Co-Pays and Then Some

Raise your hand if you’re sick of thinking you might die.

Oh! Oh! Pick me! Pick me!

I wrote last month about my awful cardio-myopathy scare. Did I tell you about my breast cancer scare from last week? It must have slipped my mind.

NOT.

So it turned out to be nothing—just another $30 co-pay, another odd-smelling doctor’s office, and another doctor feeling me up. But the results came back and I am as cancer-free as they come. Wahoo.

So here are the kind of things that pass through Bethany’s mind as she thinks she might die (in no particular order):

I don’t want to die.
Geez, my testimony needs some fine-tuning.
Does dying involve presents?
Can they give me some sort of drug so it won’t hurt.
My babies. Oh, my babies.
My husband. He shouldn’t have to do it without me.
I hope Ryan can find happiness…
But not with another wife…
But with another wife if that’s what it takes.

Depressing, huh? Tell me about it. I aged two years over the last two months.

But thinking I might die has also been a blessing.

I now know what I need to work on so when that fateful day finally does arrive I wont be scrambling to become the best me. I now know that I have been blessed in life--far more than I ever thought possible and certainly more than I deserve. I now know what my priorities are (and they only kind of involve receiving presents). And I know that I am loved… dearly.

Bethanyisms (In Which I Burned Down a Fine Dining Establishment, My Apartment, My Apartment, and Guatemala—All in the Course of Few Months)

2003 was a tricky year.

Incident #1: Did you see that episode of The Office where “the temp” starts a fire at Dunder Mifflen by leaving a pizza pita in the microwave?

Yeah, they got that idea from me.

But it was a bagel. Why I put a bagel in the microwave to begin with is beyond me. Nonetheless, after five minutes and then a rather loud explosion, all of Gandolfos was brimming with a thick sticky smoke. Good thing the boss was out.


Incident #2 (two weeks later): After a particularly dreamy date, I glided into the apartment and sashayed to the kitchen.

I rested my head on my hand, which was propped up by my elbow, which was balanced on a potholder, which was sitting on the burner—and relayed the story of the goodnight kiss to my roommates.

Somewhere in the process I had accidentally flipped on the stove. The potholder burst into flames. There were yelps, a fire alarm, water, and then lots of laughter.


Incident #3 (two weeks after that): I lit a candle in the apartment. The candle was on top of a giant plastic Rubbermaid container. Below that Rubbermaid container was another Rubbermaid container. That particular container held three months worth of Salt Lake Tribunes… do you see where this is going?

The flames were spectacular.

We pushed the couch over the four feet of crispy black drywall and liquefied carpet. The landlord never noticed.


Incident #4 (A few months later): I should have died, but didn’t.

Our kitchen in Guatemala was about the size of a bathroom. I turned on the propane and lit the match. The stove didn’t light. I tried again. No success. I gave it one more go and was immediately engulfed in flames… not friendly yellowy happy flames, but deadly volcanic blue flames.

My friends in the other room screamed at the deafening “boom” and screamed louder as the gassy flames shot out of the kitchen door.

I emerged a few seconds later. I was missing all of my arm hair and half of my eyebrows, but had survived the inferno.

Kiana is Blessed... and So are We!

The Mama Bear having a tender moment dressing Kiana in her Blessing dress.

A Kiana Sandwich! Thank you Robinsons and Lees for helping us bless Kiana!

Nothin' Much On

I’m a media junkie. Books, movies, magazines, what-ev.

I hate celebrities but am morbidly addicted to celebrity gossip. I visit people.com daily. I try to counteract this by visiting cnn.com daily, too… but I like people.com more.

I like TV, too. … a lot. The Office, Lost, Grey’s, 24, and The Bachelor. I even sometimes watch Days of Our Lives while folding laundry. I try to counteract this by listening to the scriptures on CD while doing the dishes… but I like “Days” more. Wink.

After a summer of reruns, with nothing but So You Think You Can Dance to comfort me, imagine my horror at the writer’s strike. What a relief it’s over! I missed my shows! What will happen with Jim and Pam? What medical mayhem will Dr. Moral McDeficit fornicate through next week (wasn’t the severed jugular awesome?)?

I didn’t put away the remote altogether over the past few months, though. Did anyone else watch Gladiators? I bet you had a secret crush on the Wolf, too.

And isn’t it especially fun when Mormon’s are on reality TV?

You obviously know Julianne, but do you recognize her ex-fiance, Zach? He was on Dance Wars (and won) last night.

Oh Marie.

Love Ashley! She was really classy and managed to not look like a hooker once during the whole show.

Benji and Lacy, So You Think You Can Dance

And Mitt .

Don’t you think this season of Lost is in fine form? Who do you think are the other “Oceanic Six”?

And American Idol is up. I hope this season is better than last. My faves never win.

These Idol hopefuls are also LDS.

What other shows should I be watching?

I Think Someone's Been Tinkering With My Computer, But I'm Not Sure Who...

Maybe it is the same person who colored on the computer screen with black ink and emptied the contents of the paper shredder all over the carpet.

Hmmmm.

Finally...A Post that Will Not Make my Mother Blush (I don't think)

When I saw the flowers sitting on the hotel room table I knew that I was going to marry him.

He’d called every hotel in Maui until he found where my family was staying. Then, he sent me the most amazing (gigantic) tropical arrangement of roses that I’d ever seen.

It was the most romantic Valentine’s Day of my life… even though I was an ocean away from him.

I dangled in the hammock by the tide and daydreamed about Ryan, his chiseled jaw line, and our future offspring. I felt downright fizzy with love.

Now that Ryan and I have cubs, our Valentine's Day celebrations are a little different. Last year I surprised Ryan with a super hero themed Valentine’s Day (he is the "super hero" of my heart).





I wrote him a dorky love poem, decorated the house with our favorite super heros, and our little family flew around town in homemade capes.

This year I was aiming for a more romantic Valentine’s date. I made Ryan homemade peanut butter cups (he’s allergic to the real deal) and a stack of “love coupons.”


I also planned on taking him to a fancy italian restaurant (I am in charge of the V-day dates and he does the anniversaries).Unfortunately, our babysitter flaked on us at the last minute. So, once again, Ryan and I celebrated our love family-style at the Rainforrest Café.



Yes, we are all wearing Valentine’s Day colors and yes, I planned it that way. Don’t tell my adolescent self, though. Adolescent Me would think we were "like...total losers."

Have you ever been to the Rainforrest Café? It is really fun. Unfortunately, the food sucks. I mean… really sucks. Ryan and I both ordered the Rainforrest burgers. The meat tasted like it had been frozen, thawed, microwaved, and slapped on a bun. Basically, we spent $50 on TV dinners last night.


Did I tell you I tried to make V-day cookies. The cookies themselves were delicious. It was the frosting that was a spectacular failure.


Still, there was plenty of romance yesterday. Ryan surprised me with beautiful tropical flowers in memory of our first Valentines Day in love.




This was a long post. Thanks for hanging in there.

Bonus Pictures

There is nothing sweeter than an angel sleeping (with the yellow blanket).

Doug's first cone.

Block head.

The papa bear and his cub.

My Cowboys at the Fort Worth Stock Show.

If there was any question where out loyalties are...
(Thanks for the presents, Ry!)

A happy girl!

And quite the conversationalist. She says ew, oh, rar, and eh.

Kiss N' Tell

TL: “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

Me: “Yes.” (lie)

TL: “Do you want to?”

Me: “What?”

TL: “Kiss.”

Me: “Oh… um… when?”

TL: “Now.”

Me: “Er… I don’t want to kiss with my mouth open. How would you kiss me?”

TL: “Like this…”

Me: “Oh.”

That’s pretty much how it happened… right there on the EFY dance floor. It was wetter then I thought it would be. It smelled like gum. It was pretty squishy, too—he also had pretty full lips.

After words, I looked around the room. I hoped no one saw. I hoped everyone saw.

I was proud because (at the ripe age of 16) I could finally shed the “Scarlet VL” taped to my forehead. I was ashamed because I “lost it” to a boy with a heavy silver chain around his neck and pants so baggy you could fit three people into one leg.

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day I invite you to de-lurk and tell me about your first kiss. Was it a success or a failure? (That means you Lima, Peru)

Nothing Says "I Love You" Like an IUD

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Babe. Sorry I couldn’t wrap the gift, but I promise we will be reaping the reward (or not reaping—more accurately) for years to come.”


I was thinking of asking the doctor if she’d sign some sort of contract promising not to remove the IUD for at least three years. So, no matter how much I beg, cry, and threaten, she would be legally required refuse my pleas.

The first week after having Kiana, Ryan and I seriously discussed… ahem… more permanent birth control options. We were both a little traumatized from the pregnancy and post-partum experience.

Two weeks after Kiana, I returned to the maternity ward to get Kiana’s PKU test. I passed the window that exhibited all the brand new babies and it hit me… baby fever. Granted, Kiana had not yet shed her umbilical stub, but the babies were so new and so precious. I wanted another one. I HAD to HAVE another one.

Perhaps Kiana waking up hourly every night is her way of cautioning me that I would be a dog-on fool to have another baby anytime soon. How sweet of her to remind me.

Talent Show

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I am a woman of many talents. If I were a character in a Jane Austin novel, other characters might call me “accomplished.”

I’m really good at shopping without actually purchasing anything. I’m a Boondoggle pro. I can smell milk on the cusp of its expiration date from a mile away—which leads to my next talent…I have an impressively loud gag reflex. Did I mention that I have strong tooth enamel?

There’s one talent, however, that I cannot claim as my own. I can’t park. I try… oh, I try… but my car always ends up exceedingly crooked or less than three inches away from the car next to it.

My parking is a source of endless amusement for my husband, who teases me relentlessly at every journey’s end. I just shrug my shoulders at him. I have out-used my excuse “They can’t all be winners”—thereby stripping myself of all credibility.

There was a time when I was a brilliant parker. The glory days of 2002. My car always gave ample room for next car over to open its door. I could parallel park and even do backwards u-turns into particularly narrow spots.

I scammed a guy or two into falling madly in love with me by showing off my parking skills. Apparently, nothing is sexier than a woman who has command over her vehicle (even if the vehicle is a 1987 Corolla).

Unfortunately, because I used my parking dexterity for my own evil purposes and not for the greater good, the talent was taken away… just like that.

Drats.

At least I have boondoggle as a fallback. Boondoggle is sexy… right?

Bethany For President

EVERYBODY likes me.

They think my jokes are hilarious. They comment on how fabulous I look in my "skinny" jeans. Men want to impress me by lifting heavy objects and opening doors for me. Women beg to make me dinner and take on my laundry.

EVERYBODY wants to be my friend.

Strangers in the grocery store engage me lengthy conversations. I get smiles and winks at the mall like you wouldn’t believe.

I should run for president. I would sooooo win.

I might very well be the MOST POPULAR WOMAN ON THE PLANET.

…Okay, so maybe EVERYONE is just using me for my baby.

And I can be okay with that. I’ll take my attention anyway I can get it. If that means ruthlessly flaunting my girly asset (namely Kiana), so be it. People love to look at her, hold her, touch her, talk about her…I tell you what, this baby is a golden ticket.

And I am going to milk this situation for all it’s worth because, let’s face it, the situation is literally milking me.

I’ll let people open doors and give me smiles. I’ll turn a bashful shade of pink as they tell me how unpregnant I look (while feeling secretly smug inside). I’ll dress my baby in the cutest outfits possible and act as though I just threw “some old thing” on her at the last moment.

Yes, everybody likes me… unless Kiana and I happen to be sitting next to them on an airplane. Then they don’t like me much at all.