Sweet Lethargy

Palm Springs. Me. Marc. Some random medical conference. Four days. Re-connection. Sleep. Spiritual re-fueling. Belated ten-year anniversary getaway. Long overdue.

You know that torpid feeling you get when you lay around all day and almost have a headache from sleeping too much and you get lightheaded from getting out of bed too fast?

I do.

Slept in every day until, let's just say around noonish. I mean, what, really was I expected to do every morning with Marc having the car and being gone until after lunch? Go running? Exactly.

Read TWO, yes, two actual adult books. Not magazines. The Return of Jonah Gray, and These Is My Words, which I was particularly besotted with. Thanks s.i.l. Steph!

Room service breakfast (to break up my reading/dozing marathon).

Shopping. WITH McSweetie. Who detests shopping.

Let's just say that no weight was lost on this trip, what with the amazing dining that Palm Springs has to offer. Did I HAVE to eat all the muffins that came in the basket with breakfast? Sure did. New Year's Resolution 2008 Addendum: I hereby pledge to practice more moderation next time.

Cavorted around the grounds in my bathrobe shooting photos with our new camera.

Took the revolving tram to the top of the San Jacinto Mts, which took about 15 minutes to go from a sunny 75 degrees to a windy 30 degrees and 2 feet of snow. Good thing I browbeat Marc into putting on long pants and putting his fleece and some gloves into the backpack. We hiked for awhile until we got hypothermic and took the tram back down the mountain to sunny Palm Springs. This was not part of my "sleep-too-much" goal.

Fell in l.o.v.e. with the inn where we stayed--an old 50s rambling ranch house that had been converted into an inn--can't believe I'm drawing a blank on the name.

Eternal gracias to Steph and Nae and Janet and Lorin for watching the kids so we felt like we could take off and get away together. Really. thanks.

Still do.

Valentine's Day 2005

Nope.

What a sore loser. I'm referring to myself, of course. And I have every right to be. Gone are my hopes and dreams of just ONE night in the Lincoln Bedroom (I did donate to his campaign, after all, PLUS, I'm a fellow Mormon). Also gone is my desire to even show up and pull the lever in November. Although I must, or I may as well just go apply for a job down at the Quickie-Mart for the graveyard shift right now, because we'll be sporting a way smaller paycheck and way bigger taxes if Obama or HillBilly wins.(Hello Universal Healthcare).

Was it too much to ask for a nominee that isn't a product of the Washington puppy mill? Guess so. I do declare that Mitt did come out smelling like a rose when he dropped out of the race for the "good of the party." Maybe next time. (Start humming "Coulda Been So Beautiful" by Tiffany here).

(Photo of myself, Mitt, my cousin Laura Fuller, and sis Susan in Iowa City, IA last year). We lived in Iowa City July 06-July 07 while Marc did his neuroradiology fellowship at the University of Iowa.

Rocky Start

I am posting this as a sort of catharsis. I'm hoping I will feel better after feverishly typing my bony little E.T. fingers off.

Today got off to a less-than-celestial start. Charlotte is going through a "phase" where she can pull herself up in her crib and then gets stuck standing up and doesn't know how to get down, so she just cries. Her newfound agility has spelled {sleep deprivation} for me. (Which is hard to get used to when her usual schedule is down at 6pm and up at 7:30am or so). I've been spoiled I know. I also have a nasty cold.

Poor Marc. I kicked him out of bed rudely at around 6:00am to deal with Sweetums after I'd been up every hour on the hour rescuing her from her vertical conundrum. (Of course he had been up late taking call). Things just went downhill from there. Kids could feel my exhaustion and irritation, so breakfast went poorly. Marc claimed he had to be to work early probably just to get away from the beast that was his wife. Had to fight Ellison tooth and nail to get her into her preschool clothes, and we finally settled on her pajama bottoms, a dress on top, her pirate hat and Sunday shoes, all the while listening to Charlotte cry because she's EXHAUSTED from her all-night "I can stand up now!" fiesta. With Ellison off to preschool, I'll go take a bubble bath with my favorite banana smoothie bubble bath to soak all the bitterness out of my pores. This will most likely remind me that I should have gone to the gym instead.

Self-loathing 101? I think not. I love my hair, my nose, my legs, and my decolletage (that area where your collarbone and neckline are). I DO feel better now! Thanks, blog. Gotta go send my McSweetie a grovelling email of apology.

Reflections

My Grandma Stoker broke her hip badly a couple of weeks ago. She's melancholy but has been moved from the hospital to a convalescing center where she is recovering. She's a rock. At the risk of sounding trite, she is the reason I enjoy the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ today. She has six children, thirty nine grandchildren, and over 120 great-grandchildren. She has the best sense of humor, and is always so upbeat. She had my Aunt Jane do her hair before she'd let them take her to the hospital with her broken hip, and upon hearing that she had, indeed, broken her hip, simply said: "Oh, Nuts."

Also, as most of you know, our beloved Prophet and President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, President Gordon B. Hinckley, died on Sunday night at the age of almost 98. I've been watching bits and pieces of the five-hour funeral, and have had such a wide range of emotions. Feelings of gratitude, sadness, relief, hope, even glimpses of joy were evoked as I thought of his sense of humor, his humility, and his love for all mankind throughout the world. I'm so thankful to have a living prophet on the earth at all times to guide and direct us in an ever-changing turbulent world. Good thing Heavenly Father hasn't left us to fend for ourselves just because we don't live in times of Moses, Abraham, or Adam, to name a few. I am grateful for modern-day revelation. I know he was a man called of God, to a calling he neither sought nor felt worthy to hold many times, I'm sure. He motivated us to stand a little taller and be a little better. Thank you, President Hinckley. Grandma Stoker was lucky enough to have lived right by Pres. and Sister Hinckley off of West Temple in Salt Lake City for years. I love this photo of them together sometime in the mid-90s. She often spoke of his kindness and sense of humor. http://www.mormon.org/