The Mother Load

Published April 28, 2007
St. George Spectrum & Daily News

Happy April! How's the Spring Cleaning going?

I wonder what it is about spring that makes a person want to clean. I had previously thought "Spring Cleaning" was an arbitrary thing imposed by mean mothers who want to deprive their children of the joys of playing outside on the most beautiful days of the year. 10 years of motherhood and the 10 springs that have come along with it, I realize it's actually an instinct imbedded within my being--probably on a cellular level. It's spring...time to smell flowers, dance in rain showers, and clean the house for hours.

I've decided there is one problem with this type of cleaning. It snowballs. A mom in the midst of spring cleaning is like a socialite with a trust fund in the middle of an outlet mall. "I'll take that...and that...and that..." You start cleaning and in the process of cleaning you realize how much more you have to clean. Pretty soon, you're buried under a metaphorical mountain of housework desire. "I'll clean that...and that...and that..."

Case in point: About six springs ago, I decided to buy a commercial spot remover and claim victory over the dirty spots on my living room carpet. Upon cleaning my first spot, I was amazed, nay, ASTONISHED at the cleaning power of this product. The spot I was working on was gone, revealing the original vibrant, forest green carpet beneath. I was in awe! I was overjoyed! I was ready to sing the praises of this product to everyone I knew. And then I looked at the rest of the floor.

For about an hour and a half, I attacked spot after spot after spot, each time marveling at the ease in which I was able to uncover the true beauty of that carpet. Stepping back to survey my work, I was aghast to realize that where I formerly had a dirty carpet marked by even dirtier spots, I was now looking at a dirty carpet speckled with clean spots. An hour and a half of my life and all I gained was a new desire to rent a carpet cleaner and attack it all.

I am a list maker, and the sight of my spring cleaning list is like a crazy, blurry portrait of my delusions of housework grandeur. My list for today looks like this: organize all the closets in the house, sort through clothes and donate, label and alphabetize VHS tapes, wash windows, reorganize camping gear, defrost the chest freezer, file all my bills and receipts, give myself an exfoliating facial, color my hair, and write the great American novel.

You laugh because you think I'm joking.

What I predict will happen today is that halfway through the first closet, I'll realize I've been wading through mattress pads, gloves, hats, crutches, and board games for seven hours straight. Will that discourage me? Of course not. When I'm on a cleaning kick, the reality of the situation is not important. I'm like the kid who wants to be a firefighter/dentist/pediatrician/ballerina/superhero/garbage collector. Why not, right?

It will be interesting to see how much actually gets done. My greatest fear is that I will give up after realizing the deluded error of my ways and not much of anything will get done. Okay...that's my second greatest fear. My greatest fear is that my lifeless body will be found in a few days, crushed under the weight of sleeping bags and frozen meat.

Those fears notwithstanding, I will be diving into Spring Cleaning...perhaps with a more manageable list. Or maybe I will just see it as a "Reach for the stars to capture the moon" kind of thing and know that I will get more done than I might have without all my high hopes.

Of course, once I've captured the moon, I'm just going to realize it needs to be swept.

Published February 10, 2007

St. George Spectrum & Daily News



In case you've forgotten...or you live in a cave...or you enjoy life without access to cable TV...Valentine's Day is this Wednesday. If any of the previous conditions apply, you might want to get your forgetful, cable-less self out of the cave and get to the store to buy some candy before all that's left are those weird candy "conversation" hearts.



I've never been a very big fan of the conversation heart. It's traditional, sure, but it's chalky and small and completely devoid of chocolate. I think they're fairly cute, but when it comes to eating them, I just don't see the attraction.



You know, I'm not sure I really understand the purpose of the Valentine conversation heart, either. I've always assumed that from the time they were created, back in 1866, they were meant to be given as a pledge of love from one person to another. Indeed, the original conversation candies had the phrases, "Be mine," "Be True," and "Kiss Me," which are still in use today.



Here's where I get lost. People don't just give these hearts to their true loves. People give these things to every Joe Schmo on the street! They pass them out like, well, candy! After a while, I figure people just stop reading them. Certainly, the 8th time you get a "Be Mine" candy heart from a mere acquaintance, it begins to lose its meaning. (Personally, I consider that particular heart carte blanche to jump into the giver's arms and scream, "I'm YOURS!")



To its credit, the company making these hearts unveils a new set of sayings every year. It keeps things fresh, I suppose. I don't know if it really helps. This year, the new phrases are "animal themed" in honor of their pairing with a Massachusetts animal rights group. That's interesting. I still don't know how I'd feel about my children getting "Puppy Love" hearts from their teachers at school.



I know Valentine's Day is the holiday for lovers, but couldn't there be a set of generic hearts for those of us not really interested in wooing anyone in particular? Seriously, folks, how many people are actually paired up on Valentine's Day? 50%? Is it even that high? Shouldn't there be a more sane option for the rest of us?



How about, "Lets Be friends" hearts, with sayings like "Be Yourself!," and "We're Platonic!" and "Things are fine just the way they are?" Or maybe they could make "We've Just Met" hearts: "Nice Shoes," "You're Not Ugly," or "Let me get that door for you, madam."



They could even make "Break-up Hearts" for that person who just can't suffer through the holiday with the one he's with. "We Need to Talk" and "It's Not You, It's Me" hearts would be all he needed to dispense with the offending significant other. Personally, I'm partial to "I Love You, But I'm Not IN Love With You," because, like every person who's ever dated, I thought I made this one up.



I wouldn't mind seeing a bag of hearts bearing completely random sayings and phrases. They already have a few hearts in the regular bag like that. Why not spread the wealth? I, for one, would love to see an "I Burped" conversation heart someday. It could be given before or after the "Excuse Me" heart. Other hearts I'd like to see: "You're Adequate," "Gone Fishing," "Blighted Area," and "There Is No Spoon."



The good news is that the company making these candies will actually create conversation hearts for anyone who has an idea for a good phrase. As long as you're willing to pay for an entire production run of candies (roughly 1 million hearts), they'll make them just for you! Not a bad idea, don't you think?



1 million "Read The Mother Load" hearts are on their way to my house as you read this.

Published January 20, 2007
St. George Spectrum & Daily News

So, I did my grocery shopping today. Big news, huh. Sarah went to the store, put food in a cart, and then purchased it. Stop...the...presses.

What you may not realize is that the above announcement IS big news. SARAH (singular) went to the store. SARAH (no one else mentioned) put food in a cart. SARAH (completely and totally alone) then purchased the food. So, maybe stock prices went up or mortgage rates went down or somebody somewhere got inaugurated or assassinated. Big hairy deal. I WENT TO THE STORE ALONE AND I'M HERE TO TELL THE WORLD ABOUT IT!

Eleven years of shopping with small children will do this to a person.

Shopping alone is hard to describe. Wait...no it's not. It's AMAZING! I walk down the aisle and no one sits on the floor, refusing to move. I browse cereal selections and no one whines or begs. I get to the checkout with everything I need and absolutely nothing that I didn't already plan to buy. It's a miracle!

And the checkout...oh, the checkout. It was a beautiful thing. I pushed my cart up to the line with a decided swagger and announced in a brusque voice: "I am the Lone Shopper. I shop alone." After the cashier decided not to call security, we had the following conversation.

Me: "You know, if I knew anything about computer programming, I'd play with this touch screen so instead of asking me, 'Was your store clean today?' it would ask silly questions. Maybe...'Does your cashier have a mullet today?'"

Him: (Laughing) "You know, I used to have a mullet when I was a kid. I told my friend the other day that I was thinking of doing it again."

Me: "I had a girl mullet in the 80's. A girl mullet and a perm. It rocked."

Him: "AWESOME!"

Seems like a fairly boring conversation, but really, it's a revelation. The only thing I usually say in the checkout line is, "Michael, sit back down. No, Ray, you may not have a candy bar. We discussed this earlier. Evelyn, put that down. Who put the Chex Mix in the cart? SHARE the popcorn chicken, please. You know, if I knew anything about computer pro--Cate! Not okay! Miriam, you just went to the bathroom. Why do you need to go again?"

Having seen the absolute miracle of shopping alone, I've vowed to do it again as soon as possible...maybe even tomorrow. I'm definitely going to make a habit of this. I'll save money and time and maybe even a little of my sanity.

I would like to give a warning to anyone who wants to attempt shopping alone after years of shopping with kids. You may at some point find you are bored with the ease of picking up food items and placing them in your cart and having absolutely nothing else whatsoever to do. You may even feel an almost overwhelming urge to scold someone else's child in order to bring a little equilibrium to the experience. That's okay. It will pass. At least, I hope it will.

To the woman with the red headed boy in frozen foods: I'm sorry. He can have the toaster strudels if he really wants them.

Published October 7, 2006
St. George Spectrum & Daily News

I often like to say I don't believe in soulmates, but I do believe in kindred spirits, and I met one such spirit in the grocery store the other day. As this teenaged boy scanned my purchases, I asked him the meaning of a small medallion he was wearing around his neck. He said it represented the three faces of the Goddess: the maiden, the mother, and the crone. I sighed a wistful sigh, smiled at him, and said, "I think if we were the same age, you would have been one of my friends in high school."

I have no idea if he took that as a compliment. He chuckled and smiled, but I think they train them to do that there. If you're wondering how I came to the conclusion I did, I'll tell you exactly what kind of person would have been my friend in high school.

-If you would be tempted to name your cat after an ancient Greek mathematician or any character from Star Wars, Star Trek, or Lord of the Rings, you would have been my friend in high school.

-If your idea of a good time is sitting around discussing your favorite words or doing online research to find out just how many digits are in the largest known prime number (in the vicinity of 15.9 MILLION, by the way), you would have been my friend in high school.

-If you ever had trouble distinguishing your Dungeons and Dragons identity from your actual identity, you would have been my friend in high school.

Now, I hear you all screaming in unison: NERD! I must disagree. I am not, nor have I ever been a nerd. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being a nerd. It's just that if you shout, "Hey NERD!" in a crowd, I will not look up from my scientific calculator/book of Transcendentalist poetry (whichever the occasion demands) and answer you, because I am not, nor will I ever be a nerd.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am a GEEK!

In case you're unaware of the subtle differences, or you ate your lunch with the cheerleaders and the jocks, a geek is not a nerd. A geek is cut from the same intellectual cloth, certainly, but a geek is a few more steps along in the evolution of high school popularity. In other words, nerd is to Australopithecus as geek is to Cro-Magnon Man. (Of course, being a Christian geek, I'm still not sure I believe all of that).

To put it in layman's terms, a geek is a nerd with contact lenses. A geek is a nerd with some understanding of fashion and style (not much, but some). A geek is a nerd with a sense of humor and a desire to enter the outside world every now and then. A geek is a nerd who is always on the verge of "crossing over" and becoming a popular kid (albeit smart), but who would rather bask in his unabashed geekiness than sell out.

These days, I am choosing to spend as much time as possible embracing my inner geek. My name is Sarah Wilson. I am a geek, and I'm proud. So please, don't ever call me a nerd. For that matter, I'd also rather not be called a dweeb, a dork, or an egghead. Freak, however, is fine.

After all, a freak is just a geek who's found a way to entertain the masses with her geekiness and get paid for it.