Working the crowd: bus drivers and drunk chicks.

On Friday morning we were invited to a special breakfast for those in our tour group. Honolulu must be full of these very witty bus drivers, because Friday morning we had another one. He was funnier than the first, and we laughed at his jokes. But I started laughing hysterically when he repeated the same speech to another group who got on the bus at a later stop. They were putty is his hands. They LOVED his jokes (you know, the ones he used on us and then used on them). He was workin’ hard for those tips.

In the mean time, I look out the window, and while I haven’t been to Waikiki before, I had a feeling we were going in circles. I confirmed this fact when I pulled out my iphone and watched the little blue dot move from street to street in a perfect circle. When we landed at our special orientation breakfast, I looked at the map to find: lo and behold, it was exactly 2 blocks from our hotel. We spent ½ hour driving 2 blocks from our hotel. ½ hour. 2 blocks. (Shaking my head & laughing hysterically – by now Hawaiian bus drivers must think I’m nuts). I tip him for driving us 2 blocks, because, well, I don’t know. Forget I said that.

The orientation was better than I expected. I laughed as I saw a woman said her same speech to every woman who entered the breakfast. “You single? Marry? Confused?” She told me to stand at an angle and suck it in. It worked. My picture looked dang good.

The breakfast was orange drink (can’t call it juice) with eggs (fine), hashbrown (cold as ice), 4 sausages (serving size?) and pineapple (mmmmm….squirty but delish). I poked my food delicately while being informed about Hawaii’s tours and adventures. We bought the tour from Polynesian Cultural Center, and the guy booking the tour drew all kinds of other “must-dos” on our map. They were totally wrong. I knew Pearl Harbor was not anywhere near his markings on the map. We laughed and continued on our way.

Rebels that we are, we ditched out of the group at that point. No sense wasting time on tour buses. So we packed our bags, slathered on the sunscreen and headed to Waikiki.

The water was warm and blue-blue-blue. The beach was teeny-tiny, thin, but it worked. With the sun bearing down on us, we decided to rent an umbrella and some chairs. These, along with a dark pair of sunglasses, are the perfect recipe for people watching. We saw all sorts: white guys who lived in Hawaii so long they looked polyneisan. Old guys in speedos (ew), girls flirting with guys (or throwing themselves at the male species), and my favorite: the totally inebriated woman on a raft with a beer in her hand. I typed that correctly. She could barely walk, and there she was trying to sit in a raft in the crashing waves and not spill her drink. It. Was. Hilarious.

Lest you think I'm cruel for laughing at her, she was laughing at herself (as she tumbled in the waves).

Hawai'i five five+

You know the background about our trip. Now let me tell you about the trip in reality. We're the kind of people who are used to getting off the plane and hopping in a rental car. We'll drive around, get lost, make U-turns and find our hotel. There was no need here! We got off the plane and received our leis. Then they split us into groups: the fish, the hula dancers, etc. We were the fish. Looking around, we were the youngest fish -- by a long shot. The kind tourguide showed us how to find the baggage claim. And our shuttle bus to the hotel. It was like kindergarten all over again, but with a much older crowd.

On the bus it was clear we were with a quiet (old) group and a chatty driver. Chatty = wants tips. That's fine. He made some obligatory "laid" joke. No one laughed.

Well, that's a lie, I laughed. In fact, I couldn't stop laughing. It was so cheesy tourism. The jokes were not funny. The over 55 were not amused. It was late at night and it all hit my funny bone. I was hysterical all the way to the hotel.

Hawai'i 1-Oh

We've been married for almost 10 years, and well, with our last few months of bone-crushing anxiety coupled with our pregnancy loss - a trip was much, much needed. Some of our volunteered to watch Liv, which should qualify them for Sainthood.

So let me begin by saying, we had free Delta credits from when Rob got bumped off a flight in Dec. Knowing we needed a vacation, and looking around, we couldn't find much in our price range ($1,000). And then? Delta advertised a vacation package to Hawaii from San Francisco for $500 each. With our Delta credits we literally came to Hawaii for $500 period. This included the flight, baggage fees, hotel, transportation to and from hotel, and breakfast at the hotel. SWEET DEAL! With Rob's work, he's also racked up some mileage, and we were able to get seat up-grades to the bulk head exit row (we get to open the door in the even of an emergency)!

So here we are in Hawaii. It's gorgeous. It's hilarious. Let the fun begin.

How To Con Mom Out of Going to School

I was conned. Big time. Here's how it was done. Olivia walks into my room WAY early on Rob's day off from work (meaning he doesn't have his alarm set). I naturally wake up around 7 or so, and don't usually have a problem. But I've been sick and tired (literally), and so when she walked into the room and announced, "We don't have school today, my teacher said," I groggily agreed, thinking I had remembered her being off on Friday. I then passed out for another 1-2 hours while she served herself yogurt for breakfast and watched PBS.

When I regained consciousness, I still thought the idea was plausible. At around noon, Olivia explained that she was sick and that's why she didn't go to school. She ruined her con. I knew she wasn't sick. I hadn't kept her home for being sick. I marched to the computer (something I should have done at 7), and found that I had been conned.

And that's how Olivia conned her way out of school. She has approached us since, and apologized very sincerely for her deception. I didn't have the nerve to call the school and tell them the truth, so I didn't report her absence. Oh well.

My Street Rep

This week has been rough - physically, emotionally. I like to heat a massage stone and lay it on my abdomen when I have bad cramping (although it didn't help yesterday - see another post). Sometimes I prop the stone at my waistband. On Thursday I was feeling pretty terrible, and when I picked Olivia up, I told her as much. She asked me if I was going to put a rock in my pants. I said, "yes, I may put a stone on my belly."

Well, my rephrasing didn't seem to affect her perception. Friday she came home from school and told me that she told her friends that when mommy gets sick, she puts rocks in her pants. "what did you say?" I asked her in disbelief. "I told them not to laugh, it's true." "Who did you tell?" "My friends Morgan and Anastasia." And so now, I am the woman who puts rocks in her pants when her belly is sick.

How Am I Doing? It "Depends."

I scarred my daughter (and myself) for life twice today. We broke the Sabbath. It's true. Olivia was outraged, yelling, "We do NOT go to Target on SUNDAY!" But this was an emergency. I had to go to Target to get - ahem - supplies. The regular stuff wasn't going to cut it. Call me crazy, but I'm treating this miscarriage like it's an earth-quake-sized natural disaster. I might be going overboard. But let's just say I spent some good time in the adult diaper aisle surveying my options. Olivia was completely confused as to WHY I was looking at diapers and asked me so - repeatedly. I don't remember my answers, but they were less than satisfactory. In the end, I did not buy adult diapers. But the linen guards (to protect my memory foam mattress), were Depends brand and took up 3/4 of my basket. They were obvious. Oh. So. Obvious.

And what happens when you have Depends in your basket? You bump into someone you know. Because nothing is more awkward than meeting a fellow Sabbath-breaking, male ward member in Target when you have DEPENDS in your basket. And I don't even have a close elderly family member to blame it on.

This is NOT to say, however, that I'm embarrassed by my miscarriage. I'm not embarrassed about it. (Yes, the Depends are embarrassing, but that's because they're typically for incontinent 70 yr olds). No, miscarriage is common. And the truth is, I want a break. I want an excuse. Today when I was getting bombarded with 10,000 requests for this, that, the other thing, I finally broke down and said, "listen. I don't want to think about these things right now. I take a month off. No criticism. I'm miscarrying a baby right now."

And they left me alone! It was wonderful. I know many people are sheepish about it. Some people are private. Sometimes it's too painful to talk about (*K.A.). I get it. I'm sorry if it makes people uncomfortable to think that women lose babies. Maybe because this implies that the woman yes, had sex, and is now losing the baby in a very menstrual-like way (albeit the menstruation from hell). But here's the thing: 50% of the world (or thereabouts) is female. Close to 100% of people (test-tube babies excluded), are the result of sex. These are every-day issues. So miscarriage is not a dirty, terrible secret. - It's a painful, crappy part of life, and by golly, if it means that I can have an excuse to say no to a musical number, missionary dinner, silent auction, service project, this week, I'm TAKING IT!

The Gospel According to Liv

We've had all of the traditional lessons. We read from the Book of Mormon. We read from the Bible. The gospel education around here is intentional. I want Liv to learn the stories of Jesus. We've also discussed the Word of Wisdom, though not in depth. But for some reason, Liv has a fixation on alcohol. Today when reading of Judas' betrayal of Jesus, Liv was convinced it was because he drank alcohol. I assured her it was not. Going through Trader Joe's she stares at the liquor aisle with wide eyes and says to me, "Mom, that's AL-CO-HOL, and not the medicine fixing kind." So how do I do this? How to I keep her on the straight and narrow (because let's face it: there are a lot of down sides to booze) without making her into a walking judge of morality based on breathalyzer results? I guess that's just what kids do, huh? I did. But my grandfather should have listened, I tell you. He would have said the same thing. In fact, he did. With a Yuengling in his hand. Love you, Poppop.