"A Day in the Life of a Not So Molly Mormon" 3

"A Day in the Life of a Not So Molly Mormon" Installment 3 I am not mean spirited. I just want to make sure you know that before you read this because if you didn't know that you might take me mocking all the people I came in contact with as wrong- however- I am not mean spirited so that should take care of any concern you may have. My Mom is the founder and Producer of a huge event in Nashville. It's a summer camp for children's choirs and kids who love to sing where they get to collaborate with celebrities and perform on the Grand Ole Opry House stage. They sing with various artists and an incredibly talented orchestra plays. Its actually kind of amazing and I am just proud to have her genetics running through me when I look at the ability she has to create something so top notch out of thin air. Anyway, at the end of this concert and after ten days of being away from home she wanted to make a trip to the Red Cross to make a contribution from proceeds of the concert to their organization. We used our trusty little GPS app, found the main building and decided it was closed to everyone but blood donors. She told me to park anyway and obediently, I obeyed. We walked into the main office and asked the lovely bearded lady at the desk if there was anyone that could accept a donation. She, without smiling, moving her head away from her computer screen or any other indication that she liked people, answered no. My mother, not one to give up so easily decided she would have to turn up the charm on her. "Well, we are on our way out of town after being here for ten days and we can't stay another few days for the main office to open. Can you possibly call someone and ask them the best way for us to proceed?" The gentle southern lilt of my mothers voice must have aroused the curiosity and suspicion of the security guard as he came over promptly, the top button of his pants seeming to quiver with the movement, threatening to blow at any moment. "Can I help you Ma'am?" He asked in the same tone you would curse someone out in. "Oh, yes! I am a producer of a concert that was at the Grand Old Opry House this week and wanted to make a donation to the Red Cross on the behalf of my organization." "Can't take it ma'am. You'll have to come back on Monday." "Well, we won't be here on Monday and it's not really something I'm comfortable mailing..." He glanced up at the window above front doors that led outside. "Ma'am. I'm looking straight at the office right now. The lights are out, there is no body up there that can take your contribution." My Mom looked up at the tall window, a look of confusion and bafflement on her face seeing a few cars and trucks go by, but no office, unless the department had relocated to heaven. It was then that I noticed the spiral staircase leading up to a second floor. The glare of the windows reflected off the front window which is what our super accommodating friend had been referring too. My Mom saw it too, only there were tons of people upstairs doing a CPR class next to a business office that had lots of lights on. Without asking for permission, she turned from the bearded lady and teewdle dum and proceeded to walk up the stairs, her wallet in hand. (I will note that I was helping. I stood in a very supportive way, smirking.) The chase was afoot. A spark of excitement lit in the security guards eyes. You could almost visibly see the wheels turning. He had several options of pursuit to choose from, but oh, which one? He could jump over the tall round counter and slide onto the tile floor knocking her legs out from underneath her. He could swing from the chandelier and land in front her her on the stairs... in the end he chose to stumble out of the spherical enclosure and shuffle across the floor in her direction before picking up speed and chasing her up the stairs at top pace. She was too fast though (her normal steady gait) she got to the top of the stair case and opened the door labeled "business office", being greeted by a pleasant brunette lady who said she would be happy to accept a donation. The employee called off the code red in the hallway, shook Mom's hand, accepted the donation and thanked her for coming by before sending us on our way. The security guard had mysteriously disappeared on our decent down the stairs as we waved goodbye to the bearded lady. Until Next Time, The Not So Molly Mormon

"A Day in the Life of a Not So Molly Mormon" 2

A day in the life of a Not So Molly Mormon- Installment 2 Growing up, I always had an overly developed affection for the turtles crawling around in the deep woods of our rural Arkansas home. My Dad would humor me on the not so off chance that we would see one "stranded" and would pull over on the side of the road to allow me to jump out and "save" it, prompting the poor little creature to suck all appendages back into it's shell, no doubt wishing it hadn't bothered to even venture out that morning. I would take the turtle, bond with it for the afternoon, tearfully take it to the special spot on the woods I had designated as my turtle release spot, and watch it crawl slowly off into the sunset, occasionally missing it so much I would walk the six feet it had gotten in five minutes and take it back to the beginning so I could say goodbye to it all over again. Sometimes my big brothers Golden Retriever, Lucky, would gleefully come upon us and take the unsuspecting turtle for another slobbery spin across our five acre yard, usually with me running behind him trying to wrestle it out from between his teeth. Needless to say, the term "rescue" could be used loosely. I've grown up, moved away and live in a neighborhood with a pretty slim turtle population, but old attachments die hard and my attempts at heroism have never quite dampened. I have an adoring husband of my own now who's eyelid twitches when I ask him to pull the car around, and four little angels who terrify the living daylights out of me sometimes, let alone any poor unsuspecting creature who is unfortunate enough to be pulled into the vehicle with them. My second to youngest daughter, Hadley, has never seen a turtle close up that she can remember though, so when I saw one on the side of the road about a quarter of a mile after pulling out of my parents driveway I was excited to broaden her horizons and yes, was a bit caught up in the spoils of my childhood as I found an old gravel driveway, backed out and took my Mother and kids for a short detour back in the turtle's direction. The chase was afoot. We would have to be fast this time because if the turtle moved into the brush we would loose our ability to call it a rescue and would be moving dangerously close to wildlife endangerment. I slowed to a crawl, letting the minivan idle next to the turtle as we all peered over the dashboard, a little bit of wonder, not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of my mother and children. My Mom was the first to look concerned, when it slowly dawned on me that, this time, my dreams of sharing the joys of childhood with posterity might not happen just as I'd hoped. There on a side of the road, in a perfect pile of turtle-esk likeness was a large spiral cone of animal turd. Maybe dog, maybe beaver, quite possibly even raccoon... It mocked me, as somewhere from the backseat my daughter asked, "When can I old de tuttle Mommy?" With my Mom and I trying to control our giggles... I replied, "Not today, sweetiepie... Not today." Until Next Time, The Not So Molly Mormon

"A Day in the Life of a Not So Molly Mormon" 1

"A Day in the Life of a Not So Molly Mormon" Installment 1 I had a choice when I woke up this morning. Clean my house before my Young Women's Presidency Meeting or attempt to make my very first batch of homemade laundry detergent- of which is supposed to earn me some highly significant savings-. I chose the laundry detergent. My house is not one of those cute little thrifty houses with only a couple of toys scattered about the floor and blankets laid over the back of the couch looking a smidge too wrinkly. There are dirty diapers from my seven week old, fourth child. There are masses of funk dried to the floor that I'm afraid to ask what are.There are two day old sorted clothes piled up on my couch and coffee table... to say the least- my house is not even close to being that harmonious haven of love and cleanliness I have always longingly envisioned. Still- savings is savings, which is how I justified the fifteen dollars in supplies I bought and the superior procrastinatory evasion skills I have used to keep myself from cleaning. I set my stove up. A large used stock pot I bought for five dollars off Craigslist. A Dollar Tree cheese grater. Some dollar fifty Irish Spring Soap Bars and my moldy Pampered Chef spoon that could truly benefit from stirring a few dozen boxes of Borax. I labeled them all in my red permanent marker, I grated my soap into my large tried and true pot (tried by another family and truly banged up) poured in my water and started my wait for the soap to dissolve so I could pour in the other two ingredients which I had perfectly pre-measured into an old cottage cheese container my husband had so lovingly rolled his eyes at me keeping the night before. The first two things I noticed was that the pan let off a hearty aroma of chicken stock that my Irish Spring was having a hard time competing with. The second thing I noticed was that my red marker was dissolving into smudges all over my hands and leaving the slightest red tinge to my newly concocted cleaning solution. As I thought through these new developments, my ideal of the perfect detergent making experience was slightly shattered upon the realization that my clothes would smell like chicken and look like they'd been washed with a new pair of superman underwear- but I pressed forward, urging myself to stay positive and just finish the recipe before I ruled out such a fantastic chance to save money. I followed the directions to a "T". When it was time to boil everything together I was quite satisfied with the progress I was making, deciding, since I was doing so well, to venture into the blissful world of multitasking and do my dishes while I was waiting for the well documented "coagulation" stated in the directions. I turned, peacefully loading the dishwasher, basking in my productivity for several contented moments when I heard a sizzle, like water boiling over a pan of potatoes, and turned, expecting to see a light froth of water spilling ever so slightly from the pot. Instead, I turned to suds- mounds of suds, suds galore, chicken- flavored- suds, erupting from the top of the pan, spilling into the stove top, spilling onto the floor, pooling in massive bubbly puddles waiting for me to get my wits about me and pull them from the stove. I finally did so- pausing in a short sort of accepting disbelief, giving myself a free pass on a long sigh before trying to talk my suddenly bright eyed two year old out of trying to take a scalding bubble bath in them... I have to ask myself, does this kind of thing happen to everybody- or is it just me? On the up side- my stove has never looked cleaner... Until next time, The Not So Molly Mormon