Maybe she's born with it...

I just wanted to say that I love the way my hair feels today. So soft and silky. A little silicone is a good thing.

I've spent a fair amount of time over the last four years doing my research on skin and hair care. Paula Begoun, the author of "Don't Go to the Cosmetics Counter Without Me", has compiled some of the best information around on cosmetic products. My skin and hair have never been happier. Here are a few of my favorite cosmetics, and none of them break the bank:

Oil of Olay Foaming Face Wash for Sensitive Skin. It even washes off mascara, without making my eyes sting. It does not make my face feel tight or dry.

Neutrogena Rapid Clear Acne Defense Face Lotion. Salicylic acid is a great exfoliant. Much nicer to your skin than scrubbing it with walnut shells. Plus, I really feel like it does what it promises to do.

Neutrogena Healthy Skin Anti-Wrinkle Cream for night. Man, this stuff feels good. Does it work? Well, do I look like I'm pushing 40?

Almay smart shade makeup, SPF 15. I love a sheer foundation. This one "color matches". Don't ask me how they do it, I don't know. But it never looks thick or cakey or flakey.

Rite Aid Oil-Blotting Tissues. 50 in a package. Just press them to your skin, and it soaks up the oil. No need to make a tea-cake out of yourself by pressing powder into that mess.

citré shine color miracle polishing serum. Silicone = gooooooooood. Forget implants. This stuff is great on the outside of the body. A small drop of silicone serum on the hair is pure luxury.

I usually go for skin products that are fragrance free, especially when it comes to my face. However, this doesn't mean I don't love a good scented body lotion or spray or perfume. My current favorite: Mango Mandarin body splash by Bath & Body Works. Oh, yum.

I still haven't found a mascara I'm in love with, though. Everything that claims to thicken just seems to clump. Any recommendations?

The Best Gifts

This time of year, I often hear people asking each other, "What's a good Mother's Day gift?" This year, my kids even asked me, "Mom, what do you want for Mother's Day?"

For me, it's not like a birthday or Christmas. I don't think ahead of time what I hope people will get for me. I'm not only content with, but truly love, our tradition of a kid-made breakfast-in-bed, surrounded by homemade cards and coupons. (Our first mother's day at this house, four years ago, I had to get out of bed and help make the breakfast, then I returned to my bed and pretended to be awakened by the Mother's Day parade.)

This year, I believe my kids outdid themselves. There was no arguing in the kitchen to wake my morning slumber. I did hear shifting of dishes, and a decorative plate (er...from D.I.) got chipped, but it was soon ingeniously repaired with a bit of fingernail polish. When my three daughters filed into my room, one placed a foil-wrapping-paper crown on my head, one set down my breakfast tray, and one was holding a potted flower. My breakfast this year was scrambled eggs with ham, cinnamon toast, sliced apple, fresh squeezed orange juice, and chocolate. They gathered on my bed around me, and we talked about what we all dreamt last night, and Sunday School teachers we like, and Mother's Day breakfasts of the past.

Then my youngest pressed play on the piano, where she had recorded an accompaniment earlier this morning. She dashed back into my room and sang the Mother's Day song she wrote just for me. Here are the lyrics:

I am in love with you!
I am in love with you!
Oh how I really, really love ya!
Oh how I really, really love ya!
(then a short bridge with no lyrics)
Love, I really love ya!
You are my mother, my wonderful mother,
And all I can say is it is love.
You are my mother!

I'm really tempted to wear my crown to church today.

Beat It, Just Beat It

B~ was harping on her big sister about something. She railed on her up one side and down the other. After she had made her point several times, I said to her:

"B~, stop beating a dead horse."

Without hesitation, she answered:

"But when they're dead, they're so much easier to beat!"

Speed Demon

99 words

Speed test

Thanks, EmDab!

I could get a much better score if I didn't have to wait so long for them to load the next set of words. My eyes are two words ahead of what I'm typing.

There is a harder, and more realistic test at TypingTest. Here are my results there:

Net Speed: 107 WPM
Accuracy: 99%
Gross Speed: 108 WPM

Beat that!

But only so an hour...

Spring doesn't last nearly long enough. Sure, I saw the signs of spring when there was still snow on the ground: my little white-barked trees growing buds, daffodil greens poking out of the ground, crocus in Melody's yard. So I know it's been here for a while. I am filled with bliss every time I look at the daffodils in bloom, then the tulips and grape hyacinth. I love seeing the tree in my backyard burst into purple. However, I think the delicate pink blossoms on my weeping cherry trees are my favorite. I cherish every single day, because before you know it, the blossoms have blown away and the green leaves have taken their place.

I do love summer, too -- with its ripe tomatoes and roses and cooling shade and soft green grass. But Spring's delights are far too brief. Each Spring morning I feel a great love tinged with sadness, since I know I will be saying farewell to the amazing beauty any day now. It's hard to wait an entire year to see it again.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

--Robert Frost

My Right Foot II

There's a story behind this photo. Or rather, about four feet below this photo.

For me, sprained ankles and patrol cars seem to go together.

My fourth year at BYU, my sports-crazy roommate, Sheri, persuaded me to take a racquetball class with her. It was part of our little unspoken agreement: I took her to the opera with me, and explained what was going on, in english; she took me to football games with her, and explained what was going on...in english.

One afternoon, our instructor gave us "free play" instead of instruction sessions. We played...what's it called...jack-knife...no...cut-throat? Yes, I think that's it. Cut-throat. That's where you get three people on the court, every man for himself. I'd been playing for several weeks, and was feeling pretty confident. After all, it wasn't the beginning of the term; it was October 20th, the same day as the Homecoming Dance. After racquetball class, we were going home to get ready. Sheri and I were doubling. It was my first formal date with Darcy, and I was beside myself with excitement.

My confidence outstripped my ability. As I lunged for the ball, I heard a terrific *crack* in my ankle, and down I went. I was carried to the nurse's station. Sheri assured me that I didn't need to go to the health center; it was a simple sprain, and we'd just ice it. I had to sign a dozen forms saying I had refused medical assistance. (I was such a go-alonger. I did what the most persuasive person told me to do.) I was then wheeled to a campus patrol car. While the officer was driving me to my apartment, Sheri called ahead to make sure someone would be there to carry me upstairs.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, Darcy was there. My Homecoming date. He opened the back door of the police car to help me out. I looked right at him and said, "I'm still going."

Darcy carried me upstairs. Sheri taught me all about R.I.C.E.: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. That's what I did all afternoon. Then I wrapped my ankle in an ace bandage, did my hair, put on my dress, nylons, and four-inch heels, and went to Homecoming.

Take another look at the top photo. Do you see eucalyptus in that boutonniere? Yeah, we were feeling pretty unique. :)

My Right Foot

I really wanted to call this "My Left Foot", but that wouldn't really be accurate. Besides, that title's already been taken.

Did I ever tell you about the time I sprained my ankle while swimming across the highway? No? It's a good one.

It was a Saturday morning. I was a senior in high school. I decided to jog the two miles to rehearsal. I was wearing the gray Mickey Mouse sweatshirt that I asked my brother Jason to get for me when he went to Disneyland with the marching band. Gray shorts, too, but those weren't from Disneyland.

The rehearsal lasted all day. I hadn't realized until we got out that it had been raining the entire time. It was still a pleasant temperature outside, even though it was drizzling a little. I started my jog home. As I approached the largest intersection I would have to cross, Lawrence Expressway and Monroe/Reed, I saw that the other side of the expressway was quite literally a lake. Apparently, something had clogged the drainage system, and four lanes worth of street were underwater. I judged that I could still slog through it and find the curb on the other side, continuing my jog home. How deep could it be?

When the light turned green, I made my way across the street without incident. Piece of cake. I actually enjoyed splashing across the expressway. I approached where the curb ought to be, and jogged up onto it.

And missed.

I came down on my hands and knees into the edge of the expressway lake. Soaked and embarrassed, I wondered how I had misjudged the curb. (Duh. It was underwater.) Undeterred, I stood up and approached the curb again. Searing pain shot through my ankle. I limped a few steps, still standing in a few inches of water, when I saw a police car drive toward me from the Skating Rink parking lot across the street. The officer stopped the car and got out. He asked me if I needed help. I'm sure he saw the entire episode. I thought maybe I could "walk it out", but I nearly collapsed. Officer NiceGuy picked me up and set me down in the back seat of his patrol car. He then drove me home (another mile, I'd guess), carried me to the front door of my house, and handed me to my brother Jason.

My dad wrapped my ankle, and my mom borrowed crutches for me. I never saw a doctor. My dad was a dentist...so he was a doctor (if you happen to have a dentist dad, you know what I'm talking about). I wasn't allowed to drive for at least a week.

I still remember the look on Jason's face when he opened the front door to see his big sister being carried by a police officer. I can only imagine what he might have been thinking. It's one of the very few times Jason has ever been speechless.

K-I-S-S-Y-N-G

I just can't let "Pity Party" be the first entry on this page anymore.

I just found this. It still makes me laugh, over three years later...

« Date: Dec 21st, 2004, 6:04pm »
In the car today, on the way home from Chuck E. Cheese....

K~: I like the sun.
E~: K~ has a crush on the sun! K~ and the sun, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-y-n-g...
K~: I can't be that close to the sun! I'd melt!
B~: AND, it's not "y-n-g", it's "i-n-g".
E~: Oh. K~ and the mountains, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g...
(*giggles*)
E~: K~ and a tree, sittin' in.....a bigger tree, k-i-s-s- (*fits of giggles from all four of us*)
E~: K~ and my foot, sittin' in a tree...

Yeah, the drive home from Chuck E Cheese was pretty hilarious. *still grinning*

Pity Party

I'm sick. I haven't been full-on sick for quite some time, and I'm not enjoying myself. Yesterday morning, I woke with a sore throat...not the scratchy sore throat, or the hurts-to-swallow sore throat...the kind that feels like you've snorted water at the pool, and right behind your uvula is irritated. That sore throat. This morning I woke up with a vice-like headache, and I'm going through kleenex like crazy. I have no appetite, but I'd really like to eat or drink something that will make me feel better. I slept all morning, and I'd like to go back to bed, but sleep eludes me now.

I didn't get called back for Little Women. After wishing and fantasizing about it for almost a year, I auditioned for the show last Wednesday. I felt terrific about my audition. I found out today that callbacks were this morning, and I hadn't been asked to attend. I suppose there's still a tiny chance that they'll cast me without having me attend callbacks, but it is a minute chance indeed.

So now I feel rejected, dejected and infected. And my back hurts. I think I'll go read that Shel Silverstein poem again.