Speaking of Stupid Comments . . .

I had my own this last week. We were leaving the church one evening when I noticed that a couple from our ward were in the library. We walked over and chatted for a bit. For some reason, (and who knows why this would have come up) my sweetie remarked that he'd just read that everyone actually dies of a heart attack.

To which the man in the library said, "And did you know that everyone has cancer."

To which I said, "That explains it. I've always been sure that I have cancer."

The man looks at me, surprised, and says, "You have cancer."

I try to back peddle. This was supposed to be funny. "Well, you know, some place in my body; I'm always sure I have cancer some place."

"I have cancer," he says. "I had surgery for cancer this week, in my colon," he says. "I'll show you." And he pulls up his shirt and shows me the incision.

What was I to say then? I have no response to that?

P.S. An explanation

Since writing yesterday's blog, it has occured to me that some of my dear readers--those who have not spent countless hours at our dinner table, often quoting their Dad (much like others quote movie lines) might find his comments demeaning. Not to worry. Rest assured that I'm not in the least offended by his tactless, but extremely amusing, statements. We all say stupid things sometimes; his just seem to "stand the test of time" better than most :)

Say What?

A few days ago we were sitting down to dinner. Andrew commented about something he wasn't thrilled with, and his dad made this ego-boosting remark:

"I've learned to eat anything."

I guess that pretty much sums up what thirty-plus years at our dinner table does for you. Good to know.

Then today we were discussing our coming ward party program. My Sweetie had just finished describing the Jerusalem temple in great detail, and Andrew commented (again) that he should try out for Jeopardy. I agreed. He responded:

"When you think I know a lot, it's just because you don't."

The Name Game!

Before I give you the rundown on my little trivia competition, here are a few random facts:

• No one came close to getting the order right!
• No one picked either the most popular name OR the most original name!
• Everyone, however, picked the 3 most popular names--just rearranged them.
• Jenny and Amy tied for the most names in the right places--with three each.
• Still, Jenny edged out Amy as the overall most accurate guesser.
• Christy was decidedly on the bottom of the heap, with not a single correct guess!
• Josephine was hands down the most misplaced name, with each person placing her four or five spaces away from her correct spot (#4)!
• And finally, the best guessed name, was Elena. Three people placed her exactly in the middle and they were all right!

And now, for the answers.

From the top 1000 baby names chosen in 2008, ranked from most original to most popular:

9. Maren, #965

8. Atticus, #689

7. Macey, #640

6. Lincoln, #212

5. Elena, #211

4. Josephine, #208

3. Parker, #103

2. Sophie, #74

1. Caleb, #34

A Bit of Trivia

How original are you?

Which of my grandchildren has the most popular name? The least popular? An internet search showed that in 2008, my grandchildren's names came out in the following positions (based on baby names chosen during that year):

34

74

103

208

211

212

640

689

965

Can you match up the name with the number? Let's have a contest and see who can best guess which name is the most popular and which is the most unique, and all those in between! (And no internet searching of your own! That's cheating!) In case you don't know, here are the names of the nine most delightful grandchildren in the world for you to order:

Parker

Caleb

Maren

Macey

Sophie

Lincoln

Elena

Josephine

Atticus

I'll post the answers in a few days! Happy guessing!

FINISHED!

After four and a half years, The Price of Jade goes in the mail (or in this case, email) tomorrow night. Just waiting for an accurate spellling on an editor's name. Definitely don't want to blow that one.

Manscript finished? Check. Author's Questionaire filled out? Check. Cover letter written? Check. Plot summary completed? Check.

Now all I have to do is wait.

You might want to buy chocolate. I may need lots of it . . . in about three months.

The Lunchroom

I started back to work last week, and as an accomodation to Julie (so that she can work at the school also, and I can deliver her to the bus stop in time for her to make her afternoon classes), I changed my schedule. Now I arrive when the kids do, and my first assignment of the day is to monitor the lunchroom.

Except it's breakfast being served.

And for some inexplicable reason, I have found the entire process very sad. I've been trying to figure it out.

I have fond memories of school lunchrooms past, when we were served split pea soup--which looked awful and I never dared taste! I remember the delicious aroma of rolls baking during the morning hours, wafting through the halls, as I suffered through math and science. I remember thick slices of bread, spread with peanut butter. I remember mashed potatoes smothered in some kind of gravy that I thought was quite tasty. We had real trays in those days, with real forks and spoons, which we emptied in a garbage can and placed on a conveyor belt to be sprayed and disinfected, readied for the next day. There wasn't a yogurt option, or a PB & J option, and you didn't get to pick out your sides in neat little containers with lids. All the food looked homemade. It looked like something that might have come out of anybody's mom's kitchen. Not McDonalds or Subway. We did have chocolate milk, though. The one thing that remains the same.

But I've gotten sidetracked with my memories, because this blog isn't about the lunchroom being used for lunch. It's about it being used for breakfast. And for some crazy reason, it strikes me as sad, that all those kids who are lined up with their styrofoam trays filled with cocoa puffs and pop tarts were dropped off at the school hungry.

It's not logical, I know. There's nothing superior about the cocoa puffs Andrew gulps down at our house. (If I were serving oatmeal, that might be an issue, but let's be honest!) Even our conversation, which consists mostly of me saying, "Don't talk; you're going to be late!" isn't anything to write home about.

And I do understand why the parents opt for school breakfast. For many--maybe most in my school, it's because it's free. I understand that better than I wish I did. For others, maybe it's an issue of time. Mom and Dad have to be at work early; the kids can eat at school. And sometimes I'm sure some of the kids are at home begging--they just plain like it better than the home rations. They like it; it's cheap; why not?

But whatever the reason, there's something inside of me that feels a little sad. Like we're giving something up. Feeding our children seems like our most basic parental responsibility. Lunchtime makes sense--afterall, they're all ready there. But breakfast--for some reason I can't quite put my finger on, it just feels right to send my son out the door with a kiss, a prayer, and a full tummy.