We stash.

We just do. All the way down to my youngest cousins. I mean, they stash random, useless things, but they still have stashes. They know they need to practice for when they're older. Here are some of my favorite stashes by the more experienced stashers:

Leftover Barro's
Baggies of pizza have been hidden in all sorts of secret places in our fridge, including the vegetable drawer (no one ever thinks to look there), under the condiments in the door, and mixed deep inside the many bags of assorted cheeses.

Cookies
Crystal stashed some chocolate chip cookies (fairly recently, I might add) in the Tupperware cupboard "so Mom couldn't reach them."

Mozzarella Sticks
Mom was collecting chicken from the freezer for dinner one night when she discovered a rolled up bag of cheese sticks mixed in with the chicken breasts.

Holiday Candy
Every holiday Dad stores his leftover candy on the top shelf in his closet (probably so Mom can't reach it). Everyone knows it's there, but no one wants to risk trying to eat any... you can never be sure how many years old it is.

Drogas
A stash of Percocet was recently recovered from the battery compartment of a Game Boy Color.

Assorted Sweets
No one ever thinks to look in the cookie jar since it's almost always empty, so it's the perfect place to stash goods short-term.

Sausage
No one will ever forget the time Mom whipped out some raw sausage from the snack stash in her purse during a movie at AMC.

Puggies
Coda began stashing pacifiers in the van door as soon as she was old enough to throw.

Socks
Every size, color, and scent of sock has been stashed under our computers at some point.

Gum and Tic-Tacs
Were uncovered on the shelf above the kitchen window during spring cleaning one year.

Random hiding spots
Behind kitchen decor
Behind books on the bookshelf
Inside statues
On top of Mom's keepsake display case
Under beds
Under couches
Under mattresses

Security.

Security-- what a great feeling. I don't get a lot of it these days, though. Most of the insecurity I feel deals with intangible things, like finances, my physical appearance, my emotions, etc.

But I will say that today I've reached a new level of security in the house I'm living in. I can tell you first hand that's it's pretty easy to get out of our house through my window... but it's somewhat difficult to get back in. Difficult enough that I was stuck in my backyard for a little while. Which, really, is great news. Because if I can't get out of my own backyard, I'm betting that not many people are capable of getting into it. And if they can't get into the backyard, they can't make it to my window to attack me. And even if they could get into the backyard, they'd hafta be able to get in through my window before they could actually attack me. Security.

By the way, what landlord padlocks the gate from the front yard to the backyard? So much for sneaking out at night.

yet another job I am unqualified for...

No one seems to understand why I'm having such a hard time finding a job that I'm qualified for. But see how picky they've gotten these days?? I sincerely believe job hunting is harder now than it used to be.

Predispositionally Fat Babies

Yeah. Apparently babies can be born with a predisposition to be fat. It's the mother's fault, because she's fat. And that fat baby? It's going to have fat babies, too. Then the whole world is going to be born fat (or born to be fat) and we'll all die at younger and younger ages until we're extinct.

Or something like that.

I'm only half-listening to the medical show thing one of my new roommates is watching on her laptop. I'm in the same room, drinking a Coke Zero, blogging about her documentary on obesity, and pretending that the smiles, giggles and stiffled laughs are in response to texts or what I'm typing, and not the fact that I'm a fatty and she listening to some documentary that's explaining why I'm fat.While I'm in the room. It's just really funny to me for some reason. Almost like she saw me sit down and thought "I want to understand her." So she turned on An Analysis of Fatties.

"If that person takes up two seats instead of one, who cares?... How about 653% decrease in productivity due to obesity?... Obesity [is] a threat to National Security... Yes. Your obesity affects me."

Eeek... I hope she still likes me after this.

And now they're slamming on "discretionary calories" and soda. As I drink my Coke Zero. They want to ban soda from schools or put a tax on soda. "What's more important? The rights of the individual or the rights of society?" Also, they want to get rid of juice. And they want parents to refuse their child food if they say they're hungry. And now I'm done gracing this ridiculous documentary with any acknowledgement of its existence.

today was awesome...

1. I found shriveled-up apples and cheese cubes as hard as rocks in my old roommates' room.

2. Grandma helped Edyn pee in the street at the neighborhood park. Grandma's idea.

3. I was holding Coda on the couch after the other kids were in bed. She leans across me... not to try to escape or roll over, but to put her sippy cup in the couch's cup holder. They're still semi-new couches and she's 16 months.

Awesome.

Failed Efforts

Yeesh. I keep failing lately. I'd count the ways, but I try not to count above what I'm able to in Espanish. Which is considerably high, considering.

But here's the latest.

I send out mass, personalized texts informing members of my LDS YSA ward about upcoming activities. No one asks me to. It's not my calling. I do it because I have the ability to, and because there is a great need in the ward for people to get involved. Sometimes these texts DO improve turnout rates at activities... And sometimes these texts backfire.

"Tonight's the night, %F*! MUD FOOTBALL/VOLLEYBALL! Bring extra clothes, pizza $, friends and your game face! [address, censored for privacy] at 6! It's ON."

*this is where my phone so sneakily inserts the first name of each person the mass text is sent to... in case you were wondering.

Fun, right? How nice, and personalized and informative and... wrong, apparently. Within a couple minutes I received five frantic texts from five different people informing me that the event was postponed. None of these texts came from the people actually hosting the event, and the three people that mentioned their sources all had different informants. They'd been informed by call, text, and word-of-mouth.

Despite the fact that everyone in the ward is on my texting list, I am apparently on no list of anyone's.

Psh. Who needs friends, anyway?

I just wanted to fit in...

  I was so nervous on my way over. It was already 7:02, and the meeting was supposed to start at 7. I know there's "Mormon standard time" and all that, but would it apply to a meeting with the Stake President for Bishops and Relief Society Presidents? (Before you worry-- don't. I'm only a counselor, and was filling in for our President who's home for summer. Phew!) I feel that of all people in the Church, leaders are the busiest, but still most likely to show up to a meeting on time. But I could be wrong.
  It wouldn't have been that big of a deal to be late, except that I was representing my ward and the YSA of the stake! Shouldn't I represent them the way I would like to be represented? Actually, it would have been a more truthful representation of my ward if I had purposely shown up halfway through the meeting instead... or not at all. But if the door was closed and the meeting started I'm not sure I would have had the courage to walk into the room... I'd look and feel like a tubby 12 year-old walking into a hang-out of undergraduates, graduates and doctorates.
  But Uncle Bryce would be there. That was reassuring, right? Even if he's been suffering the consequences of my recently ended nannying, combined with the release of school and the onset of summer boredom and mischief adopted by all school-aged children... four of which are his. Plus the one year-old who's recently acquired the ability to get into whatever she wants, whenever she wants. He may or may not be less a fan of me for ditching him and Camille at such an inconvenient time. No, what was I thinking? They're far too gracious for that. I caught my reflection in the glass door of the church as I walked in and remembered how homely I looked at the moment.
 
[You see, I recently acquired another freelance graphic design job. Taking Mormon standard time to a whole new level, a few people from the stake I'd worked with before met with me on a Wednesday and asked me to create for them (from scratch): a logo, with two variations; business cards; 3 maps, each one showcasing one of their locations; and a large leave-behind poster for the offices they visited in an attempt to encourage referrals in the future. They wanted it done in a week, but I got him to push it to a week from that Friday. For a 50% rush fee, of course. "But a week and two days-- that's not so bad. Why've you gotta charge such a big rush fee?" you might think. But then I'd tell you that the "week from Friday" I spoke of is today. And I'd tell you how, since last Thursday I have spent over 20 hours filling Church-related obligations (not including Sunday). And how I don't do work on Sunday. And how I spent 10 hours doing work for Allen Theatres. And how I had been working on a painting for Tiffani's wedding and had to stop (I hate spreading projects out over time). And how I've also been trying to balance all that with obtaining another freelance commission that came my way in the midst of all that chaos. And how I've already put around 50 hours into this commission. (We're nearly done, but not quite yet.) That's over 80 hours of work in 7.5 days, with one Sunday of break in the middle. On top of trying to sleep and eat and shower and live. That's why I charged an extra 50%. They're getting some awesome work, though, and some valuable extras they weren't expecting to top it off. I take care of my customers.]

I heard voices as I entered the building, and was relieved to find the door to the High Council room open with people chatting casually inside. I entered the room and sat down between Bryce and my bishop. I watched people as they filed in. President Robb began the meeting, and as I looked around I felt overwhelming unqualified to be there. The other women there... they were all "Relief Society." The kind of women a Hengen would see in the room and point out to another Hengen saying only "Relief Society!" or "she is the face of Relief Society." I wanted nothing more than to prove myself to these women. Prove that I was 24 years dedicated to Relief Society. How, you ask? By bursting out of my chair, climbing on top of the High Council table, ripping the sleeves off my shirt, wiggling my arms and crying "Relief Societyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!" Apparently the tubby 12 year-old inside me, yearning to prove herself, will never really leave. For the moment I can control her, but we should all fear the day I snap and fail to do so.