Of Mice and Men

I know, it’s Thanksgiving day and since my Blog has the word “thanks” in it, it is time for the obligatory mushy, warm fuzzy post about what I’m thankful for.


Not gonna do it.

I refuse.

Not because I don’t have a million things to be thankful for, or because I don’t have that feeling of gratitude today.  But because for the first time in almost a month I am downstairs at night, alone and while I am still freaking out inside I’m here.  Obviously there is a story behind that rather odd sentence, and that story is why I’m writing tonight.  That is unless I lose my nerve and crash the computer and run upstairs and hide under my bed.  I make no promises that it won’t happen.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.  I wish I knew that story better so I could parody a little more than the first sentence but the first sentence will do.  About a month ago Randall announced to the family in his half laughing manner that we finally had gotten a pet.  I was stunned and knew that it had to be a trick and a trick I wasn’t going to like.  The kids fell for it and were all excited.  He then told us while he had been using the computer the night before he had seen a mouse.

I completely wigged out.  I don’t do animals in my house.  I can barely tolerate bugs and only that because I can squish them.  Mice.  No way.  They are fast, they have that crazy wiggly tale, they scurry and just no, I don’t do mice.  Randall purchased a live trap, and proceeded to name the mouse Johnathan.  As in Johnathan Frisby from Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nihm.  Johnathan stayed in the house for a few days before he was lured into the trap by some peanut butter.  Randall took the trap to a large wooded area in town and released Johnanthan.  We said good-bye and hoped that he would remember to make his home in the lee of the stone.  And we were done.

Until we saw Matthias of Redwall.  Randall was at work and there was no school and he ran behind the trash can.  He startled me and I screamed. I didn’t yell, I didn’t shriek, I screamed.  I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack.  He attempted a second run and I screamed again.  I will admit I scared the kids pretty bad.  Eventually I calmed down enough to think a little bit and I left him alone to find a better hiding spot for the day.  Later I sent Seth in to inspect and see if he had gone.

We named him Matthias because Randall laughed at my story and my description, which may or may not have been exaggerated my fear and panic.  He said it definitely sounded like a warrior, so it must be Matthias.

It took a few more days for Matthias to find his way into the trap.  I will admit to getting a little impatient and purchasing a couple more traps.  When he climbed the backside of my cabinets and got on my counter I thought my heart would stop.  But like I said eventually we trapped him, only in the mean time we had spotted yet another mouse.  And when we caught Matthias, well he didn’t look like my decription of a big scary mouse so it was decided that Mathias wasn’t the one in the trap, it was Chloe.

Now if you’re looking for some reference to a mouse character pop culture, good luck.  Chloe got her name because Kaylene was around.  Her best friend is Chloe and if you ask her to name ANYTHING, she will name it Chloe.

So Chloe was take off to the woods and released.  But we still had Matthias.  By this time I had had it.  I was afraid of my kitchen, I was afraid of the trash, I was afraid of the counters, I was afraid of the computer desk.  I was afraid to clean any piles that might house a mi=ouse for fear the thing would run out.  So I went and bought killing traps.

In addition to our three live traps I set three more killing traps.  I used a variety of baits, and I went to be knowing that in the morning Matthias would be dead.  That night in my sleep I heard all three traps go off, and I smiled to myself a very smug smile.

In the morning, however I got up to find that I dreamed that the traps had gone off.  Matthias was still free.  Over the next week Matthias avoided all the traps and we discovered that he was joined by the Rescuers, Bernard and Bianca. ( We believe that Mathias did get caught but Bernard and Bianca rescued him.)

So back to the store I go and I purchase 4 for killing traps and 2 more live traps.  (Yes, I’m aware that this may perhaps be overkill.  And yes I am aware of the really bad pun.  I live with Randall, what do you expect.)  One mouse seemed to like chewing on my sponge so I cut it up and used it for bait.  I also added wheat as bait to some of the traps.  I put them in every conceivable place.  And that night we caught and killed Matthias.

Now before I have every treehugger boycotting my blog (I’m not sure how that would work since last time I checked I have about 5 people reading this, but whatever.) I do not enjoy killing mice.  But it is difficult to overstate my fear of mice.  And they are in my house.  My personal space.  They are in, MY kitchen, MY Dining Room, MY stuff, MY house.  For almost 2 weeks we tried to catch these mice in nice humane live traps.  Ultimately they need to be out of my house, one way or another.

So, back to the saga.  We were left with Bernard and Bianca.  Every night I would go to bed thinking that this would be the night and every morning the traps would be empty.  One night during scripture one of them made a brief appearance in the living room, sending kids screaming and crying everywhere.  Aryel was curled up in my arms shaking from crying so much.  Then they all ran upstairs and insisted on finishing family scripture time up there.  After a few days of that we tried to return to our normal place of reading scriptures in the living room.  Aryel Joel, Kaylene and Kirsten would huddle on the landing of the stairs and refused to come down any further.  By 8 PM none of them would come down stairs at all.

Randall and Seth thought it was hilarious.  I was traumatized.  One afternoon while sitting at the computer Bernard ran behind the desk.  I sat shaking but decided enough was enough.  I kept him cornered and called a friend with a cat to come over.  For 30 minutes I battled Bernard but he escaped before the cat got here.

I checked our traps and some of them the bait was gone, but they had never been triggered.  So I went through and got rid of some and re-baited others.  And every morning I would ask Randall if we had caught any and every morning he would shake his head.  This morning I almost didn’t even check them.  I think a part of me had lost hope.  I was preoccupied with making rolls and messing them up.  So I got into th kitchen and got our Thanksgiving meal preparations underway and before noon we were out the door to celebrate this holiday of gratitude.  We came home and promptly got back to the work of cleaning and running a home.  Later I decided to make the last of the cookie dough I had in the freezer.  I had baited a few traps earlier in the week with blue cheese and it obviously wasn’t working.  I thought maybe fresh-baked cookies would work.  So I began cleaning and re-baiting some of the traps.  I went to pick up one in the dining room and I notice it had been triggered.  At first I thought it had just gone off on its own.  We’ve had that happen a few times, but the indicator wasn’t pointing to the not set position.  It was just barely in the caught position.

I should mention the killing traps I bought were contained units.  Once it catches the mouse, you can’t see it or and gruesome bits.  It’s also safe for pets and kids.

I couldn’t believe it.  We caught Bernard.  I was elated.  Again I’m sorry we killed him, but I now only have 1 mouse in my house.  I was so excited I thought I’ll stay up tonight and brave the downstairs at night and finally use the computer.  But as I was tucking other kids into bed, Seth saw Bianca.  And I will admit I almost curled up inside my bed and waited out the night.  But I decided to come down here.  I have flinched a dozen times and seen things out of the corners of my eyes constantly.

I will proofread this and then run upstairs and possibly leave too many lights on because I will be afraid to turn them off.

But I did it.  I am down here.  And best of all there is only one mouse left.  Only 1.  Thank you, mouse traps.  Thank you.

Thankful to be a Mommy

What seems like half a million years ago I taught Primary (our children’s class at church) for the first time here in Ohio.  I had the 11-year-old girls.  That’s the age just before they move into the teen program.  Those were and still are My Girls.  I taught them only for a few months, but then later I took the to camp for a couple of years, and eventually taught them in the teen program.  They will forever be My Girls and they are very much mine.  I will share but each one was special to me.

They have since grown, gone to college, served missions, gotten married and begun their own families.  Some have stayed in the area and some have not.  Some I keep in touch with more and others less, but I can name them all.  They are MINE.

This past week as I was scrolling through my Facebook feed I saw a post from one of My Girls.  She commented that “Motherhood had kicked her butt today, and she loved it.”  She talked about fighting kids and fussy baby and laundry that wasn’t done, but that she was a Mommy and that was more important than anything.  Now, in my all too frequent vain moments I’d like to think that I taught these girls something.  That they felt all my love and somehow I meant something to them, but that post humbled me.

When was the last time I was GLAD that I was a mother?  When had I been thankful for my kids even though that were driving me bananas?  Motherhood quite regularly “kicks my butt.” but am I happy about it?  Not usually.

And then I thought about my recent trip with my family.  Out of the 7 of us kids we live in 5 States and 2 Countries, and My Dad is in a different State.  Needless to say we don’t often get together, but somehow the stars aligned and we were able to descend on helpless Washington DC.  I did not take my kids on this trip.  In the 12 years I’ve been a Mommy this is the 3rd time I’ve left them overnight.  That being said I now have joined the real world and have a cell phone with unlimited talked so they could call me.  The first day my 9-year-old daughter called.  The other days they all passed the phone around.  (Except for my 12-year-old Son who thinks he doesn’t need a Mommy.)

As soon as I said “Hello” I heard a change in my voice.  It was softer, happier.  I don’t know the right words, but the love I felt for my kiddos was amazing.  Now, I have a lot of faults.  Oh yes, it’s true.  And I probably won’t win any Mother of the Year awards anytime soon, but I realized on that trip that I love my kids, and if I do nothing else right I love them soooo much and they know it.  I say it 50 Million times a day.  And that isn’t much of an exaggeration.

So I am thankful to be a Mommy.  To have my 5 crazy little ones.  I’m thankful for all I learn from them and for all the love they give me.  I’m thankful for the bad days and the good.  I’m thankful for My Girls.  The ones in the past and my new ones.  And My Boys I’ve taught.  I’m thankful for the love I have for them, for that connection.  I’m thankful for Miss Andrea (yep I’m calling you out by name) and for her wise post.  I wish I could claim credit for her wisdom but it is really because of her amazing Mom and Dad.  And I’m thankful for my parents.  How they raised us 7 I will never figure out, but even after all the things I did they still love me.  And ultimately I am thankful for my Savior.  I am sure there are days that He wants to send me to time out and send me to bed early, (There are days I would LOVE to go to time out and go to bed early.) but He loves me all the same.

And I’m thankful to be a Mommy.

Now, is it bedtime yet?


Last week on the way to school, we had barely gotten a block away when I knew there was a problem.  I drive and old beat up minivan that probably has more things wrong with it than right with it, but there was a noise.  It was subtle, but instantly I knew it was new, and bad.

So I pulled over and sure enough I had a flat tire.  So my mind jumped into that problem solving mode.  I had 4 kids in the van and I was a block away from home on the side of a busy road.  2 kids could walk to school.  If they walked quickly they should make it before the tardy bell.  Not as early as they like, but they can make it.  1 kid needed to go to preschool, but that was too far to walk.  But we carpool, so the other Mom might be able to cover for me, but I need to call her right away.  That leave me and the 3 year old in a van with a flat tire.  We are only a block, so I turn around and drive home to get the van out of traffic’s way and just figure Randall will fix it when he comes home.

My friend arrived to pick up the preschooler and she said “Hey, after I drop these guys off do you want me to come over and help you change the tire?”

uhhhhhhhhh, what now?

Randall had insisted on teaching me how to rotate and change tires when were dateing, but to be honest I only agreed because I was twitterpated and I really didn’t pay attention.  It’s just not my thing.  I’m not a fixer upper.

I told her to stop back by and let me think on it.  I found the car manuel and called Randall and he laughed.  When I told my friend that he laughed the gloves came off.  So into the chilly damp morning we go to change a tire on my van.

And we did it.  We really did it.  We got the old tire off, took it in, had to buy a new one not repair it, but we got a new one, and took it home and put it on.  We fixed it, all by ourselves.  It was AWESOME!  And really cathardic.  I mean, I’ve just gotten into a rut about what I do and what Randall does.  And that’s great, we work together, but Knowing I COULD do something on his “list” and do it well…… it was an amazing confidence boost.

It made me realize that there was something I had wanted to write about for a long time, that I just hadn’t been able too.  In fact I had sat down once or twice to write it, but I just couldn’t.  But now, now I can do anything.  I can change a tire.

I am not worthless.

I am not one giant mistake.

I am not always a day late and a dollar short.

I am not a horrible person.

I am not a failure.

A few moths ago I called the same friend who helped me change the tire.  And I just cried and cried.  I couldn’t see any good in me.  All I could see was how much I messed everything up and how I always fell short.  She was stunned, because she doesn’t see me that way.  And for a while I thought that was because I was a good liar.  I lied about being a good person.  I did good things to cover up for all my mistakes, not because I was good person.  But then I tried to see me from her perspective.  She talked me through my worries 1 by 1.  Showing me that in each area of my life I was doing a good job.That I was not just a good person but an amazing person.

Nothing actually changed.  I still yell at my kids more than I should and heaven, my house will NEVER be clean, but I also see that I am great at hugging them and making them feel loved and I have never quit trying to be better.  I suppose I will always struggle with self-esteem, but if many small ways I’m trying to see myself the way I see my friends.  So tonight I’m the lady who changed a flat tire., the  crazy person who is vinyling the backsplashes of the water fountains at school.  I’m the Mom who is never to busy for a hug, kiss, and snuggle.  I’m the friend who is always there.  I’m the one who shows up with a random plate of cookies or a pie, just because.

I am me, and that is more than enough, that is The Best.


I’m back.  It’s true.  I know you are super excited to see me here.  Maybe you thought I had fallen off the face of the Earth.  That would actually be pretty impressive since not only is the world round but there is a whole lot of other scientific stuff that kinda keeps people down to earth, so to speak.

So I’m sure you are looking for some great explanation of my lengthy hiatus.  Maybe that I took time off to write a best-seller, or that I was touring with some totally awesome band, or that I decided to walk around the globe on my right foot only to raise awareness of people with 6 toes on the left foot but also have 6 finger on their right hand.

The truth is I got in a funk.  I know it’s so sad, but true.  I got busy and somehow writing just took a backseat.  And when I thought of writing it wasn’t funny, so I didn’t write.  And then I stayed busy and the funk just stayed.

Now, I’m not the first person to go through a funk.  Heavens, this isn’t my first funk either.  But I’ve decided it’s time to fight the funk.    It’s time write the stories that I read later and laugh and think, holy cow, did I write that?!  It’s time to share crazy random things out here on the internet, daydreaming of how cool it would be to be popular in the blogosphere all the while knowing that really it’s just a handful of people reading this.  It’s time to tell stories that may or may not be true but they are good stories.  It’s time.

So why is the time now.  Well my Dad would tell you that’s the “time has come, the walrus said” but I’m not in the habit of taking advice from animals that have random cameos in nonsensical books.  But I guess I can still blame this one on my Dad.

You see my Dad is awesome.  And whatever writing skills, and literary humor I possess it’s only because of him.  A few years ago he began writing his personal history.  He  sent each of us kids the first 8 chapters.  It was a treasure worth more than gold.  Probably even more than chocolate, but it would be a close run thing.  Recently I came across that history again and I reread it.

It was like being transported back home.  Not a particular event or place, but just being with my family and all the little things that make us who we are.  The heat sucker and the bear feet.  Food Fibber and Farm Fish.  Going “just for the ride” and the thumb seats.  The Lawnmower, Ugly, Ugly Jr., Wimpy, The Turtle, and The Ghost.  (Our cars)  Knowing that I was loved.  Being taught the Gospel, and taught to love it.  Being home.

It’s not that life was easy then, or that I even particularly missed it.  But it’s a part of me, a part of who I am.  Ugh these aren’t the right words, but they are all I have.   Anyway I ended up sharing some of my favorite parts with some women from church.  We were talking about journals and I wanted to share with them this treasure.  You might think a good journal or record is based in fact, but my Dad’s history has so many tangents and embellishments that well….. as I’ve quoted him before.  “He doesn’t let facts get in the way of a good story.”  But that history, THAT is my Dad.  If you want to get to the real him, THAT’S what to read.

While sharing that thought I ended up having an existential crisis.  As you may have gathered from a previous paragraph we had somewhat of our own goofy way of talking sometimes.  It was all my Dad’s doing.  But since I grew up with it, it was so normal.  So when I mentioned the famous Dinkywallerpoo, I just assumed with a few context clues it would be easy for anyone to figure out.  And then I found out that no one else knew what a Dinkywallerpoo was.  I was in shock.  SHOCK, I say.  For days.

I started thinking about the things I do with my kids.  There was so much they needed to learn.  They have accepted the Home Creatures, but they don’t know Crash Tinkle Tinkle, or puzzles and lines, or even Dinkywallerpoos.

And then I realized that this blog, these words, THIS is what I leave in the world to know me.  I don’t have to write that on July 15th at 3:12 pm I successfully canned 6 pints of plum jam and unsuccessfully canned 2.  No, I can write a crazy Blog post referencing an obscure song by and obscure Muppett, and not only will the moment be saved but so will that little piece of me.

So this long rambling weird post is dedicated to the Dinkywallerpoos.  The little jokes, sayings, habits, quirks, the things that make us who we are.  I doubt that when my Dad made up that silly word for a cup of water before bed, that he ever thought it would be of importance.  But today I declare it to stand for everything that makes us, us.  It will forever be my battle cry.

Fie on the funk.


The Sweetest Sound

Lately while going to sleep Aryel has been listening to a Muppet CD.  It has Scooter singing a song.  “There’s a new sound, the newest sound around.  The strangest sound that you have ever hear.  Not like a wild boar or a jungle lion’s roar.  It isn’t like the cry of any bird.  But there’s a new sound way deep down in the ground and everyone who listen to it squirms. Cause this new, new sound so deep down in the ground is the sound that’s made by worms!”  I know you just sang that.  You read the first two words and your head supplied the music and sound effects and you just sang that didn’t you.  If you have lead a sad life and not heard that song allow me to complete you life and bring joy and happiness to it.

Worms by Scooter.

Now you have enjoyed that song you probably don’t need anymore fun silliness, so I could end my post, but it’s your lucky day.  I’m won’t.  At least not yet.

See I want to write about another sound.  Not a yucky sound, no crazy weird lion or bird.  No worms or Muppets.  The sound of metal bending.  Yes the sound of metal bending.  I’ve heard that sound several times today and each time it made me want to giggle like a 5 year old.  OK I giggle anyway, but seriously people, have you never heard of a literary device?

Specifically the metal bending sound come from metal sealing a container that has been heated and as the container cools the air contracts and sucks the metal down so it stick, sealing the container.  Otherwise known as canning.

OK, look.  Truthfully I just got lucky.  No I’m not canning 500 jars of green beans.  No I’m not planning on opening a shop and selling my wares.  No I am not going to can some weirdo thing like Rhubarb pie filling, because I will NEVER make a pie out of some crazy plant that can’t even decide on what color it is let alone that whole crazy silent h thing!  And by the way what is it in rhubarb that compels people with it to give it away, assuming that everyone loves this stuff?

Anyway, so this story starts (apparently halfway through the blog post.) with a tree.  We have a fruit cocktail tree out back.  What is a fruit cocktail tree you ask?  It’s a tree that has had the branches of similar trees grafted in so if produces several types of fruits.  Huh?! you say.  You’ve never heard of that.  Yes it’s real I have one in my back yard.  The nectarine branches are dead and no peaches this year but we have plums.  That’s crazy you say.  Yeah I know.  And how is it that I know what you are thinking.  I’ve had this conversation a dozen times.

So this year we get some plums and of course my kids don’t like plums, so I decide to make jam.  Because we all know that if you don’t like some just mash it up add a bunch of sugar and you’ll love it.  Except rhubarb.  So I looked for some recipes, called a friend (yeah Jackie!) and picked some plums, or not.  Did you know that if you don’t pick plums they will eventually fall off all on their own?  Yeah.  It’s true.  And a big thunderstorm won’t help your cause either.

So I picked what was left and bought a few more to supplement.  Then I also got enough sugar for a diabetic coma and some vanilla beans and cinnamon sticks.  So we chopped, blended and even measured a few things, sort of.  I sliced open the vanilla bean and scooped out what it so elegantly called Vanilla Caviar then buried the husks in sugar to make vanilla sugar for Sugar Cookies later.  The Vanilla Caviar went into the pot with the plums, cinnamon stick, pectin, sugar, a splash of lemon juice and butter.  Really, butter.  Cook it all up scoop it all out and put the jars into a water bath.  Out they came and pop.  pop  pop

My kids went through a 4 oz jar at supper tonight.  Kaylene put it on her plate and ate it with her fingers.  There are no words to describe the yumminess of that jam/jelly stuff.  And while I personally believe that all ice cream need chocolate sauce, this would not be a terrible alternative.

I made 3 batches of that stuff.  And it smelled so good and sounded so sweet.

What I go through

Long time no post.

There’s a reason for that.

Nothing funny to say.

I bet you think it’s so easy to sit down and write off some hilariously funny story make some cute points and then quickly add a few spelling errors so that everyone doesn’t think I’m TOO perfect, or even the Perfect Mormon Woman, and BAM a post is born.

Yeah, not quite so easy.  You see first I have to have a story, now I have several of those.  I mean I do live with 5 children.  There’s always SOMETHING going on.  Like when Aryel wakes me up talking in her excited fast speech about Holy Mamots instead of Woolly Mammoths or Kirsten’s incredible cuteness singing the ABS’s, saying prayers and reciting Scriptures.  And there is ALWAYS a story about something Kaylene has gotten into, like dumping out a half of bottle of ketchup because she wanted some.

But a blog post also requires time.  It does actually take time to type all this nonsense.  And time to add in all the made up stuff so that you come away with a satisfied if delusional view of the world.  But WAIT I have 24 whole hours every day!  What do I do with all that time.  Well… let me tell you.  Feed kids clean kids, dress kids, clean up after kids, protect kids, teach kids, scold kids, scold myself for HAVING kids (OK not really but it flows so well there), feed kids again, clean kids again, feed kids AGAIN, clean kids AGAIN, clean up after kids, yes, again, oh yeah and have a mental break down.  Somewhere in there is the elusive thing called sleep.  Now I do theoretically have “free time”.  After Joel gets on the bus Kirsten takes a nap and Kaylene lays down for quiet time.  But quiet time really needs to be renames lay down, turn off the lights, fidget for 10 minutes demanding that Mom get every crease in the blanket right and of course the right blanket, the right movie and the exact right arrangement of the entire living room setting and possibly a few hundred books for perusal, before getting up every tem minutes asking for something additional, something to be taken away, or some other adjustment for the next 2 hours then falling asleep late in the afternoon to ensure that the whole thing can be repeated that night, time.  But quite frankly that would be to long to say each day, so we just call it quiet time and she looks and me and knows exactly what it means.

But the true magic to getting a blog post out is to have and idea and the time, together.  I had lots of ideas while I was recovering from surgery, because those pain meds sure made me happy, but I didn’t have time since every 2 minutes I was falling asleep.  Those pain meds again.  Besides I suspect those thoughts weren’t very coherent.  Since then there has been family visits holidays, sick kids, sick kids, sick kids, sick kids, oh yeah and sick me.  A couple of my sisters and our kids play an online Role Playing game that encourages making and keeping good habits.  One of my habits is now taking/Giving Antibiotics.  Today I will get to check it off 10 times.  (And that everyone for the record is actually the truth with no embellishment whatsoever!!!!!  Amazingly I can do it.  Occasionally.  If I have to.)

So all this being said I decided it was long overdue for a new blog post but having no idea what to actually say I have now been able to say absolutely nothing of any value in a little over 600 words.  Thanks for spending some of your copious amounts of “free time” reading this nonsense.

It makes me feel loved.

And I know you love me.

Now I need a giant chocolate bar and some antibiotic.  Oh Joy.

My World

The other day I decided to take the kids to the Y.  (By the way, for everyone in Utah, when someone NOT in Utah says the Y, they don’t me BYU, they mean the YMCA.)  I of course was going so I could participate in a class where I get winded during the warm up and spend the rest of the time thinking I’ll never survive and wondering if I should skip the real workout and maybe just go for a leisurely walk instead.

But before I willing go to my torture session I have to take the kids into child watch.  Kirsten has now reached that stage where she wants to walk everywhere but her stride is only about 3 inches so it takes a while.  Joel and Kaylene on the other hand like to run and fight over who gets to push the button.  (The door we usually enter has a handicap entrance so you can press the button and the door opens for you.  They should call it the Kid Fight button.  EVERY kid wants to push that button.)

So I’m calling ahead to Joel and Kaylene to slow down and stop fighting and I’m trying to encourage Kirsten to maybe walk a little faster since it is actually cold.  I mean, I know it’s not below zero or even in the single digits, but 20 is still cold and work out clothes aren’t exactly made for their heat retaining qualities.  And I look up seeing a car pull out of a parking space and head to leave the Y.  The driver was eating, and I could have sworn she was eating a piece of pizza.

Now she probably wasn’t there for a workout.  Judging from where she parked she probably was dropping kids off for day care.  And it probably wasn’t a pizza, probably some bagel or Danish or something similar.  But with all my heart I wish she had just run 3 miles and then hopped in her car for cold pizza.

Can’t you just picture it.  Super thin healthy person, gets to the Y early for her mega workout.  She runs, jumps, lifts weights and then does it all again.  After lunging her way around the building 3 times she cools down and gets back in her car and before she can even get out of the parking lot she’s eating cold leftover pizza with everything on it.

I want to live in that world.