I guess they can't hear the people in my head

In church, we have a "good news minute". That's the time where anybody who has good news can quickly shout it out and share. I almost never share any good news. I have many reasons for this, not the least of which is because I doubt "Hey, I got my pantry organized. GO ME!" is anybody's idea of good news. And I don't like to monopolize the time. I've been told in the past that I talk too much, so I lately I have tried to tone it down. To not talk about myself so much. To be the type of person where people say, "Wow, you're a really good listener." That's not something I hear very often. Talker, yes. I'm amazing. I can talk your ear off. Listening is something I need to really work on. But I participated in the good news minute when I got accepted into the HALT PKD study. I felt it was good news, and it was bigger than just having found the perfect cleaning product that gets grease off my microwave. And I was surprised when, not long thereafter, I got an email from a friend who expressed her deep concern about my health, not having known that I have a life threatening genetic disease that makes my kidneys look like moldy footballs. Not long after that, I was chatting with a friend about healthcare. Her husband and my husband have the same employer, and we were comparing health plans and talking costs and FSA (whatever they are--is that a real thing?)and I mentioned offhand that we pay out of pocket quite a bit each year with all my appointments, and that it's ridiculous that I have a $35 co-pay to see my nephrologist. She gave me a weird look and said, "Why are you going to the nephro whatever so much? What are your issues?" I was genuinely surprised she didn't know. I told her about my PKD. She said, "I didn't know you had a kidney disease. You've never talked about it before." I haven't? Really? I THINK about it all the time--how can I not be TALKING about it all the time? So I guess it's good that I'm not talking about it as much as I'm thinking about it. It could also mean that I think I'm talking about it because I'm answering some crazy voices in my head and not actually communicating with real people ever. Yeah, that can't be good.
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ARPKD sucks

I don't have ARPKD. I have ADPKD, the adult onset version. But ARPKD really really sucks. Watch this. Do you need a tissue? Yeah. Me too.
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It's official.

Goodbye Blogger. You have served us well. So many memories, so many tears, so many temporary technical difficulties. We'll miss you. See you over at www.mormonmommywars.com. Thanks for the love!
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New Digs!

Ok, I think we are ready for people to check us out over at our new address: www.mormonmommywars.com. We hope y'all like it! Make a comment here, or make a comment there--either one. We are still in the tweaking stages, but for all intents and purposes, it's all there. Thanks!
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New House Cleaning Tip

Lose your keys. Search for them for an hour. Get frustrated with the lack of progress of finding keys, knowing you are missing your child's open house for school. Start throwing everything away in a mad fit of cleaning frenzy like the desperate women that you are because you think the stray envelopes on your counter and the messy books on your shelves might be harboring your keys. Call DH and swear at him for stealing your keys. Refuse to believe that your keys are not, in fact, in his work bag. Swear under your breath as you hang up on a completely unhelpful and largely uninterested husband. Clean some more, because hey, the keys might be under the dust on the computer table. Pick up every toy in the playroom because you think your child might have stashed the &&*!!&@# keys somewhere. Pick up every cushion on every piece of furniture you own in the house, and, not finding the keys, throw away all of the good stuff you did find. Then wash your hands. Give up when you realize there are only 15 more minutes left in the 2 hour Open House, and you totally missed it and your child's teacher is going to think you are a total flake when you tell her, "Um, sorry I missed the event. I, uh, couldn't find the keys to my car," and she will never allow you to help in the classroom because what kind of idiot woman searches for her keys for OVER AN HOUR and still can't find them? But hey, at least she can say, "Wow, clean house."
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Where's the Dog Whisperer when you need him?

NOTE: We are having some technical difficulties, as we slowly make the shift from Blogger to Wordpress. We are hopefully moving there soon, just as quickly as we can get it ready. Until then, well, sorry for some Blogger blips as we import data over to WordPress. But, prepare to be dazzled! Anyway, bear with us. Thanks. The pet saga continues. To recap, we used to have a dog. He bit a child. He's dead now. We used to have a bird. She flew into the toilet. She's dead now, too. We still have a snake. He's not dead. In fact, he's doing rather well. He's really rather pretty, but cuddly, not so much. School has started for everybody on the planet except us, so, to divert my small son from gouging out large pieces of his wall in his bedroom out of sheer boredom, we drove to the Humane Society yesterday, just to see what they had, and to get some good dog petting therapy time in. Nothing lifts the spirits like dog slobber and the stale smell of urine, I always say. I was actually impressed with the quality of the canines they had at this shelter. Most of the mutts were pretty calm, and J was completely charmed when he commanded a very soft looking pit bull to "SIT!", and the cur obliged. Not that I'm thinking about getting a pit bull, mind you, but certainly the whole experience put an extra confidence in my 4 year old's strut, which is pretty dang cute, if I do say so myself. We asked the overworked, underpaid, doggie-hair covered staff to spring some of the dogs from their cages so we could play with them and see if they would make a good family pet, or if they were really just the cast-offs for the part of Cujo. We've done this several times before (like I said, doggy therapy never misses), but this time we actually found a dog worth looking at again. He was a black lab, pure-bred, and had been given up by his family because he was a gift, given to them by somebody who clearly didn't know them very well. And this is just a general FYI: people don't like to be given gifts that require yet another reason to be cleaning up stinky poop all day. Seriously, people, give a goldfish instead. Or, better yet, if you are really committed to the animal theme, just send gummi bears. While playing with this rambunctious dog, who was dubbed "Ribs", I pulled out my best Dog Whisperer techniques, complete with claiming a certain bench for my son, employing the ever effective "shhhht", and concentrating on emanenting calm, assertive energy. I'm telling you, this dog went from jumping maniac to calm, submissive playmate who sat happily at the foot of my son's bench, chewing on his ball. Perfect. I went home, fed my son, and then called DH to meet me back at the shelter to look at this dog again. DH checked his profile out online, and agreed to meet me there. We pulled up, and just as we were going in, Ribs was coming out. He was walking his new owner. "Hey, are you adopting Ribs?" I asked. "Yep, I'm taking him home," his new owner said, a large woman who clearly had no control over this dog. He was straining at the leash, pulling at her and his collar, choking so much he sounded like he was coughing up a hairball. One of the hair covered staff volunteered to assist her with Ribs, and the two of them left the shelter, Ribs pulling all the way. It was pathetic. Another woman, who had been 'browsing' with me, if you will, said, "You don't want that dog. WAY too hyper. Was all over the place with that woman. He would definitely knock over your child." But, you see, I have been educated in the Whisperer's Ways. And he didn't knock over J when we were in the play yard. I knew that Ribs would be just fine with us, after we had established some ground rules and some authority. Besides, he was a lab. Labs live to please. J started to cry when we saw Ribs leave, asking why we couldn't take our dog home today. And DH was just not impressed with any of the other dogs. We've decided that we are retriever people, and that dogs who won't fetch a ball for you just aren't true canines. We left, stinky and hair-covered as the staff, but without a dog. So much for dog therapy. Maybe it's all for the best. After all, we have had some lousy luck with dogs, and, really, pets in general. And according to The Whisperer, it's our fault. Maybe we just weren't meant to be pet owners. And we probably have quite a bit to make up for our previous pet owner sins. I think I'll go eat some gummi bears.
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How Bad a Housewife Are You Really?

There has been some talk lately about housewife slug and drudgery, slobs and slovenliness, gross and grotyness. I've yet to meet a woman who says, "My house is clean all the time. I love it." Ok, so I have met one, but she's a little nuts, so we can't count her. And if you can say your house is clean all the time because you pay somebody else to clean it, well, happy day for you, but you don't count in this experiment either. So here's the thing. With all of these claims of grotesque funkiness in the home, I usually do not come across what I would expect when I visit other women's homes. Granted, I normally do not just show up unannounced to do home inspections, but even if I did, I often feel like nobody's house would be as bad as mine gets. Mine is not always bad. Don't get me wrong. I do try, especially when my son tells me he is going commando because he couldn't find any clean underwear. The guilt within me swells, and then it gets bigger when I realize I am only trying to keep track of one little guy's Spiderman tighty whities, and then I'm off on a flurry of activity that leaves plenty of clean smelling Justice League friends all snuggled together in his drawer. I often ask myself, What do y'all do with multiple bums that need multiple Superhero protection? Anyway, as Dr. Phil would say, let's get real. Ok, I don't actually know if Dr. Phil says that, but it sounds like something he would say, and plus, it's a great transition line into what I want to do today. Today, I want everybody to take a little quiz about housekeeping. You don't have to reveal your score, or anything, but I just want to put this whole "Me oh my, my house is a wreck" conversation into some perspective. Here we go. Choose one answer from every category that best describes your housekeeping habits. Bathrooms Your bathrooms gets swished and swiped daily, with a weekly Clorox cocktail for the bowl. 1 point Your bathroom gets swished and swiped twice a week, with a biweekly Clorox coctail for the bowl. 2 points You wipe the toothpaste off your sink when you notice it's turned into a hardened crust, you wipe the counters/whatever when there are water marks from the dried puddles that sat there for 2 days, with a once a month Clorox cocktail for the bowl. 5 points. You wipe the counters/whatever when you no longer feel envrionmentally safe in the bathroom, with a Clorox cocktail for the bowl only when you've noticed a discolored ring around the bowl and the dried poop sticking to the underside of the seat. 10 points. Kitchen Your sink gets shined daily, sometimes twice daily. Your dishwasher gets emptied daily, sometimes twice daily, and your floors get mopped once a week. 1 point Your sink gets shined once a week, your dishwasher gets emptied when your sink is too full to put anything else in there, and your floors get mopped biweekly.2 points Your sink occasionally gets shined, that is, once you finally are able to load the dishwasher you loaded last week because you finally used all the clean dishes directly from the dishwasher. Your floors get mopped once a month, or whenever the sticky spots get so bad they can actually pull the shoe off your foot when you step on them. 5 points Your sink gets shined after you empty it because the dishes in there have sat so long there are now fruit flies buzzing around the molding food on the dishes. You have long since forgotten what color your floor really is. 10 points Laundry You do laundry daily, except Sunday, of course, because you have prepared on Saturday while humming "Saturday is a special day" all afternoon, and there is no such thing as the mismatched sock drawer. There is never laundry left in the washer or dryer overnight, and all laundry is immediately put away once folded. Your children NEVER go commando. Or naked. 1 point You do laundry about 3-4 times a week, with the occasional mismatched sock, but you never leave laundry in the washer or the dryer, and will only leave folded laundry in the basket for about a day. 2 points You do laundry when you notice you are running low on undergarments, your child has worn the same shorts 3 days in a row, and you have spent the last 2 days fishing slightly rumpled clothing out of the dirty clothes hamper. You are required to do at least 6-7 loads in one day just to catch up, and spend the entire evening folding at least 50 pounds of laundry. Sadly, you are so exhausted from the ordeal that you leave the clean laundry in several baskets to be put away at a later time. You know, 5 days later. 5 points You do laundry only when your offspring asks you, "What's that smell?" and you realize it is the wet laundry that you have left in your washer for 3 days that now has living things growing on it. The folded laundry left over from the last time you did laundry has now been completely used up from the basket, and you have long since purchased new undergarments and some wardrobe additions because everything else in the house is dirty. As you finally drag yourself around the doing the laundry, a task that fills the entire day and continues into the night because you have to do it at the laundromat to accomodate the sheer volume, you frequently find yourself saying, "Oh, I forgot about that shirt!" 10 points. Ok, count 'em up, and see if any of these things describe you. I am, of course, using the most unbiased and scientific methods I have gleanded from the most superior, upstanding scientific publications, such as 'Glamour' and 'Cosmopolitan' magazines. 3-5 points. Please, please, please drop the charade of bad housewife. Glory in your superior housekeeping skills and gleaming sinks. Worship at the shrine of FlyLady, for she has truly taught you well. Inhale the righteousness of Pine Sol and Clorox Bleach. 6-9 points. Really, you are not doing as badly as you might think. Most of your life is under much better control than you suppose, and it is only the occasional mishap that pulls you under. Remember who you are and what you stand for, re-read your FlyLady testimonials, and perservere in your endeavors. Oh, and you can't have the label of bad housewife either, by the way. 10-15 points. Ok, you are definitely pushing your way towards ultimate slughood, but you are not there yet. There are still way too many redeming features in your character to really give you BHW status. 15-30 points. Bad Housewife, we honor you! You are truly not lying when you say your house is icky, and we salute you for it. You go girl.
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