Powells: Like Heaven, Only Warmer

In a few weeks, Jon, Katie, Ellie and I will be wedging ourselves into the car between a Costco size box of Z-bars, the whole Redwall series, a giant bag of carrot sticks (because I'm a freaky vegetarian), two hot and sloshing travel coffee mugs and one My Little Pony on steroids (because, dude, my My Little Ponies were never this big*) named Pinkie Pie that says "Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie! Let's have a party! HahaHA! Isn't it exciting! Aren't you excited? Are you? Are you?" in an annoying voice that Ellie absolutely loves because she got it from her best bestie for her third birthday.  (Yes. That glare was for you. Geraldine.) We will then peel out of our neighborhood, windows down, Dora the Explorer CD blaring while yelling, "ROAD TRIP!" at the top of our lungs. Probably a lot.  Because that Dora CD is driving me completely insane! (Side note: Singing along with all the songs on a Dora CD like you're the star in a Broadway musical DOES NOT make it less annoying. It just helps you memorize the words that much faster. Which makes Jon smack you in the middle of the night because you're singing them in your sleep. Again.)

And, while, technically, we're not vacationing in Portland this year, we have found that Powell's is, literally  on the way to every place in the continental United States of America.  And possibly Hawaii. So, we'll stop there, our own little piece of heaven on earth.  Which reminds me of a story:

Once upon a time, when I lived in the land of the Arizona desert, I went to Sunday school.  Which, I did on occasion, when I wasn't out camping in the desert, watching tarantulas as they lazily crossed a dirt road, spotting horny toads camouflaged amongst the sun bleached rocks, and petting cacti. (But only the saguaro, barrel and prickly pear, never the cholla because they. Are. Evil. And stupid. And mean.  And rudely  misrepresent themselves as cute and teddy bear cuddly while they most assuredly are not. Also, it's really hard to get cholla stems out of your pony tail.) Anyway, there I was one summer Sunday, eight years old, sitting in my Sunday school class, shivering in the air conditioned room, when the teacher told us that, today, we would be learning all about what heaven was going to be like. And then she began, imparting her heavenly wisdom to us like a Buddha on a mountain top.

It was going to be beautiful, she said. There would be fruit trees! (Great, I thought, I love grapefruit!) There would be a stream! (Cool! Water bugs! Creek walks!) Birds and flowers! (Cute little cactus wrens! Saguaro blooms!) A light breeze would blow through the flower scented air and, (and here she paused for full dramatic effect, while each and every one of us, perched on the edge of our cold plastic chairs, leaned in just a little bit further) it would be 65 degrees all the time!

What!?!  I thought, flinging myself back in my chair, crossing my arms in disgust.  I don't think so lady. Uh. Uh. There is no way I'm wearing my stupid purple snow coat in heaven.  And, wait a minute. I would have to wear pants. Pants!?! Are you kidding me!?!

And that's when I decided when I died I would have this conversation with Jesus at the Pearly Gates:

Jesus: Welcome to heaven, Martha!
Me: (awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other) Well, see, here's the thing, Jesus.  It's not that I don't believe in you and God and all that, but, um, I don't want to go to heaven.
Jesus: (shocked) But-
Me:  I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything, but it's too cold here.  I think I'd be happier someplace warmer. Like in hell.
Jesus: (looks sad)
Me: But, I could visit you, you know, sometimes, if I got hot or ran out of popsicles or something.

And then I would turn around and skip off to my warm and fiery hell where I got to run through sprinklers, eat popsicles, wear shorts and never ever not ever be cold. And Jesus would be sad, but he'd understand, because he didn't like wearing his snow coat either, but he had to, because his dad said so.

The End

*

That's a real coffee cup people! A REAL COFFEE CUP!
 You remember your My Little Ponies, it's gotta be steroids, right?

Stereotypical

So, I just dropped both (BOTH!) girls off for summer school! Because:

1) summer school is the best thing ever, especially if you just turned three and have been asking to go to school every day because you're "A BIG GIRL NOW!" Which you say in your big girl voice.  Which is loud. Because those words are totally synonyms when you're three.  Even at the library.

2) the theme is Prehistoric Agriculture and the Subsequent Extinction of the Tyrannosaurus Rex Due to Teeny Tiny Arms* . Which makes sense because if a T-Rex can't do this:

there's no way he could use the appropriate gardening implements in which to cultivate that first fig grove.

3) Mommy wanted some time alone.  By herself.  To do wild and crazy things.  Like...like...um, well, you know...like, um, well, there's...or...maybe.... (drifts off, vauguely thinks about searching for "old dresser ideas" on PinINterest. Again. Because, apparently, old dressers are the Transformers of the furniture world***.)

And, after wracking my brain for the wildest and craziest activity I could think of to do in two and a half hours, I ended up in Starbucks drinking coffee. Because my caffeine addiction was calling. Again.

So, here I sit, a trio of trim silver haired ladies sitting in front of me drinking smoothies and comparing pictures from their European cruise. And behind me? A group of mothers with their toddlers, who are way more stylish and color coordinated than I ever was at that stage of my life.  Also, their coffee cups are too small.  Which is causing me to secretly envy, resent and pity them at the same time while knocking back giant swigs of my triple shot plain latte.

I have four more days. 10 more hours.  600 more minutes.  What wild and crazy thing do you think I should do with them?







*Or alternately, Let's Let the Kids Dig in Dirt and Pretend to be Paleontologists and Plant Seeds at the Same Time Because They're Dirty Already Anyway.**

**Or, alternately, Gardening and Dinosaurs.  But that name isn't as interesting, obviously.

***Kitchen Island, Elegant Entry Bench Seat, Shoe Rack, Bathroom Vanity, Craft Organizer, Sideboard, Wine Cabinet, Entertainment Center, Changing Table, China Cabinet, Open Shelving, Planter, Bookshelf, Desk, Dress Up Closet, Play Kitchen, Lego Storage, Patio Bar, Dollhouse, Potting Bench, Headboard, Laundry Sorter, Christmas Village Display, Dog Bed, and my favorite:

Chicken Coop

The Brain Washing Is Working!

So, this morning, as I was brushing my teeth and ignoring the happy* cries, clumps and don't-touch-that-it's-mine! from downstairs (In the interest of good oral hygiene of course.) I stumbled across the fact that it was National Doughnut Day! And, since I missed out on National Running Day, there was no way I was missing out on this too! So, I chucked my toothbrush over my shoulder and had this conversation with Katie and Ellie:

Me: (yelling down the stairs) Hey! Guys! Come here!
Katie and Ellie: (as they come running) What?
Me: Did you know that it's National Doughnut Day!?!
Katie: (skeptically) It is?
Me: Totally.  Aunt Ginger said so on Facebook, so it must be true!
Ellie: Do we get to eat doughnuts!?!
Me: Yes!
Ellie: (runs excitedly in circles, yelling) YAAAAaaaaAAAAaaaaYYYYY!!!!!
Katie: (walks away, picks up book, comes back and starts reading out loud) It says, Mom, that we should "Start the day with a good breakfast: It'll give you energy! Try not to eat too many chips, fried foods, candy, chocolate, or other sweets, when possible. They are difficult to digest and usually don't have the nutrients your body really needs!**" So, I don't think doughnuts are a healthy breakfast for us.
Me: (pausing. thinking. realizing. ignoring.) Go get your sweater kid because It's NATIONAL DOUGHNUT DAY!!!

Then I made them do the official doughnut dance. While singing the official National Doughnut Day song. With streamers.

*Lies.

**Stilton, Geronimo. The Mouse Island Marathon. New York: Scholastic Inc., 2007. Print.