eight pm? No one expects less.

I can dance in public and wiggle my body in all sorts of inappropriate ways, and all anyone sees is my belly. It doesn’t seem to matter how I gyrate, every move looks the same and none of them come across as offensive or suggestive. Unfortunately.

I can flirt my head off with any man I want and all they see is a matronly mommy-to-be who reminds them of their nanny. Not to say that I take advantage of this, but there was that kid singer who performed at the CBC… (Part of me thinks pregnant women are attractive to single men because they know they can’t possibly get us pregnant.)

And lastly, any time I need to get out of anything, all I have to do is make some mention of needing a bathroom break and I’m cut free. Those of us in the Knocked Up Club are expected to pee all the time, and everyone knows that a pregnant women who can’t get to a toilet is a walking fountain show waiting to happen. (Of course, so far I’ve really needed to pee every time it’s come up, but what an out.)

Anyone surprised to hear that I now need to use the ladies’ room?

So you know how I wrote about how unappreciated I feel? How it’s not fair that Prince Charming actually has to work for a living and likes his job? How poor poor me doesn’t get enough recognition? That was on Thursday. On Wednesday my husband ordered me these.

This bouquet is actually called, “It’s All About You,” which I discovered when I looked for it online.  I came home on Thursday night from the CBC Girl’s Night Out Party and my sitter said the florist missed me by about fifteen minutes and was really upset because Jason had insisted that I be there to open the door when she drop them off.

Of course, these were bought and purchased before I wrote my post about my poor unappreciated life, a post that was bound to make my husband feel like a total failure.

He’s not. He’s on his way home today, texted me yesterday to say that he managed to change his flight at the last minute so he’ll be back here with the babies by ten am this morning. He also said he’s bringing me all the cash I need to fuel my selfish little rendezvous I so glibly planned for Monday.

Let me tell you, sometimes we should really just shut up out here, you know? By now I should know that he’s always going to come through with just what I need, when I really need it. We have been married nearly eleven years and he hasn’t failed me yet. (Kind of like how I totally freaked out the night BEFORE he proposed to me because I was sick and tired of waiting to plan a wedding and my roommate went and got engaged in a week while I was still sitting on my hands because it wasn’t official? The next day I got a ring. Of course.)

Today I’m happy.