While I was home in Washington over the holidays, I had a really nice experience at Wal Mart. Because really, when you think of Wal Mart, don’t you envision a place that breeds kindness and love and charity and cheap toilet paper, all wrapped up in glorious shades of blue and yellow? Yeah, me too.

Check out last week’s RA column for more.

Here’s the thing about my husband. He’s not a phone person. He’s also not an emotional person. When you pair the two together, you get very short, neutral phone conversations. They’re not bad, just not colorful. Or exciting. Or particularly stimulating.

(I should mention that he’s way more fun to text with, if he’d only learn how to use the “word” phase and stop typing in each individual letter. Seriously, who still does that? I might listen to tapes on my boom box, but at least I can text and put people in my contact list. Love ya, babe, but take a class.)

So I’m talking to him on the phone yesterday, doing our usual 30-45 second check-in check-out gig. I usually hear from him once or twice a day, depending on how hungry he is for a good dinner. (On really lucky days, he comes home for lunch and a nap.) Being the highly expressive person that I am, talking to my man is kind of like talking to a tree stump. He sits. He absorbs. He does not emote.

“Where’d you go today?” he says.

“I just got out of Costco, blah blah blah blah…” I say.

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah! Oh, they had the cutest blah blah blah blah…”

“Heading home?”

“On my way, Junie is so blah blah blah blah…”

“Great. Well, they  just issued a bomb threat in the building so I have to run. Talk to you later.” Click.

It actually took a second for me to register what he’d said. A bomb threat? Shouldn’t he say he loves me? Is he just trying to get off the phone with me? Is this a test, to see if I actually listen to anything he says?

In the end, the threat was real and he came home. And let me tell you, that bomb made my afternoon. He’s way better in person.

SET YOUR DVR FOR TOMORROW, THURSDAY, JANUARY 14TH, AT ELEVEN AM! STUDIO 5, BABY!

I know you want to, and I know it’s tempting to dip into that budget and drop a 50 on some lavish arrangement of flowers for your dear old television-bound friend Annie, but really stop. Don’t. No, you can’t. (Unless you’re Kristina, in that case, click here.)

The big count down has begun. I have spent the last week sucking down cooked cabbage in a futile attempt to be ten pounds thinner so that when the camera adds ten, I’ll look normal. Then there’s all that bleach I’ve been using on my teeth, which seriously, twice a day is probably all you want to try. My gum’s are scorched down to nothing.

(One of my oldest and dearest girlfriends, Margaret, forgot to take her bleach trays out and fell asleep a few nights before her wedding. Needless to say she kind of glowed in the dark on her honeymoon. Hot, I know. Wait, glow in the dark. That’s not a bad idea…)

I checked my closet twenty times for something appropriate to go with my favorite heels, and I have nothing (well, nothing exciting and not old). So I took myself on a little trippy trip to Macey’s and found what I hope is the perfect kind-of-safe sweater (which I’m pairing with my smallest girdle and tightest pair of jeans with hopes that they will take me down an entire size–again with the camera math).

And so, look out world. My seven minutes of fame is here and gosh darn it, it’s going to be fun.

(As long as I don’t say anything stupid. Oh crap.)

I thought a lot about this month’s Top of Utah Voices column before writing it, and to be honest, you might hate it. But I couldn’t help it, it was something that needed to be said. If for no one else, then for myself.

Click here to read today’s TOUV column.

So I’m going to be on television.

YAY!

Our local NBC affiliate, KSL, has the greatest local morning show called Studio 5. Their host/producer, Brooke Walker (who is the cutest girl ever, man I would kill for her teeth), called me this week and asked if I’d be part of a writing segment they’re doing next Thursday.

Of course, it’s not like I called them and begged to be on television or anything. I mean, I haven’t been emailing the producers for the past two (three?) months with all sorts of off-the-wall ideas, just to get a little camera time. Not me. Never. We all know how much I hate that kind of attention.

(We also know I’m a liar.)

The biggest and most important question here is obvious: what am I going to wear? I’ve been doing a little research, just to see if I could find a good celebrity role model.

First, there’s always Kat Von D, a classy dame if ever there was one.

And in case you aren’t interested in the real tattoo version of Kat Von D, there’s always those tattoo nylons (one size fits most).

I know the tattooed look would definitely draw some attention here in Utah, but that skirt just a titch too short. Perhaps it would be more appropriate if I chose a modest, timeless look. Like the following.

Nothing says Relief Society like a nice pair of mom jeans.

Who really cares how my clothes look? The important thing is that I get to wear my new sequined stilettos on television, and we all know that shoes make the girl. (Of course, we won’t mention what those shoes might say about the girl.)

So, if you live in the greater Salt Lake area or have really good rabbit ears and can tune in to KSL’s television program, mark your calendar for next Thursday. Because seriously, this is going to be way too much fun.

For more info on the show (because they saved me last night at the dinner table with yesterday’s recipe) check out their website and set your DVR to record every morning at eleven am. Or you could always switch over from Nick Jr. and watch it live, it’s really your choice.

I think the Heavens want me to watch television.

After finding nothing fun on last night, I almost turned it off in favor of my current sci-fi book. But no, my angels are way better to me than that.

Instead, I flicked over to the People’s Choice Awards for a moment to catch a glimpse of the outfits (since my STAR subscription has run dry and Dave Ramsey says I can’t renew). And of all the times for me to stop by that particular show, who do you think I got to see take home the super hot action star of the century award?

That’s right. Him. Forgive the graininess of this photo, but I thought it was only fair to post a more realistic picture.

This particular picture is obviously a poorer version of Hugh, since we all know he looks much better without all that leather.

It came as no surprise, although for a moment there I really thought Shia Labeouf was going to give him a run for his money.

Shia and I are definitely going to be on a first name basis after this one.

Is there anything more delightful than walking barefoot on your carpet, only to find little wet trails that soak through your socks? Totally awesome. Yes, potty training is such an inspiring part of motherhood. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been so blessed to have these little peeing, pooping offspring as job security. Do you know how many people are out of jobs these days? So very lucky.

I also love getting my bikini line waxed and root canals.

Seriously though, it could definitely be worse. We had about five accident free hours yesterday, and as long as there’s chocolate dangling on the end of the potty stick, the girl is happy to perform. She’s also happy to run around naked, and really, who can blame her? Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all forget about clothes and mirrors for a while? She loves her little self so completely, it’s adorable and refreshing.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the little girls we started out as, the ones who thought getting their tummies and bums poked was so funny. Wouldn’t our husbands just love it if we giggled every time they tried to manhandle us during dinner? (If you are a giggler, then you totally rock and I salute you. Hey, I like my man, but there are times when I think, “Really? Now? Do you think this is really doing anything for me?”)

I can’t decide if being a two-year-old is the greatest adventure or the greatest misadventure. Oh well, she’ll be ten in no time.

It has begun.

Do not ask my why I thought potty training was going to take less than a day. That book is so full of crap it’s not even funny.

You would think I’ve never done this before. And it’s like having a baby. Everything old is new again, and I can’t remember a single thing about any of it. I’ve decided that I must block a lot of stuff out.

I could always sift back and read about potty training Rex, you know, just to brush up on things. I could also go get a colonoscopy. It would probably amount to about the same amount of useful information, and I think I’d pick the colonoscopy.

It’s not that we’ve been totally unsuccessful. She turned 2 last month and has spent the past few weeks sitting and wiping and flushing and begging to use the potty. She can pull her undies on and off, and loves the idea of tinkling–we just haven’t had liftoff yet. And liftoff is key.

I probably should have reviewed the potty training books that I spent all that money on before starting, then I would have remembered that Rex should NOT have been here. He was about as disruptive to the process as a volcano spewing hot lava all over the toilet. Where was all this enthusiasm when I was trying to train him???!!

And so, I’m starting off today with a Rex-free home, a raging cold, and six pair of clean undies. I’ve got my medication (a.k.a. diet coke), and plenty of fluids for the baby (a.k.a. diet coke). Hey, we do what we’ve got to do to get the fluids flowing and keep her awake long enough to make a couple good tinkles for mommy. (Also, you probably shouldn’t follow my example.)

(BTW – If we are successful, this will be the first time in nearly seven years that I’ve not changed diapers two, three, four or five times a day. Come on June Bug, one solid success is all we need…)

Read about my recent Love Affair here (or click on my face). That’s all I’m saying.

So I’ve got all sorts of high rolling things on my 2010 to-do list this year (sell a manuscript, stop buying diapers, lose the holiday weight that I so enjoyed gaining over our vacation), but today I came up with this one: Give it to Jesus.

How brilliant is that?

Here’s the thing about the Atonement. I try hard to repent for the many many many (many) things I do wrong on a regular basis, but I’m really bad when it comes to passing off my problems to the Lord. I haven’t really figured out yet how to give him my troubles, you know? Do I write them on a card and burn them, hoping the smoke will waft Heavenward? Do I send him a text? Stuff it in a helium balloon?

I’ll tell you, I’ve found so much comfort through prayer over the years, but until this very afternoon, I don’t think I’ve really ever been able to ascertain how to pass things off. It’s difficult for me to understand that I’m allowed to give Him my problems, aren’t they my problems so I can work and learn and grow and sometimes feel a little misery among all my happiness?

This afternoon I found myself stewing about a particular dilemma, going over it again and again in my mind, reviewing my options. The thing about stewing is that after a while you’re nothing but a big mushy mess of confused emotions, more troubled than you were to begin with.

As I was monologuing a heavy option in my head, my thoughts were interrupted with this little phrase, so delicately placed I almost missed it. The voice quietly said, “Or, you could just give it to Jesus.”

Something about it struck me. And so, mentally I tried something I’ve  never tried. I said to the voice, “Well, okay. I’ll just give it to Jesus then.” And one by one I started giving him each and every element I could think of associated with this problem, passing them off to him like some kind of grocery list.

And every one I gave over, emptied completely from my mind. It was the most mentally and spiritually cleansing thing I’ve ever experienced, ever.

So this year give it a try. When you find yourself backed into a predicament that offers no way out, just give it to Jesus. You don’t always have to act on it, sometimes you can just pass it off and let it work itself out, no fireworks necessary. Hey, if He can’t handle it, no one can.