dan-dee-lyun

De-Clutter

2010-02-08T07:14:00.003-07:00

Clutter. That word lands with a thud, doesn't it? I have a lot in my life, but it's not in the traditional places. My counter tops look pretty good, cabinets are not jam-packed and there aren't many piles around my house, yet I'm still haunted by clutter. Clutter is what keeps me from doing things I enjoy and keeps me more distant than I'd like from friends and loved ones. I store my clutter in my head--it's an inability to prioritize and sort out the good from the better from the best. Things are in order physically but not always mentally. It is maddening because I see myself doing it. I know better. I know what it feels like to be paying attention to the things that will bring me the greatest joy--yet I rationalize, I justify, I ignore. And ultimately I pay a price.

Tragic.

Thankfully, it doesn't require huge changes to turn things around. It's not like I'm making decisions between moderate, atrocious, and down-right evil. But still, need to get on that.

I'd like to spend more time here too. Writing falls between better and best, I think. We'll see.

Image courtesy Flickr user Manndag.

10 Indicators You Have No Business at a Rock Concert

2009-09-27T01:08:00.006-06:00

alternate title one: 10 MORE Indicators You're No Longer Cool
alternate title two: 10 Indicators You've Turned Into Your Parents

10. You contemplate wearing the shirt you've worn all day even though it's covered in spit-up.
9. You kiss not one, not two, but three kids goodbye as you leave.
8. You see nothing wrong with going by yourself.
7. You get to choose between driving the mini van or the station wagon.
6. You listen to NPR the entire way there.
5. You look around and realize you are literally twice the age of half the audience.
4. You do something productive on your phone during the opening bands.
3. You make the moron that spilled beer under your feet go get paper towels.
2. You plan an exit strategy to avoid getting caught in traffic, even considering leaving during the encore.
1. You don't care if anybody thinks you're too old. You'll do what you want and love it!

Honorable mention
1. This is the latest you've been out since the unexpected late night visit to the ER several years ago.
2. You consider the reserved section preferred seating.
3. You don't see the appeal of skinny jeans on guys. Even if he is the lead singer.
4. You worry the drum beat reverberating in your chest might trigger an episode of heart palpitations.

You Can Start Calling Me Ruth Reichl

2009-07-07T22:18:00.019-06:00

Just a few more restaurants I've visited lately. Again, sorry for the sea of text. I need to start taking my camera.

Pizzeria 712
This one has been on my list for a long time. I just haven't been able to bring myself to visit that shrine-to-overdevelopment-known-as-Midtown-Village. Plus I've heard a lot of hype so I worried they wouldn't be able to live up to my inflated expectations, but it proved not to be a problem, aside from the monolithic skeleton of a building sitting next to us. The meal was delicious from beginning to end, with the added bonus that the staff seem to care about their customers. I visited P712 (for short) with colleagues for my birthday lunch this week. I shared an order with a friend--a salad containing mixed greens, roasted beets, goat cheese, farro, and a horseradish vinaigrette dressing along with a sausage and fennel extremely thin-crust pizza. I appreciated the pizza because it wasn't drowning in cheese. I hate pizza with a lot of cheese. It's a matter of diminishing returns--at some point it becomes useless. The crust could have been cooked a tad more in my opinion, but still quite good.

My favorite part of the meal were the morsels I bummed from my friend Collette's entree. She went with the braised beef panini complete with sweet (and I do mean sweet) onions, mushrooms and provolone. The bread was so crunchy it actually left the roof of her mouth sore, but oh my gosh it was good. I basically begged for scraps. She was kind enough to share.

The staff felt we waited too long for our food (it wasn't so bad in my opinion) so they graciously comped us dessert. We dove into the buttermilk panna cotta and a rich chocolate pudding made with local Amano chocolate (which I just realized is sold in the Bookstore. Great! As if peanut butter fudge isn't tempting enough.). A divine meal! I'll be taking Jim as soon as we can go. And we'll also be trying out their new restaurant on University when it's finished. Can't wait!

Sammy's Cafe
I should probably wait until I've had a full meal to say anything about Sammy's. I only went for the pie shakes. I left disappointed. Not disappointed enough not to try the burgers and sweet potato fries some other time, but I won't bother with another shake. The pie shakes are probably what you're thinking--soft-serve ice cream combined with a piece of pie (banana cream, chocolate oreo, blackberry cheesecake, etc). However, my definition of a piece of pie and Sammy's definition are different. Yes, I realize they can't fit in half a pie, but come on, more than a sliver would have been nice. At least give me enough that I get a chunk every once in awhile. The Oreo and cheesecake shakes didn't really taste any different than any other shake I've had. Plus they were $4. Didn't think they were worth that much. Like I said, I'll try again.

Fusion Yogurt
I had the misfortune of being given a sample of carbonated frozen yogurt at the Farmer's Market a couple weeks ago. I've been craving it ever since. I saw an add for carbonated yogurt and thought to myself, "Could it be?" To my delight, yes it was! One and the same! I'm not normally one to consume a lot of carbonation. In fact, I thought adding carbonation to frozen yogurt was as unncessary as frying a turkey. But I was wrong. It adds a kick that is kind of naughty. At first I felt guilty for falling in love, but now I don't care who knows. And I'm unapologetically proud that it was developed by a local who first carbonated regular yogurt. The key lime is the best, but Jim enjoyed the mango. They also serve strawberry and other flavors. They rotate which two yogurts get the carbonation kick and also offer two regular varieties. I just hope when I go in that key lime is "on tap." Don't be put off by the fact this yogurt joint is located inside a small bookstore.

Poor Boy's
I try not to hold a grudge, but Poor Boy's inhabits the spot of my now defunct beloved cookie joint. I know Poor Boy's didn't run them out of town, but it still hurts. I put my feelings aside to try one of their $2.00, 3-oz (I think?) pork sandwiches. Even before I took a bite I noticed the bun looked very familiar. My first bite confirmed it--Shirley's Bakery rolls! Smart move, Poor Boy's, smart move. The pork was good but it was pretty plain. No BBQ sauce. I was perplexed. We stopped by a week later and on my way out I suggested they offer BBQ sauce on the side. The staff gave me a perplexed look as I left. After I started eating I figured out why. This sandwich had BBQ sauce and cabbage (I think?). I guess I just caught them on a busy day the first time and they missed dressing my sandwich. Good little sandwich. Menu is currently limited and they're still getting the place in oder. I wonder if this location will be their permanent location.

Omelets at Utah Valley Regional Medical Center
This dining experience holds a special place in my heart. When Jim was in the hospital many years ago, every once in awhile when I wandered up to the cafeteria I'd be surprised to find they were serving made-to-order-omelets. The options were impressive and the price was cheap. Those omelet mornings seemed to come at just the right time and I thought they tasted incredibly good. I did suspect that my memory of their deliciousness was due to the fact that they were a welcome deviation from typical hospital cafeteria fare. When I found out this tradition is flourishing to this day at the hospital, I was skeptical, but thrilled to find out it was still going on, and that they sometimes do it at night! Not only that but Mike, my neighbor of many years, is the head chef. How did I miss that? I knew he worked catering at the hospital but I didn't put together that he was responsible for the omelet bar. If you get on his mailing list he sends around a schedule of when the omelets are being served -- usually three or four times a month.

Mindy and I wandered over one free evening (bonus!) to partake. We got there right before the line started to back up. Mike is famous for abusing his customers, but because we know him we were spared. He also got me to try something I normally wouldn't--strawberries in my hasbrown-bacon-ham-pepper-olive-mushroom-stuffed-omelet. He asked, "Do you like pineapple on your pizza? Grapes on your salad?" As I nodded he exclaimed, "Then you'll like strawberries in your omelet." He was right. Both the company and the omelet were perfect. And cheap. I mean the omelet, not the company.
: )

India Palace
Visited India Palace for their lunch buffet. I'm no expert on Indian food. In fact, my taste buds are pretty immature, but I pretty much loved all of it. The buffet was extensive so I was able to try a lot of different things. It mostly consisted of sauce-type options such as masala, korma, and curry, that were full of different meats or vegetables and seasonings. A couple of them were a little thick, but all had a distinct and wonderful flavor. And as a true American of course my favorite thing was deep-fried cauliflower. The service was a little slow but they were kind. Normally it is out of my price range for lunch ($10), but for a treat every now and again I'll be back.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries
I can take or leave most burgers. With the exception of the "burgers" you get at typical fast food restaurant which I don't think actually qualify as burgers, I don't find much of a difference between burger joints (I know many people would take issue with this). At Five Guys I do like that you can customize your burger without getting snarky looks. And don't worry, grilled onions are one of the options. The fries are pretty darn good. You get a huge amount so take a friend, or 10.

Marley's Gourmet Sliders
Motorcycles and greasy food? You bet! Welcome to the USA! Marley's is located inside the Harley Davidson showroom. It kind of reminded me of Five Guys in that you can customize your slider (basically a mini burger on a roll), but the meat didn't do much for me, especially the turkey. I didn't really care for the shoestring fries either. They reminded me more of potato (why do I always want to put an "e" at the end of that) chips than French fries. Not anxious to return.

Let's Get Local

2009-07-02T22:31:00.008-06:00

Just finished a late-night snack of homemade guacamole and chips. I'll be burping garlic and lemon for days. So worth it. A squeeze of lemon or lime? I agonize over this decision more often then I care to admit. Good guacamole is hard to come by. There are a few places around that do a decent job with it--not surprisingly those in the fresh-Mex business. Good guac and a mean tortilla will get you very far in my world.

I miss the carefree days of maternity leave and being able to explore the eateries around town with Jim. I've set a goal to hit up as many independent or nearly independent restaurants that I can. I'll concede to occasionally visit a chain if it's new and I hear enough good about it.

The timing of this quest could have been better. You've probably heard by now that as a country we're supposed to get a grip and stop eating out every meal. It's time to end our love affair with the Big Mac and attempt to mend our relationships with our stoves and dinnerware. They've been so lonely. Luckily our family never did completely abandon the cutting board and frozen peas, plus we are extremely fortunate to still have a job and a small amount of discretionary income--so I'm not going to feel bad to look to someone else to provide a plate of stir-fried veggies or perfectly grilled salmon once a week for lunch.

Here are some completely non-scientific, it's-just-my-opinion reviews of a couple places around town. If I feel up to it more will come. Sorry for the lack of pictures. I don't do this for a living you know.

Shoga Japanese Restaurant
I'm a relative sushi newbie. Can't get enough of it lately. In fact, I just realized I left some in the fridge at work. Anyway, we ordered a couple tuna maki rolls as well as the beef don-buri. The rolls were fresh, at least as fresh as you can get in a land-locked state, and the beef flavorful and tender. I loved the tempura squash. The lightly battered and deep fried veggies do it to me every time (see upcoming review of India Place). Service was fine and prices fair (rolls seemed fair, don-buri on the expensive side for the amount of meat you get). Unfortunately this restaurant is in a strip mall. That really turns me off, but not enough to keep me away. I've been back since our initial visit.

Rooster Dumpling & Noodle Bar
On our first visit we ordered the traditional pork and chive dumplings to go. There was some type of pickled (or altered in some other manner) veggies I didn't care for. Dumplings were good. Our latest visit was to celebrate my birthday so we went all out and ordered bulgolgi beef dumplings, lime sesame noodles, Thai basil rice, a strawberry Boba, and chocolate lava cake. Dumplings were solid again. They came with Simy's sauce which added a richness I liked. The basil rice tasted good but was very dry--especially the sausage. The lime noodles could hardly be contained in their bowl they had so many different flavors and colors. Jim liked these more than I did. I appreciated the presentation and idea of them, but couldn't quite take to them the way I hoped. The boba drink was, hmmm, interesting? I'm an uncultured American. If it's not milk or water I like my drink to be sweet, and the only thing I want floating in it is ice, fruit, or a chunk of cookie dough or Oreo. Not an unidentifiable black ball of something I can't quite put my finger on. They tell me the boba pearls are a sweet tapioca. I'm sure this is true and they are harmless enough, but it just didn't work for me. The drink itself was very mild--not sweet, not packed with flavor. One of the other flavors would probably have been better than strawberry (they were out of peach which was our first choice). It wasn't horrible, just not great.

However, they could have fed me what was on the bottom of their shoe for the main course and I'd beg for more if only to have one bite of the chocolate lava cake--more precisely the chocolate lava cake served with hazelnut whipped cream. It was that good.

Ambiance was great, service pretty good (we're cutting them a break because they're new but the servers need a little more information about the details of the menu), prices a little high (the cake was $7.00). Will probably go again, but only if the budget allows for dessert.

2600 Miles and Lived to Blog about It

2009-05-19T09:59:00.031-06:00

Uh-oh. I'm starting to feel about this blog the same feelings I used to have about math homework. Always haunting me, begging me to start so as to make my life easier yet repelling me at the same time with the thought of the work involved. Do I even keep this site up if I'm hardly ever going to post?

I guess I almost always managed to get my math homework done, so here goes.

We spent a couple weeks traveling to Oregon earlier this month. We actually had FUN. Lots of it. With each other. If you saw how well behaved the kids were in the car you might suspect we spiked their water bottles with Benadryl. It was a great relief since we went over 2,600 miles. Jameson had a moment or two, but hey, you have to cut babies a break every now and then.

Unless you were a) on the trip or b) visited by those taking the trip you probably don't have a lot of interest, but here are some memories that make me smile:

- Nyah's screaming as we washed her hair using the bathtub faucet.

Nyah looking very uncomfortable but not seeming to mind a bit

- Jenni introducing us to Trader Joe's and their addictive Joe-Joe's.
- Mom staying out until after midnight gambling.
- Keeping company with Mom & Jenni during pedicures. Making the pedicurist (??) repeat her direction about 5 times before I got it.
- Jenni's well-stocked goodie bags for the kids.
- John's gorgeous red hair. Big blue eyes throughout their whole beautiful family.

Nephews Gabe & Seth getting in a
little Wii before bedtime

- The intense greenness of Oregon in the spring. Even the cows and sheep grazing in the fields look more picturesque. Big red barns in the background don't hurt.
- Seeing my only cousins for the first time in YEARS! Marveling at their wives and wonderful kids.
- Nyah wanting to wear her bathing suit in the pouring rain.
- Connor bumming for money in Uncle Ron's chair.

Kathi snuggling Anthony and Jameson

- Getting kicked out of my elementary school. Luckily I got in a good talk with Ms. Czech, my second grade teacher, before that happened.
- A happy surprise - Trader Joe's RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from our Vancouver hotel.
- German food with Jennifer and Scott.
- OMSI - 45 minutes in and we'd only seen three exhibits. Anyone up for a game of robotic Connect 4?

Getting a head start on a possible career path?

- Who Song's outdoor patio seating along the river and a late lunch with Jen. Feeling like no time has passed.

My oldest and one of my dearest friends, Jennifer.
Hard to believe I've known her 30 years.

- Geri's face when we walked in the room. My emotional reaction to seeing her.
- Remembering how to get places in Vancouver even though I didn't drive while we lived there.
- My dad's small planting project now a forest in our old backyard.
- Connor making me basically run through the haunted house carrying him while he buried his head in my shoulder.

Enchanted Forest still enchanted for the next generation.

Connor couldn't get enough of this slide.

- Connor's Wii boxing technique (foot shuffle) and beating the pants off Jake (maybe a slight overstatement).
- Aunt Kathi's early morning alarm technique - dump the clean silverware from the dishwasher directly on the counter. : )
- The bowling ball we left behind that somehow managed to find us again.

Nyah loving Uncle Ron

- Meeting second cousins (or is it cousins-once-removed?) for the first time and freaking out at how much some of them look like their parents.
- Missing our turn. A lot. The van does NOT turn on a dime.
- "Aunt Sheldon." Kathi loves certain chairs in the house. You might want to move when you see her coming.
- Watching a 90+-year-old woman live her life like she's not a day over 60. Never without earrings and a necklace. Always beautiful.
- Sunset Bay beach in the pouring rain. As soon as we hit the sand Nyah kicks off her flip-flops and starts running down the beach. She aimed for the seagulls.

Rainy day at the Oregon Beach. What can you expect?

- The mystery of the disappearing coat.
- Witnessing baby Anthony's first steps.
- Grandma Shirley, the baby whisperer.

"Oh my goodness! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

- My cruelty at asking Jim to leave his stack of books, including his bird book, behind (looking stuff up on the iPhone not quite the same as having the book). I realize now it was almost as bad as asking someone with poor eyesight to leave behind their glasses.
- Kathi and Ron's incredible hospitality.

I love this picture

Consumed

2009-04-08T22:35:00.006-06:00

I just realized that ALL my posts lately, including the one I just did a minute ago, have to do with children and/or pregnancy and/or motherhood.

Ugh.

Not "ugh" toward the children, pregnancy, or motherhood, just "ugh" that that's all I'm writing about. Double "ugh" that it probably won't end anytime soon.

Introducing the Most Revolutionary Weight-Loss Program

2009-04-08T22:05:00.010-06:00

How do babies, the little barnacles that they are (said in a most lovingly way), know whether the substrate to which they are attached are sitting or standing? And why do babies always insist the substrate be standing? Why can't the bouncing and jostling required by the baby at least be done in a sitting position? What is the darn difference?

Sometimes to get my little barnacle (again, lovingly) to stop crying I feel like I'm playing the pat-the-tummy-rub-the-head-at-the-same-time game all while keeping three spinning plates going and bouncing on one foot.

Sitting and holding baby. Baby not happy.

Sit, hold, hum a lullaby. Yeah, right.

Sit, hold, bounce. Nope.

Sit, hold, bounce, pacifier. Nice try!

Sit, hold, bounce, pacifier, pat bum. Nuh-uh.

Sit, hold, bounce, pacifier, pat bum, rub head. Are you kidding me?

Sit, hold, bounce pacifier, pat bum, rub head, hold hand. Whatever.

Stand, hold toward shoulder, bounce, pacifier (no, wait, it just fell on the floor), pat back. Give me a break.

Stand, hold outward, bounce, forget the stupid pacifier, do the hokey pokey. BINGO!

No rigorous exercise program needed here. All you need is one cranky, albeit fantastically cute, baby and the notion that you're incredibly lucky to serve as substrate to the little barnacle.

Working Motherhood

2009-03-27T15:16:00.014-06:00

Being a working mother of a young baby necessitates a pretty strict schedule. Those lucky suckers get to eat like five or six times a day. If you're the sole source of nourishment, you kinda hafta work around the baby. If my schedule deviates from the norm it requires intense re-strategizing so that I can take care of the things I need to take care of (you catch my drift?). When plans change I feel like a sergeant who has just been handed intelligence that her squad is under threat of attack--time to seriously re-think the strategy. For me to change plans requires intense data collection and then plugging that data into a complex algorithm to determine the time, location, and resources which will allow me to take care of business.

Today was my first full day away from home. Not only that but I spent the entire day in an off-site meeting--a big change over the last eight weeks. At one point during the day I found myself sitting in a locked room in total darkness.

It started out just fine. The people at the meeting location were very friendly, understanding, and accommodating. They found an unoccupied conference room which I could visit throughout the day (I mean really, what mother wants to resort to a public restroom?). The challenge was that even though the room was equipped with a lock, it also had a sidelight window. Can you imagine the horror of some unsuspecting employee out perusing the hallways, looking for an excuse not to have to go back to their desk, who just happened by the room and thought "hey, I'll just peak in and see what my colleagues are doing in here . . . "

To meet this challenge the friendly staff helped me cover the window with foam-core signs that were sitting around the room, left over from some old project. So now the room is locked, the window is pretty well covered, and a power supply is located. I position myself in a chair at the far end of the conference-room-turned-mother's-lounge with my back to the door. I feel relatively safe and things are going smoothly. This isn't so hard! Then all of the sudden the lights shut off. My first thought is that I failed to lock the door and someone all hopped up on thoughts of saving the world by ending wasteful energy consumption saw the empty chairs through the crack in my make-shift curtain. I immediately turn (just my head of course) only to see the door is still closed. Whew! Did I cause a electrical short in the building? No, I still hear the '"wheer. wheer." of the motor of my good friend sitting on the table.

Then I realize what's happened. This building has been recently renovated. It's got the latest and greatest in snappy office furniture. It's also got the latest and greatest in "smart" technology. I think back to my visit to their bathroom and the motion-detecting faucets. I deduce that the foam-core we so ingeniously re-purposed as a curtain is covering the light switch--the switch that must also be controlled by motion. It must have been programmed to shut off after a certain amount of time of not sensing movement--the invention of yet another person who dreams of saving the planet one kilowatt at a time. It is apparent the designer didn't test all the possible use cases. Nursing mother looking for privacy should have been at the top of the list.

My heart stops racing and my eyes eventually adjust to my surroundings. I fumble to finish and pack up, making sure things are back in place (been there, done that, turned red, as I've alluded to before). I sheepishly poke my head out the door, hoping I don't run into the staff so as to avoid the "how did it go" question.

So I guess my strategy was about 90 percent successful. Not bad for my first day back.

We've Got Smiles!

2009-03-08T16:19:00.007-06:00

Hard to believe it's been six weeks since this creature came home with us, yet it also feels like he's always been here. I like it when you reach that point--when your life again becomes recognizable and has rhythm. He's finally purposefully smiling:

And so am I.

I got a little grumpy (read: screaming lunatic) toward the end of the pregnancy. Poor sales people and customer service representatives. Poor husband. Poor kids. Poor me. I am in better control of myself now which means I worry less about trying to control situations and people. Everyone's much happier, I think.

Do You Recognize Any of These?

2009-02-07T19:41:00.004-07:00

This treasure trove has collected on my bathroom vanity over the last two weeks:

Thankfully Jamie and I are no longer in need of several of these things, but unfortunately have made a few additions that are not pictured here in the realm of creams and salves. Apparently having already nursed two babies does not give one a free pass on the third. Let's just say I have some very sensitive areas. Do any of these glorious and oh-so-sexy post-natal items bring back any memories for you?

And Baby Makes Five

2009-01-31T23:23:00.003-07:00

It seems that unless things are posted in Facebook and via Blog that they didn't officially happen. So to avoid my new baby up and disappearing for lack of proper documentation I'm posting that he did in fact arrive, he is in fact real, and on top of the miracle that he has all his bits and that they seem to be in the proper order, he is really, really cute. I have the pictures to prove it.

We named him Jameson. Right now we mostly call him Jamie, but there is also the possibility of JD (David is his middle name) or Jay. He was 8 pounds 10 ounces upon arrival and 21 inches long. He cried when he was born. He curled his bottom lip and just cried. I'm assuming most babies do that. His little nose just appears on his face out of nowhere. There is no real bridge to introduce the nose, it just appears. All three of our kids have that nose--and they all curled their bottom lips when they were upset too. He has heavy eyelids like me and Nyah, but his eyes are like Connor . . . and Nyah. Big blue eyes (again, probably like most babies), except Jameson's are a good bit darker than the other two. Did I mention he was cute? Here, let me show you:

So there we go. I should no longer be in danger of my baby spontaneously combusting à la the drummer from Spinal Tap now that a post about his birth exists. Times have really changed since the births of my other two. How do you incorporate Facebook and Blog comments into a baby book? I think I got maybe two or three cards this time where with the other two there were a few dozen. It's not that I prefer cards to comments (please, don't feel compelled to send a card, it's not meant to be a subltle [or not] attempt to get snail mail), but I'm not sure how to paste comments into a book. Baby number three is already bound to have a complex of some sort, so I don't want to fuel the fire by making him think no one cared about his birth. Oh the dilemma of living in a modern world.

Thanks to all of you for your well wishes! Speaking of comments, if you've already done so in Facebook, honestly, don't feel obligated to comment here too. Because I don't think the rules state that the Blog post needs comments to be official.
: )

Cabin Fever

2009-01-19T16:43:00.008-07:00

People are asking if I'm still alive . . . and pregnant. I am happy to answer "yes" to both questions. That is to say I'm happy about the not dead status, tolerating quite well the pregnant status.

The change to the family dynamic is nearly upon us--any day now. I remember this feeling when we went from one to two kids. You realize your life won't be the same and worry about the ability to divide your heart one more time. Of course it's unfounded and the moment you see that little face your heart doesn't divide but rather seems to grow another chamber to house the love for that new person. What does need to divide is one's time. Unfortunately that doesn't miraculously increase when the family does. That scares me some.

In anticipation of less time for the children Jim and I took them out for fun today. I asked each of them what they wanted to do more than anything. Connor said he wanted to go bowling and Nyah? Well she wanted to ride a pony. Easy enough to do, so we did. And it was fun (and a little stinky). I haven't had that kind of fun in too long. Feels like we've been cooped up forever. Today will have to hold me over for awhile. At least I'll have a distraction. That will make it bearable.

Wish I'd only gotten plump in my belly region.

The Season's Sights

2008-12-23T12:42:00.004-07:00

This picture is a good summary of the last week, especially yesterday:

We've got the "big daddy" and the "little boy" versions and both have seen a lot of action over the last week. One operator finds much pleasure in opportunities to use the device. The other not so much. These objects have been the means for a lot of service throughout the neighborhood. I love the operators for that, especially the big one for teaching the little one through example that it's important to help people.

I tapped my "cute" gene and came up with this advent calendar:

Way more ribbon and pastel than I planned, but at least it was easy. Notice it's only 10 days. Since we include activities along with a treat each day (things like touring the lights, visiting the candy windows, sub-for-santa project, etc) it was all the celebrating I was willing to commit myself to. It's been nice to enjoy the season. Especially now that we have Jim's mom here with us. That's the best treat of all.

Merry Christmas to you!

If Nesting Was a Sport I'd Have a Gold Medal

2008-12-19T17:33:00.004-07:00

I realize I am fortunate to say that pregnancy has been easy for me--tiredness at the beginning and end, nausea that I was finally able to control with the half-a-sleeping-pill-and-B6 cocktail, and odd aches and pains in interesting places. But other than that it goes swimmingly and I sometimes forget I'm pregnant. That was true of this pregnancy until, oh, about 6 months in when the "nesting" sensation began.

Gratefully there is no physical pain involved in nesting, but there is a great measure of mental pain involved. Granted I'm a person who even sans pregnancy makes lists, but the lists I created while experiencing this phenomenon were something to behold. You wouldn't believe the level of detail. One time I unknowingly left my list at a store, drove 10 miles toward home before I discovered it was missing, and promptly turned around to retrieve it (I KNEW I should have scanned it into electronic form!). After arriving at the store and talking to three or four people to discover the fate of my list, I was horrified to learn that the red-shirted clerk had the nerve to consider my list "garbage" and had thrown it away. Could she not take one look at that list and know the hours of thought that went into it? And yes, I did look through the garbage. And yes, I did find it.

Nesting not only bumped my list-making abilities to new heights, but it also upped my drive to act. Not only did I make lists, but I accomplished nearly everything on them. Despite what you might think, this is not good news. My ability to adequately prioritize and have peace during this time was, well, nowhere on the list. It didn't get done. This was not without consequence. I'm glad to say that the feeling has subsided, though I'm not sure whether I have biology or the near-fulfillment of my lists to thank for that.

All I Want for Christmas Is . . .

2008-12-01T23:14:00.004-07:00

What my sweet birthday boy gained in years last week . . .

. . . he more than lost in teeth.

17 Reasons to Be Thankful

2008-11-30T23:58:00.006-07:00

And that's only counting the turkeys I had dinner with.

Disturbing

2008-11-25T12:08:00.000-07:00

I noticed this bumper sticker on my way to work this morning:

My marine can pick off your honor student at a click and a half

Something about this isn't right.

I'm Locked in the Bathroom!

2008-11-07T07:18:00.007-07:00

I have to shake off yesterday's post with something more humorous.

When Jim was out of town a few months ago we had a young woman from the neighborhood watch the kids a couple of the days while I went to work. She's hadn't been babysitting that long and was trying out a few new methods. One of those was a daily report of what happened during the day. I don't know what to say about this other than I thought it was darn funny, especially the second page. I asked her mom (not her, mind you) if I could post her report. You may need to click to enlarge the note:

Lest you worry the babysitter was alive and well, and out of the bathroom, by the time I got home.

What day is it?

2008-11-06T22:30:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't end my unintentional blogging hiatus with groans, moans, complaints and a soapbox. But it has to come out. Stop reading now if you're looking for positivity. You won't find that here today.

I know I'm not the first to ask "have people stopped consulting calendars?" Last I checked Christmas was listed as occurring on one day--December 25th. If you want to be generous go ahead and include the eve of the 24th. It's one day out of a year comprised of 364 other days that are NOT Christmas. November 1st is not Christmas. Neither is the day after Thanksgiving. Nor December 4th, 5th, or 6th.

My blood boils when I walk into a store and see aisles and aisles of Christmas decorations this time of year. It boils even more when I see commercials on TV or email in my box telling me to get a head start on my purchasing. The call to buy! buy! buy! as the primary means to celebrate Christmas is a lie. If we spent two months more fervently honoring the Savior, and living a more giving life, not just buying more crap, I'd be all over that and I'd be the first to say "put up your lights everybody!" But that's not what we do. We fret. We make lists. We spend our money on people that probably don't need one more thing. And we're so stinking stressed preparing for ONE day that we don't have any energy left to reflect, to be grateful, to worship in whatever way we choose.

Each year I pull back more and more from the consumerism. Yes, I do give a couple gifts to my immediate family. Yes, I make baked goods for my neighbors. Yes, I put up a small amount of decorations, and yes, I even send a Christmas card to friends and loved ones. But unless I'm making my gifts I see no reason to start thinking about this in November. What I do need to think about in November, and every month of the year, is being nicer. Giving more of my emotional self to people. Wanting less so I have more freedom of time and resources to do for those who may not be able.

I'll probably regret this post in the morning like I do most of my rants, but when I walk into a hardware store of all things and my son asks me why the Christmas trees are up I can't help it. I get angry. Not quite the feeling Christmas is supposed to inspire.

"I've got a plum tree . . . "

2008-10-10T07:31:00.001-06:00

Driving home yesterday I caught a "commentary" on the economic crisis on NPR that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. If you have a moment, give it a listen (click the "Listen Now" link under the title). It's also in written form, but so much richer and funnier hearing the author read it.

A Few of My Daughter's Favorite Things

2008-10-06T21:49:00.004-06:00

After my Raggedy Ann post I started thinking about what Nyah's favorite toys are. She's a collector. She likes to carry around her collections so the backpack her Grammy Graham Cracker gave her for her birthday was perfect (in addition to the pink color, I mean). I happened to take a shot one day of what she was lugging around. Should I be worried she's going to develop back problems?

She also likes to color. I'm impressed by how careful she is and how much color she uses. This is my favorite activity too since she will sit quietly for a good 7 minutes.

She's a quirky little thing and does her share to create laughter in our house. In the morning she runs into our room, loudly pulls apart the slats in the blinds to look outside, darts to my side of the bed, gets about 2 inches from my nose and "whispers," "Mama! It's daytime!" Better than an alarm clock, I suppose. She still asks us what everyone's name is and makes up truly odd sounding names for people we don't know. She likes to pretend it's her birthday nearly every day (the rest of us just exist to be guests at her party I hope you know. She doesn't really even care about the presents. She just wants another Dora cake). She also has a lot of pretend siblings--mostly sisters. Oh, and she likes to pretend she's a cat.

Dare I say she's also stubborn? She HAS to be the one to buckle herself into her car seat, walk herself up to bed (unless it's dark), and open the backdoor when we get home. She simply ignores repeated requests when she doesn't want to be bothered doing something she's told to do, especially if that involves eating her food or coming to us when we call. Even if she doesn't mind doing it she will still ignore it, just to show the person who's really running the show. Though she does kind of scare me I have noticed her stubbornness coming in useful. The dentist told her she needed to stop sucking her thumb. We talked to her about it, even went so far as to show her pictures of braces. Since that talk a couple of weeks ago I haven't seen her put her thumb in her mouth. I'm sure it still happens at night when she wakes, but I've not seen it. That's a big deal considering it is her primary method of comfort and relaxation as she drifts to sleep.

I kind of love this girl.

28 Quarts

2008-10-04T22:59:00.007-06:00

I'm so glad to have friends, especially one that will go on a fruitless hunt for quart jars and stand next to me for three and a half hours over a sticky sink and counter which are directly next to a steaming stove--all for the love of the Lemon Elberta and being able to enjoy that Elberta in the middle of winter.

Mindy and the Not-So-Giant Peach(es)

'Tis the season for food preservation. I think the original idea was to can what you personally grow. I don't grow anything that would taste good in a jar months later. I have to go buy my peaches and tomatoes from local farms. It's a sad state of affairs but I've come to terms with it for now. I am so satisfied with preserving someone else's harvest that I leave my work on the counter overnight so they will be sitting in their neat little golden rows waiting to greet me when I come to the kitchen the next morning. I'd probably leave them there all winter if I'd actually grown the food.

Raggedy, the Next Generation

2008-09-30T15:48:00.002-06:00

My grandmother spoiled me--in a constructive way. When I visited she always had fun projects for us to work on together. She made me things. Beautiful things. I have a crocheted blanket, a quilt made out of dresses from my childhood, an elaborate beaded Christmas decoration incorporating my birthday, so on and so forth. My most favorite item made by my grandma is my Raggedy Ann/Andy doll. It was my go-to doll as a child. I was partial to Raggedy Ann. She slept with me every night.

I kept that doll. When Nyah was a baby I dressed her in Raggedy Ann's clothes, because I no longer have a cat to torture. She's now old enough that I feel I can give my precious Raggedy to her to enjoy (I didn't factor in Connor--he's already managed to rip off one of her/his giant red buttons). So far Nyah hasn't really taken to her. She doesn't ignore her, but I'm slightly disappointed that she can think to sleep without her company. Nyah's not been much of a consistent doll person. She likes them in fits and starts. Maybe Raggedy just needs to bide her time until Nyah notices her and loves her like I do. Maybe it would be better if I dressed her as Andy.

Tr$$ Room

2008-09-22T23:06:00.006-06:00

We're cheapskates. Even for our 15-year-anniversary we couldn't manage an overnight trip to any other city than our own. It didn't help that our planned celebration happened to occur during a year when gas and food have become a wee bit expensive. I won't even mention that we happened to pick the weekend right after one of the craziest weeks the stock market has seen in decades.

But none of that mattered in the slightest. You know why? Because we sloughed the kids off to my parents and were ALONE for nearly 24 hours. Didn't matter if we were on a resort island in the Mediterranean or an unremarkable city in Utah. We had a great time just being together, having a delicious meal, and sleeping in.

Speaking of great meals. I've lived in Utah for a very long time and have never been to the Tree Room at Sundance. I shouldn't have this weekend either because now I'm going to think about that meal every time we eat at Burger Supreme. Fifteen years of marriage justifies spending over $100 on dinner, right? People drop more for less don't they? I don't care, the creme brulee alone was worth it.

Where Did I Go Wrong?

2008-09-19T21:57:00.000-06:00

Phone call with Connor this afternoon

Me: What did you do in school today Connor?

Connor: I sang that I Like Being Me song again. I don't like that song.

Me: Why not?

Connor: It's pretty-ish. It sounds girl-ish.

Me: What difference does that make?

Connor: I only like things that are boy-ish.

Me: You don't like something because you think it's girly? You could miss out on a lot of stuff if--

Connor: Can I get off the phone now?

Marking Time

2008-09-15T20:39:00.007-06:00

Fifteen years ago this week I married Jim. He also married me, which made for a perfect day. If I had a sneak peak at what was in store for us, I still wouldn't have batted an eye.

We were young when we made this really, REALLY big decision. As a parent of a daughter I'm not so sure I could take it if my barely-20-year-old daughter came to me and said she was getting married. I imagine the phrase "over my dead body" would be a large part of the ensuing conversation.

I don't remember my parents protesting at all. I have a feeling this had more to do with Jim and less to do with me. I don't know that they had a whole lot of faith in my decision-making abilities. I think they had more faith in Jim's abilities and if he was willing to take me off their hands, so be it. I'll bet when Jim talked to my parents about marrying me my mom said something like "but you know you can't bring her back, right? Oh you do? Great. Sign here please."

Jim and I, I've learned, play for keeps. Which is fortunate because otherwise he would have packed his bags after the first month once he realized the ugly truth of what he'd gotten himself into. He paid me back later when he too became a tad high maintenance. And you know full well that it's not been easy for us to hold things together at times. But that play for keeps philosophy is serious business.

I find him more gorgeous now then when we first married. His piercing eyes stand out even more with the soft wrinkles that frame them. I think they're pretty sexy when he smiles. My fondness for facial hair is still strong even though his is starting to be sprinkled with gray.

I've said before that he's the best man I know. I don't know anyone like him. I'm lucky he's mine.

Happy anniversary, Love.

"Insuring" Profits

2008-09-10T22:02:00.005-06:00

Someone please explain this to me.

How in the world is a bottle of medication less expensive if you pay for it in cash on your own then it is when health insurance is involved? My prescribed vitamins cost me $13 out-of-pocket when the pharmacy runs them through my insurance, but only $11 when they don't. What the? Who comes up with this stuff? And why didn't anyone bother to point this out? Doesn't common sense tell you insurance should decrease costs in these situations, not make things MORE expensive? Granted, it's only two bucks, but it still makes me want to cuss. Now I'm going to annoy the pharmacists every time I get a medication and make them run it through the system both ways. Unbelievable.

Happily Wasting Time

2008-09-06T11:28:00.020-06:00

As of late I've been relieved of some hefty church duties and the other night found myself doing something I haven't for a LONG time. I spent a couple hours happily, and without guilt, perusing new music. My collection is stale. It's been far too long since I've found little treasures and my ears are yearning to hear something new and fresh. Plus, the Nineties called and wants its music back.

I've been listening to a lot more public radio (the poor woman's way to find new things) and noting the things I like. When I finally got time to investigate it occurred to me how much the process for selecting music has changed. It's so easy now. Sit at computer, pull up iTunes, start clicking, buy only what you absolutely like.

I am appalled with myself that I'm about to start a sentence the way I'm starting this next sentence. When I was young . . . scouting for music was a much different experience. It involved a drive to the next town, flipping through bins of albums and tapes, and crossing your fingers that what you were about to spend the last of what little money you earned babysitting the neighborhood brats had at least three good songs.

Looking for music was as much a form of recreation and entertainment as anything else. Sometimes I would go by myself, but often it was something I'd do with friends. I remember many-an-evening after school or Saturday afternoon spent at Reptile Records, an indie record shop on Center Street. Or if we were really adventurous we'd head to the Heavy Metal Shop or Randy's Records in Salt Lake. These places were heaven for a teenager such as myself. They were small shops but held bins and bins of undiscovered independent music.

I swear, even though this picture is old, it's not as old
as that car would lead you to believe. Think early 90s.

The owners of Reptile were a married couple, hip even by today's standards. If they could they'd play part of an album for you before you bought it. Sometimes they had it in their own collection, and sometimes they'd pop open the plastic wrap of the one you were considering. You could listen to your potential purchase as you grazed for others. And assuming you could get the album on tape rather than record, and assuming your car had a tape player, you'd play your prized purchase on the ride home and then immediately on your stereo when you got home, and I'm not sure about the rest of you, but also blaring on my headphones as I went to sleep that night, which is why my stereo always had to be placed next to my bed. The great thing about Reptile was they were also a venue for local bands to play live, to the detriment of the city fire code.

I'm taking the long way around to say that I did find some pretty good music the other night. Some was from bands with which I'm already familiar but others are new to me. Most importantly, I'm pretty sure that all the bands have released something in this decade.

Vampire Weekend, M79

Spoon, I Turn My Camera On

The Helio Sequence, Shed Your Love

Bloc Party, Banquet

The Futurheads, Hounds of Love

Spoon, The Ghost of You Lingers

The Helio Sequence, Keep Your Eyes Ahead

Beware. Blubbering Mother Coming Right at You

2008-08-25T21:46:00.012-06:00

I had a legitimate purpose for crying today. Not like the time I first dropped Connor off at nursery at church. Today I think I was justified to shed a tear because Connor had his first day of kindergarten. I'm not sure if it's more of a milestone for him or for me and Jim.

He's an old pro at attending school since he's been in preschool and pre/post kindergarten for over a year. His preschool was in a setting and had a curriculum that felt more like kindergarten. But today was the real deal. He hoisted on his backpack containing exactly one sheet of paper and was ready to be off.

Connor's not usually one to be afraid of new things. So this first-day-of-school thing was cake for him. I didn't think too much about it until his teacher had the parents and children do an exercise centering on the book The Kissing Hand. It's the story of a little raccoon nervous about his first day of school. His mother tells him it will be OK and sends him off with a little secret that will help him if he becomes afraid--she gives him a kiss on the palm of his hand and tells him if he feels lonely to put his hand on his cheek and he'll feel her kiss. Are you tearing up yet? It gets worse. The little raccoon then gives his mom her own kissing hand. I wish I could give you a tissue.

What was his teacher thinking? It wasn't the kids she was going to have trouble calming but the parents. In reality it was a sweet and thoughtful exercise for the first day. And Connor didn't witness my tears, just the 500 parents we passed in the hall on the way out of school. I've already had to assure his teacher I'm not a helicopter parent. Really. I swear I'm not. But is it OK if I give you a quick call a few times a day just to see how it's going?

I have faint memories of my first day of kindergarten. I remember distinctly my mother and I visiting the office of my school. I remember her sitting in a chair and me standing close to her nervously watching everything going on. I remember parent's night and proudly showing off my classroom and drawings on the wall. I loved my teacher Miss Jan. She was everything a kindergarten teacher should be. She was kind, quiet, and I'm pretty sure she smelled like sugar cookies hot out of the oven.

There are so few characteristics of a small child left in Connor. Oh sure, he still says I "I fink" instead of "I think" and "feder" instead of "feather," but he also mentioned today that the word "no" is a homophone (need to look that one up? Me too. And I work as an editor. Follow me).

In the most cliche words ever spoken by a mother or father, time moves so fast.

Goodbye, Friend.

2008-08-20T11:28:00.014-06:00

If all goes as it's *supposed* to, we will at some point have to bury our parents, hopefully when they're old and gray and begging to go (from my mouth to God's ear). I realize intellectually that death is as much a part of life as is birth, but emotionally I harbor the thought this will never happen to me. Obviously fear and denial play a big part in my life (more soul-bearing around this topic in a future post).

There is someone recently that has helped me deal a little better with the fear I have of death. I've watched this person face their own death with more grace and dignity than I manage to muster under even the best of circumstances. This isn't to say that I only respect those that face death with grace, because I'm sure in the quiet moments my friend had episodes of panic and possibly terror. But his general sense of calm touched my heart and helped me consider that maybe what I've been taught about death really is true--that there is something to actually look forward to and it doesn't have to be a tragedy.

With these thoughts swirling around my head, when the time finally came for him to go, I didn't ache quite as much as I think I would have had I not had the chance to talk to him about his thoughts and feelings on the subject, and to watch his example as he went through a long and painful illness, loss of hope for recovery, and eventual facing of the inevitable.

I've known this man for over 15 years. He is my husband's father, and one of my good friends. I see so much of him in my husband and am grateful for the hand he's had in raising such a good man. Of course Jim's mom Beth played just as big a role, but thankfully I'm not paying tribute to her yet.

I loved David because he was generous with his time. He was a patient teacher, and he reveled in the successes of people around him. He never held back a compliment. While we didn't share the same opinions on a lot of topics, when we got serious and let our guards down we could have one heck of a conversation--one from which I walked away fulfilled and lifted. He was special in many ways, not the least of which is the friendship he offered Jim which I've mentioned in a previous post. That's probably the legacy I'll remember and miss the most. That and cussing together in the back of the fishing boat because we were getting skunked for the second day in a row.

So far Jim is doing well. I think it helped that he was able to spend a good amount of time with his dad before he died. Nothing was left unspoken. The grieving will probably come in the weeks ahead when he isn't able to pick up the phone and have someone respond with enthusiasm about the bird he just saw in the backyard. It'll be hard. I can only do so much and I certainly can never replace what his dad gave him. They really were the best of friends.

Amazingly I have never attended the funeral of a family member even though I've lost my three grandparents. I mostly blame my dad. I can say this because 1) it's true and 2) he never reads my blog. Maybe it's not entirely his fault. I'm sure distance and timing played a role, but a large part, I think, was that he wanted to shield us from it. I can understand this, but I don't think I agree. But let's save that discussion for another day. What I'm trying to say is that David's was the first funeral I've attended for someone I knew well and considered part of my family. It was helpful to be around others who were also mourning the loss and celebrating his life. I appreciated seeing Jim, his mom, and sister react to this occasion, and really the entire journey, and hope I handle things half as well as they have when it comes time for my parents to die (shudder, shudder).

So David, I'm gonna miss you. I'll miss your crazy stories about growing up as a true West Virginia redneck; I'll miss the phone calls that were meant to be short but turned into marathon discussions about the most random topics; I'll miss you telling me that you appreciate me as a person and as your son's wife; but most of all I'll miss making fun of you each time a bite of your dinner ends up down the front of your navy blue (possibly forest green or maroon) pocketed T-shirt.

Yeah, if you could you'd thump me for that last one.

David, 60, of New Mexico, passed away Thursday, Aug. 14, 2008 after a long battle with cancer.

He was born Sept. 28, 1947, in West Virginia, to Ira Arthur and Grace Alice.

Dave spent most of his life as an avid outdoorsman and naturalist. He loved hunting, fishing, birding and wildlife biology. He took up writing as a hobby and it became his passion. He has more than 300 magazine articles in print and had one book, published in 1996. He also was a contributing editor for the Varmint Hunter Magazine. His book is in its third printing with Frank Amato Publishers. He worked for the past 23 years as a chemist for a power plant.

He was preceded in death by his father, Ira; his mother, Grace Alice (Lyons); his brother, Richard; sisters, Odessa, Fuchsya and Elfreda.

David is survived by his wife, Beth of New Mexico; son, James (Debra) of Utah; daughter, Jennifer (Sam) of Nevada; grandchildren, Connor and Nyah of Utah; Gabriel, Seth and John of Nevada; sister, Norma Lee of Maryland, and numerous nieces and nephews.

Honorary pallbearers are James, Sam, Sheldon, Derek, Barton, Fred, Gary, David, David, George, Johnnie and Terry.

The family is very grateful for the loving care given by their doctor and the entire staff at the Cancer Center. Especially dear to Dave were Shawna and Erin at the Cancer Center. Also loved were the wonderful women at the hospital outpatient-nursing clinic. These people have the gift of making a difficult situation more bearable through their loving care.

The Literally Lazy Days of Summer

2008-08-02T17:17:00.008-06:00

I have gotten so lazy over the last six months. I don't know what's happened, but it's pretty bad. So bad that if it were possible to still get nourishment while someone else chewed and swallowed my food I'd probably let them.

I want to hire out everything. The house cleaning, the yard work, repairs, the raising of my children--you name it. Maybe I'll raise the children, but I'd like to hire out their maintenance. These are things I've always been happy and able to do myself and I'm not quite sure what brought me to this point.

After doing less and less for myself over these last months I am feeling pretty useless. Worse yet, I'm more and more overwhelmed though nothing in my life has really changed. I think I'm starting to understand why those of the older generation often seem to come to a time where they stop buying clothes for themselves or changing the decor of their homes. It takes too darn much energy to replace the polyester pantsuit or embroidered Queen Ann couch. They've lived and worked hard enough that they've earned this right and everyone else tends to overlook that they seem stuck in a decade long past. But I think I'm a little too young for this attitude to be taking grip already. I should have enough energy and desire to add more interesting items to my wardrobe then yet another pair of cargo pants and white or black shirt.

One thing that's always been hard for me is the fact that I don't know how to do some things for myself. In the past I've handled this better. I've researched, talked to people, figured stuff out, gotten to work. But now when things happen, like the car not starting, I immediately feel helpless. When part of the yard has turned to swamp I'm immediately angry because I have no idea where to start to find the leak. More and more I tend to want to shut down. It's probably a result of too much pride. I hate asking for help yet I find myself doing it quite often.

I think I'm done feeling this way. Over the last couple of weeks I've made an effort to get back on track. I'm already noticing a difference. More than anything I just have to tell myself that I can find the time to do something, that I can probably figure it out, and that work is a good thing. It's true. The more you do for yourself and the harder you work the better you feel about yourself. I forced myself to get up early one morning before work to pull weeds. I was so close to hiring some desperate kid to come over. Or my brother. Either one. But it was amazing the chain of events that one action started and I've gotten more accomplished the last two weeks than I have the last two months.

Sorry you've had to come this far in what is so obviously the post of a raving lunatic. And I know what you're thinking, "Duh, Debra. OF COURSE lazing around on the couch makes you feel like crap and taking care of yourself makes you feel good. Did you just crawl out from under a rock?" And I'll say, "Yes, as a matter of fact that rock was quite comfortable and it was so very quiet there." Unfortunately humans weren't meant to hibernate. So I'm leaving the rock and finally getting back to my life. Whew! I worried myself there for a minute.

Third Time's a Charm

2008-07-28T07:36:00.001-06:00

This won't be news to most of you. We're getting ready for this little peanut to join our family:

Isn't he/she cute? Can you ever figure these scans out because I have a hard time making heads or feet of them.

I'm only 14 or 15 weeks along, so we have a ways to go. My due date is sometime toward the end of January. I think I can speak for both Jim and myself when I say we're very happy, but probably more terrified because three children seems like an awful lot for our family and our circumstances.

Good thing we waited to tell the kids because the last couple weeks in Nyah's nursery class at church she's been saying "my mama has a baby in her belly and we don't know if it's a boy or a girl." Her teachers finally asked me yesterday if it's true.

My pregnancies thus far have been cake, so I have high expectations that this one will too. So far it's been pretty good, I've just been really tired. I hope I've turned a corner and am getting some of my energy back. It's a cool thing to build a baby.

I Couldn't Care Less What Happens in Vegas

2008-07-25T20:46:00.008-06:00

Who in their right mind schedules a conference in Las Vegas in July? From the time I arrived until the time I left two Specials songs kept running through my head--Concrete Jungle and Too Hot--even though the songs are really about violence on the city streets (which is probably also a fitting theme for Vegas, at least off the strip).

Downtown Vegas is nothing more than a giant theme park. Nothing is real. Nothing truly good happens there. And while there was a time that this type of entertainment appealed to me, now it just bugs me. It's serious sensory overload.

At one point when I couldn't yet check into my hotel room (I'd only been in Vegas a few hours) I thought I would have a panic attack. Or at least a really good tantrum. Everywhere I turned it was noisy and smoky and there were hoards of people trying to fulfill some kind of fantasy that Vegas sold to them. Of course the only places to sit were in front of a slot machine next to drones that looked like people but did nothing but lift a finger to push a button. At one point I think I heard three different kinds of overhead music. The only semi-quiet place was in the hall that led to the bathrooms and phones.

Mind you I'm not totally curmudgeonly. I can attend a raucous concert and be perfectly happy sitting next to the speaker and the mosh pit. But there's something about the combination of environmental elements in that town that pushes my buttons (no pun intended).

Is this really a good idea?

Bigger than many people's homes

My hotel room was completely over-the-top (who really needs three flat-screen TVs, a phone in the bathroom, and seating for 12?). I'll admit to not being well-traveled, and maybe hotels that exist in Vegas are representative of what you find in most cities, but I just found their decor and themes to be really bad caricatures of the real thing. No, walking through the hotel/casino did not make me think I was actually in Italy. Sorry, I don't think you can package up and reproduce the New York or French experience. All you can do with your stupid themes and lights is create your own tacky, gaudy Vegas vibe. They have imploded most of their history. Very little still remains that hearkens back to a time when the town may have held some glitz, glamor and novelty.

See what Vegas does to a person?

The irony that Mormon pioneers were one of the first settlers does not escape me. But now I just find it sad that as a country we've nurtured and funded and seemingly loved this town when all it wants to do is feed us a line of bull, get us drunk, and bleed us dry.

I'm done now.

What Day Is It?

2008-07-21T18:10:00.004-06:00

I do still exist and am surprised to find that I miss posting. I should have some fun ones upcoming about Vegas symbolizing everything I hate about America (but they have really nice hotel rooms), the art of the business lunch, and who knows, maybe a few additional rants. I've been away from home too long and I'm getting grumpy.

Redng, Rydng & Rifmatik

2008-07-07T20:20:00.009-06:00

How good are your phonics skills? Any idea what this says:

HUMEGBRDS R SO SMOL BKUS THE ND TO GIT IN FLAWRS

or what about this:

BUDRFIS HAV ANTE THET HAS LITL BOLS

These "sentences" are the beginnings of one five-year-old learning to read and write. In English in case you were wondering. For those that need a translation, the first one says "hummingbirds are so small because they need to get in flowers" and the second is "butterflies have antenna that has little balls."

People aren't joking when they say it's hard to learn English. We've incorporated such a hodge podge of so many other languages that the exceptions far outweigh the rules. It's a wonder that any of us can put together a decent, understandable sentence, let alone one that is "grammatically correct" (see sentence fragment in preceding paragraph, for example). It seems it comes down more to memorization than rule following. I'll admit I'm relieved to be sitting on this side of understanding, watching someone else try to figure it all out.

Connor is so excited about this new venture that presenting him with a used spiral notebook and half-chewed pen sent him into fits of joy. As I type, instead of sleeping like he should be, he's sitting on his bed, notebook open, writing the next Great American Novel. The protagonist is a downtrodden hummingbird out of work and on the dole, scrounging meals from backyard feeders. In a twist of fate he is befriended by a glamorous butterfly who lost an antenna in a horrific mid-air collision with a jealous sphinx moth. The butterfly hides a deep, dark secret that will change both their lives forever.

I tell you, it's Pulitzer-worthy.

Middle Age?

2008-06-30T10:14:00.006-06:00

I turn the big 3-5 today. My sweet husband reminded me this morning that 35 is really middle age, not 45 or 50. That wasn't depressing or anything. The thirties have been good thus far. Probably better than my twenties because I settled into myself. I've learned a lot and worried less . . . about some things. I've heard it only gets better. I'm counting on it.

I don't post too many pictures of myself, especially pictures that don't make me wince. But I found this one on my camera a few months ago and didn't want to immediately delete it. Came in useful today as I grow a year older.

Desert Mornings

2008-06-29T19:51:00.011-06:00

I had an unplanned trip with Jim to Monticello this weekend. It is a long-held tradition for him and his Dad to survey two Monticello routes of the Breeding Bird Survey each year. Unfortunately for them both his dad isn't feeling well. So rather than stimulating conversation about all things biology and animal behavior, Jim got a lump-on-a-log that served as nothing more than a scribe. And a grumpy one at that. There are so many reasons his dad is a better partner than I am for this type of work. Not the least being it requires getting up at 4:30 in the morning to reach the starting point before sunrise.

All I could think about as we drove to the first point in the pitch black on a road undergoing construction was how brightly the traffic barrels reflect the headlights. How in the world to they space them so evenly? Do they actually measure or are they really good guessers? Every so often we'd pass a missing barrel, but with the reflection of the headlights you could often locate it lying off to the side of the road looking like the victim of a brutal hit-and-run, the base of the barrel left where the body once stood resembling a blood stain. These are the groggy 4:30 am thoughts of someone who longs to be a morning person, but never has nor probably ever will be.

I can't remember the last time I witnessed a sunrise. Out in the desert the transition between darkness and light takes much less time than I thought. I've forgotten how beautiful the morning light is. It's exceptionally pretty when it works its way up to shine on the walls of sandstone. In the area we were there were rocks which bubbled up to the surface, breaking through the layers of sand and dirt, to resemble the top caramel layer in one of my favorite brownie recipes. I do love the landscape of the redrock desert.

It's uncanny how Jim can pick out specific birds in a raucous symphony of what sounds like a whole flock of birds. It must be part gift, part study. When he was first learning bird songs shortly after we were married I can't tell you how many times I was startled by the bird calls as I walked through the front door. Each year before the route he gives himself a refresher course and I'll hear the muted calls coming from the office. It's a unique skill that has been tapped by many a scout leader and teacher. Just last week he gave a short presentation about bird songs to Connor's bird camp. You wouldn't think you could get so much from something that to most of us seems so insignificant. But it's been a source of bonding between Jim and a number of people he loves. Hopefully next year he can share this love and this trip with someone that's his equal in both enthusiasm and knowledge, namely his dad. And I can sleep in.

The Slideshow That Never Was

2008-06-25T23:49:00.008-06:00

I had high hopes of doing a short slideshow for Jim's birthday, but with all the rib-breaking coughing I just haven't been able to fit it in. I'm LOVING Benji Hughes right now, especially this song called So Well:

If you could just help me out by listening to this song whilst imagining this handsome devil in many beautifully composed photos, mostly candids of course, where he's doing cool things, and looks super hot, and light just seems to emanate from him, I'd really appreciate it.

Innocent Observations

2008-06-25T07:34:00.000-06:00

My little girl, like so many other little people her age, loves to make observations. Usually these are mundane observations like "There's cheese in my sandwich!" but are said with such exuberance and wonder it's as if she has just discovered the cure for cancer.

However, the timing and appropriateness of these observations is something we probably need to talk about. For example, as she walked with me through campus yesterday we passed close by a heavy-set man. We weren't 6 inches away when Nyah exclaimed, loudly, "That man has a big belly!" Not only that but she repeated it two more times.

It's difficult to know how to talk to a child about this. You can take the "we don't talk about people" approach but that's just a plain lie. We talk about people all the time in perfectly acceptable ways and I don't think at this point she can understand the difference. I can try to get specific about not talking about appearance, but again, we will sometimes refer to someone wearing a pretty pink dress or their pretty hair and the subtleties will be too much for someone her age. We can talk specifically about weight, but heavens, it's far too early to let her know that in our society we place judgements on body type. She'll have to deal with that soon enough. So for now, I'm taking the only approach I can think of that seems age-appropriate and just explain we don't talk about people in front of them. Is that lame? What would you do? Man, who knew it would be so tricky to teach a three-year-old?

Bottom of the Second

2008-06-20T22:23:00.016-06:00

We're trying to balance the junk Jim is filling Connor's head with, scientific facts and the like, with some, shall we say, less brain-consuming activities like good old-fashioned competitive sports (don't prove my point by getting your panties in a wad, sports fans).

T-Ball seemed about Connor's speed. Can you believe that in his rookie year, assuming all goes as planned at tomorrow's game, his team finished the season 8-0 (that means they won all their games, right?)? After looking it up just now I learned that to be undefeated means you can't have tied, so that means they were 0-8. Ah, no matter. Nobody's actually keeping score. They don't believe in that at this level, you see. Everyone gets to bat, get on base, and get home. The kids are too busy trying to figure out where first base is to be concerned about the score. It's too complicated to explain to them anyway.

At practice this week the kids played a game against the parents. This was Connor at bat:

Not exactly a home run, but at least it's moving in the appropriate direction, right?

Take a look at Jim's turn at bat:

Hmmm. Which way is the ball supposed to go? It's true, Jim couldn't hit the ball off the tee. Luckily in T-Ball you get quite a few chances, so eventually Jim made it to base.

I had a good laugh and was relieved I didn't have to take a turn. Inevitably my laughter comes back to haunt me in situations like this. I remember a scenario from teenagehooddom when I was playing on a church softball team. We made it to the playoffs and our ward was battling for first. Truly cut-throat. The height of competition. A plastic ribbon and 10 minutes of reveling were on the line.

My sister, Bree, was also on the team and it was her turn at bat. Pitch is in and she connects! She darts off to first base but somehow trips over herself and does a nose-dive into the dirt. I'm on the sidelines nearly peeing myself with laughter as she bravely gets up, dusts herself off, and manages to make it to the base.

A few batters later and it's my turn. I'm feeling good. I've got a Cute Boy there to watch me and I'm ready to show everyone how it's done. Pitch is good, I smack a solid grounder and I'm off. I get a few feet and what's this? Why is the ground coming so close to my face? Wait a minute! This isn't how it's supposed to go! But as I try unsuccessfully to catch myself, and then when that fails to at least land gracefully, I end up looking like a walrus making its way to sea for the first time. I try to tune out the fits of laughter coming from the sidelines, most loudly from Cute Boy, pick myself up and aim for the base. I honestly don't remember if I made it or not. I don't think I did. But I learned something that day. If you're going to laugh at someone, do it under your breath.

Checked Back In

2008-06-16T17:03:00.004-06:00

Well . . . okay then. THAT totally sucked! I feel like I've woken from the dead. I'm such a freaking lurp that a sore throat and cough would make me totally check out of life for a week. My withdrawal was probably to give me time to grieve now that I can no longer say "I don't have allergies." I don't know why I'm so bothered that allergies are more-than-likely the culprit behind everything. But it really does bug me. How can I get this far without anything and then WHAM!

They seriously sucked the life out of me. I slept for six hours yesterday. Jim's birthday and Father's Day were a complete bust. If anyone deserves a little TLC to celebrate his role as a father, it's Jim. I'm just mad. It makes me feel like not paying close enough attention to my health and environment has caught up with me. %*#$! I'm going to try the neti pot first because the last darn thing I want to do is put more chemicals in my body. But I'm not above hard drugs, say crack-cocaine, if it will prevent what I've gone through this last week.

And we've rescheduled Father's Day for next Sunday. So hey, if any of you didn't do a good enough job yesterday, just go by our calendar and try again next Sunday.

Hopefully I'm on the mend and can get onto more interesting topics like what we had for dinner last night, or potty-training Nyah, or my personal favorite, an encounter with an overzealous bank teller.

Not Again

2008-06-12T07:42:00.001-06:00

Normally having an entire morning of lounging around in bed, reading a book, and napping on and off, on a weekday nonetheless, would indicate that hell was on the verge of a deep freeze. It just doesn't happen. But when you factor in the coughing, lack of energy, and the incessant throat clearing and pain it doesn't sound so appealing and I want to be anywhere other than in bed. I'd rather be at work than battling the mucus that won't release its grasp on my throat no matter how much I try and force it down, up, anywhere but stuck smack dab in the middle of my throat. For three days I've felt like ripping my throat out, stomping up and down on it and burying it in the garden only to be dug up later and drug off by wild animals. I'm having visions of a year and a half ago WHEN I WAS SICK FOR THREE AND A HALF MONTHS and no one could help me even when I got on my knees and begged.

I'm not screwing around this time. I'm cutting dairy. I'm cutting back on meat if not banishing it entirely. I'm washing everything in my house in case I have an overabundance of dust mites somewhere (the only thing I showed a minor allergic reaction to when I was tested last year). And if that doesn't work I'm going to hold my doctor hostage in my bathroom, requiring he keep a hot cup of chamomile tea and honey ready at all times, and leave him there until he figures out what the heck is causing it and how I can fix it.

Conversations Among Friends

2008-06-07T19:09:00.005-06:00

A few nights ago we were watching our good friend's children--we'll call them Noodle and Spud. Noodle is a sweet and smart girl about 6 months older than Connor and Spud is a bright-eyed boy (and I do mean bright eyes) about six months older than Nyah. These four play together often, and I just can't get over how well they do together. I wish we could have Noodle and Spud over every day so Jim and I could take off for lunch and a movie, perhaps some line dancing.

While I was down working in the office I could hear the conversation going on between Connor and Noodle. They were pretending to be an older girl and boy and had an exchange that went a little something like this:

Noodle – Connor, let's pretend there's a dance. You can call me Carla. I'm wearing a really pretty dress.

Connor – And I'm wearing a REALLY, REALLY handsome suit. With a bow tie. Carla, I heard that the dance was canceled because everyone was really tired from yesterday because they all went to a parade. And one of the pets fell down and broke its leg and I'm wondering if you can help me. It's not the bleeding kind, it's the broken kind. I was wondering if you could help me take it to the doctor. And I was wondering if you would marry me. "

Noodle – I don't really want to get married to you. Pretend I already got married and I had a baby. You go back to your house and you give me the flowers again. Stay right there. Pretend actually that I already had the flowers.

Connor – I'm going to the bathroom for real!

It might sound like Noodle is a little bossy in this exchange, but she really wasn't. She's just good at setting the scene and Connor thought that was great fun. It's enlightening to see the things they imitate and imagine.

I wouldn't mind a bit if those two grew up and got married--in about 25 years.

May Cause Your Eyes To Itch

2008-06-03T11:59:00.005-06:00

Spring hasn't truly arrived until I finally smell a certain aroma in the air. I wait for it every year. Usually it comes the last week or two in May. This year, because someone didn't get the memo that winter was really, truly over, it came a little later than usual. But finally yesterday I found it. It's my most favorite smell in the world. It's the smell of the Russian Olive tree. While I adore it, you may unknowingly curse it if you suffer from spring allergies.

I must say I'm deeply offended because this little tree/shrub has a bounty on its head. Some people have the nerve to call it an "invasive species." So what that it's a water hog and tends to elbow out native species? It may be a little needy, but a noxious weed? I think not. They just haven't had the opportunity to see its inner beauty or truly appreciate its fragrant, mucous-inducing blossoms.

Our family has quite a history with this tree. I first smelled it when walking to and from campus. I couldn't identify it for the life of me. One day, before Jim and I were even dating (I think), he said he thought he found the smell I was talking about and took me to see this little gray-green tree. And as usual, he was right. Ironically he went on to study the Russian Olive for his Master's thesis. He's my hero because he found there may be a benefit or two to the bird and animal population by having the Russian Olive around. You just need to look hard enough and you'll find good in just about anyone/anything--even if they do make your eyes water, your throat itch, and your nose run.

In An Instant

2008-05-31T18:23:00.022-06:00

You never know what life has in store for you. Sometimes it comes up behind you, slaps you on the back of the head, and as your drink goes flying, runs off laughing its you-know-what off. May 31, 1995 was kind of like that, except life brought along a big stick to make things a little more dramatic.

In 1995 Jim was working for the state as ~~a bum~~ a field technician, collecting data in every nook in cranny in Utah. It was summer work he did to save up for fall tuition and he'd be gone for 10 to 14 days at a time, basically living out of a truck. He'd get a couple days off to come home, pee in a toilet, shower, and then go right back out.

He often left to go back in the field in the wee morning hours. One morning, about four hours after he left came a knock at the door. I was surprised to see a law enforcement officer standing on my stoop. Was I robbed? Was there a fire? Was I a suspected drug dealer? "There's been an accident. . . " he explained. A car accident. I maintained a relatively positive attitude until he said, "Do you have someone that can go with you to the hospital?" My attitude was further eroded when I walked into the ER front desk, told them my name, and about five people ran over and led me into the bowels of the ER.

But it wasn't until I got my first glimpse of Jim that life, with a large stick in hand, came crashing down. It was an impressive laundry list of injuries--obliterated spleen, fractured shoulder, busted femur, and so forth. I didn't know this at the time, but none of that had nearly the impact as the mother of them all--traumatic brain injury. Leave it to Jim to even nearly kill himself with flare.

I really had no idea what this meant for Jim and life as he knew it. I thought it would be a few weeks and he'd be hanging out in his hospital room tying flies. I couldn't digest it when the doctors tried to explain the implications of his bashed head--he might not wake up, and even if he did, it's possible he wouldn't be able to do anything for himself.

Those first few days were grim. He successfully underwent a spleenectomy and as he survived each day the doctors perked up and said he'd live but that we'd "just wait and see" on the consequences of the head injury. Jim was in the ICU in a coma for a couple of weeks, his leg in traction. He had bouts of pneumonia and it wasn't until 14 days after the accident, on his birthday nonetheless, that they were able to surgically correct his femur. That was one expensive birthday present. And as an added bonus they ended up drilling a bur hole in his head to relieve a massive build-up of pressure that was killing him.

Coming out of a coma is nothing like what you see in the movies. They don't just knock you on the head again and you magically awake. Nor do you just wake up one morning--at least not the vast majority of head injured people. It's a brutal process to come back to yourself--or rather to conjure the new you. They have systems and measurements to determine the levels of cognition. You have no idea how happy I was to hear the words, "He's now at a Rancho level 5."

As he improved and became more aware Jim spent another 5 or 6 weeks at the hospital rehabilitation center, then was packed off to Denver for further inpatient rehab for two months. He was worked like you wouldn't believe. Hours of therapy every day--speech, physical, recreational, emotional. He was a model student of convalescence. Age was definitely on his side.

People always ask me if Jim's different. It's a hard question to answer. But I would say, yes, he's different. The sudden and exaggerated reorganization of brain cells and pathways tends to leave a person in a slightly altered state. And yes, it is challenging. Marriages that go through this type of injury fail around 80-85% of the time. I know why. You marry a man with a certain personality and characteristics one day, and the next you're living with someone else--someone that you're not quite sure you understand. It's unnerving at times. But what I've found talking to a lot of people is their husbands are not the same people as when they first married either--it just took longer for the change to take place.

So why recount this story? Because today is our "celebrate life" day. We remember, though it's at times hard, that life is truly good. We're glad to be here and we're glad to be functioning as well as we do. It's quite amazing, really, to see Jim in action. It could have been so much worse and here he is, mostly by sheer determination and moxie, thriving as a man and a father. We celebrate his life especially. And we celebrate our families (hi family!). My life as a wife changed, and their lives as a mother, father, and sister also changed. But both Jim's and my family were right there with us and have never left.

Isn't it great to be alive? Do you need to remind yourself, as we occasionally do, that LIFE IS GOOD!?

It Doesn't Get More Insignificant Than This

2008-05-29T23:30:00.005-06:00

You're really going to want to skip this post because I promise there is nothing of interest here.

I had two totally insignificant questions pop up in my head today and both had to do with our bodies. I will have to ask Connor because he and Jim have probably already gone over this stuff. If he doesn't know the answers, I'm sure he'd be glad to tell me how a smoke alarm works (if you have a child like mine, and I know many of you do, this is a great book)

#1 - Is the contour of the back of your head proportional to the contour of the back of your foot? I'm going to guess that it is because I have the same problem keeping on head scarves and bands as I do flats and shoes with straps that go around my ankle above the ball of my foot.

#2 - What determines which way your tears fall--do they most often fall on the side near your nose or near your ear? And why is that?

See, I told you, complete nonsense today.

Three Short Years

2008-05-27T22:41:00.007-06:00

My Little Miss, my Little Pumpeekin, turned three today. And she'll show you, with both hands, what three looks like.

To me Three looks plump and squeezable. Three looks quite a bit bigger than two, which has me feeling a little sad. But Three looks hopeful and curious and full of energy. Three still flits around and wants to know everyone's name. Three loves ribbons in her hair, pink, purple and "lellow" and even though her Mama fought against it, Three loves Dora (why, oh why, does she have to yell when she speaks?! SNL did a parody) and "Miss Kitty" (more commonly referred to as Hello Kitty). Three is quite a girl and we love her immensely. Four couldn't be any cuter could it?

A Bad Habit

2008-05-20T16:07:00.006-06:00

See anything wrong with this picture? Look close! Nothing?

You're not the only one that didn't notice THE GUM STUCK TO MY GLASSES!

I walked around nearly all day like this and no one said a word. When I called my co-workers on the fact they didn't have the decency to point this out one of them joked they thought it was glue holding my glasses together.

Last night I was pretty tired and needed a short doze before preparing dinner so I took off my glasses. I'm a gum chewer. I admit it. It's a filthy, disgusting habit, but it's better than filthy, disgusting breath. Don't bother with your Violet Beuregarde references.

Quite often I have the tiniest piece of gum in my mouth just to keep things fresh. This piece of gum is minuscule. A piece of regular stick gum is like five servings for me. You know the small Trident pieces? That's four pieces of gum in my world. A pack lasts weeks. And a ten-pack? Months and months. I can chew a tiny piece for several hours before replacing it. I've always been this way. Just thinking of chewing an entire piece of Hubba Bubba or Bubblicious causes my salivating glands to kick in to begin processing. I just can't do it. I can't hold my gum.

Last night as I was trying to doze off I had to get rid of a piece of my current gum-of-choice--Vanilla Chill Dentyne Ice. Depositing the gum in the trash would have required me to actually move off the couch--I was far too lazy for that. And I'm far too uptight to risk putting the gum right on the carpet or the couch cushion. The only safe place for it was my glasses. So there it went. And there it was today until it was discovered, once again, during a trip to the bathroom.

In Ancient Times

2008-05-18T20:15:00.013-06:00

Scheduling a Girl's Weekend or a fishing trip with the guys must be our ancient selves recalling our more tribal existences. The pull for those of the same sex to ditch the other sex and spend time together is almost a ritualistic need. I'm not sure what it accomplished in times past but I suspect as tribes separated to search for food and then came together after long absences, they probably swapped newly acquired skills, the latest recipes to add to their 100 Ways To Prepare Cornmeal and Woolly Mammoth ring binders, and showed off their new skins of leather and fur. They probably made gifts to one another of charms of the teeth of some trophy animal and I'm sure they mourned over those lost and celebrated new little babies.

The purposes of Girl's Weekend are really the same. We may separate for a time, years even, but when we come back together it's like coming home. My Girl's Weekend, well really it was a Girl's Late Evening, Night, and Morning--but I'll take what I can get--was something I've looked forward to for several weeks. I was thrilled at the invitation to meet up with four college friends, Kristen, Megan, Kim and Christi, in Park City. In the last couple of years I have seen all but but Kim, so it was great to re-connect with her.

Kim, Kristen, Debra, Christi, Megan

We did all the tribal throwback things like exchange gifts of smelly (in a good way) soaps, sparkly jewelry, beautifully potted flowers AND fully stocked photo albums. We shared entirely too much junk food. We talked about the ways we're maintaining relationships and raising our families (that must be the skills part). We played cards and answered questions about how we'd stock a deserted island. Nothing earth shattering occurred, but I think our time together will go a long way to strengthen me until our next reunion. Good friends are like that. You can be apart for a long time and when you come together again there is no shame in sharing your most casual behaviors--and a bathroom.

It was just like college.

Kim, Christi, Megan

Part of Things

2008-05-14T21:28:00.005-06:00

Thus far I've lived a very sheltered life--far from the devastation, suffering, and poverty that much of the world, and even some in America, experience daily. I often have a sense of guilt about this. I'm trying to figure out why. I think part of it comes from the fact that I'm not well traveled and just don't get it. I just don't get how lucky I am. I also think it comes from the fact that sometimes I can't muster sympathy when I hear of mass destruction in far away places. It's not that I don't feel badly people are suffering, but I don't really understand what they're going through. I have a hard time putting myself in their position, seeing things from their perspective, and getting a sense for how they are feeling. I suppose that's more a lack of empathy than sympathy. Either way it really bothers me.

In the last couple years when something terrible happens around the globe I spend a lot more time reading news stories and looking at pictures of what's happening. I make a concerted effort to put myself in their place and try to understand the pain. I feel like I owe this to the world. To pay attention, to care, to make it personal, and when I pray for them to have feeling and emotion behind the words. It's not that I need drama and pain in my life, but I do feel like I need empathy and to move outside myself.

As I listened to NPR today it got personal. They told a heartbreaking story of a Chinese mother and father in the aftermath of the earthquake begging the excavation team to bring equipment to their collapsed apartment building to search for the man's parents and their young son. This story even brought the reporter to tears. It was terrible. But I was glad to have heard their cries and finally be able to picture myself there in the rubble, desperately searching for my loved ones. Even now my heart aches as I think of them and what they are doing tonight now that they know their family is dead. Where do they even go? Their home was lost as well. How do you grieve when you can't even go home and sleep in your own bed?

Anyway, my thoughts are pretty jumbled and I'm not sure of my point other than to say I feel bad. I'm sorry this is happening and I hope they find some small measure of comfort in knowing others have a sense of grief for their loss. People care.

In Need of a Nap

2008-05-12T16:18:00.026-06:00

When you bring a child into this world, or if you don't personally bring the child into the world but care for a child brought into the world by someone else, you also get the added bonus of a Sunday in May dedicated just to you . . . and a few hundred million other women. Think of it as a second birthday--a day to forget the fact that when you became a mother you gave up any semblance of privacy, you completely redefined success for yourself (being appointed editor of The New York Times doesn't hold a candle to the fact that I was able to brush the teeth of BOTH my children before bed tonight), and that you have been forced to live under the same roof with a rodent named "Pearl."

This is a day when you are to be worshiped, complimented, and celebrated for all the wondrous feats and wisdom you provide your family! Well, it's at least a day when you are whole-heartedly thanked and perhaps given a beautiful set of diamond earrings and fragrant corsage. At the very least it's the one day when you don't have to do the evening dishes or feel guilty for taking a nap.

Right? Certainly pushing an object out of my body equal in size to a gallon milk jug entitles me to a guilt-free nap once a year?

Last night I came to an understanding of what Mother's Day is really about to me. After putting the kids to bed I opened up the Ensign and began reading Russell Ballard's latest conference address in which he referenced a quote from Anna Quindlen's essay "On Being A Mom":

The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Mother's Day is to celebrate the doing. The seemingly endless doing that is nearly the same every day. The doing that sometimes can be mind-numbing, and is quite often exhausting. But I've noticed when I'm paying attention, the doing has potentially a big payoff--and not just years down the road, but every day. You sift through the mundane and you come up with exquisite gems. Moments like today when I talked to my son on the phone and he asked "How is work? How much did you make today, Mama?" or the moment I pick up my tantruming little girl and she immediately puts her thumb in her mouth and starts caressing the back of my arm as her eyes close and she drifts to sleep. And the moment she comes walking over, arms loaded with books, stands right between me and the TV and demands "Read these!"

I've never heard anyone say that teaching children is easy. Go ask any elementary school teacher. And it only gets harder as children grow. Go ask any junior high or high-school teacher. But if you look at it it is such a small amount of time that you have the chance to do so. And once it's gone it's gone. Go ask Anna Quindlen or any mother of grown children.

So I look at Mother's Day not as a day of validation of my work and worth, but my day to be grateful that I have the chance to do this, even when I don't do it well, to not take for granted that I get to be a part of these little lives and to find beauty in the mundane. It's a day to think of and be grateful for the other women who play a role in my children's lives, and who play a role in mine and my husband's--my mother, grandmothers, mother-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, aunts, friends, teachers, neighbors, and so many other women, whether they have children or not, that find joy in the doing, and are doing the best they can.

(And thank you, Honey, for a most wonderful nap.)

Whew!

2008-05-08T20:48:00.006-06:00

I'm not sure what happened but my schedule went from manageable to "you-want-me-to-do-what-when"? I know my three loyal readers must be on the edge of their seats just waiting for my next exhilarating and enthralling post. What? You don't think they're enthralling? That hurts.

This week I've been planning a funeral luncheon, an RS board meeting, and a brunch for the YW. I'd like to have a discussion with the person who decided our church would use lay clergy. I've also been decluttering the house for someone to come walk through (total long-shot, don't think we're going anywhere), coordinating and prepping our huge garden area for sod (figured since Jim mows then I get out of weeding 900 square feet), and trying to work in a few games of Uno with Connor and Jim. I did have a pleasant couple of hours after the kids went to bed watching a movie with some friends. That was cool. Really it's ALL cool, well, except the funeral part is a downer. I'm not complaining about the busyness. I have good people to work with and Jim is a champ with the kids. At least they have one parent.

A Count

2008-05-06T23:12:00.001-06:00

20 - number of minutes waited to be "admitted"
14 - pieces of paper created to "admit" me
1 - number of minutes it took to draw my blood for routine lab work

A Quest

2008-04-30T07:42:00.005-06:00

Jim and I have been tossing around the idea of moving. We're at the point where we need to decide whether it's smart for us to put money into our current house or find a new one. We're asking ourselves whether our current house is one we want to be in for awhile, or would we be smarter to upgrade and start throwing money at that. Admittedly it's a good predicament to be in and I feel extremely grateful we can even ask ourselves this question. We want to be smart, but not overly cautious. We also don't want to go searching for happiness in material things--I think we've moved beyond that in our lives. At the same time we don't want to throw money toward something that may not be appreciating at the same pace. Of course, if we're happy where we are and don't plan to sell this isn't a problem.

We have enjoyed our home and adore our neighbors. I have made a good friend or two in the neighborhood and just the other day was telling one of them how glad I am that we live close. But there's something pushing me to look. I'm not sure what it is. With the downturn in the economy it could be a risky time to upgrade. Everything, including homes, is so expensive. We certainly don't want to be so tight in our finances that we lose our comfort level, especially if things go south. Plus, would we even be able to sell our home in this market?

Decisions, decisions.

What I do know is that what I want is a pipe dream. It doesn't exist--at least in our price range. I'd like an older home in a mature neighborhood that's been updated leaning toward modern design. What I've found is older homes that haven't been updated, or older homes that have been updated to a style I'm not fond of. Or older homes in really bad locations. I never realized how many things can go wrong in a home. What person in their right mind would build a 3,000 square-foot house with a kitchen the size of a large closet? And whose idea was it to put half the house below ground with windows akin to a prison cell? Don't get me started on lack of appropriate bathroom ventilation or the fact that every home within a mile of the university has an accessory apartment.

I just want a simple house with big trees in a neighborhood of varied home styles with a kitchen and bathroom design that feeds my OCD for clean lines. Something like this:

Do you see all those clean lines? No frills, no ornament. Doesn't it just warm your heart? Why is that too much to ask? A one-inch glass tile backsplash to add a pinch of color (maybe a little frill would be good)? Why are we so bent on knotty alder and granite? Knotty alder has its place and can be beautiful, but do we ALL need to design with knotty alder? I swear just about every home description I've come across for Utah County reads something like this: "Beautiful home with vaulted ceilings and upgrades throughout including alder cabinets and granite countertops." I'm getting really bored. We're more creative than this, People!

To be fair, I know it's not about lack of creativity but more likely a lack of money and/or the time (oh, and a little thing called "skill"). Home remodeling and decorating means sacrificing in other areas and for some, myself included, this isn't always possible. Well, it's possible, but not desirable. But a girl can dream, right?

Early Out

2008-04-27T17:32:00.007-06:00

I love graduation. The "non-essentials" are kicked out of work three hours early on the day of graduation--get us out of the way so they can have our parking spaces. Three hours of work for my space? Not a bad trade in my opinion. Good chance for a family field trip.

We spent that blustery Thursday afternoon at Discovery Gateway children's museum and their special Sesame Street exhibit about the body. When we told Nyah where we were going she started to fuss about not wanting to go to Sesame Street. Apparently she was afraid of Cookie Monster. After Connor assuaged her fears she relented to being buckled in her car seat. Funny how Connor has more credibility than we do sometimes.

The drive up was filled with humorous conversation. Connor is really in to telling "jokes" lately. His favorite is "what happens when a boy cow and girl cow meet? They go to the moooooovies!" He also had this little ditty: "What do you call a shoe that hasn't been worn? A shoe!" followed by bursts of laughter. How sweet--he has my penchant for telling humorless jokes.

Connor and Nyah would have been quite happy to spend the remainder of their childhood within those 60,000 square feet. And if they would have provided meals and weekly visitation I might have considered it. But alas, three and a half hours would have to do. Connor was particularly fond of the garden of balls and the helicopter and Nyah liked the water area. We had to wring her out when she was done. It was a good afternoon.

Encore at the Met

2008-04-24T07:37:00.001-06:00

"My name is Debra and I have the musical tastes of a 15-year-old boy. "

"Hello, Debra!"

"I'm trying very hard to overcome this weakness. But sometimes I find it too difficult to resist the hook. And the one to two minutes of bliss I get is indescribable. I am in desperate need of help."

"We understand, Debra. We are here to help."

"Well, thank you, that is very kind. It's nice to see that so many of you have been able to elevate your tastes in music beyond the three-chords and gonzo beats that you'd hear in a pub or highly questionable building beneath the freeway. I have hope"

OK, not really. I'm despondent. I fear you will have to play Ramones "Blitzkrieg Bop" at my funeral.

Although yesterday I felt the faintest, very nearly indiscernible flicker of hope when I heard this on NPR driving in my car on the way home from work. After the first few notes I turned up the volume to ear-bleeding levels:
Courtesy the NY Times.

Apparently this is what is called an aria. Being musically illiterate I had only heard the word but didn't really know what it meant. Go ahead. Turn it up. You know you want to. And listen to the whole thing because in the middle you'll hear the audience reaction and then something unheard of--an encore of the performance. It seems the Metropolitan Opera hasn't allowed a solo encore in 14 years. But Monday night they did. The audience demanded Juan Diego Flórez repeat "Ah! Mes Amis" from "Fille du Régiment" and gratefully the general manager of the Met complied.

Courtesy Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

I noticed while listening to this that I felt the same tightening of my chest I get when I listen to, shall we say, less refined music. I also feel that when I hear this (make sure you stay until it reaches 1:20, that's when the good stuff happens):

I won't tell you what else I downloaded yesterday, but I will say it took some of my best editing to cover up the naughty bits. *sigh*

High as a Kite

2008-04-21T17:49:00.003-06:00

Sunday we had special guests over to the house. Grammy and Grampy Graham Cracker, Graham Cracker for short, came for a visit on their way home from an extended stay in Salt Lake. The Graham Crackers are Jim's parents, David and Beth. For once we're happy they're going home because it means Grampy is done with what was a brutal medical treatment, to say the least.

I was able to snap this photo of David and the kids, which I really love:

The relationship Jim has with his dad is what I hope for Jim and Connor. Jim and his dad share so many interests and passions and they are able to have good conversation--conversation Jim can't really have with me as I don't share some of his passions, at least not quite so deeply. Connor, on the other hand, is truly his father's son, and grandfather's grandson. The other day he told me he "likes all living things. Except people."

In the evening when Jim lays with Connor at bedtime, after a story Connor says "can we talk?" or "can I ask you questions now?" and then all these questions come pouring out about how things in nature work. Often he'll ask me a question that I don't have the answer to and he'll say, "that's OK. We'll just ask Da" in such a way that makes me feel OK about being stupid and not knowing how echoes work. It's times like these that bring me true joy. The way Connor will reach up and hold Jim's hand while they walk, or explain how Da is stronger than me, or run to Jim when he's hurt. Fathers and sons are beautiful things. I hope this bond will carry them through and when Connor is grown he will look to his Da to be one of his very best friends like Jim looks to his Dad.

Shoot. I'm using up all my best father/child material. What will be left for my Fathers' Day post?

After filling our bellies we decided on some kite flying at the park. Unfortunately the park nearest to us is also home to a GIGANTIC power line. We finally did find a good location without any objects that could cause bodily harm, unless you count the glare emanating from Jim's bald spot (oh, that was a low blow).

Jim invested in some high-quality kites. I think the total for two kites and string was $4. Nothing but the best for our kids. Come to find out this may have been wise as David explained he always found the cheap kites to be the best flyers.

Of course after two days of blustery weather, so blustery that it snapped two of our fence posts (grumble grumble), it basically died to a whisper when we stepped out of the car. Yes, the universe is conspiring against me. Maybe it wasn't quite a whisper. Maybe it reached to hushed lullaby volumes. Nonetheless it wasn't what I expected.

Again, none of this mattered much to the kids. After a few minutes of kite flying Nyah devoted most of her time to the slide. Connor had more fun trying to get the kite in the air than he did flying it. To watch Connor running around the field like a maniac while Grammy yells, "No Connor! Run TOWARDS me" was funny. The physics of it all were a bit beyond Connor. That hasn't yet been covered in his late-night talks with Jim. But he was darn determined and when I offered to help was quick to say "no, me and Grammy have our OWN way of doing it."

I found kite flying very relaxing. It's one activity that, if done properly (take note, Connor), does not require much movement. Sunday afternoons aren't meant for a lot of movement. I could just stand holding the kite off the ground with a small leader of string and wait for the wind to do its job. I'm certainly not going to do anything to help out the wind after what it did to our fence.

We had a wonderful time with the Graham Crackers. The kids are crazy about Grammy especially and can hardly leave her side when she's here. Which is great for me as it means they aren't hanging off my legs.

Who am I kidding? We all hate to see them go home.

A Tale of Two Trains

2008-04-14T22:15:00.012-06:00

In order to get to and from just about anywhere in the city we drive over two sets of train tracks that are situated only a couple hundred feet from one another. Because I live a mile or two beyond I kind of like them. I love to hear the distant whistle of the trains traveling those tracks in the wee hours of the morning. But I'll be darned my luck sometimes when it comes to driving across those tracks.

Coming home from work I successfully crossed one set of tracks only to get stopped by a train on the furthest track. This train was traveling so slow that I had time to do an artist's rendering of it, should I have any artistic ability whatsoever, which I don't. So I opted for my crappy camera phone instead (see photos below, you can almost make out the train in the first one. 1.3 megapixels my eye!). Just as I was considering turning the car around to find the nearest bridge I see in my rear-view mirror the protection barriers of the tracks behind me start to flash in a frenzy and lower to block the track as a second train approaches. Thankfully I wasn't late for anything, but still, what are the odds? So me and about six other cars waited patiently, as if we had a choice. The beauty of living on the west side of town overwhelms me. Or perhaps that was the car and train exhaust I was forced to inhale for a good ten minutes.

A train ahead of me . . .

. . . and one behind.

I suppose that's not as bad as the time Jim waited for another painfully slow train at the first track only to be stopped by another train at the second track. But at least he had options, right?

Rockhounding

2008-04-13T21:33:00.013-06:00

Our hiking plans for the weekend were disrupted by large amounts of snow in the mountains. There is so much of it that they're having to physically dig out the trail to Timpanogos Cave for their May 1 opening. There are 20 feet of snow in some places. But not a smidgen is left in the valley, thankfully.

Instead of snow shoes and cross-country skis we took hammers and protective eyewear and headed south to Delta where we've heard there is some good rockhounding. So we drove. And drove. And hey, I don't remember Delta being this far. On second thought I've never actually been to Delta but I swear it's closer than this!

Our destination was Topaz Mountain. A nice little resort community--if you happen to be an antelope or a sage brush looking to retire. I was a little puzzled by a couple of "lot for sale" signs along the road. They were about 10 miles from anywhere. How would a potential buyer decide which lot to buy? "Well, gee, there's this lot with a view of the flat, empty desert, or perhaps you'd be interested in this lot, with . . . a view of the flat, empty desert."

Topaz is famous for another reason, one of our less pleasant historical occurrences in the US. During WWII over 8,000 Japanese Americans, mostly from California, were "relocated" to this area. Ironic given what we were trying to do in Germany at the time. I'm not sure that the conditions of this particular camp reached the deplorable, inhumane levels of those found in Germany, but nonetheless they were prisons to people whose only crime was their heritage.

We found the mountain famous for its rocks. What didn't work out well was finding pretty rocks. We really should have done more than 5 minutes of research and brought the proper equipment. Our tack hammer proved to be a pretty pathetic tool. By hitting super hard or pairing the hammer with a chisel we made some progress in the rhyolite, but it was slow. Thankfully finding just the right rock wasn't make or break for the kids. They were just as happy to climb around on the mountain and Connor could have hammered at the mountain all day and not cared a lick about what came out. Plus we caught a lizard. So I'd consider it a successful first venture.

And if you'd like to build a home on something resembling the surface of moon, I know just the place.

I Have No Good Title for This Highly Intriguing Description of the Last Several Days

2008-04-08T10:59:00.017-06:00

General Conference weekend makes me feel both uplifted and like a child suffering from intense ADD. By about hour five I can't seem to control my fidgeting and my patience with my children is nearly spent. That's why we listen to conference on Saturday while we do something else, and then try to watch the sessions on Sunday. I really feel for people who don't have the great convenience of having it piped through television to be viewed from the couch with a bowl of freshly-popped corn and uncombed hair and instead are forced to dress up and go to a meetinghouse. I would have been a disgrace as a pioneer.

Saturday we spent time sprucing the yard--cleaning things we didn't in the fall, and trimming things that have grown since. Yard work frustrates me. It's like the laundry or dusting. No matter how much you do or how often you do it, very soon after there is more to be done. And I can't control my yard like I can the laundry. It's fussy and I'm constantly guessing about what it needs. Does it need more water, perhaps less, is the soil too dense or is it infested with a menacing creature, is it lacking in minerals? Who knows? I think it takes pleasure in my frustration. It may not be so smug if it knew how much consideration I'm giving to xeriscaping.

Last night we went went to get ice cream and then to a magic show at the library. Nyah only wanted pink ice cream. Luckily she also loves strawberries, so pink ice cream is not only pretty, but delicious. She picked M&Ms to be mixed in and delighted when the dye from the M&Ms became wet and started to smear throughout the pinkness of it all. She said "Look at all the colors!" Her desire for pink may require an intervention. Jim took her to the library today and she picked a book and movie just because they were pink. To be fair, she also enjoys "lello" when pink isn't an option.

Connor was fascinated with the magic show. Most children are, aren't they? I told him maybe he or Nyah would like to be a magician. He didn't hesitate before replying "No, I want to be a bug scientist." So you can imagine his energy and enthusiasm when we joined him at preschool this morning so he could show all he's learned about spiders. Hearing your little boy explain the difference between pedipalps and chelicera is a little weird. But I love his passion and wish I had a little more of it.

I appreciated a small reminder this morning about my influence as a mother. Miss Dorie, Connor's wonderful preschool teacher, keeps a tarantula in the classroom. As much as Connor likes and handles bugs from the yard, when Miss Dorie pulled "Webbie," as she's called, from her terrarium, Connor stated he was "a little frightened" to touch her even though some of the other children had started poking at her. As much as it pained me to suggest it, I offered to touch her if he would also try. He said he wanted me to go first. So I did. Quickly. And right after he also touched her and continued to do so until we had to pull him away before she was so irritated that she screamed in annoyance and bit off the tip of his finger. Not an earth-shaking experience, but one that showed me how much help, or hindrance, I can be to my children.

My favorite recent quote from Nyah(3/28): "You're not gonna bossy at me, Mama!" while looking like this:

And if this face doesn't get any funnier, try to imagine her raising and then lowering her crossed arms in a very dramatic fashion while at the same time muttering "Hmphf!" and doing this about every 20 seconds or so just in case we didn't notice it the first ten times. It's so funny that I don't mind.

Oodles of Cousins

2008-04-02T22:02:00.011-06:00

We've got cousins coming out of our ears this week, which is so much nicer than what's usually there.

It started with a visit from Jim's sister Jenni and her two boys. They're in town and we had them over for Sunday dinner. The kids had a good romp.

Gabe, Nyah, Connor & Seth

It's fun to see them interact on new levels and see how big they've gotten. Gabe is getting so tall and Seth is still an extremely cute brick. Gabe and Connor dressed up in the old Halloween costumes. Gabe's costume looked as though it could be causing pain in certain areas because it was about three sizes too small. Seth took a turn in the monkey suit and was none-to-pleased when he had to surrender it. Apparently he feels a certain kinship. It was a fun afternoon and we were sad to see them go.

Connor & Gabe

Jenni

This was our most favorite April Fools joke ever:

His name is Nash and he is fairly new to this world so you'll have to excuse his rude behavior. I think his button nose, long lashes and squeezable softness will help you overlook that. I am afraid that he is going to be a snorer. He is already a mouth breather when he sleeps and that's not a good sign. It must come from his dad's side of the family.

Bree, Nash & Brad

We're happy to finally meet him and that both he and his mama (she was my sister before she was his mama!) are healthy and strong.

Lastly, we'll be exposed to even more cousins this weekend. My sister Blaire, her husband, and their three kids are moving to town. Family gatherings just got a little crazier! It will be nice to have them closer. Especially because it won't be too many more years before Dre can babysit! Dibs!

The World Is His Toilet

2008-04-02T20:33:00.011-06:00

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not much of a pet person. I have an aversion to unusual amounts of hair on my furniture, piles of bodily waste that surprise you as you walk into the kitchen, and creatures that can't seem to keep their tongues and noses to themselves (I think I cataloged this in a previous post). What I'm learning, however, is that children, little boys in particular, have a "disgusting factor" equal to the most foul of beasts.

Over the last few days a suspicious smell has greeted me as I walk into Connor's room in the morning to wake him for preschool. In the past this smell has been the result of not-so-well hidden evidence--evidence that would incriminate Connor with the crime of being far too busy to stop and pee in the toilet. I've found this evidence, mostly in the form of soiled undies, stashed under the bed, in his tent, and behind the dress-up box in his closet. I searched high and low for the source of the new smell but could not identify it. For a couple days I chalked it up to his entrance into the perpetual "gross boy smell" stage, and even though we send him to bed with a well scrubbed body and clean sheets, the gross boy smell is so powerful that it overwhelms all efforts to keep it at bay.

Tonight when I walked in his room there it was again, stronger than ever. So I got serious and asked the question that had earlier crossed my mind yet been hastily dismissed as completely impossible--"Connor, did you pee on your floor?" After trying to evade the question he finally fessed up and pointed to the scene of the crime which had been recently, and repeatedly, committed. Quite amazingly I didn't flip out. And at the end of our discussion he said "I'm always good now and don't lie" for which I expressed deep appreciation. It's nice to know we've won at least one battle (temporarily I'm sure).

We've successfully convinced him that lying is not acceptable, but somehow didn't quite cap off the basics of toilet training. We have so much to learn.

Long Day

2008-03-26T22:45:00.004-06:00

It was a long day. At the end of it, at least the work portion, I walked down the mountain to my car only to remember I actually got a spot ON the mountain this morning. So, extremely annoyed, I turned around and back up the mountain I went. If only they'd install a lift.

Sadly, that completely irrelevant occurrence was about the most relevant thing that happened today. *sigh*

Normally we don't watch much TV with the kids at night, but I turned it on for some reason and found PBS was showing a short stop-motion film of Peter and the Wolf. Being the animation director in a stop-motion film has got to be the most tedious job in the world. I'll have to remember that next time I'm part of a project that involves spreadsheets. Not a word is spoken in the movie as Prokofiev's music is the whole point, but we were all riveted. If you're interested here's the trailer. It won an Oscar, not that that's saying much.

Easter Sunday

2008-03-23T22:26:00.027-06:00

Easter morning is a challenge when you have church at 9:00 am. It starts something like, "Connor! Nyah! Wake up! Hurry, go downstairs and see what the Easter Bunny left you. Wait, go to the bathroom first, Connor. No, Nyah, don't be scared it's okay to come down. The 'big bunny' isn't here. Yes, I know he scared you, but he isn't here right now. All right, open it up and see what you got. No, you can't eat all your candy right now. Of course he brought chocolate! Put everything away and eat your breakfast. Nyah, put that egg down! I mean it! . . . " The Easter Bunny should really visit when we're away at church.

For some reason my heart was really full before and throughout church. Change was the theme, at least for me. The discussions today just verified things that have been knocking around in my brain for several months--things I've been trying to ignore in hopes they'd go away. Ignoring worked quite well for me back in college when *name deleted* just wouldn't get the hint that I wasn't interested in seeing his extensive collection of action figures, hearing about how his day of software quality assurance went, or telling him for the 500th time that "the right girl would come along some day."

Here's my quote of the day from James E. Faust:

Each one of us has been given the power to change his or her life. As part of the Lord’s great plan of happiness, we have individual agency to make decisions. We can decide to do better and to be better. In some ways all of us need to change; that is, some of us need to be more kind at home, less selfish, better listeners, and more considerate in the way we treat others. Some of us have habits that need to be changed, habits that harm us and others around us. Sometimes we may need a jolt to propel us into changing.

I don't recall ever meeting James E. Faust but this list-o-changes appears to be evidence to the contrary. Hammer? Meet Nail Head. I've spent the last several years trying to avoid yet fearing and picturing that jolt he mentions. I'd really rather be the type of person that doesn't require the jolt. I'm not a fan of the jolt.

After church I TRIED to get some decent pics of the kids. When will I learn that noon isn't a good time for a photo session? But here is my squinty-eyed family. You get the idea.

Nyah's Easter dress looked like she had gotten in a fight with a bolt of tulle and lost miserably. But when she'd gather up the tulle skirt in her hands so she could step up the sidewalk I had to laugh. That and when she exclaimed in surprise as she walked down the hall looking down at the mounds of fabric below her "My shoes!" and after another step "My other shoes!" as they poked out, toes barely visible. She looked every bit her dream pink princess.

We spent some time doing traditionally festive Easter activities. You can probably tell from the picture below that I'm paranoid about the potential for a tragic end to egg coloring, hence the removal of anything that could possibly be stained. As I was putting the eggs away when we were done Connor asked "Why are you putting them in the fridge?" after I told him that's where they needed to go he quietly said "But I want a chick to hatch. They're still warm." Yes, I thought to myself, so warm in fact that the chick will be my egg salad tomorrow!

Our schedule of events also included dinner with my family. Three-quarters of them at least (I've heard rumor that the missing quarter is moving to town THIS WEEK!). Uncle Reed was of particular interest to the niece and nephews. Anyone handing out Peeps would probably be treated with as much adoration. We were all happy to see him.

Ivan's "old man" face

Lucky Day

2008-03-18T22:43:00.008-06:00

It's a little late but I'm posting some St. Patrick's Day pics anyway. Who thought up this holiday? I mean, if you look at each of our holidays and traditions they all have an element of strangeness, but the purpose of St. Patrick's Day truly eludes me. I get that he is a patron saint and all, but though our complexion may say otherwise, we don't have a lot of Irish heritage in our family as far as I know and therefore I am perplexed why we celebrate every year--though the extent of our celebration is to buy the cheap Old Navy commemorative shirts and maybe eat some green food. I don't think this was part of the original St. Patrick's Day and, like other holidays, the original thinker-uppers of the celebration would probably be appalled at what's become of it. Plus, is it a religious or cultural holiday? Looks like I have some research to do. In the meantime, enjoy some photos.

Not sure why we chose to stand in front of the microwave.
And my bangs? What happens to them by the end of the day?

Next Time Won't You Sing with Me

2008-03-16T18:04:00.003-06:00

Nyah wanted to show you all that she knows her ABCs. A little coaching was necessary toward the end, but other than that it's all her. Did you know the alphabet had two Ks and two Bs?

Another Sad Reminder

2008-03-13T18:08:00.012-06:00

As I left work this afternoon I happily checked out of life for the one hour and 45 minutes it takes me to walk to my car parked south of campus near Springville. I've got my earphones in and look like all the other drones that use their iPods as a not-so-subtle way to say, "please don't talk to me. I'm too busy pretending I'm in a music video" when all of the sudden I spot a familiar face walking by me. I stop, rip the headphones out, and quickly place the face--it's Heather, one of the young women I taught in our last ward. For those of you not versed in LDS-speak the young women are what we call the 12- to 18-year-old female church members. And as if it isn't humiliating enough to be that age we give them names like Beehives (12 & 13 years), Mia Maids (14 & 15 years) and Laurels (16 & 17 years).

So I say, "Tell me you're not in college." And Heather responds, "Not only am I in college but I'm married!" and proceeds to introduce me to her cute husband.

August 2000

I am not comfortable with this. I am not comfortable seeing little girls I used to teach on Sunday grow up and go to college and get married. Why you may ask? Because if the little girls are old enough to be married and in college, how old does that make me? Eeeeeh-xactly! Old enough to be living when Madonna first scandalized the world (the musician, not the virgin. Oh wait a minute. I seem to remember a certain song . . .) ; old enough to have owned not only a cassette tape but also eight-tracks and vinyl records. I am also old enough to remember when Twix came out and to have used a rotary phone and lived through a time when overalls were fashionable (see above photo). And I'm old enough to start complaining about how old I am.

My mid-life crisis started about about age 25 and just won't let up.

Be a Cork

2008-03-09T22:38:00.009-06:00

During Sunday School today a quote by Richard G. Scott was referenced:

Some people are like rocks thrown into a sea of problems. They are drowned by them. Be a cork. When submerged in a problem, fight to be free to bob up to serve again with happiness.

I used this quote in a lesson I taught a number of years ago. I love Bro. Scott's simple imagery and was pleased to be reminded of it.

I'm more like the rock that dreams of becoming a cork. Maybe I don't drown in problems, but I certainly could improve in my ability to "bob up." It's nice to have these small moments when a story shared or quote read can be chewed on throughout the day. I especially enjoy when the insights aren't accompanied by guilt, but just by a desire to improve in some small way.

And while on the topic of small improvements, another simple yet meaningful insight came from our Relief Society teacher, who also happens to be a member of the Stake Relief Society Presidency (a great group of women). All she said was that each year she hopes to see that she is a better person than she was the year before.

Better is something I can get my arms around. Better moves me in the right direction. Better eventually, give or take a thousand years, leads to best. So though I may not be my best self at this very moment, it's OK, expected even. If I rack up enough betters year after year I'm bound to eventually land on best. Isn't that really all He asks?

Under the Big Top

2008-03-08T19:17:00.014-07:00

The circus came to town. And though it wasn't so much under a big top as much as a big, sticky events center, it was still enjoyable. My parents were kind enough to send my family as well as my sister's family. We were happy that my mom came too but I think the possibility of sitting close to people THAT HE DOESN'T KNOW was just too much for my Dad and he opted out.

Well he missed something pretty great. Where else can you see scantily clad women, some of the saddest though well-trained animals in the world, and unicyclists in glittery ill-fitting costumes? It had all of this and much more--complete with the proverbial three rings.

At first Nyah was overwhelmed by the noise and kept her hands over her ears but she soon came around, especially after the cotton candy (a first for both of them) and the snow cone kicked in. When I asked Connor what his favorite part was he said "my light savor." Let me get this straight--you think a light-up plastic sword (what he referred to as "savor" rather than "sabre") is better than giant dancing elephants and death-defying feats? OK, in the future we'll skip the overpriced ticket and just go straight for the overpriced toys. He did say that he loved the clowns, especially when they hit each other.

So, in one afternoon all our care in keeping violence and sex away from our children was undone by clowns and a trapeze artist. At one point Connor pointed out "hey Mama, you can see that girl's bum!" Welcome to the circus, a carnival on steroids.

It really was pretty entertaining. Jim and I both liked the silks routine the best. Pretty cool stuff. And it didn't involve the suffering of animals which is a plus.

All-in-all a fun way to spend an afternoon. On our way to get some dinner after the show I kid you not Connor asked "can I have a beer?" A beer? See, the circus really does lead to juvenile delinquency.

One Month Wonder

2008-03-05T22:55:00.013-07:00

I think I'm in trouble. I've only been blogging for roughly a month and I've already run out of things to talk about. This is certainly a sad state of affairs, wouldn't you agree? I don't know, do I talk about the mundane day-to-day stuff? Does it become a "life with Nyah and Connor" memoir? Do I start cataloging conversations between Jim and me? What to do . . . what to do?

By way of complete randomness, and wholly lacking in point, I can report that I felt the same pain a sixth-grade girl feels who has just been passed a note during third-period social studies outlining all the reasons why Billy is NOT interested in skating one of the slow skates at the rink that evening when I read this headline and subsequent CNN article: Iran's president: No one likes Americans.

We may have gotten a slight hint a few years ago. But really? NO ONE likes Americans? Could this be true? I mean, I get that the Middle East and Venezuela aren't too happy right now, but are you telling me there's no love from a country like Peru or Kenya? What did we ever do to them? And what about Canada for heaven's sake? Canada likes everybody! I'm sure if we just talked with Canada we could straighten this whole thing out and then Canada could go tell all the other countries like China, Spain, maybe Greece, "Hey, you know what? America really isn't so bad. Just a little misunderstood is all. Really! It's true! You should try to be a little nicer to her." Then we could all meet up at the park, play a round of marbles, and go home together for pudding cups.

Night Cap

2008-03-04T00:02:00.010-07:00

It's been a long, busy few days and I'm grumpy. I've been spending a lot of my "free time" fighting with one business or insurance company or another. The score so far? Debra - 1.5; Mean, Inept, Callous, Very Nearly Dishonest Insurance Companies and Businesses - 2.5. The .5 is because we compromised on one. And I'm not losing due to lack of persistence, common sense or basic logic. I'm losing because I'm really fighting with computers rather than people--"Ma'am, I'm sorry but the computer just won't let me change that for you."

I think we really have created artificial intelligence . . . and it's taking over.

Luckily the kids have been chock-full of humorous one-liners lately. I clipped their fingernails the other day and after I was through Connor complained that it was now hard to pick his nose. And tonight when I was being firm with Connor Nyah said "Don't get mad at Connor! He's a good friend!"

My mom and my friend Kristen came over for dinner and cards the other night. Kristen, in addition to mounds of fun photos and highly-inappropriate-though-entertaining stories to match, brought with her two very cute knitted (or is it crocheted--I always forget) hats for the kids.

She is so thoughtful and talented, no? And did you see those eyes? Yeah, way pretty. Did you catch the dimples too?

Anyway, Connor, without any prompting from us, is now calling it his "night cap" and puts it on at the same time he puts on his pajamas every night. He tries to sleep in it and when we won't let him he makes us put it next to his bed so he can put it on first thing in the morning. Where do they come up with this stuff?

Genetics

2008-02-26T22:32:00.007-07:00

Apparently the love of lip balm is hereditary. This is my daughter Nyah applying her balm flavor of choice--strawberry:

I can't help giggling like a 14-year-old boy when I hear her ask "where's my lick-bum?" I know this is not appropriate and I should correct her but she'll be saying inappropriate things by choice soon enough. I feel I need to enjoy this sweet little innocent thing as long as possible. And I need a good laugh now and again.

Tagged

2008-02-24T10:48:00.021-07:00

My friend Mindy tagged me for the first time in my short blogging career. Looked fun so here goes.

What is your Hubby's name?: Jim, Jimbo, Babe, Hey-You if it's been a really bad day.

How long have you been together? How long did you date?: An eternity? No wait, married for 14 1/2 years, dated for almost a year before that beginning in November 1992. Though I resisted dating for the first couple months (that's another story).

Who said I love you first?: Jim said it first. And I melted (still do).
Who is smarter?: Is this a trick question? Jim is smarter in most ways, I'm probably smarter about the day-to-day, trivial, common-sense things, and I'm only smarter in this area because Jim's head and the ground collided at about 65 MPH (hey, there WAS a bright side--I get to be smarter in something!).

Who does the housework?: Well, let's see. If it were up to Jim our home would be comprised of several hundred large piles of things (mostly books and papers) lying about. Luckily for those that live in the house I don't like piles and he is kind enough to let me set the housework standards and then, mostly, abide by those standards. I would say that up until a few weeks ago I did the majority of the cleaning, and then my OCD took over. I came up with a daily schedule for cleaning and he's been so great at taking care of most of it since he's home during the day. And the greatest contribution in the field of housework is made by Jim--he cooks yummy dinners most evenings (meaning he cooks most evenings. They're yummy all the time).

Who sleeps on the right?: If you're at the foot of the bed looking at it then I do.

Who pays the bills?: Usually me. But this is nothing since we do it online and it takes, oh, maybe 4 minutes a month.

Who cooks dinner?: I thought we already covered this. Do you need to rub it in?

Who drives when you are together?: We both do. If we want to get there in the most direct way possible I drive. If we want to get there hitting the least amount of traffic lights no matter how far out of the way, then Jim drives.

Who is more stubborn?: I AM NOT STUBBORN. My gosh, you could never ever say I'm stubborn. Impossible. I just won't hear it. There is no way. I mean, come on, how could you even suggest that? Do you need proof because I've got proof. I've never been stubborn nor will I ever be. Don't make me come over there.

Who kissed who first?: Let's see. I think it was mutual. It was flirtation at its best. And it was kissing at its best. It was so good in fact that I decided to marry him. Well, that and because he is the best guy I ever met.

Who asked who out first?: Technically he asked me out to a BYU Honor's activity before we were even romantically interested in one another. We were really good friends and went out several times a week to International Cinema, thrift shops, and other random things. That didn't change much after we started dating.

Who proposed?: Jim did, but I knew it was coming. And since I'm not one for surprises, even on the day I figured it was going to happen I was pestering him about where he had put the ring. For the life of me I couldn't figure out where he stashed it. We were out walking and it wasn't in his shirt pocket or pants pockets or shoes. He, being smarter than me (see above), had worn biking shorts under his pants and had strategically placed the ring there so I wouldn't find it. I'm so predictable and he's so strange.

Who has more siblings?: I do. I have two brothers and two sisters (Randy, Bree, Reed, and Blaire). Jim has one younger sister (Jenni).

Who wears the pants?: We both wear pants, silly. Oh, you mean who's the boss? As of last night Nyah said I'm the boss, so let's run with that.

I tag: Do I have to?

For the Cats & Dogs

2008-02-22T10:45:00.033-07:00

The catalyst for our Arizona trip was the opening of an animal shelter in Sierra Vista that was partially funded by my aunt, Nancy Brua. Unfortunately this funding came as a result of her death in 2005. She made provisions in her will for this new shelter because she adored her pets, probably more than people.

The circumstances surrounding Nancy's death were painful for my family. I'll spare you the details (you'd thank me for this) but suffice it to say that this trip was a way for me to find something to celebrate in all this mess and close this chapter once and for all--cue the violins.

The event was quite nice and the community and employees were so grateful for this shelter. The old shelter was beyond insufficient. Even I, not being too keen on pets and their dander and licking and constant sniffing and lack of respect for personal space and their relieving themselves in my backyard, could see they deserved more than what they were given as a "shelter."

The mayor, city manager, police chief and a few others shared some words and then they had the ribbon cutting (where does this tradition come from I wonder? I'll get back to you on that). We were given a tour of the beautiful and thoughtful facility with all its calming and comfortable features. The cat kennels are lit softly from behind and the floors of the dog kennels have radiant heat (and more importantly for southern Arizona, cooling in the summer) and present the option for the animal to be inside or outside. It has a courtyard for play and "get-to-know-you" rooms for potential adopters. There is a beautiful reception area, offices for the employees, a break room, and bathrooms with showers (you never know when you'll be mistaken for a hydrant). They had none of this before. And my aunt helped give them this. Certainly this gift is something to celebrate.

I was doing well with my emotions until the assistant city planner, our tour guide for the day, took us to see my aunt's portrait in the reception area. At that point I became a bit of a blubbering mess. I hate getting emotional in public. Come to think of it I hate getting emotional in private and make it a point not to do so very often. But as I get older I find I have less control over when my tears decide to make an appearance. And I'll be darned if it doesn't usually happen when I'm having a really good make-up day.

Surprisingly Jim and I ended up conversing with a couple of journalists. In addition to crying I also hate being interviewed--I feel cheap when all they want is a quick sound bite. I don't think well on my feet and it always comes out sounding so cliche. I just pray the video clip they took never sees the light of day. Then again, how many people are really going to see a video about a pet shelter in Sierra Vista, Arizona. Yeah, not many. Probably nothing to lose sleep over.

I was grateful for the care and kindness showed to us by the city of Sierra Vista. What a great community. I can see why my aunt fell in love with it so many years ago when she was stationed at Fort Huachuca as an army nurse. The people and surroundings are quite lovely.

If you're interested in something truly sappy, you can read a short reflection I wrote about Nancy a year or two ago. The design of this little book is a big departure from my normal style (buttons?), but what can I say. I fear I really do have scrapbooking tendencies just waiting to bubble to the surface.

The dedication of the shelter occurred on Valentine's Day. Valentine's is not something Jim and I usually make a big fuss over so it was nice to be treated at our bed and breakfast that evening to one of the best meals we've ever had--and we didn't have to do one single dish.

Tucson, AZ - Then & Now

2008-02-19T00:04:00.021-07:00

Back in 1989 when my parents told me we were moving from Tucson, Arizona to Springville, Utah I was not happy. That is a total understatement. I was more like a seething blob of teenage angst, pimples included. And my parents had to PAY and pay they did--for quite a number of painful years for which I am not proud. It took awhile but I grew to love Utah, however I've kept a soft spot for Tucson. It's where I had my first kiss, rebelled (if you can call it that) in my own Mormon way, and fell in love with the desert.

An excuse to travel to southern Arizona came our way recently (more on that in a future post) and I grabbed it. As luck would have it the drive is long and gas is expensive so, oh darn, we couldn't take the kids with us and immediately made the call, "Mom, you busy February 13? And how about the 14th? 15th? . . . ". I'm feeling really bad about not being able to take the children (NOT AT ALL). Time alone for husbands and wives is precious and generally scarce so we had a little happy dance about having almost five days sans bum changes, being mistaken as a human napkin, and telling Nyah to put her socks back on for the 500th time--oh yes and while you're in the bathtub please don't touch the plugged-in hair dryer sitting next to you on the toilet.

Jim's true quest was to find new birds to add to his life list. Wow, I just typed that my husband, rather than romance his wife, wanted to see birds. Actually, it was quite cute to walk into the office pre-trip to find bird books and printed lists of what he might get a glimpse of strewn all over the desk. He was very prepared . . . and determined. Which is why the second our plane touched down in Tucson we rented a car (a sexy orange Chevy Cobalt Jim aptly coined the "burnt pumpkin") and drove straight to the Arizona Sonora Desert Museum.

This is what Jim looked like much of the trip (if you're wondering, it's a bird field guide he's intently referencing):

And this is what I looked like:

Birds aside, we also encountered some other interesting native species--Jay, Alec and Becky. Jay and Becky are my friends from high school, and Alec is Jay's offspring and just about the coolest kid I've ever met.

This is Jay, me, and Becky back in high school

Jay summarized the experience of meeting up again as surreal. It felt so odd to sit and talk and feel so connected and yet so disconnected at the same time. We all lead very different lives but somehow none of that mattered in the end. In spending time with them I remembered distinctly what drew me to each of them back in high school. Becky because of her never-ending supply of energy, creativity, a touch of airheadedness in the most endearing sense of the word, and willingness to try just about anything (no matter how stupid). And Jay, well, because he's Jay--opinionated to the point of being maddening (usually because he's right, or at least darn good at making you think so) and incredibly sweet though he won't admit to it. That chemistry is still there, and our circle just grew bigger with the addition of Jim and Alec. It really was cool and I love both of them a lot and hope we won't let another 18 or 19 years go by before we see each other again. By then Becky may be too busy with her art shows and Jay might not have time in between his professional gaming appearances.

I can't say enough about Alec. We got to take him hiking (complete with a fall into the river and chafing in places that just shouldn't be exposed to sand) and spend quite a bit of time with him. He's frighteningly smart, hilarious, and totally adorable. He will be a heartbreaker one day. His parents obviously have done a really good job.

So I raise my glass of 100% non-alcoholic fizzy cran-apple juice and say "to another 18 years of friendship and crazy conversation that should never, ever venture into the realm of politics or religion."

Balm of Gilead

2008-02-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

Utah is dry. In fact it's the second driest state in the country. And if you think about it we're probably only second due to the massive amounts of snow we get in the mountains in winter. Winter in Utah is like a freeze-dried cardboard box of tissue paper. And my skin protests this kind of dryness--particularly my lips.

In my attempt to control the forces of nature I have strategically placed lip balm throughout my home like a closeted drunk stashing their liquor. I realized yesterday as I panicked when I couldn't find one of my caches that this practice may border on the neurotic. I have lip balm next to my bed, in my bathroom, in my car, two in my purse, downstairs in the family room, one in my desk drawer at work and I'm sure others that I've forgotten about by now. When the health food store stopped carrying my favorite lip balm I found it online and ordered a six-pack of them. It's the first thing I think of making sure I have before I leave the house--forget the keys and wallet, where the heck is my lip balm?

I went beyond basic skin survival yesterday and ventured into the realm of vanity. I let someone TOUCH MY FEET! And look at the result:

Have you seen cuter toes? I don't care if it's 20 degrees outside (really it's 40, but 20 sounds so much better), I'm wearing sandals today! Toes like this should not be shoed!

The Need to Pay Attention

2008-02-07T10:22:00.000-07:00

I just walked down to the bathroom to rinse out my cereal bowl and when I looked in the mirror noticed a big glob of yogurt on my shirt. Of course on my way down to the bathroom I stopped and talked to like three people. Ah well. It was white and my shirt is white so maybe they didn't notice. But I can't help but be reminded of the joyous time when I had to pump (you know what I'm talking about) at work, and one day after having taken care of business so to speak walked out of the locked storage closet, down a very long and busy hall, and made a turn into the kitchen which happened to be located right next to the sales floor--all the while not noticing I hadn't quite gotten my entire shirt pulled down, one side having been left sitting over the top of my bra. No wonder the sales guys got quiet all of the sudden.

Screaming Squirrels

2008-02-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

I didn't even realize it was Super Bowl Sunday yesterday until Jim mentioned that there were only about 10 men in his Priesthood meeting. So though I have no interest in the game itself, I do appreciate a clever commercial (here's a link to Time's judgment of the best and worst--I suggest sticking with the best). I'm sure many people will be posting their favorites. Mine is below (that rabbit just kills me). The FedEx pigeons was a close second:

Wasted & Worn Out

2008-02-03T19:05:00.001-07:00

I haven't always liked going to church. *collective gasp*

As I've grown older and come to a fuller understanding of my numerous (read too many to count) and readily apparent (read blaring) imperfections and weaknesses I've found church to be a useful activity. Dare I say enjoyable even? I've never walked out of church thinking "jeez, what a colossal waste of three perfectly good and highly valuable weekend hours." There is usually at least one moment during the set of meetings that makes it all worth it.

Today that moment came before church even began. I attended Ward Council meeting and one of the members of the Bishopric relayed a scripture from the Doctrine and Covenants (123:13): Therefore, that we should waste and wear out our lives in bringing to light all the hidden things of darkness, wherein we know them; and they are truly manifest from heaven—" He emphasized the words "waste" and "wear out." And how, when you read that scripture and in light of this last week's events, can you not immediately think of Gordon B. Hinckley. His life wasted in the best sense of the word. Wasted and completely worn out in attempt to light the world. And me? Am I wearing myself out doing the same? Um. No. Inconvenienced maybe, but worn out? Definitely not.

Learning Objects

2008-02-01T19:28:00.000-07:00

When I was in first grade I had the most lovely teacher, Miss Turner. She had pretty brown hair that feathered back so perfectly on each side of her head.

Isn't the feathering of Miss Turner's hair beautiful?
In case you're looking for me I'm in the second
row from the top, second from the left

It was Miss Turner who helped open my mind to the world of books. My mind didn't then, and doesn't now, open that often, so this was a big deal. I can remember sitting on the floor with all my classmates listening intently as she read us Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. Did you read that one too? Please don't tell me you've only seen the movie. And PLEASE don't tell me you only saw the Johnny Depp version.

My old and tattered copy

Miss Turner was all sorts of creative and into learning objects. This was before PowerPoint, mind you, so learning objects took a lot longer to produce. One of Miss Turner's more simple learning objects was a toothbrush holder made out of an egg carton--stab the toothbrush through the cardboard and voila! For some reason either she, or the school administration, I'm not sure which, thought it would be a good idea for all the kids to brush their teeth while at school. This facilitated a need for each child to have a toothbrush at school, and this then facilitated a need to hold said toothbrush because certainly a first grader could not be trusted to care for a toothbrush.

If you've looked at an egg carton lately you'll notice they're pretty short in comparison to the handle of a toothbrush, and the peaks and valleys are fairly close together. So imagine 20 recently used toothbrushes stuck handle-down into a shallow egg carton. And then imagine the next moment those toothbrushes immediately slumping to one side to collide WITH ANOTHER TOOTHBRUSH! This was all too much for my parents and I was given a pass on the toothbrushing. Too bad my parents didn't find the post-PE public showering at the junior high quite as offensive.

So back to me and my first grade class sitting at the feet of our beautiful teacher listening to her read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. When she came to the chapter where Charlie finds the golden ticket, she pulls out this giant-sized chocolate bar, and ever so slowly peeled back the wrapper to expose a golden ticket! Not only that, but she gave each of us a piece of that chocolate bar!

I wanted to re-create a little of that magic for my son Connor. So a couple nights ago I decided to channel Miss Turner and create my own Wonka Bar, complete with golden ticket.

Last night we got to the chapter where Charlie finds the extra money to buy his Wonka Bars. I told Connor that I happened to have a Wonka Bar on hand. I produced the bar for Connor to see, his eyes got big and he said "I didn't know they were real! Sometimes people in books aren't real. Mr. Wonka is real?" When he found that golden ticket he could hardly believe it. Only problem? How does one go about redeeming a golden ticket?