A Stereotype: White Lady With a Mission

Sorry, I don't do much these days except eat, sleep, and read books about birth, experiences which are not so interesting to hear about, I'm sure. Anyways, I'll try to think of something. The Quinn's came over on Friday evening for dinner. We ordered pizza. We loaned Amy the pool key so she can come float everyday. She's expecting her third child about the same time we are, so we sort of have a lot going on in common right now. She brought ice-cream, brownies, and strawberries, so I skipped my diet. Actually my sugar level was still fine even after eating a whole bowl. I've been testing Casson's too, to show him how badly it hurts. But he's usually a lot lower than me, which might prove the whole thing sort of true. Yesterday we went to Josh Ashurst's graduation party. He graduated from seminary on Friday. His parents were in town for the occasion, from Idaho. Sara (Josh's sister) is going to interview for a live-in nanny job in New Jersey this week. If she gets it, she'll sell her car and move there in a couple of weeks, to be gone for who-knows-how long. Emily (Sara and Rachel's roommate) is moving to St. Louis in July to go to graduate school. So, Rachel will be on her own in that house of hers. She's got Carlos next door who watches out for her, though. Rachel and Emily and I went out for brunch this morning at the Grande L'Orange, where we did battle for a table. Then I spent the afternoon writing thank you notes to the 40 people at work that showered me with baby gifts...mostly pink outfits. Our closet has more baby clothes than grown-up clothes. Which reminds me of why I'm mad: at the store that we all hate to love, there are those $1 sections. Well, I was going to buy four sets of baby hangers for a dollar each. They were cheaply made, but they are hangers. Who cares? Then I was looking for sheets in the regular baby section, and there they were selling the same number of hangers for .97... and much nicer quality. This is a WARNING against believing that the $1 section is a good deal. It's 10:00 on Sunday night, and Casson is still not back from Sedona, though he called, and they're almost home. He went mountain biking about 12 hours ago with Mike and Dave. Lately I don't really like being home alone, so I went shopping for no reason. But it was nice to just walk around in the air-conditioned stores, not really thinking of buying anything. I needed the exercise. Plus it's just nice to be around people, even strange people: There was a 12-year-old looking boy speaking to his mother in Spanish, saying over and over "I see your mustache, mom. You better get them transplanted. You have a mustache. Ah, a mustache. Look at your mustache!" And he was getting in her face and pointing at her lips. She was just sort of ignoring him, trying to look for the shirt she was interested in. I wanted to go whack him. I hope this is not a sign of a lack of patience. Then there was the lady in the blue t-shirt and jeans, crossing the street with a Walgreen's bag in her right hand, an angry fist for a left hand, and a lit cigar in her mouth, which puffed smoke at what appeared to be a normal breathing rate. But I love Saturday's in Phoenix at mall's and big discount stores, though not if I want to buy anything. There are countless hispanic families out shopping together (mom, dad, and all the kids). And I always feel so stereotypical as a white female. Reason being that all the other white females I see on these days are also on their own, just like me. And we're always walking twice as fast as everyone else. And we're all probably blogging about it, too.