What's in your fridge?

On Sunday I went hunting for my tweezer. Only it wasn't to pluck the eyebrows. No, it was for the hair on my chinny chin chin. My UGLY and revolting little hair on my chinny chin chin, which desperately needed to be removed immediately. It was not in it's usual place. I hunted. I yelled. I yelled some more and still it didn't show up; and not one child (who I--know-- is guilty) of why my tweezer went missing, courageously stepped up to the chopping block.

Memo to me: raise more courageous children. Oh, and children who will not touch valuable tweezers.

The next day, a mundane Monday morning, after a grueling workout with Akil; I naturally wanted food. Something on the line of feeding my incredible muscles. I do have them y'know... muscles. They're hidden out of sight under the fat. But they did need feeding. So ask me what I found sitting on the upper shelf next to my smart water?

My muscle milk?

MY TWEEZER! In the FRIDGE! What is it doing in the fridge?! I started yelling, “Who put my tweezer in the fridge?” Not one courageous or guilty conscience child fessed up. No, but there were five looking back at me, like--I--had pulled the stunt. They all left the kitchen as quickly as they could back peddle as they saw that my nostrils were flaring.

The thing is, this isn't the first I've found something that DOES NOT belong in the fridge. This was the one thing that finally broke the camel's back.

Do you want to know what I have found?

Here's the short list:

Yzhak's shoe (poor Yzhak was probably set up)
Rosina's hair brush (no wonder she doesn't brush her hair)
A wrench (Taua my busy body creator)
A toothbrush (definitely belonging to Samanu)
A rock (I can't decide which child did that)
Barbecue coal (I remember there were two—Aaron?)
Listerine (who knows)

With that history, I should have gone looking for my tweezer in the fridge, right?

I don't even want to go into how those things got there. But they were there. One day I'll find out how or why? For now, I'm still shaking my head.

So what's in your fridge? Got an interesting tale to tell?

Ode to the great "O" the month of October....

I needed, no, wanted to pay a tribute to the great month of October. Since I did wait to the very last minute while trick-o-treaters are knocking on my door. I love the colors and smell that is distinctly and uniquely owned by this great month. So what if it means a true end of summer and the dropping temperatures, although, it was actually a very warm October. I opted to use the words of a few great poets. Mostly because next to their words, I couldn't do October any justice. The first is from Robert Frost and the second from Carl Sandburg (pertaining to one of the great symbols of this month). Even the great poets recognized the great “O”. Enjoy......

October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away;
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

Robert Frost


Theme in Yellow

I spot the hills 
With yellow balls in autumn. 
I light the prairie cornfields 
Orange and tawny gold clusters 
And I am called pumpkins. 
On the last of October 
When dusk is fallen 
Children join hands 
And circle round me 
Singing ghost songs 
And love to the harvest moon; 
I am a jack-o'-lantern 
With terrible teeth 
And the children know 
I am fooling.

Carl Sandburg

Daddy turns 94!

Tomorrow is a milestone in my life. My dad turns 94.

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Dad still loves going to the plantation. He loves to tell my brother Tony to plant more taro, (I know, Tony has been telling me between laughter, explaining the lack of space to plant more taro), but my brother Tony is a great son, he plants the taro anyways.

Daddy has seen a lot of things in his lifetime. He's been to many countries. He was in the Navy and quite the handsome sailor (and I'm not just saying that because he's my dad). He's fought in three wars: World War II in the Pacific; The Korean Conflict and a tour in Vietnam. Most importantly he's raised many children and still sees us as his greatest blessing next to marrying Mom. You will never find him alone because he keeps company with scriptures and books.

I cannot in words count the blessing of having Daddy as my father. There are too many things to be grateful for, I could fill pages and pages of the things I've learned from him. And even those words would fail to convey the feelings of my heart.

What does come to mind is the humility that has carved my father's kind and faithful face. His hands carry the living marks of someone who loves hard work. His voice has always been tender and comforting. And the words he has spoken over the years has always carried lasting and sound wisdom.

When I was child I wanted to grow up to be like my father. I'm not quite there—yet—but one day, one day, I hope to be.

I love you, Daddy.

Happy 94th Birthday! That's an amazing thing to write and to say. Not very many children can say, “My dad is 94.” But I can. *blows kisses*

To laugh or to laugh harder!

To laugh or to laugh harder, that is the question. Whether tis nobler? Who knows? But I choose to laugh and move on. And by the end of this short blog, you'll laugh and move on too. I'll make a believer out of you.

A few months ago, I was asked by the Stake to give a workshop for a Bi-Stake Youth Conference. NO, this isn't your cue to start the pre-giggles, no, I promise, you'll know when. *clearing throat* I was asked to give a workshop on: DATING. Yes, you can all wipe the laughter spit off of your computer screen. Yes, you, the one laughing like the hyena from the pack called: FAMILY and FRIENDS.

Can you believe it? Apparently the Church still doesn't do background checks on guest speakers. Because seriously no one back home would have even thought of me to teach this workshop, and to a host of 14-15 year olds. Because, one, I have never dated in High School, except for Sophomore Banquet and Prom. Do those things count? Second, I never had any desire to date. Honestly, I didn't. And did I mention I had ten brothers. Who would ask me? And do Polynesians date?

So onward I studied the subject of dating and luckily, the April New Era was a great resource. I finally put together something that was interactive, fun and informative. Yes, I was ready to teach something, that for the life of me, I felt unqualified to teach.

The day came and there I was: holding two hula hoops and a set of poi balls. Don't worry they all tied in together (I promise) on my dating presentation. I was then introduced to the other guest speaker. Before the verbal introduction, I glanced over and read his hanging name tag, which stated his title: PhD. Yep, he has a PhD in Psychology and is a certified Marriage Counselor among the many other QUALIFIED attributes that I was deeply lacking. And then there's me, holding poi balls and hula hoops, and barely scraping the acronym of SAHM after my name.

Please know, that I am not writing this because I want you to complement me on my strengths. Just read on and you'll understand.

So the other (more qualified speaker) has quite the long list of accomplishments. And there's me, holding on to the poi balls, and hula hoops and barely scraping the acronyms of SAHM after my name. Right, I said that already. I almost had to remind myself that I had a Bachelors (does that even count these days?).

Anyways, can you see the hilarity in the situation? Remember earlier I said something about background checks? Apparently it exists. I must have slipped through the cracks—large cracks.

The presentation went well. I survived; the poi balls and hula hoops survived; the 14-15 year olds survived; and I was able to answer my husband on my return home, when he asked me, “How did it go?” My answer was simply, “It was a bomb. Not to be confused with 'the bomb.'”

I told you, you would be laughing. And you would agree, that we would just have to laugh really loud to make it all feel better. Especially given the situation. *laughing*

You are laughing WITH me, right?

Reluctant Sports Fan

The Lakers vs. Celtics game last night IS one of the many reasons why I don't follow sports as closely as I have in the past. The stress levels hit the moon, with a round trip around Mars. If stress (and it is stress), was indeed crack, then it would have been a drug addicts ultimate high. As for me it just made me sick--literally.

Here is my list of post-NBA Championship ailments due to WATCHING the Lakers play the way they did, up until the last five minutes of the game:

Throat hernia. Seems impossible? Well, I'm living proof that it can happen.
Stomach ulcer. That's an obvious symptom.
Larger nostrils. It seems flaring can do that to an already wide nose. Memo to me: keep nose flares to occasional episodes. Really unflattering to my already aging face.
Deaf Spouse. Well, Aaron's already deaf, last night wasn't the cause for his deafness. However, he shushed me for yelling at the t.v. Imagine being shushed by a deaf person? So the question is: Is he really deaf? Or just when he wants to be? But that's for another blog.

Following a team has it's ups, and definite let downs. I just don't know if I'm ready to head back into that stressful arena. Maybe I should live a little and risk bodily injury to be fan. I most likely will, because I naturally love sports. But I'll keep it to an occasional viewing. Could you imagine my poor nose?

Self-Proclaimed Queen of Failing at Motherhood!

Today is the day that we're supposed to be celebrating Naia's first birthday. The problem is... that Naia's birthday was actually yesterday.

As in yesterday, while driving home from ANOTHER baseball game; I noticed a sign that said: Today is Monday, June 7th. Noooo, I thought, they definitely got the date screwed up. Because tomorrow is June 7th- BECAUSE tomorrow is Naia's birthday. It took a calendar (which I ripped out of my purse) to convince my mommy-screwed-up-brain to realize that TODAY (as in yesterday), WAS indeed Naia's birthday.

GUILTY MOM syndrome or is it SCREWED UP MOM syndrome? Whatever the case, its all the same to me: I SUCK at Mommyhood.

Seriously, how does a Mom forget?! I am desperately trying to find a reason for my memory lapse. If you have one—a certified and valid reason—please let me know. It's probably a condition I need to research. Also, let me know if there's a cure. Hopefully it's a pink pill that needs to be swallowed with chocolate milk. Something to quickly fix and erase the memory of my screw up. Maybe a nice slap to the head would work.

Have you ever screwed up before? Did it make you feel awful? Did you find your cure? Did a nice quick slap to the head, work? Did it make you the Queen of screw ups?

Flashlight Worthy?!

I love books. I love blue books, red books, green books... any book. And that's my tribute to my love of my favorite Dr. Seuss book. I love getting them for gifts (hint hint) and getting recommendations from friends and family.

I'm writing this segment as my unsolicited recommendation to whoever reads this.

Here's a few flashlight worthy books--because seriously who's reading under candlelight these days? But if you are, forgive me my trespass and keep reading.

First flashlight worthy book:



I absolutely loved this book. It was a recommendation out of a magazine article I read and I'm so glad that I opened it's pages. I laughed; I cried; I paused and thought about certain passages; I researched the History of Ethiopia; and I'm still looking for an Ethiopian restaurant to experience here, and yes, I do get pretty hungry reading a great book, don't you? The author is a wonderful storyteller. My flashlight died out, but then again, I didn't really use a flashlight to read this story. I was inconsiderate and left the light on ALL night. Good thing, my husband is very considerate by not complaining.

Numbah 2:



I was absolutely bug eyed by this memoir. My friend Kristy had recommended this amazing memoir to me. The beginning of the book opens up where the author is heading to a very ritzy party in a cab in the city of New York. Traffic--as only New York can have--slows the cab down and she see's a homeless person scouring out of a garbage bin. It's not just ANY homeless person, she recognizes that it's her very own mother. What happens next is surprising (atleast to me), she scoots as low as she can in the cab and hopes her mother hasn't seen her. And this is the 'beginning' of her memoir. Read it, it's worth every battery in your flashlight. Or wattage power of your lamp.

Numbah Three:




This is another recommendation from the same magazine article which recommended "Cutting for Stone." When I read the back of the book, I hesitated at first and then realized that I was ready to read this book. You see it was a tribute to her mother and the process she went through in losing her. The subject was still very sensitive for me as it resonated my grief of losing my own mother. I have to simply say, that her warm and witty personal storytelling was healing to my grieving process. I smiled, giggled and hugged the book when I was done. And then I cried. It was that good.

Maybe I shouldn't measure a book by a flashlight, maybe a good 'ole crying or laughter will suffice. Whatever the case, breakout your flashlights, or night lamp and a really great mosquito punk. Don't forget the tissue and and some good food.

Happy reading! What do you recommend?

Dancing With the Stars

Alright, it's true I watch Dancing With the Stars. The winner only gets a mirror ball trophy but hey, it's entertainment. It's not as if they donate any of their money to charity (which I think they should). But that's for another blog.

Here is something that I have observed from the show through the seasons. The celebrities asked to participate on the show are usually put in the categories of actor/entertainers or athletes.

Here's what this island girl has observed. The actor/entertainers have some serious issues. They're usually crying in the corner complaining about how hard it is for them because they're not dancers. Ummmm, isn't that the whole point?! And really, you're not going to win a career out of it, like say, "American Idol" you're only going to win a disco ball propped on a trophy. So just come out and attempt to dance and give us the entertainment we want to see.

Now on to the athletes. The athletes on the other hand act like athletes. They carry on and work through pain and dancing steps that feel foreign to them. I have yet to see an athlete crying about how much work it takes to 'dance.' Yes, I've heard their frustrations in doing something new and different, but I still haven't seen anyone of them literally crying over the mirror ball trophy. Or abusing their professional trainer.

Also if you watch when the judges give out their criticism, I hate to say it again, but I will, just to be redundant: athletes take criticism in stride. They use it to get better. Maybe, they're just used to their coaches yelling, I mean, helping them with their weak points.

Here's a line I love from one of the participants: I want you to get on my case about my footwork. Everytime, I don't get it right, get on my case, if you have to break another toe, than do it. Three is my lucky number anyway. Yep, an athlete said that, actually the cream of the athletes: an Olympian.

I would love to quote, Kate Gosselin but I can't unless you want me to type out: sobbing.

Athletes are not perfect. But with Dancing With the Stars, they're so much more enjoyable to watch.

Blog Makeover!

It's no secret. This island girl--loves a makeover. LOVE! THEM!

You like it?! I LOVE, HEART and ADORE it! *jumping shamelessly up and down* LOVE! IT!

Imagine if you please my acceptance speech for best blog makeover. *clears throat*

For winning this coveted award for best blog makeover; I want to thank Mel. You'll find her over at mommydoodles.com. She's a mom and Super Heroine both night and day. On her spare time while she's sleeping, she helps out the incompetent and designer challenged people like me. Thank you Mel for making this blog look gorgeous! I really hope that I can do it justice. It's so much fun coming to post on my blog--although most times, I just stare at how beautiful a place it has become.

*blows kisses*

That island girl to the right of the banner looks something like me. Uncanny, really?