much ado about nothing...

Tender Mercies

2012-02-11T20:06:00.000-08:00

(yes, my eyes and nose are red from crying. yes, that's a zit on my chin)

I don't believe in coincidences. I use to call them 'little miracles' before Elder Bednar coined the phrase. He calls them 'Tender Mercies', I would have to agree with his description.

It was a tender mercy that Chelsea delivered our sweet little Mckenna on my day off. Actually, it wasn't my normally scheduled day off, I requested it off weeks ago so I could help set up and prepare food for our stake's Laurel/Priest Etiquette dinner that night. I took Paisley so Joe and Chelsea could have a relaxing day at the beautiful St. Marks birthing suite; complete with a hot tub and room service.

Paisley was a big help, handing me the napkins and the cups as we set the tables. She was a good girl when we went to Sams Club to buy bread and vegetables (another tender mercy). As we were putting our purchases in the trunk of the car, a firetruck pulled in the parking lot not far from where we were. When we walked the mile to put the cart in the stall, (possible slight exaggeration) the firemen were getting out and Paisley waved to them. (It was so cute). The firemen, in much better shape and not carrying a toddler on their hip, ran the mile distance to our car (feels like a mile with a toddler and loaded purse) and asked if my cute little daughter would like a stuffed animal. Another tender mercy! (The stuffed animal, not the part where he thought I looked young enough to be her mother. I made that part up.)

I like to look for tender mercies everyday. It makes me feel like someone up there loves me and is aware of me. Sometimes we don't realize the tender mercies when they happen; it might take days or weeks before we're able to recognize them for what they are. For example:

Two weeks ago, on a friday, I came down with a sore throat. Not uncommon, there's been a bug going around. The problem was, I had to train on Monday and Tuesday all day, and a half day on Wednesday. It's pretty hard to stand and talk all day when you have a sore throat. I did pray hard that I would be well enough to train, as my back-up trainer is not able to stand and train as well. The weekend was miserable, but by Monday I was back to work and my sore throat gone. Prayers were answered. Here's the tender mercy... I wasn't really all better, it was just a slight reprieve to get me through my training. By Thursday, the day after my trainings, my sore throat came back. By Friday I was coughing. Monday was so bad I took a sick day. I coughed all week, but by the next Monday, my coughing had pretty much ceased, and I was able to train again. A tender mercy. Another one:

Several weeks ago I got off work early, unusually early. I decided to take advantage of the afternoon by stopping by Tai-Pan to see if they had anything inexpensive we could buy to decorate with for our Stake Etiquette Dinner. As I was sitting at the stop light on 90th south, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone doing the freak out dance. I normally don't stare at people if they happen to sing or dance in their cars, because I know how uncomfortable it makes them feel when people turn and stare; I'd rather not say how I know that, just trust me. But for some reason, the flailing arms was just too much to ignore, so I turned my head...and there was Kayla!

My Kayla girl, who lives in Bountiful, works in Centerville, and was just an hour previously, instant messaging me that she needed to talk to me and asking me when my lunch was so she could call me. I knew I would be getting off work at 2, so I told her to call me then. It wasn't until I got in my car and I tried to call her that I realized my phone was dead, and now there she was...two lanes over, waving at me! We rolled down our windows and shouted to each other. She was on her way to take a friend out to lunch for her birthday, and would stop at the house afterwards. We shouted our 'I love you's', then we both drove off with big smiles on our faces thinking what are the odds of that happening. Both at the right place, and at the right time. What a coincidence. Wait a minute...I don't believe in coincidences.

That must have been a tender mercy. And then I had to go and ruin the moment.

My motherly concerns kicked in. My mind started reeling with all the possibilities. "Why did I need that tender mercy? Was she going to get into a car accident? Was that the last time I going to see my daughter...or tell her I loved her...my phone was dead, the Lord knew that, was that the only way I could have said good-bye?"

This story has a happy ending...we both lived to tell the tale of 'Close encounters on 90th south'. She is fine. I am fine. Maybe it really was a coincidence. Or maybe someone up there has a sense of humor; maybe they were having a bad day and wanted to see Kayla do the freak out dance. Maybe they just wanted to make me smile. Who knows. All I know is that I will never stop looking for tender mercies. They are everywhere. And I am going to stop over-analying them, I'll just accept them for what they are.

Oh, as for my shopping trip to Tai-Pan...I found for the table centerpieces, red flameless candles for only .99 cents!

No denying it...that was a tender mercy!

Only a month late

2012-02-06T15:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Kayla,

I'm publicly apologizing because I didn't write you a birthday post. I am very sorry. I am a month late, please forgive me and enjoy this wonderful post about you.

You are 21 years old now, wow has the time flown. In 21 years, you have shown me how much I love being a mother, especially to a sweet girl like you. Are you such a beautiful woman and you are not a baby anymore. You have shown everyone you're capability of your talents and skills. Just in this past year you have grown tremendously. A list of 21 wonderful thing about my awesome daughter.

21. You have a beautiful smile

20. You are always smiling

19. You love giving pedicures

18. Paisley adores you

17. You always have to be busy or you go insane

16. You make delicious cupcakes

15. You'll play with Trey still even though you are an adult

14. You like to go against the crowd and be your own person

13. You have progressed so much in work that you've become a supervisor!

12. You were never a bad teenager

11. We have never gotten in a fight

10. You have the biggest bluest eyes around

9. You love trying new things

8. You hate beans

7. I love your random visits home

6. You can always make me laugh

5. Your hair is always beautiful

4. You have been my easiest child

3. You are independent

2. You are my favorite child

1. And the one thing I love about you most, is the fact that you will catch up my blogging for me and write your own birthday post so I don't have you. I love you my Kayla girl!

Mall woes

2011-12-15T12:11:00.000-08:00

Dear Daughters,
I bought you both a Christmas present the other night at the mall. Weird huh, I never go to the mall. I hate the mall; the fact that you have to drive around the parking lot for 5 minutes trying to find a spot up close, and end up parking a mile away anyway (slight exaggeration). It's always crowded and full of crazy people with spikey purple hair and tattoo covered bodies. They scare me. The others intimidate me; the rich folk who go to the mall in 3" high heeled boots and size 2 designer jeans with perfect hair and makeup.

Why did I stray from my 2 minute drive to Kohls with my reserved parking spot up front? Why did I leave behind my 20% off coupon and $10 Kohls cash? Why did I trade the comfort zone of the other housemoms who shop in their comfy shoes and drabby coats, whose hair, like mine, show signs of gray and their Christmas sweaters show signs of dinner? I blame it on your Dad. He asked if I wanted to go the mall with him, and since I never turn down an invitation to go shopping, even if it's at the mall, I said yes.
Why did Dad want to go to the mall? The man who hates crowds even more than I do? Let's just say, he's obsessed with finding the perfect christmas present for his mom, and because he's a good son, and I want Trey to model his father's example some day of someone who likes to make his mother happy, I dragged (drug?) Trey along.

We never did find the gift Dad was looking for, but as we were leaving, and almost to the door...they got me! You know who, the annoying Mall Kiosk salespeople. I had flashbacks of Jamaica, trying to get back to the bus at Dunn River Falls. The only trail back was right through the middle of the locals selling their wares. We hurried along, made no eye contact, but didn't quite escape before one guy got ahold of us, and before we knew what had happened, a tiki with our names carved into it was being shoved in our hands and an extraction of money from the other.

I guess I let down my guard, being so close to the door and all, I let my eyes stray for a split second on a young man holding something. And then to make matters worse, I answered him when he asked me a question! That was all the encouragement he needed. Before I knew what was happening, he was showing me his product and all the wonderful benefits and good things that would happen if I were to use it. It sounded great, felt great, looked great, how have I been living all these years without this wonderful product in my life...sold! Then he told me the price...not sold. Of course, that was the shocker sticker price, it's Christmas time, and because he was in such a good holiday mood, he would reduce the price for me, making it a 'extra good bargain'. Still too much for my budget.

I looked around for Tary, hoping for a little support. He would have put the guy in his place with an absolute NO. He's good at that kind of thing. He has no problem with that word, as I'm sure your aware of; which is why you always came to me when you wanted permission for something. Pushover must be written on my forehead or something, cuz others can spot that same weakness in me as well. Looking around for a little help and a little common sense, Tary was no where to be found. Sensing my hesitancy, the guy quickly followed up with the question, "Do you have a daughter?" "Yes", I replied meekly, hoping he wasn't going to ask for my first born as payment. "If you buy the first one, I'll let you have a second one for half off."

Now in my head I'm adding up the totals and dividing it by two, still a little too much. The guy was a professional, he knew how to wear me down. He leaned in a little closer and said almost in a whisper..."don't tell anyone, but this is what I'll do for you. If you buy these two, I'll throw in another one for free." Free! Now that's a word I can relate too! But before I could wipe my stupid smile off my face, he asked "would you like to pay for that with cash or credit". Crap, now what do I do? Again, I look around, this time to make sure Tary wasn't watching. "Don't worry Mom, Dad's getting his hearing checked." Trey is by my side. How long has he been there? How much did he hear? I looked down the aisle, sure enough, he's at the ClearSound hearing aide kiosk. I hope he does a better job of telling the salesgirl NO, otherwise our bank account will be in trouble. "That will be credit."

Before I could let my conscience kick in, I had the three items in my bag, one for Chelsea, one for Kayla, and one for Me! Only a slight twinge of shoppers remorse had begun to set in as I realized what a wimp I am for not being able to say NO. It wasn't a planned purchase, it wasn't even a need, it was a want. And up until 5 minutes ago it wasn't even something I knew I wanted. But I smiled as he handed me the receipt, saving the internal "I can't believe I just did that" conversation for later.

As he handed me the bag he asked me yet another question..."Do you like pearls?" "Um, yeah sure. I think they're pretty?" Not sure where this conversation was going...was he going to offer me a strand of pearls for free because I was so nice and purchased his product? Doubtful. I wasn't going to let him suck me in further, so I told him straight up, "It's just a luxury I can't afford." After a strange look he said, "Well, my friend here would like to show you what he has to offer."

Before I knew what was happening...again...there stood another gentlemen, trying to escort me to the kiosk close by. Good grief, enough is enough. I know I'm a pushover, but I'm no fool. While I quickly brushed him off with a "sorry, but I've really got to go. My husband is waiting for me, and I've just spent enough", I looked at his display and thought it was a little strange that I didn't see a single strand of pearls. Just a display of beauty products.

As we were walking away, Trey asked, "Mom, did that guy ask you if you liked pearls or curls?" Curls?! Is that what he asked? That would explain the curling irons. Well now I felt foolish.

Maybe I should get my hearing checked.

On second thought, better not. I don't think I could afford it.

Ouch...

2011-11-16T19:52:00.000-08:00

I almost chopped my thumb in half today!

Ok, not really. But it felt like I did.

I'm not really sure how it happened. One minute I was closing my car door, the next minute I was prying my thumb out of it. Ouch! I won't repeat the word I really used at the time, over and over again. Pretty sure I have some repenting to do, but by golly, it hurt!

If it didn't happen the minute I got to work, I probably would have cried. I wanted to, I'm sure it would have made me feel better, but I didn't. I didn't produce a single tear.

Weird. I didn't know I could control my tears. I didn't know I had the power to NOT cry. Why am I just learning this about myself. It sure would have come in handy on Saturday when at the last second, I was asked to lead the music at the funeral of my neighbor. "Are you kidding me? Do you know me at all? Cuz you wouldn't be asking me if you did." But since I've never turned down an assignment from the member of the bishopric, and since Christmas is just around the corner and i'm trying especially hard to be a good girl, I said ok. Afterall, how emotional will I be. He was old, he was sick, it was really a blessing that he passed, how sad could it really be?

Who am I kidding...I can cry at the funeral of a goldfish. If I lived in the days of old, I could have been a professional mourner. I would have been a millionaire.

15 minutes later I was standing at the stand, trying to hold it in as two young military soldiers carried in the casket of my neighbor, followed by his grieving widow and tear stained family. I shed a tear or two before I looked away and went to my happy place. I recovered in time for the opening song, which surprisingly I got through without making my distorted 'trying to hold it in face'. Of course I was smart enough to look at the back wall, not making eye contact with anyone who was crying. One down, one to go.

An hour and a shriveled up kleenex later, I was back at the stand. My confidence that I could get through another song was pretty strong. Afterall, I survived a musical number and four talks without losing it, what could one more song possibly do? Although I was extremely nervous about the song selection, I figured if I just pretend I'm leading the music in church, i'll be fine...i can do this.

And I was. I got through 3 versus of "I know my Redeemer Lives". Feeling confident, I let my guard down. I let my cocky "I'm doing just fine" attitude get the best of me, and committed the number one no-no. I glanced away from the back wall, for just a brief moment, and let my eyes rest upon a member of the congregation, Sis. Duncan, who was sobbing. Before I knew it, my eyes were filling up with tears, my chin quivering, my face distorting. I was a gonner.

I couldn't sing, so I tried to just mouth the words. My contorting face wouldn't let me form the words, so I just stood there, waving my arm. I couldn't bare the humiliation, so I put my head down and let the tears drop onto the music book before me. Where's my snot rag when I needed it. Dang, left it by my chair. It felt like the song would never end.

I'm not really sure what happened. Oh, I was doing so well too. I don't know why it got the best of me at the last minute. I guess at the end I couldn't suppress my true nature.

So, I guess what I'm asking myself is, how is it that I cry when I don't want to cry, and don't cry when I do? How come I don't cry when I'm in mortal pain, but watching a silly movie about a dying dog throws me in the depths of despair? How come I can give birth to a kidney stone without tears, yet when I see someone else cry, I tear up as if on cue? Is the pain of others greater than my own? Unless someone is in pain because they biffed it on their high heels, or skateboard, or anything else that causes them to fall like a fool; then I can't help but busting up laughing, which is soooo not appropriate. In cases like these, their pain adds to my humor relief; yet when I see someone in extreme joy, I tend to get choked up. Weird, I know.

My sister once told me, we (as in pretty much everyone in our family) have the gift of weeping. We mourn with those that mourn. Gee, so glad I got that gift.

So, for those of you who also share the same gift, feel free to cry for me. After all this typing, my thumb is really throbbing, and I can't seem to shed a tear.

go figure.

Whose your grandma

2011-11-10T20:38:00.000-08:00

Vanessa from V & Co. turned 36 years old today! I only know that because she posted it on her blog, not because we're such good friends that I know when her birthday is and have been invited to celebrate the day with her. But one can always wish. Anywho, she was lamenting the fact that she's over the 30-something hump and getting old.

I know how she feels. I'm teetering on the 40-something hump and although most days I don't feel old, my looks don't reflect the way I feel. That's depressing. It's hard coming out of denial. I suppose it's like coming out of a coma. One day you wake up and say..."how did I get here?"

I woke this morning
My back was sore,
I rolled out of bed
It was quite the chore.

Then to the bathroom
To do my thing,
Stripped off my clothes,
Gave them a fling.

Stepped on the scale
To check my weight;
Afraid to look down
The truth I can’t take.

I weigh as much now
As I did back when
I was nine months pregnant
With Chelsea Breann.

The sad thing is,
I look it too;
My belly pokes out
Like I’m 5 months due.

I step in the shower
To wash my hair,
Leave a clump in the drain,
More than should be there.

Then to the mirror
I cautiously peek;
I see the wrinkles
Start to creep.

They start at the corners
Of my baggy eyes
And stretch down my face
That I start to despise.

I see a few hairs
That look out of place;
They’re not on my head,
They’re on my face.

I would be proud
Of the moustache I’ve got,
If I were sixteen
And my name was Scott.

The fuzz on my chin
Turns thick as it grows;
At least it matches
All the hair in my nose.

Oh don’t you worry
I’m not sasquatch yet,
My eyebrows are thinning
The older I get.

And the hair on my head

that I keep there with spray;
what doesn’t fall out
simply turns to gray.

And just when I think
I’m looking too old,
A pimple appears
For all to behold.

I turn to my closet
To get myself dressed,
Nothing fits anymore,
I’m further depressed.

My wardrobe has changed
From short sleeves and skirts
To mid calf capris
And long flowing shirts.

I use them to hide
My flabby body;
And if I fail to wave back,
I’m not being snotty.

Just trying to keep
The arm fat from flapping;
But what do you do
‘bout rubbing thighs chapping?

I sit down for breakfast,
To a big bowl of bran;
Make sure I’m still living,
Give the obit’s a quick scan.

My eyes turn fuzzy
As I start to read.
I wear bifocals now,
Had to finally concede.

Then I go to work
In my yellow sports car.
It’s the cure for my crisis,
But not working so far.

I get a few glances
From curious guys,
Through my tinted windows
I see hopeful eyes.

They must think a hottie
Would drive such a thing,
As they hope to invoke
A flirtatious fling.

I can see their faces
As they slowly inch
To get a close look,
Then suddenly flinch.

I make it to work
My humility intact;
I’m the oldest one there,
It’s a depressing fact.

I’m technology challenged,
Just ask my kids;
“Do what in Excel?”
Oh, heaven forbid.

i-pads and blackberries,
i-phones and kindle;
i-pod and apps,
my confidence dwindles.

I barely just learned
How to send a text;
The message, however,
leaves even me perplexed.

Reality sucks.
I’m not young anymore.
I stopped feeling perky
And now I’m just sore.

My hair’s gray, my eyes bad,
I’ve got middle age spread;
I’m sagging and dragging
My tired self to bed.

But then my grandbaby
Comes over to play;
And I’m young again,
Hip-hip-hooray!

And even after we
Play on the floor,
And I can’t get up
Cuz my body’s sore.

I still wouldn’t go back
To the age of my prime,
Cuz I wouldn’t be a grandma
And that would be a crime.

I'm Back

2011-11-07T20:11:00.001-08:00

Did you even know I was gone? Yup, I went AWOL (absent with out leaving).

I don't know why i've been away so long. It couldn't have anything to do with Trey's fall ball and sitting on the hard cold bleachers twice a week in August and September. Or the fact that I've been officially made the un-official family photographer and have recently taken pictures for my nieces bridal/engagements/wedding, my daughter Kayla's Folk Dance Team photographer, and taken family pictures of my sisters Susie's family. Not to mention my own brood at our annual Gardner Village Pumpkin patch. It's been fun, but let's just say I have a whole new appreciation for what my cousin Faun does. Literally, hours go into taking an ordinary picture and trying to turn it into a work of art. She does it much better; i'm just a faunwannabe.

Perhaps my absence could be traced to my sewing room, where a certain Christmas Countdown quilt hangs over the chair, waiting to be bound. Sewing takes up valuable blogging time.

You could be wondering why I haven't been blogging about those things; afterall, most bloggers put their pictures, their quilts, their hobbies online for all to see. Some of those people make tutorials and gain followers and fan clubs. They make lots of money with their creative ideas.
It's a shame, really. I have no one to blame but myself...and my daughter (chelsea), not to point fingers or anything.

You see, a couple of months ago, my daughter was over at the house, using my computer. She said she wanted to show me something I might like. So she pulled up a little website, and to my delight...pictures of all things good and lovely, crafty and yummy, holiday galore and creative decor burst onto my screen! It was like I had died and gone to homemaker heaven.

That was the beginning of the end. It seems everytime I had a few minutes to spare and would sit down to blog something, I would say to myself, "I'll just take a quick peek while I'm thinking of something to blog about". Hours later I would find myself waking from my blissful craft induced coma and realize time has slipped away, my blog didn't write itself, and it's now much too late in the evening to stuff my lazy butt into my spandex and walk a mile on the treadmill.

And it's not just my blog that has suffered, my waistline is showing proof that sitting all day in front of a computer at work, and then sitting all evening behind the sewing machine/computer doesn't help. My future size 6 wanna-be has met her achielles heel. It's not chocolate or Dr. Pepper that keeps those skinny jeans untouched in the back of the closet; nor is it the hours of endless facebooking that I've prided myself on not getting attached too. It's not the comfy couch in front of Survivor, So You Think You Can Dance or NCIS.

It's a one-word website.

My future poet/childrens book author/someday i'll be as famous as cjane blogger has become almost extinct! All creative juices that used to flow to my fingertips, now rest on the mouse as they repeatedly click re-pin, re-pin, over and over again. It's addicting I tell you!

That was 2 months ago. I've been AWOL ever since.

I've been lost in holiday wreaths, mummy cookies and pumpkin decor;

Crock pot dinners, t-shirt scarves and tips for chores.

Beautiful pictures of faraway places, perfect kids and adoring love;

Exercise tips, make-up tricks and quotes from above.

Christmas goodies, neighbor gifts and homemade cards;

Twinkly lights, garlands on mantels and snow covered yards.

Romantic hints, hair-do styles and chic outfits;

Painted walls, painted toes and lots of glitz.

Do you want to know the name of my doom? My achielles heel? My productive downfall? In one word:

Pinterest.

It comes from the Greek word PIN; (meaning to immobolize) TE; (meaning me) REST; (meaning a state of inaction).

Perfect word for what it is.

I don't care, it's a wonderful sight.

But if you go there...beware. It will snare you. It will hook you.

(Disclaimer: The author takes no responsibility for children left unattended, families going hungry or dinners burnt; homework being left undone, husbands rejected, housework neglected. Exercise and scripture study out the window.)

Don't say I didn't warn you.

8th grade woes

2011-08-29T18:30:00.000-07:00

It's official...it's fall! According to my calendar, as soon as the kids march back to school, the fall season has begun. Don't you love the smell of fall? Freshly sharpened pencils and crayons, never before stained socks and shirts. Binders and paper. Even new backpacks smell good the first day. (Give it a week till the gym clothes need their first washing and they come home shoved in the pack with a weeks worth of papers and candy wrappers.)

Trey started 8th grade today.

Wow. I can remember when I was in 8th grade. I had my first crush with the new kid in our school. He was a rich kid who showered me with gifts, and I'm not talking about 'my sister was cleaning out her junk drawer and doesn't want this fingernail polish anymore, so I thought you might like it' kind of gift. He gave me a tigers-eye ring and a gold herringbone necklace.

Unfortunately our whirlwind 3 month crush ended with the school year, and his lack of attention left me feeling hurt and rejected. My friend helped me compose a 'don't let the door hit you on your way out' type of letter that sounded like a pathetic country song; full of mean and sarcastic remarks. I felt better getting it out of my system and would have been fine leaving it at that, but my friend thought he needed to know how he had done me wrong, so I parted with my ring and necklace to show him how serious I was, and she delivered it to him in person, while I stayed behind and tried to justify what I had just done.

I never talked to him again. The next year we would pass each other in the halls like two ships passing in the night; aware of the others presence, but never speaking. It was awkward. I felt bad. My 13 year old self didn't have the courage or the words to right the wrong.

I never had the desire to go back in time and relive those awkward teenage years, but if given the chance, I would. If for no other reason than to go back and do things differently. I would never have written a hateful letter, I have regretted it ever since and still feel shame over my actions. I would go back and tell my 13 year old self to accept it for what it was; an exciting spring of twitterpation. And most important, I certainly never would have given back the ring and necklace. What was I thinking? Gold is worth a lot of money!

So, what advice do I have for my 8th grader?

Don't get a girlfriend. We are emotional and much too immature to handle boy problems at that age. (Sixteen isn't much better...or 18...or 45)

If a girl says something mean to you one day, and smiles at you the next, that means she's sorry and would really like to be your friend again, she's just to shy to say it.

If a girl breaks your heart, just know her heart is probably breaking too.

And for heavens sake, there is nothing wrong with fingernail polish. Girls that age love it!

Justin & Emilee

2011-08-27T16:53:00.000-07:00

My beautiful niece is getting married next weekend. Since my sister knows I love to take pictures, but most likely because I'm related to the most amazing photographer, faundimages, and hopes some of it will rub off on me, she's asked me to be the official photographer. Scary...and fun. Here are a few of my favorites.

Dear Paisley

2011-07-24T13:24:00.000-07:00

I'm going to carry on a tradition that started 22 years ago when Chelsea turned 1 years old. She was the first grandchild in my family, and her dear grandma, (my mom) wrote her a sweet letter expressing her love to her. Since none of my other kids received the same letter when they turned 1, I can assume Chelsea was the only recepient of such a letter. I think I can keep that type of tradition, the one that only happens once. I realize I'm a few days early, but this grandma is busy and won't have a single minute to spare on tuesday to sit down and write a letter. So here's a little early birthday present.

Dear Paisley,

I like to imagine that a year ago as your mom was making preparations to give birth to you, you were preparing as well. I can imagine you, sitting at the feet of our Heavenly parents, receiving final instructions about your life here on earth. I'm sure you were anxious and excited to begin your long awaited journey to come to earth to finally receive a body and be with your mother and father who were just as excited and anxious as you.

I'd like to think you were forwarned about the evil conditions that exist in the world, but were given hope when you were told how you were one of the strong and valiant ones; saved for this day because you are able to overcome the temptations and be a force for good in the world. I'm sure you were told that you were coming down to live with goodly parents; a mother and a father who were righteous and would teach you everything you needed to know to return again to His presence someday. I'm sure there were hugs and well wishes by your younger siblings as they watched you pave the way for them.

And then, the miracle we had all been waiting for happened. On July 26th, you were born and I became a Grandma! What a blessing you have been in my life! Being a grandma means I can feed you chocolate ice-cream, and not care that the sugar will keep you up all night. It means when you come over while your mom and dad are at work, I can play with you and take you on outings, because I know I can always get the housework done after you've left. Being a grandma means I don't have to discipline, or put on my angry face, or tell you 'no'. Being a grandma means I can take you to the library and check out childrens books again, oh how i've missed reading them. It means I can go to the park, or sit in the kiddy pool. It means I can blow bubbles, and shop at Carter's.

But do you know what being a Grandma means the most to me Paisley? It means that the love I felt for your mother, is the same love I feel for you. It is the strongest, most protective and pure love anyone can feel. It's not the same love I feel for grandpa, or my friends or siblings, or even my own parents; it's a special love reserved for our children, and yes, our grandchildren too. I'm so happy to know it's the same kind of love. It's one that you won't understand until you have a baby of your own someday. And when that day comes, and I'm sure it will come all too soon, I hope you will remember the love you feel, is how much you were, and still are loved, by me.

Love,

Grandma

P.S. to your mother Chelsea...the tradition has now been handed down to you. I wonder how we'll be writing letters 22 years from now?

Family vacation

2011-07-21T19:26:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed my lack of blogging lately. It's not that I don't have anything to blog about, it's because I've been doing so much to blog about that I don't have time to blog about it. I read a good article in the Ensign that summed it up this way: "Near the end of his life, one father looked back on how he had spent his time on earth. An acclaimed, respected author of numerous scholarly works, he said, 'I wish I had written one less book and taken my children fishing more often.'

I guess I could sum up my past month by saying, 'I'm glad I didn't write any blogs this month because I've been busy spending time with my family.' That doesn't sound nearly as eloquant though. I guess I won't ever have to worry about others quoting me.

I'm not sure if at this point I try to catch up on all the things I've been doing this summer, or just move forward. Let's just say, as I've sat on my warm cement porch with a bowl of cold ice-cream, watching the sun set and the kids play, I've often thought to myself..."I could be blogging right now", but I chose instead to enjoy the moment. Summer nights go way too fast. All too soon the kids will be back in school, the nights will get shorter and cooler, and warm cement and lingering sunsets will be replaced with a chill in the air and long dark nights with plenty time to lounge in the basement, blogging about how short the summers are.

But I've found a little quiet time this evening and thought I would do something I love.

Technically, I'm still on vacation. After spending 3 days camping with the family, coming home to unpack, do laundry and clean the house that didn't get done before I left, I realized this is not my idea of a vacation.

So, i'm kicking back in my comfy leather chair to blog. I love to blog, and since this is my vacation, i'm going to do something I enjoy doing. Not that camping wasn't enjoyable, other than the mosquitos, it was relaxing and wonderful, it's just all the before and after stuff that comes with it.

As I downloaded the pictures I took these past couple of days, I realized I didn't take near as many as I should have. There are several people I didn't get any pictures of...how did that happen?! I'm a little annoyed with myself and feel like we need a do-over.

I didn't get any pictures of Trey trying to get up on the wake-board for his first time, or Wendy showing all the young'uns how it's done, even though it was her first time as well.

I didn't get any pictures of Kayla getting up on the wind-surfer, and down, and up again, and down. Eventually the wind was just right and she went too far for my camera to reach, if only I had tried.

I didn't get any pictures of my Dad's swollen arm. The one he refuses to admit is broken, or fractured, or at the very least, very sprained. Believe it or not, he didn't get it while skiing, or wind-surfing, or wake-boarding, which I'm sure he would have done all those things, had he not hurt his arm. Let's just blame it on old age, poor footing and poor eye-sight. They say that's the first to go.

I didn't get any pictures of my mom at the beach, laughing hysterically when she asked my dad a question and he couldn't hear her (hearing is the second thing to go). So he tried to get up off the ground, but because of his hurt arm, he couldn't quite push himself up. He must have reminded her of a potato bug who tries to roll himself off of his back, his little legs kicking in the air, but not getting anywhere. My dad has never acted his age, and is never helpless, so to see him in that situation must have looked silly to my mom. She laughed herself to tears.

I didn't get any pictures of Cindy as she was describing during our late night campfire game of 2 truths and a lie, her truthfully admitting to throwing her daughter Sarah into the lake while she was trying to help her throw in her fishing line, and casted her instead. She was also laughing hysterically, as were we all. Everyone but Sarah that is.

I didn't get any pictures of Luke and JP and Megan and Sarah, playing peek-a-boo with Paisley and keeping her entertained all week. They were so cute with her, and she just loves them all!

I didn't get any pictures of my daughters' impersonation of a triceratop. For some reasons, the mosquito's took a liking to their foreheads, and both of them had bumps that looked like they had the makings of a good set of horns. I guess I was too busy doing the mosquito dance to stop and take pictures of everyone else swatting, slapping, dodging, smashing, itching and going stark crazy mad.

However, I did get pictures of...

Trey posing in front of Cascade Springs.

Amber, hiding from the mosquito's.

The family enjoying the beauties of the mountains.

Paisley, having fun at Deer Creek.

Wendy, introducing Paisley to chocolate marshmallows.

Even though i'm a little sad by the lack of frogs in the pictures, or kids in kayak's, or fish dangling from poles, we still had a great time. The most important things were accomplished. Love, laughter, and strengthening family ties.

Dang, we forgot the smores. Now we definitely need a do-over.

Church Cryers

2011-06-17T20:07:00.000-07:00

One of the downsides to blogging, is trying to think of interesting things to blog about. Which is why it's been so long since my last one. Unless you find sitting in the cold in the middle of June, huddled in coats and blankets to watch Trey play ball interesting, there hasn't been much to blog about. So I'm forced to revert back to my memory bank of 'Funny things that happen to other people.'

(Just so you don't think I'm completely mean-spirited, I did ask for permission before sharing this story.)

If you recall from a few posts back, my cousin had a public meltdown. Yes, this is the same cousin who has a hard time keeping friends, on the account that they all move away, not because she's a lousy friend, cuz she's not. Just wanted to clarify.

It happened while attending a Relief Society function where she sat down to a lovely dinner

with her sweet friend Diane. During the course of the meal, her friend let slip those dreaded words..."I'm moving."

I believe everyone has their own breaking point; the straw that breaks the camels back, so to speak. This was Faun's, it was just too much. She LOST IT, in front of EVERYONE. She started to cry, and couldn't stop. Everyone was looking at her, wondering who just died. She so desperately just wanted to go home, cause we all know it's impossible to have a good cry in public. It's just too hard to force down a sob. Diane and Faun's mom convinced her to stay so she would't miss the speaker, but she wasn't too keen on the idea of parading through the cultural hall with her swollen eyes and drippy nose to reach the chapel. So her and Diane snuck out through the other door, walked around the church in hurricane force winds, and upon reaching the back doors of the chapel, found them locked! Tugging and pulling at the doors not only got one persons attention, it got everyones attention! And as someone opened the door to let them in, all heads were turned and eyes glued on the person who was making all the noise. There she stood, in all her "bawl boobing, red-eyed, snot dripping glory!" What a way to make an entrance. Quoting one of her favorite phrases, "Poor little lamb".

Did I ever tell you about the time I was crying in the church? I mean the other time? It was during sacrament meeting. I was not feeling well, and was not looking forward to flying out that evening to do a training in Las Vegas the next morning. To top it off, it was Chelsea's birthday that day, and I was feeling sorry that I couldn't stay for her birthday dinner. After the closing song and prayer, I didn't want anyone to see me in my red splotchy faced condition, so I stayed in my seat, wishing I was invisible. Chelsea came over, and upon seeing my face, asked "Why are you crying?" So I let her in on my little pity party, and before I knew it, she was crying. I didn't realize she was so sensitive to her mother's feelings, so I asked her, "Now why are you crying?" In which she replied..."I'm pregnant!" Now she's crying and I'm smiling! It turned out to be a wonderful day afterall.

By the way, that's pretty much the way it happened the second time too. Just not at church.

Regrets

2011-05-26T18:59:00.000-07:00

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." ~ Sydney Smith

I've been in a state of regret lately, regrettably.

I'm not talking about the regret that comes after I've eaten half a pan of brownies, or the regret that comes from turning down a brownie; although both are legitimate regrets. The regret I've been feeling lately comes from my own lack of sponteniety of opportunities presented.

Several weeks ago, my sweet sister calls me up to tell me that Donny Osmond was coming to the Centerville Walmart the next day to promote his new CD and sign autographs. She knows I love Donny (but not as much as Michael) (or my husband) and wanted to let me know in case I hadn't heard the exciting news. A few hours later, my sweet daughter called to tell me the same thing! Now anyone in their right frame of fun mind would have jumped at the opportunity, grabbed their lawn chair and sleeping bag, and camped out all night to get up close and personal with the big D. (I haven't been in the right frame of mind since Oprah announced her retirement). So naturally, I thought of all the reasons I shouldn't go, instead of just going.

Trey has a ball game, and I don't want to miss it because I don't want him to think Donny is more importnat than he is.

I would probably have to be in line by 8 in the morning if I want to see him, cause I just know swarms of Donny fans will be lining up at the crack of dawn.

Centerville is 30 minutes away. Should I really be spending my gas money and time just to maybe get to see him?

In the end, Ms. Responsibly Boring won the war. I went to Trey's game instead. I can't even remember if his team won.

The next day was Mothers Day. We all met at my Mom's for dinner, and guess what the discussion around the dinner table was? My cousin (the same one who just recently had her first booked published, another one of my regrets) spontaneously decided to go to Walmart, and she just happens to live in Centerville, walks in with her little girl and lo and behold, see's Donny...and guess what? No long lines wrapping around the store. She now has a video of her little girl singing a song...with, you guessed it, Donny! UGH! That could have been me. I could have sung a duet with Donny. I often pretend I'm Marie and sing a little bit country, while he sings a little bit rock-n-roll, so I'm well prepared to take on a little puppy love with him.

Fortunately, Kayla bought me Donny & Marie's new CD for Mothers Day. Unfortunately it is not a autographed copy.

Okay, that was the beginning of May, my Month of Regrets. Regret no. 2: For months now, I've been looking at all my fun blogs, V & Co., Cluck Cluck Sew, Diary of a Quilter...etc, and all the blog talk has been about the big Quilters Market that was going to be hosted in Salt Lake this year. This is a pretty big deal, and I remember looking at pictures on their blogs last year about it, I think it was in Las Vegas...so I knew what a big deal it was. Suddenly, all my blogs were talking about how wonderful it was, and posting pictures about it...what the crap! Did I miss it?!

(picture of Vanessa and Cluck Cluck Sew blogger. Notice, I am not in the picture. Picture used without permission of Cluck Cluck Sew. Hoping she'll have pity on me and won't mind)

How did I not go? Why didn't I know when it was? Again, I have no one to blame my lack of spontaneous funness on, except my boring ol' self. I don't even know why I didn't think to click on their little side buttons that said in big bright letters "Quilters Market" and check out the details. Did I think because I wasn't a quilter blogger that I couldn't go? Was I waiting for a personal invitation? No excuses this time, I just don't know why I didn't. All I know is that all I'm left with is more regret.

So, I thought I might have found a way to redeem myself. I noticed another button on their blogs, that said "Sewing Summit", and just for kicks I clicked on it. Guess what? They're coming back! All my favorite bloggers, including Vanessa, are going to be teaching classes at the Sewing Summit in October at The Little America is Salt Lake! All is not lost...I have been given a second chance at life. So I start digging a little deeper, looked at all the fun instructors who would be there, looked at the dates and schedule, then I clicked on the button to register...and all spontenaiety left in me flew out the window. $275. For that much money I could make 4 quilts on my own.

Regrettably, I did not register. I'll probably regret that later too. (heavy sigh)

Big girls sometimes do cry

2011-05-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

Meltdowns are a pretty common occurance around here, although I'm pretty good at masking them behind a good cryer of a chick-flick. When I feel a melt down coming on, "PS I love You" is a good one to turn too, since it's pretty much instantaneous and lasts a good 90 minutes. By the time the movie is over, I feel refreshed, renewed somehow. Whereas "A Walk to Remember" only gives you 15 minutes of crying time at the end. The problem with that is, even when the movie is over, I'm still crying and have a hard time stopping, because I haven't gotten it out of my system yet.

That's my problem, I've discovered. When I need to have a good cry, I have a hard time stopping until I've had a good cry. Now don't get too caught up in the why or what I'm crying about, because most of the time I couldn't even tell you. Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. I hope someone out there can relate. The issue here is where and when a good cry comes on. Unfortunately for me, it hasn't always been in the privacy of my own home, where no one can see and I can freely let the tears flow.

My dear cousin had a public meltdown a little while ago, which prompted me to think back on a few of my own public meltdown humiliation moments, so I can assure her, she's not alone.

I've had several, but for her sake I'll revisit my most embarrassing. I'm hoping enough time has passed that I can admit this without reliving the humiliation, or at the very least, without crying as I'm writing about it.

It happened just 2 years ago after the funeral of my dear sweet Uncle Gus. I always cry at funerals, and it's expected, so unless it's audible, I don't consider that embarrassing.

After I got home from the funeral, I received a frantic call from my ward choir director wondering where I was. I had forgotten all about the fact that I was singing in the choir that afternoon at our church. Our stake was hosting the "Reflections of Christ" tour, and while people were waiting their turn to view the exhibit, they would sit quietly in the chapel and we were providing 'waiting music', so to speak.

Luckily I was already in my dress, so I headed out the door and arrived just as they were filing into the choir seats. To my utter horror, our first song was "Oh My Father", normally not a sad song, but it just so happened to be the hymn that the congretation sang at my uncles funeral. Now let me just preface what happened next by saying, music moves me to tears. Anytime. It doesn't have to be a funeral, or at church. So needless to say, I couldn't choke out the words at the funeral, I just sat with a open book on my lap and watched as the tears splashed on the pages. Often I go to my happy place, and try not to think about the words of the song so I don't become emotionally involved. But as I stood there with the choir and started to sing those words, "Oh my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place" I lost it! Tears started streaming down my face, snot started streaming down my face, and my book started raising in front of my face.

I have never been one of those pretty cryers like you see in the movie, where little tears silently overflow from the corner of the eyes. When I cry, there's no hiding the fact. My face gets all red and splotchy and starts contorting into what I call, 'ugly face'. I am not a pretty sight. So to stand in front of a whole congregation and cry was beyond embarrassing. I tried not to listen to the words, I tried to go to my happy place, but it was no use. Everything I had suppressed at the funeral was now coming out and trying to stop it was like trying to hold back Niagra Falls.

Eventually I just sat down. I tried to compose myself so I could join in again, but it was no use. I was having a meltdown, and there's no stopping it till it works its way out. I sat there through the whole performance, head down, dripping and sniffling and feeling like it would never end. I should have just left, but I was smack in the middle and didn't want to cause a scene, or draw any more attention to myself by climbing around the alto section, so I stayed and suffered; afraid to look up for fear of the pity I would see in the congegrations eyes. I'm sure my fellow choirsters were wondering what the heck was wrong with me, but I never gave them the chance to ask. As soon as we were done, I hightailed it out the door then drove around for 15 minutes til my face returned to a normal shade and the splotches disappeared. Because I for sure didn't want to go home looking like I had been crying. I knew if I did, Tary would have taken one look at me and asked, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

And we all know what happens when someone asks you that, you start crying all over again.

A Mothers Day Fairy Tale

2011-05-07T13:57:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there lived a mom.

She was your average standard issued model mother. You know the type; tired all the time, stressed, overworked and underpaid.

One day, this mom found herself with an afternoon all to herself. Her husband had taken the kids shopping, for the next day was Mothers Day and they all wanted to buy her something special. Grateful for the reprieve, the mom laid down on the worn out couch and considered her options.

"Maybe I could start reading my book I've been meaning to get to but never have the time." But as she went to retrieve it from the bedroom, she noticed the weeks worth of laundry overflowing from the clothes hamper. Passing through the kitchen on the way to the laundry room, she noticed a sink full of dirty dishes, toys scattered throughout the house, floors to be mopped, toilets and sinks to be scrubbed, and heaven forbid if she didn't start thinking about defrosting some type of meat for dinner.

"Woe is me", the mother said aloud. She chuckled to herself as she realized that if her little one had been there, the child's favorite game of 20 questions would have undoubtedly followed as the mother would have had to explain the meaning of 'woe'. "I guess I can't be a martyr if no one is here to witness it", so she quickly set to the task of cleaning the house before her helpers returned and slowed her progress.

"Why do I even bother" she said aloud again, this time to the dust bunnies. "Housework never stays done. The floors I mop today will be smudged again tomorrow. There will always be hungry mouths to feed, no matter how many times I cook. Always dirty clothes and dishes to wash. I'm tired of working so hard on something that never stays done. I'm tired of taking care of everyone else. I wish I had a fairy god-mother who would take care of me instead."

No sooner were those words out of her mouth, when 'poof'...a tiny little woman with cotton candy pink bouffant hair and a poofy pink dress to match was at her side, wand intact and ready to use. "Your wish is my command. What is your desire?"

The mother, quite in shock and not sure what it was that she really wanted, said the first thing that came into her mind. "I need a vacation!" "Splendid! I know just the place" the fairy god-mother announced, and with the flick of her wrist, the magic wand transported them to a land far away.

"Here we go sweetie, land of the rising sun. A great place for a fresh start, don't you think?" The mom walked through flooded streets. Torn down buildings and debris was everywhere. Sidewalk shelters housed hundreds of people; crammed together on cots and mats. Pictures of missing or lost loved ones covered their make shift walls. Food was proportionately served as grateful refugees came with humbled hearts to accept the meager offering. "I'm in Japan", the mother thought, "I've always wanted to go to Japan. I've heard the people here are so gracious and have such wonderful manners. I wonder if this horrible tragedy has changed them." It didn't take long before her question was answered, as a small little boy, not much older than her own, smiled up at her as he offered her his bowl of rice. She could hardly make out his face as the tears welled up in her eyes. So much pain, so much sorrow. She could hardly bare it any longer. "Please, let's go" she whispered. "As you wish" said the fairy god-mother, and with another flick of the wrist, they were off.

"Where are we?" the mother wondered aloud as they found themselves walking in crowded dusty streets. Geography was never her strong suit, but by the look of things, she guessed they were somewhere in the middle east. The women they passed were covered from head to toe, always walking behind their husbands and submissive to their demands. All of the shops were segregated, and she noticed the women were not allowed to shop or eat at restaurants with the men. "How awful to be treated less than an equal to your husband" the mom thought. Suddenly feeling very exposed, she was ready to leave before they made a slave-wife out of her.

Scenes of sadness at every destination overwhelmed the mom. Homes and families torn apart from tornadoes and floods. Natural disasters causing heartache to many, poor choices causing greater heartache. Children living on the streets, trying to escape the realities of home life. Parents choosing addictions over their children. Sickness, starvation, drug and human trafficking. Parents and children mistreating each other. Misuse and abuse was way too common. It was more than she could bear.

"Where are you mom? Where are you?" The mother could hear her littlest one calling for her, but she didn't know how to get back to her. "Please fairy god-mother, send me back home. I miss my family. I miss their sticky kisses and endless questions. I miss my sweet husband and his corny jokes. I even miss my dirty house, and will never complain again about having a house to clean and children to feed. I love them, and they love me, and that's all I ever wanted and they're all I ever need. Please help me get back."

"There you are mommy! You should see what I got you for Mothers Day! Daddy said he would help me tie a ribbon around it cuz it's too hard to wrap flowers. You're gonna be so surprised!"

The mom awoke to the enthusiastic ramblings of her 4 year old, finding herself at home on the couch. She must have fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing, for the dishes were still in the sink, the laundry still in the basket, and the dinner still frozen in the freezer. But she didn't care. The smile on her face as she enlisted the help from her children led her husband to believe that a few hours of alone time really boosted her spirits; it was just what she needed, and he was the hero. As she gave him a hug, she spied her daughter's stuffed pink fairy doll in the corner, gave her wink, then with a undeniable kiss, let her husband know it was truly, just what she needed.

The End.

Happy Mothers Day to all, but especially to mine. Love you Mom! Love you kids...thanks for making me the worlds happiest mom!

Alone...

2011-04-07T19:27:00.000-07:00

(This is what it looks like outside my window right now. Is is too early to start playing Christmas music?)

...at last, I'm all alone.

Tary and Trey went to the Jazz game tonight, and because I'm suffering from the coughing, sneezing, sore throat, achy, wanna go to bed with a bottle of Nyquil virus, I opted to stay home.

Most people hate being loners. I am not one of those people. I'm not sure if it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in a house with 7 brothers and sisters, so alone time was as rare as an unguarded candy bar on your dresser still intact at the end of the day. You would almost think the opposite would be true; growing up surrounded by people I wouldn't feel comfortable being left all alone, at night, in the dark. Is it a product of nature, or nurture. Hmmm...

Either way, I enjoy my aloneness. The peace and quiet, and a 2 hour window of opportunity to do anything I want to do, without feeling guilty.

So, here's my dilema: Do I give in to what I really want to do (which is scoop myself a bowl of Mint Chocolate Chip Ice-cream and watch that new TV show "The Killing") or do I be a good girl and do something worthwhile, like read my scriptures which I have kinda slacked on the last couple of nights, (I blame it on the nyquil).

That ice-cream is sounding pretty good right now, and I'm thinking it will really help my throat. Why is it always easier to do the wrong thing when the right things are so easy. The Young Women have been challenged by the General YW Presidency to do 4 easy things each day. They are:

Pray morning and night. Read 5 minutes every day from the Book of Mormon. Smile. Live the standards in For the Strength of Youth.

Simple, straight forward, and doesn't require alot of time. So why is it so hard.

I loved General Conference weekend, to be reminded of the small and simple things I should be doing. I love how in a chaotic and falling apart world, the prophet is still so optimistic about our future. It made me think that if everybody in the world would do those 4 things each day, not just the young women, we would be living in a perfect world, literally a heaven on earth. There would be no more hate, crime, abuse, or injustice in the world. I know it will never happen till the Savior comes and Satan will have no more control over the hearts of men, but I know I can create peace in my little corner of the world. Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.

Wrong song.

Put a little Billy Joel in your head and read to the tune of "We didn't start the Fire". I call this one, "We Didn't Start the Cycle"

Poor examples on the field, kids in shock as parents wield

Punches thrown, tempers flare, coach's hide and refs beware.

Drugs and booze kids abuse, parents teach as they misuse;

violent games lead to decline, one word Columbine.

Moms on meth and kids are left, on their own to petty theft;

Girls gone wild, lawsuits filed, no respect they've all defiled.

Road rage is all around, back talking kids abound;

school hazing, cyber bullies, gangs with guns their trigges pulling!

We didn't start the cycle-

But the lack of trust leads to our disgust.

We didn't start the cycle-

Cause the disrespect comes from gross neglect.

Emron, WorldCom, savings lost they'll be no prom;

Ascot, Ponzi scheme, Bernie Madoff's pipe dream.

Politicians in the news, always with a lame excuse

They get caught in the act, next they know they're being sacked.

Tiger Woods, Jesse James, different names but still the same;

Mel Gibson, Charlie Sheen, tempers lost reveal how mean.

Miley Cyrus with a bong, Lindsay Lohan same old song

Kanye West when he gets miffed, steals the show from Taylor Swift.

We didn't start the cycle-

But the world today is in disarray.

We didn't start the cycle-

But it's up to us to stop the madness.

Monson, Eyring and Uchtdorf inspiring;

these are leaders we do trust, loyalty a simple must

Leading with integrity, building trust respectfully.

Together we can overcome challenges that ruin some.

How we break the cycle starts within each one of our own hearts

Honesty, good judgement too, consistency will help us through.

Don't forget the Golden Rule, always is a helpful tool.

Treat others with respect, live your life with no regrets.

We didn't start the cycle-

But civility will start today with me.

We didn't start the cycle-

But when we are gone respect goes on and on and on...

Whew.

Well, too late now to watch that horribly twisted show about killing. Guess I'll grab a bowl of ice-cream and get my violent kick from some wicked Nephites and Gadianton robbers murdering and plundering the repentant Lamanites.

Sounds like a great way to spend the night alone.

Good-night!

She's cursed...and other fun facts

2011-03-29T18:00:00.000-07:00

I was shocked today as I read my favorite blog, V and Co. to learn that her husband will no longer be employed at his current job, and therefore they will most likely have to move.

That's what happens when you live in the middle-of-nowhere Utah and you're not there because you grow hay, or whatever it is those people do for a living in the middle-of-nowhere. He is a therapist/counselor at a secluded school for troubled teens, and apparently they are closing their doors. Not due to lack of troubled teens, I'm sure. I'm sad for her and her family. The middle of nowhere utah is a great place to raise kids. Heck, if I knew how to make a living down there, you can bet your hayfield I'd be living there too.

My shock turned to sadness when I realized that yet another friend of my sweet cousin Faun will be moving away.

Her husband thinks she's cursed; I'm inclined to agree with him. This will make the 8th, or is it 9th friend that I know about who has sold the farm and moved on to greener pastures. It was just 2 weeks ago that she was lamenting on her blog about one of her good friends moving, and now this. It's just to much to bare.

I'm not sure why her friends feel the need to burrow into her heart, then pull up the stakes and move, leaving bleeding holes behind for me to repair when she calls and cries on my phone on my shoulder. I'm far away, and can't give adequate comfort. So please, if anyone out there in middle-of-nowhere utah reads my blog, I plead with you...read on so you can make an educated decision.

To convince all future wanna-be-movers, I've compiled a list of fun Faun facts that I'm hoping will convince you to stay.

1. She's a great photographer and can make your wrinkles disappear, your teeth whiter, your flab firmer!

2. She bakes homemade bread and will gladly share.

3. She paints on walls too. With permanent paint. So unless you figure out a way to take the wall with you, you'll be wanting to stay and look at the pretty painting she did on your wall.

4. She's funny. She can make you laugh. Hard. Don't drink carbonated drinks when she's telling you about one of her funny stories; it hurts going out your nose.

5. She's engaging and can talk to anybody. I've seen her make friends with the salesclerks at Kohls and...well that's the only place we go to. But I'm sure she makes friends everywhere she goes, cuz she's really friendly, and funny. Did I mention that?

6. She's a great storyteller. She can make a trip to the library sound like fun. Oh wait, that's because she works at the library and does make it fun because she's a great storyteller. Go figure.

7. She walks and talks in her sleep. That makes for really fun sleep-overs. Just beware of where you leave your clothes lying around. You might wake up and find them on her. Upside-down.

8. She has a hot-tub underneath a gazillion stars. But I guess if you live down there you have a gazillion stars too, so that's not a good selling point. But the hot tub part is still cool.

9. She loves to shop and is a good bargain hunter. She will even let you have the $10 pair of brown skeechers, even though she found them and they're her size, but you are so jealous and she's nice like that to give them up.

10. She has a heart of gold, a soul of an angel, a mind of a comedian, and a face of a Rodeo Queen. (I almost said Dairy Queen, but thought you would get the wrong impression).

Doesn't she sound like the worlds Best-Friend? Don't you just want to stay there and grow old with her? (I do)...cuz you know if she's anything like her mom, she'll just keep getting more hilarious as she gets older. (love ya aunt owena)

The truth is...I'm so jealous of all you people who live down there in the middle-of-nowhere. You get to see her every week at church. Everytime you go to the library. At the grocery store, at the track meets, at every random field that there's a deserted vehicle (she'll be there taking pictures in case you couldn't find her at all those other places). You are so lucky that she's your friend! I was once her best friend too, but she moved away, leaving me behind. All alone.

So I cursed her.

Just kidding...I didn't really. But just in case I accidently did while I was having a pity-party, I remove the curse from you. No one that you love will ever move away again!

(Effective right after your daughter moves to South Carolina)

It started with a sneeze...

2011-03-27T17:39:00.000-07:00

...and ended with a bang.

Let me explain.

Thursday morning I receive a call from Tary to inform me our daughter has just been in a car accident. But not to worry, she's ok, but her poor little car is not so fortunate to have survived. After the policeman has finished his paperwork, and she's called work to let them know why she's not there, she calls her mom to cry on her shoulder. I'm happy to oblige, and a sappy "are you ok?" from me let's loose the damn of tears.

Poor Kayla has been fighting one of those box-a-day kleenex types of colds, so it hasn't been a good week from the get-go. She was on her way to work, and stopped behind a truck at a stop light. As the light turned green and Kayla was preparing to accelerate, she felt a sneeze coming on. Keep in mind, she has a bad cold, so this isn't going to be a dainty little finger under the nose 'choo', this is a full-blown throw the kleenex under the nostrils cuz here she blows 'A-A-A-Choo!'. Apparently, her whole body got in on the action, cuz when she sneezed, her head went down into the kleenex, and her leg went down on the accelerator, and if you've ever tried to sneeze with your eyes open, it just doesn't work. So although she didn't see what happened next, she could only guess by the sudden impact of a huge kleenex being shoved in her face, wiping the remnants of her sneeze that the first kleenex missed.

It took a few seconds before she came to her senses and realized it wasn't a ball of tissue that attacked her, but her air-bag. What the crap just happened?! One second your sneezing, and the next second you've got your hood embedded in the car in front of you. The guy whose truck she hit was really nice and was more concerned for her and her car, than his own. Lucky for both of them, she smashed into his the back of his hitch, which crumpled her bumber, radiator, and hood fairly nice. His truck suffered only a minor scratch.

Then, as if rear-ending somebody wasn't bad enough, when she got out of her car to inspect the damage, by habit, she locked her door. Now she's standing in the middle of the road, her car smashed in, looking like she just lost a fight with a punching bag, bright red with bag-rash, and no way to get in her car to move it off the side of the road. Did I mention the guy was really nice?

He came to her rescue with a crow-bar, but she used up all her luck that day by running into a nice guy and didn't have any luck left over to unlatch her door lock. Feeling pretty desperate at this point, the guy suggested that the car was pretty much toast, put a crow-bar to it's temple and finish it off. After 3 years and countless miles, she just didn't have the heart; so he did the dirty work for her and smashed in her window.

The police came and wrote her up, giving her a citation for a moving violation. He didn't even ask if she had been on her cell-phone or texting, which is usually the first thing they suspect from young girls. I think he felt bad for her as well and didn't question her sneezie story; afterall, she sounded eerily similar to snuffulufagus and had a pile of well used tissues in the passenger seat that confirmed her story. Good thing for her she was only a block away from her apartment, so was able to coax her car back to her apartment, where she called to tell her sad tale.

What a sob story...so Paisley and I drove up to Weber to pick her up and bring her home safe and sound, so she could rest and recooperate from her woes. All stories need to have a happy ending, so here it goes...

I'm hoping to give Kayla my white Chevy prism, with it's missing hub-cap and defective door latch, complete with the un-scented flip-flop car scent hanging from the rear-view mirror so she'll be able to tell it apart from the million other white prism's out there. Then I can get a new car!

And to think all this time, I thought you had to rub a magic lamp to have your wishes come true, when in reality, it all started with a sneeze!

Bless you Kayla, bless you!

This is dedicated to the one I love

2011-03-15T15:57:00.000-07:00

Just a shout out to all my favorite March Birthdays! My Dad, sister Wendy, Bro-in-laws John, Guy, Paul and niece Amber...Happy Birthday!

But this post is dedicated to a special birthday boy, my main man and hot hubby, Tary!

He turns 51 today, not nearly as dramatically as last year when he turned the big 5-0. Last year he was feeling it. He was hobbling around on crutches after snapping his accillies tendon, not able to do much, and probably feeling every gray hair and wrinkle catching up to him.

This year, Tary and I celebrated by going to Mesquite for the weekend where Tary played in a softball tournament. They bombed, but that's ok. It got them out of the tournament quicker, leaving us more time to play, which is why we went down there in the first place. Or truth be told, that's the reason why I went down there in the first place. I think half his team had the same idea as I did, as several of them stayed up all night on Friday partying/gambling, and were pretty much worthless on Saturday. But heh, no complaints heard here.

We spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the lovely weather and activities that abound in beautiful Mesquite. We left a chunk of change at the....

Bowling alley, where Tary always amazes me with his hook shot. As the ball rolls precariously close to the edge, just when you think it's gonna tip into the gutter, it breaks toward the middle of the pins and gets a strike! He stayed consistent all 3 games and ended up in the 150'ish range each time. I started out ok with a 128, really kicked it into gear with a 168 in my second game, then humility had to teach me a lesson, so I finished with a pathetic 103 in my last game. My arms were tired.

After bowling, we did something naughty. I knew I would regret it later, but we just couldn't resist. We had...

Ice-Cream! And I didn't even get the fat-free kind either. It was so yummy! Mint Chocolate, my favorite, and fun to try and eat while feeding quarters into the...

Air hockey game in the arcade. Tary smoked me, as usual. Although I think I scored half his points for him by ricocheting the puck from my blocker into my goalie.

After bowling and a little ice-cream, we headed for a dark destination where we could snuggle under a blanket and...

watch a movie. Yes, I actually brought a blanket into the theater. They always have the air-conditioners cranked up and I end up freezing and wishing the movie would prematurely end. We went and saw 'Unknown' with Liam Neeson. I loved it. It had a nice little twist at the end, which I expected there would be, but didn't expect it to go that way...Tary didn't even figure it out. You know it's good if he can't solve the plot within the first 10 minutes.

After the movie, we went to the crap table.

I mean the crab table! Casablanca was having their Prime Rib and King Crab legs buffet for only $15/person, so we loaded our plates, again and again, and ate ourselves silly. It was good. Almost worth the 5 hour drive just for dinner.

After dinner, we headed back to our lovely, understated room. We had every intention of taking advantage of the beautiful pool and nice weather. We brought our swimsuits, I even shaved my legs. But when reality hit, I just couldn't bring myself to stuff my 44 year old, crab and beef bloated body into my one-piece granny suit, while all around were the 20'ish ball playin' boys and their teenie-weenie girlfriends and wives with their pre-pregnancy bodies, bouncing around in their even teenier-weenier bikinis. So instead, I made my own hot-tub, in my teenie-weenie bathtub, and had a nice long soak. Sadly for Tary, it was a one-person hot-tub, so he made himself comfortable on the double bed with no bedspread (did I mention the room was only $39, lacking in amenities, like bedspreads) and watched endless amounts of college basketball. It was a good day.

I told Tary next tournament, he needed to join up with the 50 and over league so I could feel like the young hot-thing among all the older women, and happily strut my stuff to the pool. I hate getting old.

Oh wait...I'm not the one getting old, he is! Just one of the advantages of marrying an older man; he makes me feel young, in more ways than one. Love you hun. Happy Birthday!

Birthday wishes to be filled later.

Yep, you guessed it, ice-cream cake. And not the fat-free kind.

Doritos Healing Grandpa super bowl commercial 2011

2011-02-19T12:03:00.000-08:00

Due to technical difficulties, which is a blanket excuse for:

A: I am technilogically challenged.

B: It took me forever just to figure out how to download this video.

C: Unfortunately, I don't know how to download it to an exsisting post, it created it's own.

Please watch this short, funny clip...then read the blog below. Thank you.

necessary distractions

2011-02-19T10:25:00.000-08:00

A couple of nights ago as I was trying to prepare my young womens lesson for sunday, Trey came into the living room and started talking to me. I was busy and didn't want to be bothered by the ramblings of a 7th grader. He has a never ending supply of stories. I have enough painful memories of my own at that age and didn't want to be reminded of the hardships of junior high. Of course I never would tell him that, so I tried to put his energies into something a little more quieter, like reading.

Trey doesn't share the same passion for reading like I do. Asking him to read is akin to asking him to clean his room, or washing sunday dinner dishes. He procrastinates in the most creative ways. This particular evening, he chose the teasing route to avoid the task. He joked, he tickled, we laughed, and somehow he managed to keep me entertained till it was his bedtime, and too late to get his reading done. By now I had given up all hopes of working on my lesson, so I decided to wind down our evening together by telling him a bedtime story, the story of Trey.

I started with his birth, putting heroic emphasis on the part where I brought him out of the grips of death when he was only 6 weeks old, and ended with him graduating from BYU with a degree in civil engineering where he excelled and became a millionaire and bought his mother a beautiful new home. Somewhere in the middle of the story, he married a beautiful young woman in the temple, gave me 5 wonderful grandchildren which absolutely adore me, and not just because I took all my kids and grandchildren on a Disney cruise. I'm ashamed to admit that when Trey asked if Dad came on the cruise with us, I had to tell him that sadly, Dad died of a heart attack while playing church ball...how do you think I could afford to take everyone on a cruise? Trey thinks I'm mean, so I amended my story by telling him we promptly sprinkled Dorito chips over his dead body, and he came back to life again...we used his retirement fund for the cruise.

(Insert funny clip here)

After he finally scooted off to bed and I was left alone in our quiet peaceful home, able now to focus on my church responsibilities, I realized how grateful for the distraction, or better yet, the realization Trey gave me that night.

Trey is my greatest responsibility. He is my greatest distraction; from all that is stressful, and demanding, and necessary. He is the joy and laughter in our home. I am ever so grateful that the Lord doesn't always answer our prayers in the way that we ask or hope. If He had, Trey would have been born 17 years ago. He would have been a senior in High school this year. He would be leaving for a mission shortly after. We would be empty nesters. I would feel really old. But because His wisdom is greather than my own, I have a sweet, spunky, cool 12 year old son who loves to talk my ear off, loves to hunt and fish, play sports, and do everything with his dad. Loves and adores his little niece, and loves to hang out and pal around with his sisters when they come home and need a buddy to run chores with. Pretty sure our lives would be different if he wasn't here, at this time, and at this age.

I love my little man...and even as ironic as it is that I've had to literally shoo him and bribe him away so I could write this post (tales of his deacon game had to be re-lived), I am already dreading the day when he puts the earphones in and stops talking to me. (This is why I haven't caved in and bought him an ipod yet.)

My story that night reminded me of another one of Trey's and mine favorite bedtime story, one that makes us both cry everytime we read it; which I'm hoping we'll continue to do for a long time...."I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."

Ok, now we're both crying. Sorry. Watch the doritos clip again, it will make you laugh.

Star struck

2011-02-09T20:12:00.000-08:00

I have 'almost' met a couple of famous people in my lifetime.

Oprah was one. Not kidding. She walked in-between me and my sisters as we were blocking her way into Christie's while we were in NYC. It happened so fast, I didn't have time to react. One moment she was storming out of her big black SUV, (with 2 bodyguards mind you,) while I was quickly rummaging through my purse to find my camera, next thing I know, her bodyguard is asking us politely to step aside, I look up and there she was, right in my face. Or maybe I was in hers. Never found my camera, couldn't have gotten a shot off anyway, this was skinny Oprah and she was in good enough shape to walk the few feet in 3 seconds flat. Anyway, it all happened so fast, we didn't even have time to come to our senses. None of us said 'HI', or 'We love you', or 'You're skinnier in person', or anything. We just stood there with our mouths hanging open, all of us thinking the same thing. Did that just happen? Did we just almost meet the Big O? You'll be happy to hear I did get a picture of her big black SUV. It's proudly displayed in my scrapbook.

My other famous almost got to meet, was David Letterman. Yeah, no kidding. Same NYC, this time with my husband. We were one of the lucky couples chosen to sit on the 2nd row. I'm not sure if this had anything to do with the fact that we actually watched the show (this was before we found out his true adulterer character, of course) and knew who what's-his-name was. Not the bald piano band leader, the black guy that always wears the headphones.

Did I mention Tary was with me? You know, my husband who remembers every little thing...like people's names? Anyway, the Letterman people must have been so impressed with our Late Night knowledge, they put us on the 2nd row. That night, David was in the audience playing "Stump the Band", which by the way, I tried out for, but they weren't impressed with my rendition of 'I stuck my head in a little skunks hole'. I'm just guessing that the band already knew that one and it wouldn't have been a challenge for them, that's why they didn't pick me. Anyway, the lady they did pick was sitting directly behind Tary. So David was standing right behind and to the side of him. Tary, of course, had to play it cool, since his face was on the camera, but I, on the other hand, got to turn and look at him, up close! It was so cool. He's taller in person.

Well, a couple of months ago, I got to meet another famous person. And I actually said Hello! And she said Hello back to me! I was starstruck...and I so wanted to run back to the truck and get my camera and have Tary take a picture of us together...but I didn't want to seem like one of those crazy fans that jump up and down and scream and cry...so I played it cool and pretended to be normal, when really my insides were jumping up and down and crying and screaming for me to go get the camera! Ugh! I should have listened to my inner voice, but I didn't! I came home so disappointed in myself for trying to be so cool. Cool is so over-rated.

Then last week, I had a chance to redeem myself. I got tickets to go see a taping of "Good Things Utah" at the channel 4 studios where she was going to be a guest on. I was so excited! I packed my camera, making sure the battery was fully charged. Left an hour early for the 15 minute drive so I wouldn't be late. Found a parking spot up front...went inside...but the receptionist wouldn't buzz me in. She pointed to the sign that said, "No purses. No photography. No jumping up and down and crying and screaming for our guests." Just kidding, but not about the camera part! So I returned back to my car and locked my purse and camera inside. I would have smuggled it in if it was a small, sleek little thing like the one I got my husband for Christmas and saw on his dresser that morning, and thought about taking, but decided against it because mine had a bigger zoom lens. UGH! I couldn't believe this was happening again!

Well, I made it inside safely. The rest of her fan club made it too. When she walked out on stage, we clapped and cheered, and inside I'm sure we were all jumping up and down and screaming and crying. Can you guess what happened next? Out came the camera's. Of course, they were all little, and sleek, and able to be smuggled in. Heavy sigh. No one is going to believe my story, because I didn't even jump in the picture when she had all her home girls gather around the set for a group hug.

Failed again, I was ready to shuffle back to car for a good cry...but I couldn't, no I wouldn't, let another opportunity go by. So I marched back to my car, grabbed my big ol' zoom lens camera, smiled sweetly at the receptionist till she buzzed me back in, then floated back to the green room where my dear sweet cousin took a picture of Me and Vanessa...together...at last!

By the way, she is much littler in person.

Boredom

2011-01-29T11:58:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had a day in which you had nothing to do...Oh the prospects of such a day. Well, I'm having one of those days. But instead of feeling motivated to sew, or scrapbook, or clean a closet, or all those other things on my list of "Things I'll do when I have more time", I'm doing none of them. I have the perfect case of "Mom...I'm bored". I hate to let a good whine go to waste, so here it goes:

I've had the past two days off from work, so my housework is pretty much done, although when does it ever stay done. So if I were to be completely honest, I would say 'I'm tired of cleaning the house. The closets can stay cluttered for a few more months.'

My daughter is home from college this weekend, so my normal laundry day has been postponed.

I tried out my new Jillian Michaels 30-day shred yesterday, so obviously I'm much too sore to workout today.

My son has a basketball game in 2 more hours, so pulling out the scrapbook stuff, or starting a new sewing project would be redundant. It takes me 2 hours just to pull everything out, get organized or decide what new project I would want to start. By the time I would be ready to get going, it would be time to get going.

I could plop myself down on the couch and read a good book. However, since I finished my last time-taker-upper 2 weeks ago, "The Maze Runner" (which is really good, I highly recommend it) I haven't been consumed with anything since then. I could go to the library and find another one to read, but I currently don't have a car, and walking is out of the question, since I'm still too sore, and it's much too cold.

Shopping is always a good cure for the boredoms, but again, I don't have a car. My husband is fixing it. The door handle hasn't worked on the inside of my car for the past year, so everytime I need to get out of the car, I have to unroll the window and open it from the outside. How embarrassing is that? It's especially fun when it's pelting rain or snow at me. I think he chose today to fix it on purpose, knowing I would be bored, therefore shopping would inevitably follow.
Being bored today wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't a continuation of last night. Friday nights Tary and I usually go out, it's our date night. On occasion, we have a chaperon tagging along, namely our son, who because we usually feel guilty leaving him alone to eat cold cereal while mom and dad go out to eat, he often comes along. But last night, he was spending the night at his friends house...sweet. However, since our college daughter was coming home for the weekend, I felt equally as guilty saying, 'we're going out, find yourself a bowl of cereal or make yourself a sandwich', since that is what she pretty much lives on up at college. So, I made a lovely homemade dinner for her, and us, and hoped to catch a movie with Tary afterwards.

Don't you just hate having expectations? They never go as you had planned. First of all, there really weren't any movies we were just dying to see, or willing to pay $8/person, or stay up till midnight to watch. Movies out...what then? Chalk it up to middle age, or complacency, or martyrdom, but we didn't do a dang thing. At least not together. I ended up going grocery shopping. How pathetic is that. I did realize that the best time to go food shopping is 8 pm on a friday night. You pretty much have the whole store to yourself. Nice. Attitude, not so nice. I was pretty much a poop the rest of the evening.

Being bored does have it's advantages though. I have a lovely new background to my blog. I thought it reflected my theme quite nicely...much ado about nothing. They look like they have nothing to do as well, just lay around and daydream, and play hide and seek in the forest of fairies.

Being bored makes you grateful for the days when you do have alot to do. My old home-ec teacher from high school used to say, "Idle hands are the devil's work", or something like that. I think what she meant is that when we're bored and not doing anything useful with our hands, we end up doing something we shouldn't be doing or we're just wasting time. Like spending hours playing Ma-jongg on the computer (guilty) or making cookies (cuz i'll eat them all) or sitting in front of the tv in a stupor.

Ho-hum. Dull-drums.
Being bored is no reward.
when life is fun, we get more done.
when life is dull we feel a lull.

Nice. You've all been spared further poor poetry. Kayla's laundry is done...my car is fixed and ready to go...it's lunchtime and everyone is hungry...

well, being bored was nice while it lasted.

If Doe was a deer, what is Faun?

2011-01-10T19:26:00.000-08:00

(Read to the tune of Doe-a-Deer)

Let's start at the very beginning,

a very good place to start;

when conceived you begin with birds and bees

nine months later on the 10th of Jan-u-ary

Faun-bur-day, Faun-bur-day

the first three notes just happen to be

doe-day-mi, doe-day-mi

but today we'll sing it my-ay-way

doe-day-me-faun-fro-hap-pee-

let's see if I can make it easy.

Doe-a-deer, a female deer

day, it follows with the sun;

mi, a name I call myself

Faun, the deer that is so fun.

Fro, a head of frizzy hair,

Hap, occurence or event;

Pee, don't eat the yellow snow

Bur, there's frost inside my tent.

Now children, doe-day-me-faun-fro and so on

are only the tools we use to build a song;

Once you have these notes in your head

you can sing a million different tunes by mixing them up,

like this:

Hap-pee-bur-day-Faun-fro-mi

now you try...

Hap-pee-bur-day-Faun-fro-mi

when you know the notes to sing,

you can sing most anything!

Hap-pee-bur-day-deer-faun,

Hap-pee-bur-day-fro-mi!

I love ya!

Thanks for 44 years of laughter, and 44 more to come!

20 Years Ago...

2011-01-06T18:49:00.000-08:00

Well, the day has finally come. I don't have more any teenagers (at least for another 6 months). Kayla turned 20 years old today, and officially became...well, not a teenager anymore. But still not quite an adult. It's an awkward stage in a young womans life. Old enough to be married like her friends, but not old enough to put a nickel in a slot machine. But that's ok, for both situations.

Going away to college and living on her own has really helped Kayla grow up and learn about fiscal responsibility. Never mind that her and her roommates spent their hard-earned education money to fly off to Los Angeles for a week to see a Korean boy band perform, who cares if they were the only caucasian girls in the audience. I'm sure it was their high enthusiasm and exuberance that caught the eye of one of the band members to give them a wave and a shout-out, not their white skin and blonde hair against the sea of brown and black. Being financially responsible means staying the week in the home of his cousins best friends grandmothers home, so they could afford the $120 concert ticket and $200 plane ticket. See how responsible she's become.

She's grown into such a lovely young woman. She doesn't paint her face up and scare the neighbors anymore. These days, she's learned a natural shade of red is much more appealing. Easy to come by when by eating whole raw habenjeros peppers. She's learned to always wear a good mascara, because you never know what's going to make you cry, and milk not only does a body good, but helps relieve the burn going down. Her roommates have been such a good influence on her. Her digestive tract will never be the same again.

She's become pretty adventurous since she's gone away. She joined the college womans Rugby team, playing against girls so big, they make the Trunchbowl look like a pansy.

(ok, slight exaggeration on my part)

This summer she danced at the Stadium of Fire, and learned how to windsurf. She sailed the entire distance of the lake and back without the need of a rescue party. It was a pretty small lake, but still....It was impressive for a first timer.

And after 4 years of working for a grocery store, she's finally in a more mature job that requires her to dress in slacks, wear heels, and take money without the exchange of food. At least she's off her feet.

The best part about having a 20-year old who doesn't live at home anymore...is when she does come back home.

Happy Birthday! Love you!

Out with the old...In with the New!

2011-01-02T20:18:00.000-08:00

Out with the old...

In with the New!

(It's just a figure of speech dear)

I hate long good-bye's...I always get too emotional. So this will be short and sweet!

It's been a year with ups and downs, joys and sorrows, good-byes and hello's...and alot of growth. But since I'm a glass mostly full kind of gal, I'm going to focus on the good that's happened this year. Starting with:

January! I start my new position at work. I now work as a Corporate Trainer, and absolutely love what I do! I was terrified of accepting this new position. I felt so under-qualified, but someone saw some potential and gave me a chance, for which I will forever be grateful. It's the best thing that almost didn't happen for me.

February! Hmm, does anything good happen in february? Oh yeah, valentines. I'm sure I must have gotten a little something that was good. Overall, it's just a cold, yucky month. No wonder they make it shorter than all the others.

March! A month for birthdays...Tary turns a half a century...a hope for spring...things are starting to look up.

April! Tary and I celebrated our 25th Wedding Anniversary! No, it wasn't on a cruise, or on a beach, it was in a pyramid with mummies! If your thinking Egypt, you would be...wrong. Anniversary Inn, next best thing!

May! If April showers bring May flowers, what does May flowers bring? (no, it's not June moon. I tried that one.) Pilgrims! That's it. I'm sure it was a good month, flowers, pilgrims and all.

June...This month didn't start out so good, and only got worse. Joe's Dad passed away. A great loss, one that is felt by many.

July! Girls camp...scout camp...family camp...and the best part of the month, was Paisley! Oh, how we needed a little sunshine in our lives. Trey turned 12 and received the priesthood, that was pretty special too! And I can't forget my unforgettable night with Paul McCartney...and Tary too.

August! School starts! Kayla back in college, Trey starts Jr. High. Need I say more?

September! Kids still in school! Christmas is right around the corner!

October! General Conference...pumpkins...decorating...fall baking...cool weather...shorter days...sister craft day...Halloween! I love this time of year!

November! Christmas music! (no, it's not too early) Turkey's...new pie recipe's...finishing my christmas quilt that's been 4 years in the making...Thanksgiving...watching Mom pick up the stuffing she dropped on the floor...eating the stuffing she dropped on the floor, (yeah, it's that good!)

December! Transforming my home into a Winter Wonderland...shopping...sister candy day...baking...partying...more baking...giving...Christmas eve with the family...watching my mom knock over the tree...watching my mom try to pick up the tree...(are we sensing a new tradition with my mom on the holidays?)

Overall, it's been a good year. I'm hopeful this new year will be even better.

Happy New Year's everyone!

Silent Night

2010-12-26T17:35:00.000-08:00

I hope Mary's ok with the donkey holding the baby

(Paisley got to be baby Jesus)

I'm not sure she liked her present, but she loved the wrapping paper.

Ah, the day after Christmas. Otherwise known as "The Big Let Down". I'm just grateful I had a day to do nothing but sit and recoup at church. I've never been more grateful for 'a day of rest'. I'm already dreading next year when I have to go to work the day after Christmas.

I've decided Christmas is much like vacation. You plan and prepare and look forward to it for so long, that when it finally comes, it may or may not live up to your expectations, and you always seem to need another vacation to rest up from it.

So many of our traditions are centered around food. As a child, I looked forward to Christmas eve as much or more than Christmas day! Every year, my mom would bring down her glass serving sets. They were cute little glass trays and cups that they used to use in the good ol'days for wedding receptions, just the right size for a little kid. We would have Sprite (soda-pop was a rare treat growing up) and make our own mini-pizza's, customizing it to our likes. Olives were a must, crackers and chips, vegi's and dip, and the traditional yule log.

Spouses and 20 grandkids later, we've had to replace the pizza's with soup to make it more manageable. But our traditional junk night is a staple on Christmas eve.

And now, I have our own Christmas food traditions. Every Christmas we have a traditional turkey dinner with mashed and sweet potatoes, rolls, beans, and my once a year red-hot jello salad, and of course, yule log.

Despite all the hard work, it was a great day. I even got to sleep in til 8 am. Of course I didn't fall asleep until after 1 am (yeah, i'll admit, i had a hard time falling asleep). The kids were happy with their presents, the husband was happy with his, and when they're happy, I'm happy. And when Mom's happy, everybody's happy. It was a happy day.

Today was a good day too. I've tried hard not to let the Christmas blues take over, and it's been nice to be able to finally relax. I didn't even make a big sunday dinner, thanks to leftovers. Then we all sat down together as a family and watched one of the movies we got for christmas. Who would have thought toys could make me cry? Ah, it was a good cleanser cry. I feel refreshed.

Christmas day is over,

The tree is bare once more.

the presents have all been opened,

the gifts neatly stacked on the floor.

Christmas carols are softly fading,

Christmas greetings are no longer heard.

The feelings of anticipation,

no longer within us are stirred.

The joy of the season starts fading,

the day the tree comes down;

we box up the memories and trinkets,

they'll keep till next year comes around.

But the meaning of Christmas shouldn't be stored with the lights

and only come out once a year;

No, the meaning of Christmas should live in our hearts,

the feelings of love always near.

And so my gift to the Christ child

this year I'll give to him,

to keep his spirit within me;

Good tidings for men will not dim.

I'll keep the Spirit of Christmas

every day of this new coming year;

kind acts, good thoughts and deeds

will keep me in Merry Christmas cheer.

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope it was a good one...I hope we can all keep Christmas, not just 12 days of the month, but 12 months of the year!

Christmas memories

2010-12-12T17:04:00.000-08:00

I think one of the reasons I love Christmas so much, is because of the fond memories I have of christmas as a child.

Part of those memories come from watching the old silent home movies., before the vcr and videotapes were invented. My favorite family home evenings were the times Dad would drag out the old film projector and big reels of 8 mm film. Family vacations, camping, running through the sprinklers, and every childs birthday and the blowing of the candles were forever captured in our memories thanks to those old movies. But the ones I looked forward to watching the most, were when my brother and sisters and I were lined up in front of the roaring fireplace, in our new pajamas that Mom made us every Christmas eve.

We were allowed to open one present on Christmas eve, of course it was always preselected by our Mom, and it was always a new pair of pajamas. As I recall, in the movies I was usually twirling, my sister twisting/dancing, and my brother would be stomping on some invisible bug. The trees would change from year to year. One year it might be flocked in white with big red crepe paper flowers adorning it, or green with tinsel and popcorn strung about. Our pajama's would also change as the years went by; flannel pj's with new minnie mouse slippers, or tricot nightgowns that were slick and flowing, perfect for sliding down the dining table leaves that doubled as a homemade slippery slide.

Whatever the wardrobe or tree looked like, our faces always held the same look of anticipation for who was to come, in what would always appear to be the longest night of the year!

I'm surprised Santa even made it to our house, with all those wide eyed children who found sleep impossible and was ready to catch him in the act with every bump and clatter they heard. When my sister and brother and I moved to the basement rooms, with our little siblings asleep upstairs, we would stay up late, with our radio turned down low, listening to the Santa sightings and estimating how long it would be before he found his way to our neighborhood. When we could stand it no more, we would sneek upstairs to see if the big guy had made his appearance. I don't know how he did it, but every time he came and left before we caught a glipse of him. And as was often the case, the temptation to sneek a peek at what he left was too great. With our stockings overflowing and presents piled so far and wide around the tree, it was almost overwhelming and made sleep near impossible. And most often than not, it was Mom and Dad who was shaking us awake in the morning, because eventually we drifted off to sleep and couldn't seem to wake up on our own, even knowing what awaited us upstairs.

Traditions are an important part of Christmas, and one of the traditions I've kept alive with my own children, is to let them open one present on Christmas eve, and if you guessed it was a new pair of pj's, you would be right.

The other tradition, you know, the one about having a hard time sleeping at night...oh don't you worry. Pathetically I'm still keeping that tradition alive as well.

Tis the season to be...sick. falalala.

2010-12-07T15:45:00.000-08:00

My husband thinks I'm crazy that I start watching my favorite Christmas movies in October/November. I admit, I always thought I was a little over anxious for the season to begin, so thought perhaps that's why I pull out my DVD collection a bit premature. But this year, while having an AHA moment, I realized my subliminal mind knew all along what it was doing when it craved to see Tim Allen in his silky red pj's, which by the way, I own a pair just like it, only mine don't have the initials SC embroirdered on them, but their still just as festive!

Anyway, my AHA came as I realized I had only watched one christmas movie thus far in the season, the new Jim Carrey's "A Christmas Carol". As I was trying to figure out how I was going to fit in all 10 of my favorite christmas shows in only 18 short days, that's when I realized...this is why I start watching so early...so I can get them all in. heck, even just 2-3 would be great at this point.

This month is always so busy, and every year I vow to start preparing earlier so I can sit back, relax, and enjoy the month of December without feeling all the rush and busi-ness that comes with it. I thought I was doing pretty good too. We had our annual Sister Candy Day on December 1st, and my visiting teaching all done by the 3rd. But every night brings something new. Birthday dinners for Chelsea and my mother in law, family night, RS dinner, Trey's choir concert, Tary's work party, my work party, ward christmas party, family christmas party...and I still need to bake goodies for the neighbors!

Is it any wonder that my body has said, ENOUGH! Unfortunately it has rebelled. I'm home sick today. Forced to slow down by a cold. And yet oddly enough, I still haven't squeezed in a good movie. I slept in till 10, (that felt wonderful) wrapped all the presents while the kid is in school, read a short little christmas book, and now I'm blogging. In an hour I'll be at the church, helping set up for the Relief Society Christmas dinner, but believe me...as soon as it's over, I'll be in my silky red pajama's with my Nyquil and blankie, and cuddled up with Santa Clause.

...and to all a good night!

Too busy to give thanks...NOT!

2010-12-01T17:05:00.001-08:00

Hey, it's stuffing...no one is going to notice a little carpet fuzz, right?

I feel like such a slacker! Thanksgiving has come and gone. It seems like only yesterday that it was Halloween, and tomorrow will be Christmas! How does this happen? And why do I seem so surprised that the days fly by this time of year?

I apologize for not publicly expressing my gratitude to family and friends, and if you're reading this, you must be one of them. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Chelsea and I were driving across town last month, and we drove through my old neighborhood in Murray where Tary and I lived for 2 years when we were first married. We really liked our neighborhood, our ward, and the friends we made there. When we started looking for a home of our own, we wanted to stay close by. We even made an offer on a home there, but it didn't work out. We ended up in a town farther than expected, but have loved the home and the neighborhood where we have lived for the past 23 years.

I was wondering out loud to my daughter, how different our lives might be if we had stayed in Murray. Would I be the same person I am today? Would she?

Would I be a chocolatier (that's an exaggeration on my part) if I didn't live across the street from Carla, who happens to make the best chocolates in the world and passed on her trade secrets to me?

Would I be a quilter if I hadn't been a visiting teacher to Sue, who inspired me with her beautiful wall quilts and talent for sewing crafts?

Would I had been able to be a stay at home working mom if I didn't know the sweet ladies in my ward, Devina, and Tammy and Alison, who all convinced me I should get a job at JetBlue?

Would I be where I am today, at the best place to work with the best job in the world? Or would I have stayed at Hunter Douglas because it was just down the street, and in my comfort zone.

Would Chelsea have ever met and married Joe if they didn't grow up in the same ward, go to the same school, and share the same friends? Would she even be married yet? Would I still have my beautiful Paisley who has Joe's eyes?

So many 'what if's'...it reminds me of my favorite Christmas movie, "It's a Wonderful Life". George Bailey gets to see what life would have been like if he wasn't in it. He got to see just how much influence for good he had on the people in his community.

I'd like to think that my community, my ward, my neighbors and friends, have made me who I am today because of their influence in my life, and the lives of my children.

I don't believe in coinsidences. I think someone above knew where I needed to be, to be with the people I needed to be with, to help me get to where I needed to be.

And for that, I am Grateful. And just in case He reads my blog in his spare time, I Thank You.

And so my dear friends, I Thank You for the influence you have had in my life. For the talents you have shared, the laughter, the tears, and most of all, your examples.

For my dear family...your influence is a constant in my life, no matter where I live. You have shaped and molded me more than you know. It's because of all of you that I want to be a better person.

For my three sweet kids...I love you for the children you were, for the people you grew up to be, and for the Mother you created in me.

For my dear husband, who saw enough potential in a silly 16 year old girl to make him want to hang around and wait for me to grow up, and who is still patiently waiting for that day to come....I love you and thank you for choosing me. Thank you for the life we have built together, for the future we are still building...

...and for agreeing to move into our home just because it had a really big kitchen!

I love you all! Happy Belated Thanksgiving!

Do you hear what I hear?

2010-11-11T08:44:00.000-08:00

I've always thought something must be wrong with me.

Why am I so different? Why can't I be like everyone else? Why can't I just fit in? Sometimes the shame and ridicule is too much to bear.

Being a christmas musicholic hasn't always been an easy burden to bear. People give me weird looks, and call me crazy, and wonder how I can stand it and not get burned out or sick of it. People are afraid to get too close to me, afraid that good-cheer will rub off on them like some contagious rash. I've always been a closet christmas musicholic, until fm100 and kosy ousted me. It's been healthy to know I'm not alone. There are others out there like me.

This year, I wasn't going to get my hopes up. Last year, the day after Halloween was such a let down because the holly jolly tunes weren't playing. Eventually the radio stations succombed, due to pressure from my fellow musicholics, and the season got back on track. This year, I wasn't sure if they would wait till they got the same response, or if they would start on their own accord. Either way, I told myself, I have enough of my own music to tie me over till they came to their senses. So I wasn't terribly disappointed when November 1st came along, but the christmas music didn't come along with it.

Really, I was ok. The weather was still warm, the skies sunny, it was hard to start thinking about a winter wonderland in the middle of an indian summer. (Besides, I had recently bought Kenny G's collection of christmas favorites and was already getting my money's worth out of it.) But imagine my delight, when on November 4th (I know, it's weird that I remember the exact date and time) I turned on my radio to keep me company while I made dinner, and lo and behold, it was beginning to sound a lot like Christmas!

The Christmas musicholics have scored another victory...and this time we have a celebrity on our side!

I don't know if it was coincidence, but just 2 days later, Jerry Johnston, one of my favorite columinists in the Deseret News, wrote an article entitled "It's time for annual clash of the carols". Catchy huh. Anyway, in his article he asks the all important question: How long should we wait before we start playing those troubling Christmas carols?

He mentions the "battle between the "hold off" crowd, those who perceive early carols as a ploy by merchants to sell Christmas. They dislike the materialism and fear the reason for the season has to do more with goods than goodwill.

Then there are the "play the carols early" bunch who are choosing the better angels of human nature. For them, the carols call to mind family, friends, good times and good feelings. They are anxious to rekindle the holy light within themselves."

He says, "the more tidings of comfort and joy we can bring to the surface the better. We've been through a long year. The information age has us worrying about things in distant lands we wouldn't have even known about 30 years ago. We're told to think 'globally'. But we're not globes, we're humans. We need to think 'humanly'. The more we focus on people around us, the more real we feel. And no songs help us see that human side of each other more than the Christmas carols. So I say bring 'em on. The more the merrier. For I know, in my case, the sooner I can hear a sweet version of "With Wondering Awe", the sooner I will find more perspective, sanity and faith in our frail existence."

Amen. I couldn't have said it better myself, (which is why he gets paid for his thoughts and I don't).

Christmas music makes me smile. It cheers my heart, lifts my down trodden spirit, and gives me hope when life is depressing and cold. No one should put a time restraint on happiness, and Christmas music just makes me happy; and I'm sure we could all use a little more happiness in our lives, whatever the season.

Now if you excuse me, I'm going to crank up the radio and fix myself a little hot chocolate. Oh yeah, chocolate makes me happy too!

Let it Fall, let it fall...let it fall!

2010-11-07T17:25:00.000-08:00

Oh the weather outside's delightful

though the rain was somewhat spiteful;

but the goblins still had a ball,

so let it fall, let it fall, let it fall.

Though the leaves outside are changing,

and we brought some candy for exchanging;

we're not quite ready to deck the halls,

so let it fall, let it fall, let it fall.

Yeah, I know. I've been an absentee blogger. More computer problems which I won't bore you with. But I'm back with a vengance! I have so much to blog about, I don't know where to start. So, to keep it short and sweet, here's my top ten favorite things that happened in October:

10-Paisley learned how to smile!

9-Trey got braces!

8-First snowfall of the season...which promptly melted before I could get a picture of it.

7-Going to Midway with Chelsea and Paisley to see the fall colors and look at the scarecrow display at the Homestead. (Although I really went for the fudge, and the fudge shop was closed)

6-Getting to know Matt at our Halloween Dinner.

(picture not taken at the dinner, but the only one I had of Matt, thanks to facebook)

5-Sister Craft Day! Look at those big Boo's we have!

4-Finally, a new computer! (let's hope it finally works)

3-Halloween with the family!

My little baby bumble-bee!

The Joker

The Mad Hatter!

2-Candy! Candy! Candy! (not really, but I ran out of ideas)

And the no. 1 best thing about this October is....

Despite all of it, I still lost 2 pounds!

Let it fall, let it fall...let it fall!

One hot mummy

2010-10-26T18:47:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's snowing outside. Fall is passing me by, and I haven't even blogged about it yet! So much has happened, Trey got braces, Paisley found her smile, Kayla got a boyfriend...and all the while I'm bogged down in computer purgatory (that's a nice word for the 'H' word).

Ladies, thought you would want to know, nagging still works. Last night my sweet husband finally consented, and we went out and bought a NEW computer! It's so sweet. Now I'm in blog heaven.

So much to talk about, where do I start? In honor of my new computer, I'm going to do something I've never attempted before. I'm going to do a...dah dah dah...tutorial.

We have a tradition in our family, it's fairly recent. In 2005 my Holiday edition of Taste of Home had a recipe for Mummy Calzones. Ever since, we've had a special Halloween dinner, full of body parts and creepy food. I thought I would pass along the recipe so you can make mummies of your own.

You will need:

2 loaves frozen bread dough, thawed

1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese

1/2 cup pizza sauce

pepperoni slices

1 egg, beaten

olives

Roll out each piece of dough into a rounded triangle shape about 14 inches long and 11 inches wide at the base of the triangle. Place each on a parchment lined baking sheet with the tip of the triangle toward you. Lightly score a 4" wide rectangle in the center of the triangle 2" in from the top and bottom. On each long side, cut 1" wide strips at an angle up to the score line, leaving a trianglein the top center of the wide end for the head.

(sorry, this picture is misplaced. Pretend it's at the bottom)

Inside the scored rectangle in the center, layer pizza sauce, cheese, pepperoni and olives. Shape the top center triangle into a head. Starting at the head, fold alternating strips of dough at an angle across filling, stopping at the last strip on each side. Fold the bottom dough tip up over the filling, then fold the remaining two strips over the top; press down firmly.

Brush dough with egg. Cover and let rise for 15 minutes. For eyes, press a sliced, cut in half, olive pieces into head. Bake at 350 degrees for 25-28 minutes. Let stand for 5 minutes before slicing. Makes 8-10 servings. See pictures above.

Enjoy!

(More blogs to come...stay tuned!)

Hutch

2010-10-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

I am not one of those people who love to wake up at the crack of dawn on a saturday morning and drive all over the valley hitting every garage sale at every corner in hopes I'll score big with some $2 antique hiding behind a layer of dust, that when polished is worth $2000. Nope, not me. I have enough problems trying to figure out where to store my own stuff without adding other peoples junk into the mix. Don't get me wrong, I love a good bargain. I didn't earn the title "Clearance Queen" for no reason, let's just say I prefer to do my bargain hunting in a air-conditioned store and buy things that don't have dried boogies and cobwebs clinging on to them. But when my neighbor across the street announced she was sorting out her closets in hopes to make a few bucks, I was elated!

My neighbor doesn't do junk...she does Macy's, and Village Quilt shop, and Tai-Pan. In other words, she has good taste. (and no boogies)

I must admit, I held off till almost noon. I had just bought a new quilt for my bed, new clearance clothes for my closet, and Tai-Pan and I are on a first name basis I go there so much. So I didn't think there would be anything I really needed. Yes, I know there's a difference between wants and needs, so when my husband told me I needed to go see what Mary had, I didn't hesitate to take him up on it. ( I later learned those were Mary's words, not my husbands)

Oh, books. I love books. She just happened to have one of my all time favorites of Dean Koontz, Life Expectancy. I highly recommend it to anyone, and if you'd like to borrow a copy, one just happened to come in to my possession lately.

Pillows...I love pillows. A cute little christmas pillow will look so good on my bench at Christmastime. Shoes. How convenient that she is just my size, a pair of red, pair of white, pair of blue (looks just like the red one), how patriotic of me, yes I am. Just doing my part america.

But when Mary said she had just the 'thing' for me, I was slightly disappointed to see her standing beside an old 1950 something secretary (not the person type, a desk type). Eh, not interested, but not wanting to hurt her feelings, I gave it a looksy. Solid wood...maple...(I like to eat maple, not look at it)...not really my style...kinda old fashioned...kinda antiquish...antiques can be cool...it is real wood....and then it hit me! What would Vanessa do? She would refinish it, paint it, scuff it, antique it, restore it! SOLD! 35 bucks...what a steal!

Mary's son who was selling his stuff and just happens to be a woodworker, got all excited when I said I wanted to refinish it. He started telling me how to sand it, use some type of goop to remove the varnish before I re-stained it.

"Do I have to do all that if I'm going to paint it?"

"Paint it? Why would you paint it? Don't you know that's real maple? You don't want to paint over maple!"

"Uh, yes I do"

I think I just got eye rolled at, and I'm pretty sure he would have refused the sale and refunded my money if he had his way. He was a little disgusted with my plans. But I could see it in my minds eye. Black...no, too dark. It would stick out like a sore thumb. Barn Red? No, that's a fad color. I don't want to have to repaint it in a few more years. Off-white, sanded edges, antiqued finish. Yes! I can't wait to get started...and started I did. I sanded that very day. The next weekend I painted, that thursday I stained. Two weeks, a lot of work and a little love, I now have a beautiful secretary sitting in my kitchen.

Well, that doesn't sound right...

Maybe I'll call it "Hutch". Sounds manly. It will be nice having a 'hutch' hanging around the kitchen.

The long and winding road

2010-10-03T12:38:00.000-07:00

Into every life...a little road construction will follow.

I'm beginning to think there's a conspiracy to keep me from where I need to go. Every street I turn down it's either blocked, closed, detoured, or overly crowded because it's the only street left for people to travel.

Every morning I leave at 7:10 am just to make sure Trey isn't late for school by 7:30. After we wind around 3 different sub-divisions, a quarter tank of gas and 10 minutes later, I finally drop him off where he walks the last little bit because again, I can't get across the street to actually drop him off at the school.

My work route wasn't immune either. I take the back road to avoid the rush hour backed up 90th south street. One not so fine day, the little men in orange closed my secretive escape route home. Ugh! It took me 30 minutes to travel the 6 miles to my home! This went on for some time, as most road closures do. Then one miraculous day, the road blocks were gone! I could take the road less traveled once more. Not only was my little back road open, but it was beautiful! Black, smooth road topped with brightly yellow lines showing me the way. Wide pavement with charming street lamps adorning the curbs. My drive home was actually a pleasant experience, and it made me reflect on how our lives are much like road construction.

Sometimes we have pot-holes in our lives, created by sin. Little spots that mostly go unnoticed, caused by thoughtless actions, unkind words, mischievious deeds. Other times, we have big potholes, caused by greater sin; sin that if left unrepentant, grows bigger and wider, and harder to repair. Most often, the holes start out innocently enough, but because we don't take care of them right away, they grow bigger as we journey down the same path, over and over again, making the same mistakes, until we realize too late that unless we swerve around the hole, we could fall in and get stuck. Stuck in the rut that we've made for ourselves; our road broken and damaged from unwise choices that we've neglected to fix.

Until one day, we start down the path, and realize it's not a road we want to take anymore. We don't like where it leads; the bumpy road is too painful and a sore reminder of what it used to be.

So we call on the one person who can help repair our road.

The process won't always be easy; there will be detours along the way, leading us down safe roads of those who can also help us. Our road might be closed for awhile during repair, causing us sorrow for missed opportunities. But with His help, we slowly begin to fill in the gaps and holes. With each prayer we offer, each tear we shed, each scripture we read, each sacrifice we make, the holes fill up with hope, with faith, with love and gratitude. The process may seem slow, the results at times unseen. But one fine day, you'll arrive at your path, and replacing the bumps and holes and gaps, the ugly faded and scarred surface, lies before you a beautiful, smooth road. All blemishes gone. All reminders of the rough road eraced. What lies before you now, are the clear yellow and white lines, keeping you in the straight and narrow way, guiding you to your eternal home.

And if we're smart, we'll upkeep our road...filling the potholes as we go along, so we'll never have need of major road repair again.

Now if you'll excuse me, my shovel and pail are waiting.

Jerky anyone?

2010-09-25T16:32:00.000-07:00

Last week my son became a man.

Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. But he did do something manly. He shot his first animal; That sounds mean. He got his first kill; that doesn't sound any better. He brought home an Antelope; not for a pet, for a wallhanging.

He was so excited. Tary shot one too. Fortunately they spent all their money on tags and gas and a hotel that they can't afford to get them stuffed, so all we have to show for their big adventure is a couple of skulls with horns, and lots of antelope meat.

Not sure what I'll be doing with a freezer full of antelope. I'm hoping Tary is planning on making lots of jerky with it. My kids gobble down his elk and deer jerky, and although I'm not a fan of hard crunchy meat, it does give the house a mouth-watering smell.

Speaking of jerky smells, I have a friend who is a Dula. That's not her name, it's what she does. A dula is someone who takes care of pregnant women pre-labor, mid-labor, and post-labor. She helps women through natural child-birth and is there to help them with whatever they need her to do. A while ago, she had a patient who after she gave birth to her fifth child, came home to a family of sick kids. They all had the flu, and the Mom needed rest, so she hired Kristi to come and basically take care of everyone else, so she could take care of her own needs.

Kristi spent the morning cleaning up after 4 sick kids. Washing and changing sheets and mopping floors and all that fun stuff that accompanies the flu. By mid-afternoon, she was tired and hungry. She had planned to go home for lunch, since she lived rather close, but the demands were too great and she didn't see any way to escape, even for a quick bite.

All morning, a mouth watering aroma had been coming from the kitchen. A food dehydrator had trays of tasty look meat that Kristi just couldn't resist. She thought a little piece or two would be able to hold her till she could get away, and she didn't think anyone would begrudge her a bite since she had been working so hard all day long, and certainly the children were in no shape to be eating jerky. So Kristi slowly opened the lid, found the perfect piece, and took a bite. Hmm, tasty; a little gritty though. Not quite sure what type of meat it is, doesn't taste like beef, don't think it's venison or buffalo. As she chewed on another piece and pondered over the mystery meat, the Mom walked into the kitchen, catching her red-handed.

"This is interesting jerky" Kristi said, "what type of meat is this?"

"It's not meat... it's my placenta."

(Sphew)

Needless to say, Kristi mopped up more than just for the kids that day.

Jerky anyone?

Not so fare at the Fair

2010-09-19T20:04:00.000-07:00

Last monday for family night, we went to the fair. So did about a gazillion other families. Family night at the fair means kids are free, which means the normal white trash, body piercing, face tattooing, hair spiking, pants falling crowd stayed away. Every night should be family night at the fair. The smell of smoke and alcohol was replaced by cotton candy and candy apples, and the sea lion show was standing room only. It was refreshing.

I made sure I got my exercise in before we went, visions of deep fried corn dogs and funnel cakes spurred me on, burning the calories I was consuming just thinking about all that delicious fair food. On the way, the radio announced the "All you can eat ice-cream" booth at the fair, just $3 for adults, $2 for children...oh heavens, I should have ran another mile.

Once inside the gates, we made our leisurely stroll through the animal barns, the 4-H exhibits, the Division of Wildlife (Tary's favorite) the quilt exhibits (my favorite) and the visual arts exhibit. The smell of roasting chicken over an open flame caught our attention, so we ditched the dogs for a bird instead, with rice and salad to boot. It was yummy, but much too healthy for the fair food conesieur. The funnel cakes looked delicious, but I resisted, knowing that my tummy and my wallet would be better served with the ice-cream, it only we could find it!

The fair is famous for it's fried foods. Normally, I try to obstain from drowning my food in a hot tub of grease, but once in awhile, it sure tastes good. This year we found everything from deep-fried snickers, to deep-fried pickles. That didn't even sound good, but I thought for sure Tary would go for the deep-fried bacon, drizzled in chocolate. I was actually looking forward to taking a bite out of it, not that I would spend $4.50 on one for myself, but I was kinda hoping he would. Bummer, no takers. I should have got the funnel cake while I had the chance. Ugh, now I'm getting desperate, where's the ice-cream?

We decided against paying $10 for a few tickets that would get us on 1 ride, and instead Tary and Trey went on a virtual reality ride. It was worth the $5 just to watch the goofy grins on their faces as they lurched and rocked and tilted side to side as they were strapped in, with virtual googles and headsets on. Trey was on a western rollercoaster, Tary did a airplane combat fight. And I sat on the sidelines, wishing I had brought my camera.

By now it's getting dark, it's a school night, time to start thinking about heading home. But we can't leave yet, we haven't found the...hey, lookie over there! It's the ice-cream tent...it's 9:05, they just barely closed, and they just scooped up the last bowl of ice-cream. It's all gone. Bummer. I should have got the fried funnel cake when i had the chance.

What a waste of a good work-out!

My Babies

2010-08-27T19:44:00.000-07:00

My baby started Jr. High yesterday. Yeah, it's killing me. I was planning on the millenium to be here by now, so he could avoid the whole jr. high thing. I should have planned a little better and put him in a self defense class instead.

Chelsea and I pulled out Trey's baby book today; (she wanted to see if Paisley resembled her favorite uncle), and the memories came flooding back. There was Chelsea, 10 years old, holding her little brother. Now she holds her own little one. I've said it again, but it's worth repeating:

They grow up way too fast!

But if that's not consolation enough for the 3 am infomercial watching, sleep deprived mom of a newborn, consider this:

School has started. That means, before you know it, it will be time to start thinking about Halloween costumes, and carving pumpkins, and stocking up on candy. And we all know what happens the day after Halloween...Christmas music! But let's not forget Thanksgiving. We'll be so busy scouring over our recipe books, trying to find a new pie for the dessert table, that it will be here before we know it. And we all know what happens the day after Thanksgiving...setting up Christmas! The trees, the lights, the garland...oh think what fun Christmas will be this year with a new little one in our nativity manger! January brings birthdays and anniversary's to look forward too, and then spring will be right around the corner! Easter bunnies, walks in the park, blooming flowers and trees. Summer will follow on it's heels. Wading pools to keep cool, popsicles and fireworks...and then before you know it, she'll be a year old and sleepless nights will be a distant memory.

Whew! See how fast that went.

(Don't you just love the way I snucked (?) sneeked (?) the thought of halloween and christmas into my post just so I could use this awesome picture I took at Tai-Pan, cuz they have all their halloween decorations up and it's getting me trunky and treaty)

When I was a young girl in primary, we had a daddy-daughter date. I think we had dinner (I remember the ice-cream sundaes) and a program. I remember my best friends Lisa and Laurel sat on their dad's knee as he sang this song to them:

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby my own?

Turn around and you're two

Turn around and you're four

Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out the door

Chorus: Turn around, Turn around, Turn around and you're a young girl

Going out of the door

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Little dirndles and petticoats, where have you gone?

Turn around and you're tiny

Turn around and you're grown

Turn around and you're a young wife

With babes of your own

Chorus: Turn around, Turn around, Turn around and you're a young wife
with babes of your own.

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?

Where are you goin' my baby my own?

By the end of the song, all of the Dad's were in tears. Back then, I didn't understand. I just knew my Dad cried alot. I figured it was a Dad thing.

Now I understand. And it's not just a Dad thing, it's a parent thing. (sniff sniff)

My babies are not babies anymore. Their grown, going off to jr high, and college, and having babies of their own.

Turn around Trey, turn around...come sit on my lap one more time. Come sing the Barney song one last time..."I love you, you love me..." come give me sticky kisses and wrap your dirty hands around my neck...let me read you a story one more time, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be"...let me wipe away the tears one more time while you ask me what's wrong.

Nothing's wrong baby, it's just the way life is.

Where are you goin' my baby, my own.

Cake baking, picture taking, vanessa stalking weekend

2010-08-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

I had the best weekend.

My uncle Jack is turning 90 years old this week, so his family had a nice little party for him at the town park. In case your wondering what one does at a birthday party for a 90 year old, one eats alot, visits alot, and takes pictures alot. Sorry, no clowns or magicians, but there was a 99 year old man there as well, which I thought was pretty cool.

So, we baked alot of cakes this weekend, Faun and I. We also took alot of pictures. Well, truth be told, her daughter Lauren took alot of pictures, Faun and I were on the opposite end of the lens this time, and we had no clue what we were doing. We have a whole new respect for all the poor saps that we boss around when we say 'tilt your head'' "chin up" "your hands look goofy" "give me a serious look" "I said serious, not constipated". Anyway, it was harder than it looks, which is why out of 100 pictures, only 19 made it through the editing process.

In all fairness, Faun looked great in all of them. Ok, most of them. She's a natural. I, on the other hand, felt like my arms grew by 2 feet. They were lanky and flanky and I didn't know what to do with them. Just as I was starting to get the hang of it, Faun would utter those 3 words every profile challenged model hates to hear..."Lets do serious". I was so worried about my chin disappearing when I stopped smiling, that I forgot to suck in my gut. So if there's only 1 serious picture that made it, it's because I looked like a butt protruding, gut flaunting, chin receeding, nose weirding person. I'm not kidding. I don't do serious. Just ask our photographer. We ended up laughing too hard, all thoughts of seriousness gone. Mission accomplished.

I also got to meet the house of one of my idols. Vanessa from V and Co. lives in close proximity to my cousin, so we drove by in hopes that she would be outside, working in her garden or taking fashion tips from her turtled neck sheep. Disappointment. She must have been inside working on a quilt, or better yet, blogging. But...I saw her house! It's darling! Her yard is beautiful too! I felt like somewhat of a stalker, knowing where she lives and all. She's very careful not to disclose her location on her blog, identifying herself as living in "the middle of nowhere utah"...and I know where that is, nah nah. I drove by again on my way home from Faun's, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, working up the courage to stop and say "Hi, I'm one of your admirers, can I have your autograph", but lucky for her, she was inside. Probably whipping up some homemade apple pie in a cute frilly apron that she made. Oh, to be so close.

I wonder where she'll be October 9th? Maybe if she's reading this she can be outside, arranging her pumpkins fastidiously around her yard. Or dressing a cute little scarecrow with overalls that she made out of old pillow cases and worn out jeans. And if I just so happen to drive by on my way to a certain person's house in the middle of nowhere utah, I could stop by and say "Hi. I'm one of your admirers. Could I get a picture with you?"

Just as long as it's not a serious profile, I'm sure she would be great with that!

Smittled

2010-08-08T18:29:00.000-07:00

I feel like I should be wise by now.

I thought by the time I was a Grandma I would be all knowing and wise. Maybe not. Afterall, we're not called Wisema's. But I can be Grand. Golly gee-wiz, I'm grand. Maybe not.

What I am is smitten...yes, smitten. That's the first word that pooped into my head when I think of my sweet little PJ.

And since I wanted to make sure I was using the word properly in a sentance, (cuz I've been known to make up my own words from time to time), I looked it up in the dictionary to make sure it was a real word. According to Dictionary.com, it is:

smit·ten
–adjective
1.
struck, as with a hard blow.
2.
grievously or disastrously stricken or afflicted.
3.
very much in love.

Does anyone else find it extremely ironic that the same word used to identify one being "very much in love" also defines it as "struck, as with a hard blow", and "disastrously stricken".

Does that mean when you "fall in love" you land on your head? When you're "head over heels" about someone, is it cuz you've been afflicted with vertigo? If you've been "swept off your feet", do you land on your tush with a hard blow? If you "take my breath away", have I been stricken with asthma?

I'm not sure smitten was the word I was looking for afterall.

How about...smittled. According to my pocket dictionary of Lindaisms:

Smit-tled, adj.

1. to have one's heart melt with love.

2. to be completely captivated by a sleeping baby.

3. having a strong desire to snuggle a baby in kisses.

Yes. That is what I am, smittled. Not wise, not grand, just smittled.

Do you blame me? I'm sure once you meet her, you'll be smittled too!

Finally!

2010-07-31T19:37:00.000-07:00

I'm back...I hope. My computer has been giving me fits. I'm going on faith that everyone but me can see my blog. Meanwhile, so much has happened in the last month, I'm not sure where to begin.

We started out the month of July by packing up the whole family and spending a week at Palisades. We swam, we fished, we paddled. Some of us sailed, golfed, and caught frogs. But we all had a great time! (Except for JP who was sick, and Cindy cuz she's the mom and that's the way it is when your child is sick)

When we got home from camping, Tary discovered a message on his phone. Would we like tickets to the Paul McCartney concert? Uh, let me think about it for a minute...HECK YES! It was amazing! The guy sang for 2 1/2 hours straight! No warm up band, no intermission, no potty break, and 3 encores! It was the best concert I have ever been too, although Buble' comes in a close 2nd, possibly a tie. I think I'll need to see Michael again to make a accurate decision.

And just when you think the month couldn't hold any more surprises, last Sunday we woke up the call of our daughter who announced she is in labor! Contractions were strong, but not very close yet. But by the time church was over at 4pm, and the road blocks and detours led us past their house, they were just pulling out to head to the hospital. 2 hours later they were back at our house, starving and discouraged. She was dilated to a 3, but hadn't progressed after an hours worth of walking the hospital halls, so they sent her home.

I was expecting a good half-nights sleep, just knowing the call would come at 3 am that she was back at the hospital. But my daughter was more considerate to me than I was to my mom, and let me sleep till 6 am before she made the call. They were back at the hospital, and this time they admitted her for the duration, seeing as how she had progressed to a 6! Holy cow, I had better hurry, she could go at any time! So without so much as a shower or a dab of mascara (I would just cry it off anyway), I woke up my lamaze partner (Kayla) and we rushed to the hospital. By the time we got there, she was at a 7 and progressing nicely. They had just given her an epidural, so things slowed down a bit....

....fast forward to 10 am. Chelsea was now dialated to a 10 and ready to go. Only one problem, the doctor was delivering another baby, C-section. Not to worry, the nurse told us, pushing could take hours. Shall we give it a try? Here comes a contraction...P..U..S..H..again...P...U...S...H...nicely done. Chelsea is a good little pusher. Here comes another contraction, knees in...P...U...S...H...good job, again...P...U....S...H...very good, in fact, too good. Maybe you should cross your legs for awhile, the doctor's not quite ready. So, for the next 30 minutes, Chelsea had to literally suck it in everytime a contraction would come.

Finally, the doctor arrived, the epidural had worn off, and the pushing could continue. 2 pushes later, and our sweet little Paisley joined our family!

What a beautiful little girl she is! As they laid her on Chelsea's chest, I couldn't contain the tears, (although I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding them behind the camera). Funny, I didn't cry when any of my children were born. I think I was in shock, I was relieved, I was too busy trying to get a look at their faces and determine who they looked like. This time around, I was an observer. I was able to watch the miracle of birth without going through the pain, yet it hurt to see my daughter go through the pain. This time the relief wasn't physical, but a mental relief that both my babies were all right. It was a beautiful experience, I'm so grateful Chelsea and Joe allowed me to witness their little miracle.

I stayed long enough to make sure all was well, then after a tearful good-bye, I was off to girls camp for 5 days. I knew they were in good hands, I knew there was nothing more I could do, and I knew I had a responsibility and a commitment that I had to fulfill. I knew the Lord would bless them while I was away, and I was right. I remember after I had Chelsea, I could hardly walk or sit I was in so much pain, but Chelsea was blessed with a quick healing. And just when I thought the month of surprises was over....on wednesday, as I was cleaning up the craft for the day, I turned around and...

...SURPRISE! Standing in front of me, Chelsea, Joe and my sweet little Paisley! I was flabbergasted, shocked, stunned, excited, and a whole bunch of other adjectives! I know not all blessings are immediate, as some blessings are reserved for the next life, but I will be forever grateful that I was able to enjoy the blessings of my sacrifice for the next few hours as I held my sweet little grand-baby for the first time!

A busy month for sure. A month full of fun and surprises. Ask me what the highlight of my month was, I'd have to tell you that although unexpected concert tickets were awesome, flushing toilets and hot showers while camping was divine, rain in the middle of the night instead of the middle of the day was timely, the highlight of my month came in a surprise visit with my grand-daughter. Finally!

Fathers...in heaven

2010-06-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this post pre-makeup.

It's a bitter-sweet Fathers Day. Sweet for those of us who still have our fathers with us, so we can shower them with hugs and kisses, hand-made cards and a big breakfast in bed.

Bitter for those whose fathers have been called home prematurely, and they're not able to wrap their arms around them and express how much they love and appreciate them. Wishing and hoping that they showed and told their fathers enough while they were here, knowing they passed on with knowledge of the love they left behind.

Friday night, my dear sweet son in law, lost his father to a tragic accident. Oddly enough, it was the second time in his life that he lost his father. The first time, he came back. This time, he did not. The first time he was given an extension on his life to return and see his children raised. This time, he will anxiously await with his grandchildren in heaven for their time on earth, and watch them grow from above. The first time, he came back to earth a changed man. This time, we have all been changed.

Dale was a great man. I didn't know him before his accident 15 years ago, so I don't know how he was before, I only know how he was now. He was the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, and he would give it to you before you even asked. He was faithful in his church callings, always where he should be to lend a hand. When he spoke, he used the same tone that a mother uses when she calms her little one. His voice was always so soft and caring I almost expected the conversation to end with a pat on the head.

His accident years ago left him with a brain injury that took away parts of his personality. His sense of humor was never quite the same. He always seemed so serious, and in a family where joking and laughing was a way for them to stay sane, at times the humor was lost on Dale and he wouldn't take too kindly to the laughter. Prayer and scripture time, when all should be serious and reflective, at times would take a wrong turn somewhere. Often, while reading scriptures, they would play "Popcorn", where they take turns reading, and mid-sentence can shout out someone else's name to pick up where they left off. This meant you had to be paying attention and reading along. One night they were reading in Alma, the wars were raging between the Nephi's and Lamanites, Nathan was reading..."And it came to pass that the soldier who stood by, who smote off the scalp of" MOM! Everyone started laughing, but Dale didn't find that one bit funny. Often at prayertime, someone, probably Joe, would say some offhand remark that would get them all giggling. No one would be composed enough to pray, except for Dale. He would sit with his arms quietly folded, scolding them, because nothing is funny about prayer.
I'm sure there are a hundred more stories that could be told. Each of them funny in their own "I can't believe he did that" way, just ask the fire department.

In life, he taught them patience and long suffering.

In death, he taught us about hope and charity.

In perspective, we've all learned that life is too short and we never know when it will be our time to return home.

After the media died down, the police and firemen left, the bystanders walked away. Those of us left behind, returned to our homes with our husbands and fathers by our side, and gave them an extra hug, expressed our love and appreciation for them, and shed another tear for those who will be missing their fathers more than ever this Fathers Day.

To my own Father, I love you...I love you...I love you! Thank you for your example, your unconditional love, and for your presence in my life.

To my Husband, I love you...I love you...I love you! Thank you for being the wonderful father that you are to our children. For your example, your service, your love and kindness that you show me, and the children. Most of all, thank you for your presence in my life.

To my Son-in-law Joe, the father of my soon-to-be grandchild, I love you...I love you...I love you! Thank you for loving my daughter the way you do. For your patience and kindness and gentle spirit. I know you're going to make a wonderful father...

...you had a great example.

Thank you Dale! We will miss you, but your influence and legacy will carry on.

He's got an angel with him

2010-06-11T21:06:00.000-07:00

All's quiet on the western front.

I like to quote from books and movies that I've never seen or read. That one just popped into my head because it's, well, quiet.

Tary is away at youth conference, probably getting rained on the plains of Wyoming. Years ago when our stake started taking the youth on the trek, I was always amazed with the thought that the sights were still preserved. I always thought some unseen hand must have had something to do with the pioneer trail remaining untouched by land developers and skyscrapers...that is until I had the opportunity to go for myself and see it. It's a whole-lotta wind and nuttin going on out there. Sagebrush as far as the eye can see. But then again, maybe someone deserves more credit than I give Him. Maybe He planned it that way, so youth groups 100 years down the road could stand in the same cove, cross the same creek, hike the same rocky ridge, and feel the same presence of angels helping them every step of the way. I like to think so anyway.

Trey is at his friends birthday party/sleepover.

Kayla is at a single adult activity.

And me, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet. Nothing but the sound of clothes flipping in the dryer to disturb me, and the occasional sound of the heater kicking on. It's freezing tonight!

I've made quite the to-do list for myself and had hoped to spend some un-interrupted time this weekend working on it. I tried to get a jump start on it last night, but Chelsea came over and we ended up talking the night away. Not a bad way to spend the evening, it was rather enlightening.

Have you ever just listened to your children talk? When your paying attention, you can hear some pretty funny things.

Trey: "Do you know what I'm in the mood for? Fish legs". Fish legs? You want fish legs? "yeah"...I didn't even know fish had legs. "I mean crab legs!"

Trey again: " I have cat-like laxatives." Laxatives? You have cat-like things that make you poop? "What? No, you know, that thing where you can always land on your feet" Do you mean reflexes? "Yeah, that's what I have, cat-like reflexes"

Chelsea: "Remember the time that Kayla tooted and Mom answered 'What?' cuz it came out sounding like 'Mom'

Kayla: "Remember the time when Chelsea was being rude to me and she said, 'Just stop talking. Everything that comes out of your mouth is so stupid.' and so the next thing I said was 'Chelsea' and she wanted to kill me?"

I love my kids, they always make me laugh.

It's nice to know you don't have to go all the way to the dusty plains of Wyoming to be in the presence of angels. I have 3 of them at home.

Distractions

2010-05-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

I started out my morning by praying for pooh.

It's true. I've learned that the more specific I am in my prayers, the better chance I have of them being answered. And today, I needed to find some pooh.

I have been assigned by my leader to be the designated pooh patrol. ok, it went something more like this. "Roberts Crafts in Brickyard is going out of business and everything is 90% off...is anyone willing to go and see if there is anything pooh related that we could use for girls camp?" Roberts and Clearance in the same sentance? I am so all over it!
We are using a quote from Winnie the Pooh for girls camp this year, and for my vision of the Hundred Acre Woods to be complete, I needed a Pooh. However, since I would be burying half of his body in the dirt, I didn't want, nor did we have the budget, to spend $20 on a new pooh bear...hence the prayer for pooh.

Prayers said...the day begins.

On my to-do list today, I was ready to tackle my closet. Spring doesn't know it yet, but I'm hoping 'If I wear it, it will come', so while swapping out my winter clothes for my spring wardrobe, I turned on the t.v. to keep me company. "My Girl" was on. I haven't seen that show for so long, so clothes sorting took a backseat to Dan Akroyd and Jamie-Lee. I'd forgotten how sad that show was and before I completely ruined my makeup job, I changed the channel in hopes of something a little less tender. Nanny McPhee looked promising. Several distractions and 3 hours later, I had a bag for the DI, and a closet of pastels and short sleeves.

I also had a visit from a young man in our ward. He just started a new job and needed to practice selling his whares, so I agreed to listen to his pitch, fully prepared to say "No" to whatever he was selling. 90 minutes later, I had signed away all my Kohls shopping rights so I could afford the 5 monthly payments on my new set of knives. I'm a sucker, I know. But these things can cut through leather in a single slice! It can cut a rope in a sweeping motion! They were amazazing!
After he left, it took all of 10 minutes to realize what I had done...my husband was going to kill me. For someone who loves a bargain, I don't know why I feel the need to buy from every door to door salesperson that comes along. Usually at a cost much higher than I can afford. My husband has had to come to my rescue more than once. He has saved me from spending our hawaii fund on a furniture/appliance club membership. He's had to cancel the $10,000 worth of new windows I signed up for and the $5000 vacuum that doubles as a air filter system.
However, he wasn't home today to save me from myself, and unless the purchase I make comes at a cost 70-80% less than retail, shoppers remorse inevitably sets in. Today was no exception. I was so embarrassed by my lack of ability to "Just say No", I couldn't even fess up how much I had spent. $50 was his guess. Way off. "More than $50?" Eyes rolling...voice volume higher and more agitated...oh boy, this is not good. Lucky for me, he's off to a softball game where he can vent his frustration with a bat and ball.

As for me, I'm off to the grocery store to buy ingredients for 3 pans of something chocolatey and gooey. Death by chocolate sounds better than the alternative of living with regret at the moment. Grocery shopping on saturdays with half the cities population is distracting enough, but shopping with thoughts of 'what am I going to do to get myself out of this one' doesn't lead to productive meal planning. Dinner and tomorrow's dessert was as far as I got before I gave up.

Groceries bought, food in the trunk, cart in the stall, keys in the door. Funny, I don't remember locking my door. I don't remember having a bag of bagels in the front seat either. Wait a minute. This isn't my car.
Do you know how many people have white Chevy Prism's? At least 3 people in every parking lot. This is exactly the reason I gave my husband just the other day for not taking down my car air freshener, even though it hasn't given off a single scent in a year. Sometimes it's the only way of knowing which white chevy prism is mine. Distracted, I didn't notice until it was too late. As I walked back to the little white car that did have a dangly flip-flop freshener, I was just hoping my groceries were in my trunk and not in the other one. Phew. I just hoped no one saw me playing musical cars.

One more errand to run, dropping off the bag of clothes at the DI. Normally I just drop and go, but feeling a little down, I needed a bargain fix. Something to keep my 'Crown of Clearance Queen' intact. Not really looking for anything in particular, I headed for the videos in hopes that some generous person gave up their season 2 of Lost. No such luck. bummer. Just as I was contemplating why the need to buy someone else's junk when I just happily shed 20 pounds of my own, something caught my eye...it was fluffy, and yellow, with a touch of red. Could it be? Were my eyes deceiving me? On top of a heap of discarded stuffed childhood memories and slobbery kisses, sat on a pile was pooh. As my eyes grew wide and a grin spread across my face, I just knew my poker face had ousted the DI's greatest treasure and now 50 other pair of eyes had also spotted the coveted prize, and if I didn't reach it within seconds, it would be snatched up before me! My speedwalk training kicked in as I dodged and maneuvered around little kids and carts, until finally...victory was mine! Pooh Bear! And he was perfect!

I didn't need more clothes in my closet, more seasons of Lost to distract me from living. I really don't need knives that can cut leather and rope in a single swoop. At that moment, standing in the middle of second hand heaven where bargain shoppers can go wild, suddenly everything was perfectly clear.

Happiness doesn't come from a store. It can't be bought or bargained for. It doesn't hang in your closet or on your walls.

Happiness is knowing that even when we act foolishly and against our better judgement, someone is always watching out for us and is there to help us, even if we don't feel deserving of His goodness.

For me, happiness came from an answered prayer in the form of a pooh.

I'm just grateful that He doesn't get as distracted as I do.

Open letter to mothers

2010-05-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Moms,

Well, another Mother's Day has rolled around. A day for cards, flowers, runny eggs and burnt toast in bed, a day where children everywhere outwardly manifest our love and appreciation for you, although we probably should be doing that every day of the year.

I know as you sit in your church services this day and hear others praise the attributes of 'Motherhood', that you'll be sitting on your bench with tears in your eyes.

If you're holding a sweet little newborn in your arms, you'll be thanking the Lord that Motherhood is finally yours to behold. You'll feel a connection with Him that sent you a precious gift, and get a glimpse into the love that He must have for His children, and finally understand what a 'Mothers Love' is all about.

If your struggling to keep your children quiet, threatening a time out in the hallway, or bribing them with cheerios and fruit snacks, your tears may be those of frustration. As you hear the speaker drone on about their patient, loving, teaching, selfless mother, you might feel overwhelmed or saddened by the lack of patience and joy in the journey you see in yourself. You might feel that "enduring to the end" was a phrase coined by a Mom with small ones attached to every limb, trying to get through another Sunday of lost shoes, hair to be combed, faces to be washed, socks to be found, snacks to be packed, church-filled day. And just when you feel like succumbing to the abyss of self-pity and hopelessness, your children come home with cards filled with hand-drawn flowers, hand-prints forever captured, and hearts with simple declarations of love. Your tears soon turn to those of joy and love, and a longing to keep them young and innocent for as long as possible. Knowing that although the days may seem to endlessly drag some days, that one day you'll turn around, and they'll be grown and just a smile attached to a memory of how things used to be.

If your sitting on your pew and the tears freely flow, a kind squeeze of your hand from your husband gently reminds you that you are still a wonderful Mother. Perhaps your children have made choices that break your heart and make you question your ability to be a Mother. The lives they lead make you doubt and second guess your parenting skills, and leave you to wonder "what more could I have done" , this day might be of no joy to you. As you look around and see from your perspective, perfect families where perfect mothers reside, you might feel like you have failed in the highest calling given to you. Remember, that even in the presence of our loving Father and Mother above, that a third of their children rebelled and are lost to them forever. All is not lost for you. Do you take the credit when your children make good choices and feel the need to nominate yourself for Mother of the Year? So don't take upon yourself the blame when they use their agency and make poor choices, in spite of all that you have taught them. As much as we would like to think we have control over everything our children do, we don't, and at times, all we can do is just love them. That's all they really want. Our attention and unconditional love.

Charity Never Faileth. The pure love of Christ is Charity. The pure love of mothers is a Mothers Love, it also never faileth.

Mom's, don't beat yourselves up today as your sitting in church. If your children aren't perfect, if their socks don't match and their shirts aren't ironed...if your little one just informed you they have to give a talk in primary today...and your teenage has a permanent look of boredom on his face...don't give up. This too shall pass. And one day, you'll look back and wish you would have cherished and celebrated the little moments that come along, not just the big milestones.

Everyday with your children is a blessing. Every child is a gift. Every gift should be received with thankfulness of heart, for the One who gives us the gifts knows best what we need to receive.

Happy Mothers Day to all!

Love, Me

Tom and Gerry

2010-04-30T20:31:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday to two of the worlds most beloved characters of all time, Tom and Gerry. Funny, loveable, furry, mischevious, timeless, ageless. And you thought I was talking about the cartoon characters.

Meet my brother in law, Tom.

And my brother, Gerry.

Two great guys, who just happened to have their birthdays 1 day apart.

I've known Tom as long as I've known my husband, and that's a long time. Tom and my sister we're friends in high school and hung out together, although I don't think they ever dated until they got engaged. Weird, I know, but it's a great story, which I won't go into just now.

When Tom was young, him and his cousin decided they wanted to live in the hills like mountain men. They thought it sounded fun to live off the land and answer to no one. Tom loved his Mom and didn't want her to worry about him, so he wrote a beautiful note, assuring her he would be just fine, not to worry, and that he would be home in a few weeks. He packed his bag, grabbed some oranges, and set off for the woods behind his home. It didn't take long for Tom and cousin to realize mountain life wasn't all that it was cracked up to be, especially when your hungry and there's no one to cook for you, so after a few hours they gave up their dreams and headed back for home. Tom was worried of his Mother's reaction, but all she said to him when he returned back home, was what a lovely letter he had written for her, she would always cherish it.

Now I know where Tom got his nice-ness from. I have never heard Tom say anything mean about anybody, ever. He is quick to laugh, slow to anger, and easy to love. He'll always be a hero for saving my sister from marrying Dean the String, and I'm so honored to call him my brother.

My brother Gerry is 2 years younger than I am. I have fond memories growing up with him as my buddy, whether it was jumping between the beds, not being able to touch our feet to the floor for fear of the alligators in the watery carpet below. Or playing toss the bean bag with books. Sounds weird, I know, but it was really fun. We were pretty creative in finding ways to entertain ourselves back then, before Nintendo and Facebook came along. We used to take the dining table leaves and prop them up against the stairs for a fun little slippery slide, or take the slippery ugly green sleeping bags and slide down the length of the stairs.

When we were little, my mom used to sew most of our clothes. On those rare occasions that she found an exceptional good deal, we would find ourselves on the receiving end of matching outfits. I'm not sure how Gerry felt about it, but he was young enough that I don't think he even cared. Mom used to line us up on these special occasions, usually Easter and Christmas outfits, and have Dad take our pictures. I remember standing still in a line while the movie camera was recording history in the making, when Gerry suddenly, would step out of line and start stomping at the ground! I don't know if he was dilusional or just highly imaginative, but he always thought he was seeing spiders, hence the stomping and killing them. He was constantly killing those imaginary pests, our own little personal exterminator. I'm not sure when it was that he outgrew the spider stomping phase, but I'm glad for his sake that he doesn't continue to see things that aren't really there, especially spiders. eeek.

When we were probably 10 and 12, we decided we wanted to take up skiing. That is not a cheap sport, so our wise mother suggested we earn the money for lessons. We had a neighbor down the street who owned his own food storage business, so my mom talked him into letting us sell his product door to door and get a small percentage. My mom made up samples of his delicious "Peach Delight" and "Apple" drink mix, blueberry and maple syrup, and we hit the streets, trying to muster enough courage to knock on strangers doors and sweet talk our way into a sell. I'm not sure how much money we actually made, but our efforts paid off and we were able to help buy our ski equipment and take a few lessons.

I'm not sure how old he was when he Gerry had the brilliant idea to put caulking material on a water balloon and throw it at the neighborhood bully. For a kid without any formal baseball throwing training, he did us all proud. Smack! It was a direct hit...right in the face! Not only did Gerry run for his life, but every neighbor kid in our yard took flight. The closest shelter? Our house. Problem? Mom and Dad were out on a date, we were alone, defenseless, and scared! We quickly ran through the house, locking every door and window we could find. But that wasn't enough to stop the balloon eating Steve, oh no! We could hear him outside our door, ranting and raving about swallowing the poisonous goo and how he was going to die and he was going to take us with him! Obviously the walls inside our home were not protection enough from the threats and obsenities we could hear, so we ran to the safest place we knew, our "Fruit Room". Don't let the name fool you, it was like our own personal bomb shelter. It was a long, narrow, cold dungeon built underneath our front porch. We called it our fruit room cuz that's where mom stored all her bottled fruit and food storage since it stayed nice and cold. ( It also doubled as a haunted hall for my 2 sister's october birthdays. ) We all huddled together, too afraid to venture upstairs to call one of the others kid's mom and tell her we were being held hostage by a foaming at the mouth lunatic. It was the longest night of our lives. We didn't know if he was still out there, waiting for us to come out, and none of us we're willing to risk our lives to find out.
Finally, when we heard the familiar voices of Mom and Dad, we felt safe enough to come out. We were saved! Steve had apparently given up, went home, called poison control, drank some milk, and was just fine. Gerry, on the other hand, was afraid to walk past Steve's house for the longest time. Ok, I can't really speak for Gerry, but I was afraid to walk past Steve's house.

Those were the good ol' days. Now Gerry is the father of 5. I'm sure his rocket building, balloon throwing, spider killing days has served him well in raising 4 boys and 1 girl of his own. He is a quiet, gentle and giving soul that is filled with knowledge and talent and humility like no other. I am so blessed to have grown up with such a wonderful brother. I don't remember ever, EVER, getting mad or having a fight with Gerry. He always has been, and still is, the best brother a sister could ever ask for.

Both Tom and Gerry have seen their share of loss and adversity, especially this past year. Both have met their challenges with strength, courage, and faith. You are wonderful examples to your families, and to me. I'm so proud to have you as brothers and love you both!

25 down, eternity to go

2010-04-21T19:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my 25th wedding anniversary. I hate to say "silver" because that implies old, and gray, which I am, but will forever be in denial. If your thinking I didn't post this yesterday cuz I was out celebrating my big day with my man, out having a good time with the little surprise I planned for him, well...you would be wrong.

I spent the night with the other 'Biggest Losers', and no, I wasn't too 'Glee' about it. I would have gladly given up my tuesday night shows to be out on the town, but it wasn't meant to be. The stars were not aligned in our universe and things just didn't work out the way they were supposed to. So instead, we let Chef Boyardee prepare us a nice little romantic italian dinner (mini-ravioli), then Tary and Trey went to scouts, while I sat home alone, just me and my thoughts, thinking how much I love my husband and reflecting on all the wonderful years we've had thus far.

Yeah right. I was flipping back and forth between my two favorite shows, enjoying the uninterrupted "Me" time. I must admit I was a little disappointed things didn't turn out the way I expected them too, but then again, if there's one thing I've learned in the 25 years of marriage, it's this: If you don't expect anything, you'll never be disappointed when that's all you get.

Here are 25 more little words of marriage wisdom I've learned over the years:

Always check the direction of the toilet seat in the middle of the night before you sit down.
When you ask him what he wants for dinner and he says he doesn't care, be prepared after you've made him something. That's when he'll tell you what he really wanted.
When you ask him what he wants for dinner and he says "anything you want to make", make a phone call and order out.
Don't try to spend as much money on your hobbies as he will on his; I know it's not fair.
Life isn't fair, get over it.
Dancing in the kitchen is much more fun with a partner.
Painting your bedroom pink while the husband is away on an expensive out of state hunt WILL deter him from ever doing it again.
Don't expect oohs and aahs from your man after showing him your latest craft project. That's what friends and sisters are for.
"That's nice dear" is man talk for "That is awesome! You are so talented! You always amaze me!"
Never be too tired to stay up all night talking and giggling.
Men will deny that they giggle.
Success in marriage does not come merely through finding the right mate, but through being the right mate. ~Barnett R. Brickner
Choose your love, then love your choice.
All marriages are happy. It's the living together afterward that causes all the trouble. ~Raymond Hull
Never feel remorse for what you have thought about your wife; she has thought much worse things about you. ~Jean Rostand, Le Mariage, 1927
Marriage means commitment. Of course, so does insanity.
Don't smother each other. No one can grow in shade. ~Leo Buscaglia
The husband who doesn't tell his wife everything probably reasons that what she doesn't know won't hurt him. ~Leo J. Burke
Married life teaches one invaluable lesson: to think of things far enough ahead not to say them. ~Jefferson Machamer
A happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers. ~Ruth Bell Graham
I have learned that only two things are necessary to keep one's wife happy. First, let her think she's having her own way. And second, let her have it. ~Lyndon B. Johnson
Before marriage, a man declares that he would lay down his life to serve you; after marriage, he won't even lay down his newspaper to talk to you. ~Helen Rowland
Why does a woman work ten years to change a man's habits and then complain that he's not the man she married? ~Barbra Streisand
The best way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it once. ~H.V. Prochnow
If you want to be loved, you have to be lovable. ~ Ruth Mills (my mom, best advice I ever got)

In all fairness, my husband did surprise me with this beautiful necklace!

And Skip and Faun surprised my husband with his elk head that Skip so beautifully taxidermied. Thanks to them, Tary went to bed a happy man.

And I started working on my new list:

26. Never tell your husband he can decorate the basement anyway he wants, just so long as he gets it finished.

Spring = Motivation

2010-04-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

I love Spring! As I was driving Trey to school this morning, I caught a whiff of the fresh cut grass as the landscapers at the park were making their first cut of the season, and I knew spring had finally arrived! And that can only mean two things...my allergies will also be in full bloom soon, and time to shave my legs and pull out the shorts.

The one downside to being married (luv ya hon) is having to share a closet. Our closet isn't very big to begin with, so every spring and fall I find myself doing the ol' wardrobe switch-a-roo. And every year I pull out my stack of shorts and sort them into piles of "still fit" and "don't-fit-anymore-but-someday-they-will". One pair in particular, has been my motivation for the past 3 years now. My sister gave me a pair of capris from Sundance that are adorable! The problem is, they ride low on the hip, and without that upper support to hold my junk in, everything just seems to come spilling out. And every fall as I pack them away, I vow to be able to fit into them by next spring. But the inevitable always happens...halloween candy, Thanksgiving pies, and Christmas. Of course, that's why New Years was invented by the healthclub industry, and I, like the millions of others who fall into their little trap, get on the band-wagon for about a month, and try to lose it all by spring. The way things were looking, I didn't think spring was ever going to get here, so I didn't feel the urgency to jump on that health-kick wagon until this week.

I don't know how I've been able to go through late night TV and never see the informercial for P90X. Heaven knows i've spent my fair share on knives that never dull, cleaners that smell like an orange grove, and exercise videos that promise a 'new me' in six weeks, so when Tary told me he was going to get this new exercise program, I was all for it. The treadmill was getting a little boring, and if He was going to buy it, He must be planning on using it. Finally, a work-out buddy!

Remember now, I had never heard of this program, much less seen it. I had no idea what it was about. When Tary brought it home I must admit, just looking at the cover and the 12 cd's, each guaranteed to make the next 90 days of your life a living *@?!, I was scared. It took us a month before we got up the courage to open it up and watch the first CD labeled, "How to Bring It". Then with a renewed determination, we promptly watched the first workout "Chest and Back". Wow! Just watching it made me tired, so it sat, unused, for another week.

Which brings me to motivating factor no. 2. Next week is my 25th anniversary. I've planned a little surprise get-away for me and the hubby. Enough said...you get the picture. Time to kick this flabby bootie into gear.

Normally, I'm one of those people who go into a cold lake, one inch at a time, so it doesn't hurt so bad, but I knew if I wanted fast results, I was going to have to jump in all at once. So I put in "Plyometrics", and first thing the instructor says is how this is the hardest workout. No turning back now. Ten minutes later, I thought I would pass out...and that was just the warm-up! Well, I jumped, kicked, squatted and lunged for the next 30 minutes. Don't be proud of me just yet, the workout was 52 minutes, I lasted through half of it before my face felt ready to explode. I didn't know how many shades of red my face made, but I discovered that night it can go all the way up the color palatte to crimson.

That was 3 days ago...today I've finally been able to walk up the stairs without the use of the handrail. When people at work would ask me what's wrong, all I had to say was P90X, and I would get sympathy. I really didn't know what I was getting in to...

...but now I do. And i've come to the conclusion...

...inch by inch is much more sinch. Besides, it's not warm enough yet to jump in any lake.

Silence of the Moths

2010-04-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

So, a friend of mine (which shall remain anonymous, due to the sensitive nature of her feelings, and the embarrassing lack of kitchen hygiene) had a moth infestation a couple of months ago. Not the big, creepy, silence of the lambs kind of moths, just kinda cute, baby moths. They were small enough, and still slow enough, that she could catch them in her hands, and depending on her mood at the moment, either released them to freedom outside, or would drown them in the sink. The problem was, as soon as she got rid of one, two more would show up. Killing 10 in one day, 20 the next. What the heck! It's cold, aren't moths supposed to hibernate, or fly south for the winter? Where were they coming from?
Well, they obviously were coming from the kitchen. That's where all the captures and killings were taking place. Were they drawn to the paint color in the kitchen? Or the wonderful smells? (My friend is an excellent cook) Finally, she came to the conclusion that a moth must have laid her eggs somewhere in the kitchen, and her babies were now just hatching. A pretty gross thing to think about. In due time, they were all exterminated, and the kitchen became once more, a moth free zone.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, they returned. Slowly at first, just one or two, which quickly became again, 10 or 20. One day her daughter came to visit, and noticing the unusual choice of pets, asked my friend about them. When she told them how they wouldn't go away and kept coming back, her daughter, who was either wise or paid attention in science class, said "Mom, those aren't moths, those are weevils". What? She was sure her daughter was mistaken. Weevils are creepy little worm things that live in wheat and expired mac-n-cheese. Sometimes they unexpectedly appear in hot cocoa, making the drinker think they were marshmallows that didn't melt, until they realized that marshmallows don't crunch (yeah, really happened). But they don't fly around pretending to be moths. However, the very idea that they possibly could be, prompted my friend to do a little spring kitchen cleaning, starting with the cupboards.
She started with the bottom shelf where she stores her wheat and rice, all clear. No signs of life. Same with the pasta shelf and cookie and cracker shelf. She was feeling pretty confident by the time she got to the spice shelf. But since she was in the zone, she cleaned out, threw out, lined up and organized. Maybe the weevil scare was a blessing in disguise. Five shelves down, one to go. The baking shelf. Surely there would be no weevils among the powdered and brown sugars, the cocoa and chocolate chips. Marshmallows and nuts...what the crap?! What is in the nuts? WEEVILS! Gross! Creeping...slugging...sluffing...hatching...flying weevils!

Is your skin crawling yet? Mine was.

Needless to say, her top shelf is completely clean...of everything! No more weevils, no more moths, no more food.

P.S...Don't be asking me to bake you any chocolate chips cookies any time soon. I seem to be lacking a few key ingredients.

A first for everything.

2010-03-19T20:15:00.000-07:00

Awhile back, I wrote a post about being alone and how there are just certain things I would never do. And if there's anything I've learned in my short 39 years, it's never say never (and always lie about your age).

Yesterday, my work sent me to a Communications and Collaborations seminar in downtown Salt Lake. I spent the morning at a table with complete strangers, learning to communicate and collaborate with them. When it was time for lunch, our instructor gave us an hour to fend for ourselves. I was hoping I could convince one of my new-found friends to get a bite to eat with me, but by the time I gathered up my things, went deep-purse diving for my keys and checked my messages, everyone had gone! I was left alone...doesn't anyone else dawdle anymore? What a predicament I found myself in.

So I left the safety of the hotel conference room, and made my way into the scary streets of downtown salt lake. I pulled into the second eating establishment I saw, Wendy's. (The first being McDonalds, need I say more). The drive-thru looked busy, so I went inside and ordered my chicken cranberry salad and rootbeer to go. As I was picking up my fork and napkins, I wondered how convenient it was actually going to be to eat a salad in the car without spilling it's contents down the front of me, and where would I go to eat without being noticed? Pioneer Park was just up the street, but a homeless person upon seeing my delicious salad might try to smash through my car window to get to it. The hotel parking lot was busy with people coming and going and I didn't want anyone thinking I was weird for eating in my car, wondering why not just take it in my room and eat it. (Alot can go through your mind in a few short seconds). So, I took a look around and noticed several other people sitting at their tables, eating alone and I thought, what the heck. There's a first for everything.

I picked a table as far away as I could get, and sat with my back towards the people, so no one could see my face and know my shame. I didn't even have a book or a newspaper to pretend to read while I ate. It was just me and my salad and the window in front of me. I would like to tell you how good it tasted, but I think I inhaled it too fast to enjoy it. I couldn't wait to get out of there. But by the time I finished, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I just ate alone. I survived. I didn't die from embarrasement. A big "L" did not mysteriously appear on my forehead. I was feeling such a boost of confidence by the time I picked up my trash and disposed of it, that I even snuck a glance at a fellow alone-eater and smiled at him. Nothing big and toothy (hint: never give a toothy smile immediately after eating a salad), just a slight smile and nod, as if to say, I've just joined the "Eating Alone Annonymous Club", I see your a member too.

Back at the hotel, I parked next to a car with one of the girls from my table, sitting there, all alone, eating. It's a shame we didn't think to talk about lunch arrangements before we had to eat, each in our aloneness. I guess we didn't learn much those first few hours of our communication class, like how to say "Hey, whatcha' doing for lunch? Want to go grab a bite with me?" We learned how to say that in the second half of our session. Go figure.

Needless to say, I got back to the hotel much earlier and found myself with time to waste. So I sat in my car and pretended to read a magazine, which was actually an old Kohls ad I found shoved under the seat. After a while, I remembered my new brave attitude and went inside with about 15 minutes of lunch to kill so I could sit in the room alone, and be totally OK with it. I had to visit the 'little girls room' anyway. While washing my hands in the sink, I glanced in the mirror, removing any stray pieces of lettuce and cranberries that always seem to get left behind, and noticed a slight bulge in my blouse. Now I'm not overly endowed by all means, and it wasn't until I arched my arms back did I notice that my middle button, the one strategically placed over the center of the bra, was not buttoned! What the crap! When did that happen? How long has it been that way? Have I been sitting in a classroom of people with my underwires exposed? Why didn't anyone tell me!

Oh yeah...I forgot. Communications class. Now I know why they're all there.

And as far as I'm concerned, they all flunked.

As for my unfortunate button incidence, I wish I could say there's a first for everything, (yes, it's happened before) and unfortunately, I'm sure it won't be my last.

And I thought the guy at Wendy's was smiling back at me to be nice.

One year older...and wiser too. Happy Birthday, to you!

2010-03-17T10:31:00.000-07:00

March is a busy month for Birthdays. Monday, my sweet husband and I celebrated his 50th birthday. wow, that sounds old, and given the fact that he's been hobbling around on crutches and using a scooter to get around, I would say he's probably finally feeling his age. It's hard to party it up on a monday night when you have to get up at 5:30 the next morning, so we just went to dinner, nothing too exciting. Poor guy, I wanted to do something special for him for his big event, but life has been a little hectic lately and my party planning skills have been on the back burner for awhile. If I win the $10,000,000 from the publishers clearing house that I just entered, I promise I'll make it up to you sweetie. Just remember, "Forty is the old age of youth, Fifty the youth of old age".

Tomorrow is my sister Wendy's birthday. I won't reveal her age, not that 38 is old or anything to be ashamed about, but I know how sensitive some women are about that kind of thing. Not that she looks that old at all. Wendy is such an inspiration to me. She's up at 5 am several times a week, hitting the gym, and she looks great! Wendy has always been such a special sister, in a good type of special way. When she was little she couldn't say my name, so she would call me 'Hingy'. I'm not sure how she got that from Linda, but since I never had a nickname before, I thought it was cute.
Funny story about Wendy, not so long ago she was working at a tuxedo store. One day some groomsmen came in to be fitted for their tuxes. The brides brother was quite flamboyant and didn't hide his particular flare for fashion or taste for, um, anything. He was, let's just say, unforgettable, much to Wendy's demise. A few days later another one came in to be fitted for his tux. It was a few hours afterwards when the brides Mom and Dad came in so the Dad could be fitted for his tux. The Mom wanted to know who had already been there to be fitted, and Wendy told her about the brothers and the young man who had been there earlier that day. The brides mom told Wendy that the gentleman she helped earlier that day was actually going to be the Maid of Honor. He was the brides best friend, and a little light in the loafers, "if you know what I mean". Images of the flamboyant one came rushing into Wendy's mind, and before she could stop herself, the words "You should see the brides brother, he is SO GAY!" came tumbling out. It was like spilling milk. You can see it happening, but can't quite stop it before it's spilt and the damage is done. Even as she was saying the words she realized to whom she was saying them too. You see, the brides brother just happened to be the son of the brides Mom and Dad, who were standing there, stunned! Wendy was mortified, to say the least. If there was a hole available, she would have crawled into it and never come out. But alas, she took full responsibility of her actions, offered a silent prayer that she didn't just 'oust' the brother to his parents, and apologized profousely. They were very kind, they already knew, and in fact agreed that their son was 'so gay'.
Wendy quit that job shortly after. She now works with plumbers and construction workers...manly men, whom she can pretty much say anything too and they don't get offended. I hope they don't offend her either. And if they do, I hope she remembers her little slip of the tongue and cuts them some slack.
Ah Wendy, you make me laugh. Thanks for saying stupid things like me, and not being afraid to share them, so we can laugh at your expense.

Saturday is my Dad's birthday. To be honest, I'm not sure how old he'll be, but it doesn't really matter in his case. He'll always be young at heart. He's like Dick Clark, he just never ages. Although I'm not sure if he'll start hang-gliding soon, the last time he went he had 'A Close Encounter of the Dirt Kind' (old movie reference) meaning, he ate dirt, pushed up by his shoulder, which in turn dislocated, which in turn meant surgery. Don't worry, it hasn't slowed him down, much. He's back on his bike, taking advantage of the warm weather. He's been riding from Bountiful to Kaysville to my sister's house, finishing her basement for her. Several times a week he's up before the crack of dawn to work in the temple. He's a great example to me and I hope he never slows down. That will be a sad day, because that will be the day you become old.

So to my sweet Husband, my dear Dad, and my soul Sister, keep doing what you love! Whether it's playing ball, flying like a bird, or kick-boxing someones hiney, don't ever let anyone tell you it's time to give it up! As Oliver Wendall Holmes put it, "Men do not quit playing because they grow old, they grow old because they quit playing".

Chutes and Ladders anyone?

Happy Birthday! I love you all!

Julie, Julia and Linda

2010-03-06T12:14:00.000-08:00

I watched the cutest movie last night. Julie & Julia. It was charming and sweet, like all Nora Ephron movies are (ex. You've got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle, my 2 most favorite movies).

If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a lady name Julie, who decides to challenge herself by cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook. 547 recipes in a years time, and blog about her experiences. It also gives us a glance at Julia Child's life, her marriage and how she got started in the cooking cuisine world.
I think I enjoyed it so much because I felt a connection to both of these women. I, like Julie, also have a blog, although I don't have nearly as many readers as she does. Probably due to the fact that she blogs about cooking, where I blog about, well, nothing. But that's beside the point, I still feel a kinship between the two of us and tell myself, that if Julie were to read my blog, she would find it refreshing, insightful, and would want to be my new best friend.

I, like Julia, also wrote a book. And although it wasn't a cookbook, it wasn't over 600 pages, and it didn't take me 8 years to write, my book was also rejected by the publishers. 10 rejections, to be exact, but unlike Julia's book, it will never go on to become a best seller and change the world as we know it. But that's ok. I knew when I submitted it, that it usually takes about 100 rejections before you get that one acceptance. So I wasn't expecting anything other than a "NO". But can I tell you how excited I was to get my first rejection letter! Sent to me personally, on letter head from Holiday House Publishers. It read:

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your book idea, but we do not find it suited to our present needs. The editors.

They didn't tell me it was horrible. They didn't tell me to give up. They didn't tell me to never submit anything to them again. I guess they just don't need a book about a bird who lost his chirp at the present time.

I have not given up hope. It's still a dream of mine to be a childrens book author. Unfortunately, I haven't written another book since. I used up all my creative juices. I am a One-Hitless-Wonder. I got no more to give. Nada. zip. zilch.

However, since Julia never gave up, neither will I. If my book never makes it to print and distributed to bookstores and libraries all over the country, changing the lives of little people everywhere, I will put it out for the whole WORLD to see! They may have squashed my story, but they haven't killed my dream. I'm a blogger! I'm self published! So here's to all future Julie's, Julia's and Linda's out there keeping their dreams alive!

The Bird Who Lost His Chirp

To my kids, who make fun of me
for not being able to whistle,
and are grateful that I'm not a bird

There once was a nest perched high in a tree
where Momma bird sang to her baby birds three.
"Good morning" she chirped, "are you ready to try,
for today is the day you'll all learn to fly."

"It's really not hard, you just spread your wings;
then give a big jump and let your voice sing!"
So they eagerly stood at the edge of the nest,
ready to see which one would fly the best.

Bobby bird stood so brave and tall,
his chest puffed out, not scared at all.
He took a breath in, then with wings spread wide,
he gave a chirp, then jumped off the side.

His wings fluttered fast, then caught a breeze,
the wind picked him up and he flew with ease.
Bonnie bird saw what her brother had done
and wanted to join him, it looked like fun.

So she hopped to the edge, put on a brave face,
then with a big swoosh she joined in the race.
She flapped her wings hard and took to the sky,
and in her best voice chirped, "Look, I can fly!"

Billy bird crept to the edge and looked down.
"The ground is so far" he thought with a frown.
"What if my wings don't work and I fall?
What if I can't learn how to fly at all?"

The other birds sang, "Come join in the fun!
It's really quite easy once you've begun"
So Billy tried hard to be more courageous,
his heart beating fast, he thought "this is outrageous!"

"I'm a bird, I can fly...it's what we do best!"
So with new found courage, he hopped from the nest.
He spread out his wings and shut his eyes tight,
then he fluttered and flapped with all of his might.

He soared in the sky like a well trained bird,
but when he opened his eyes something awful occurred!
Billy froze in mid-flight when he saw just how high
he had flown to the clouds, his heart gave a cry!

He opened his beak, tried to call to his Mom,
but no sound came out, and he dropped like a bomb.
He choked and sputtered, but nothing came out;
not a peep or a chirp, not even a shout.

He recovered his senses in just enough time,
he pulled from his nose dive and started to climb.
Once back in the nest his mother he found,
she held him close, now safe and sound.

"What happened?" she chirped, "you were doing so well,
then next thing I knew you just stopped, then you fell"
Billy tried to explain how his heart gave a fright
when he opened his eyes and saw such a sight.

But instead of the words he so wanted to say,
nothing came out, his voice frightened away.
His neck stretched, his eyes bulged, he started to shake
as he tried and he tried, but no peep could he make.

"That's all right", chirped his mom, "it'll all be OK,
your voice will turn up, just give it a day."
But his chirp didn't come back, in a day or a week,
a bird with no chirp? He felt like a freak.

The other birds laughed and made fun of him;
so he stayed far away and just sat on his limb.
He watched as the others sang all the day long,
knowing without a voice, he'd never belong.

So poor Billy bird spent his days all alone,
though his voice didn't improve, in flying he shone.
He spent the hours flying where no bird would go,
sailing higher and farther than those down below.

He thought it ironic what he once feared, now loves;
the world and its beauty he sees from above.
Then one day while Billy was high in the air,
he saw something wrong that made him despair.

Tubby the Tomcat, known by birds as 'The Beast',
was climbing a tree to find his next feast.
Billy watched from above as Tubby cat neared,
a nest with five babies and no mommy, he feared.

She left for a moment to find them some worms.
All alone in the tree...the thought made him squirm.
He was scared for their safety, so without a second thought,
he aimed for the woods, now forming a plot.

If he could rally the flock of birds from the trees,
they could gang up on Tubby in hopes that he flees.
But the minute he reached them he knew he was doomed,
with no voice to tell them, his hope turned to gloom.

He pointed and flapped, but they thought he was nuts,
he was acting a fool, and being a klutz.
They laughed and mocked and called him names,
and made him the joke of their mean little games.

But Billy could see what the others could not,
that sneaky old cat and the prize of his plot.
He was creeping up slowly, and was now very near,
Billy's anxious feelings had now turned to fear!

His neck stretched, his eyes bulged, he started to shake
as he tried with his might for his chirp to awake.
Then he turned once more to the birds and he cried,
"If you don't help me, those birdies will die!"

"Old Tubby is making his way to their nest,
their momma is gone, there's no time to rest!"
They sprang out their wings and took off in flight,
with Billy as leader, they were ready to fight.

They got to the tree just as Tubby reached top,
surrounded the nest and Billy yelled "Stop!"
Know I don't know if cats know bird talk,
but Tubby knew best just to turn and walk.

He sulked down the tree like a cat in defeat,
the birds all cheered, Billy found his tweet!
They all gathered round, waiting to hear
how Billy bird found his voice, loud and clear.

"I guess when I feared I couldn't stop the attack,
my chirp that was hiding, I scared it right back!"
No longer does Billy the Bird hide in shame;
he's now a big hero, they all praise his name.

And if he gets frightened and his chirp goes away,
the other birds know how to get it to stay,
a good game of hide and seek does the trick.
They jump out and scare him! It brings it back quick.

THE END!

I'm Back

2010-03-04T20:10:00.000-08:00

You didn't even know I was gone did you. Actually, I haven't really been anywhere. Me and my
tush have pretty much taken up residence for the past 2 weeks on the couch as I've been living in Olympic Heaven. I love the Olympics. On any other saturday, flipping through channels, if I came across downhill skiing, curling, or even ice skating, I wouldn't give it a second glance. But put it on the tube with Bob Costas (who never seems to age) every 4 years, lead into the event with a great tear-jerking story, back it up with heart pumping music, and I'm hooked (except for the curling).

There's just something about Olympians that make me think:
a) These people are crazy
b) These people need to get a life
c) What is it about a little piece of gold plated medal that makes them devote and sacrifice their entire youth and early adulthood, not to mention a good chunk of their parents money?

I can't help but wonder what drives them. Is it the prospect of getting rich and famous? Having their picture appear on the cover of a Wheaties box? Could it really be just so they can say, 'I am the BEST at what I do in the whole wide world', at least for another 4 years.

I was watching the womens downhill skiing, and they interviewed Julia Mancuso after she lost an event. The interviewer thought maybe she had a off day because her ski-mate and close friend died while doing what he loved best, skiing. She told the reporters that his death really put things into perspective for her, "It's all about the skiing. That's the most important thing". Seriously? And to think all these years I've thought it was all about 'family' and the gospel, when really the secret of a happy life is 'skiing'.

I'm not sure how this post took a left turn for the worse. I sound like a cynic. Like an olympic pesimist, really i'm not. At least I didn't think so until I sounded it out, put it on paper, so to speak. I have issues. Am I jealous? Do I secretly envy people who are so focused on one thing, that their willing to practice at it for years on end and hours each day? Have I ever been that committed? Have I ever wanted anything that badly before?

Um, no.

Should I? I'm not a deep thinker, usually, but the olympics bring out the inner competitor in me, so I ask myself, ' Should I approach my life as if it were the Olympics'?

After all, isn't it the goal of all of us to 'get the gold', so to speak. (I'll be using alot of metaphors here, symbolism if you get my drift)

If there could only be 3 winners in these olympic games called life, would I be trying harder? Would I spend hours each week learning and practicing to be the best I could be at the temple training grounds? Would I be more willing to sacrifice my time, my money, give up any outside worldly distractions to accomplish my worthy goal? Would I be more committed...more focused...more determined if I could see the prize before me? Or would I just give up, knowing I'll never be good enough to make it to the highest medal platform?

I'm relieved life isn't really like the olympics. I'm glad I don't have to compete with others to get my gold, because competition turns people mean, and against each other. And besides, I would always fall short comparing myself to others. I'm glad we can help each other along the way, and encourage each other, so we can all be on the medal stand together, not by ourselves (how lonely would that be). I'm glad that we don't lose the gold by hundredths of a second, and when we fall short of our goals we won't have to wait for another 4 years to try again. I'm glad we have coaches who encourage us, who lead us, who helps us in our training and keeps us on the straight and narrow path that leads towards the gold.
I'm glad the one who judges us will be perfectly fair and just, and not nit-pick us if our foot (so to speak) doesn't completely rotate 3 1/2 times while spinning in the air and landing on thin blades and slippery ice. I'm glad the one who judges us is rooting for all of us to win the gold, and has the grace to overlook our flaws and mistakes. And I'm most grateful that we have a mediator who makes up the difference in our not-so-perfect performance and turns it into a perfect score. As long as we're trying to put in a gold medal performance, that's all they ask of us.

I hope to see you all on the 'gold medal platform'. I hope I'll be there too.

Until then, I guess I'll have to wait another 2 years till the summer Olympics come around.
(Too bad they don't have an event for synchronized sleeping, now that I could do!)

Friends and Family

2010-02-24T20:24:00.000-08:00

I remember in high school, my friends and I skipped an assembly and headed to Marie Calendars down the street for breakfast, which was probably pie. We laughed and talked and stayed so long we ended up eating lunch there too, (probably more pie). Those were the days. We were seniors, we were invincible, we were best friends, and we thought we'd always stay as close as were back then.

We were also naive.

I still consider them my good friends, although we don't see each other nearly often enough. Those were the days when I would rather be with my friends than my own family. But times change.

Yesterday I went to Chili's with my best friends, we laughed, we talked, we cried and reminisced for 3 hours. Other than the waitress, no one wanted to leave. We try to get together for dinner for each of our birthdays. Tomorrow is my sister Susie's birthday. Did I mention the best friends I went to dinner with were my sisters? (yes, my mom and sister in law are my sisters too). My brother came too, sweet! Like I said, times change.

Susie was only 9 years old when I got married so I missed out on watching her grow up. I had to hear about the time when my parents heard noises in the middle of the night, and found Susie trying to walk through a locked door. She announced she was on her way to Kristin's house to play. I didn't even know she was a sleepwalker. I missed out on her "New Kids on the Block" groupie phase. I never actually witnessed the kissing of Jordan or Donnie on her poster, so I can't be certain if that rumor was true, or if a certain sibling was just getting even for some unresolved sibling rivalry issues.

I wasn't there when a certain young man moved up the street and quickly became her new best friend. Years later when that same young man asked Susie to marry him, I was the one caught off guard, afterall, I thought they were just good friends.

Susie has been more like a big sister to my girls, and Chelsea looks more like her than me. She's only 12 years older than Chelsea and has always enjoyed the title of "The Favorite Aunt". She's always been the designated babysitter, and even after she was married, the girls loved to have sleepovers with Susie and Chad. After Susie had kids of her own, Chelsea became their babysitter.

Susie has always been such a happy, optimistic person. She is always making us laugh. With her tender heart and pre-disposition to leaky tearducts (in other words, inherited cryer gene) I always wondered how she could do her job without constantly losing it. Susie is a nurse and works in the NIC-U with pre-mature or sickly babies. But it's her tender heart and compassion that makes her so good at what she does. And even if she's worked a 12 hour shift all night, I've never seen her cranky or grouchy or moody. She's always been our little 'Susie Sunshine'...

...but then again, what do I know. I haven't lived with her since she was 9 years old.

Happy Birthday Sus! I love you!

My love/hate relationship

2010-02-10T20:16:00.000-08:00

I'm in a love/hate relationship.

Actually, I'm in several.

I love/hate food. Love it going down, hate where it ends up. (usually my hips). I love a clean house, hate to clean it. I love my job, hate getting up so early to go to it. I guess this is what the scriptures mean when it talks about opposition in all things. Then again, probably not.

So I don't know why I was so surprised when I bought a new bathroom scale and fell in love with it. It has the ability to show me my weight in bold digital numbers, no more counting little lines as they bounce back and forth everytime I shift my weight. It also has the ability to tell me my fat percentage and water weight percentage. It's white and sleek and chic...what's not to love!

A minute and a few shed clothes later, I hate the stupid thing. According to my new Biggest Loser scale, I am 1% away from being in the obese category. WHAT? How did that happen? My old scale didn't tell me I was obese. In fact, my old 'watch the lines bounce between the red line' scale said I was 15 pounds less! I love my old bathroom scale. Why I felt the need to replace it is beyond me. I was lured by my love for the Biggest Loser show, by the contestants who inspire me and make me think that someday I might be able to run a marathon. I was lured by Bob and Jillian on the box, promising accurate results and a free Biggest Loser workout guide. I was lured by the Kohls early bird special and my extra 15% off discount. Stupid Kohls coupons that I love/hate. (add it to my list) They get me in trouble.

But I mostly love/hate the feeling that I now need to do something about this new revelation.

Do I start a diet that I know I'll never stick too? Do I deprive myself of life's greatest pleasures, aka chocolate, cheesecake, ice-cream, do I pay a months salary for gym fees that I know I'll never use...or do I accept the fact I'm getting older and my metabolism has slowed down, embrace my new role as Grandma in a grandmotherly body, and get real about the fact that my jeans are not all shrinking in the dryer and that pant sizes haven't gotten smaller over time, I've just gotten bigger.

The mind can be a cruel thing. In my mind, I'm still in my 20's. I still get giddy and excited when I know that Faun is coming up to go shopping with me. I still love going to Disneyland. I still like to crank my "Queen" CD up and sing and dance to Bohemian Rhapsody. I think Jacob is hot and that Donny still has it. (so do you Tary). So when I look in the mirror and see extra baggage, on the face and on the hips, it always surprises me. I don't feel the way I look. I don't know who that old person staring back at me is. In my mind I haven't aged a bit, maybe just matured or gotten a little wiser (the jury is still out).

So when my new scale boldly declared what I've been denying all these years, it was like a slap in the face. Obviously, just because the mind can stay young, doesn't necessarily mean the body will too. It's time to get off the detour of denial and get back on the treadmill of truth....

...just as soon as I retrieve my old scale. Obviously there's something wrong with my new one.
Don't you just love/hate when that happens?

It's a Girl!

2010-02-05T20:07:00.000-08:00

Isn't she beautiful! And look, she's waving to us! She must have known proud Grandma would post this on her blog, what a ham. If the dainty fingers don't have you convinced, take a look at this!Yup, looks like it's not a boy to me!
We're thrilled! (as in Chelsea and I) Trey, who has always wanted a little brother, was a little disappointed, and Joe was happy either way. Not that a boy would have been a bad thing, I love my little man, every mom should have a momma's boy, but let's face it, girls are much funner to shop for. I can't wait to buy all the cute girly things that weren't invented when my girls where little...the cute head bands with the big flowers on them. Crocheted beanies (with the big flowers on them), and having Faun taking her picture, laying on (you guessed it) a big flower!
(p.s. click on the bright yellow 'big flower' to see what I mean, she's adorable!)
Everyone keeps telling me how wonderful it is to be a Grandma. How much more you enjoy them knowing they won't be keeping you up at night. Being able to laugh through the terrible two's and reassuring my daughter that she was just like that when she was a little girl. For me, it's like a Do-Over.

I have often wished I could go back and do things differently. Not everything, but some things. I guess I always thought I would have more time to teach them the things I wanted my girls to know. When they were little they had the desire, but I didn't always have the patience or the time to teach them, as they got older they didn't have the patience or the desire to learn. Now that they're old enough, they have the patience, some desire, but not always the time. But over the years I've gained a few things, and I'm not talking about pounds, wrinkles and gray hair. I'm talking about maturity and wisdom. I hope I'll be a better Grandma than I was a Mom.

"Top 10 things I'll do better as a Grandma"

10. Teach her how to bake cookies and brownies from scratch, not being afraid of the mess it will make and how they will taste.
9. Teach her to love the feel of warm sudsy water and good conversation as she washes dishes, convincing her it's a mini-spa treatment for her hands.
8. Letting her rumage through my fabric piles and not cringing when she cuts up my good stuff for her barbie's clothes.
7. Letting her play with my hair and practice applying make-up on me, even if we have somewhere to go afterwards.
6. Looking her in the eyes as she tells me her stories, even the ones that feel like they'll never end.
5. Spending warm days at the park, feeding ducks and playing on the swings, not worrying about hurrying home to clean the house, do the laundry, or make dinner.
4. Taking her to the pool on hot summer days to splash around, not worrying about how I look in my bathing suit; afterall, Grandma's are suppossed to be chubby.
3. Buying her ice-cream cones from the ice-cream truck, even if they are too expensive and it will probably spoil her dinner.
2. Teach her to twirl around the kitchen floor and sing to her hearts content, not caring who sees you or what they might think.
and the no. 1 thing I'll do better as a Grandma will be...
1. Don't sweat the small stuff! p.s. everything is small stuff.

And we all know that the best things come in small packages!
( so far mine is 5 inches long )

What? I'm right?

2010-01-30T20:36:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry, I just have to rub this in a little bit.

But before I do, if my kids are reading this...close your eyes for a second.
(you see, I have them tricked into thinking that Mom is All-Knowing)

Here's the rub...I was right about something, and Tary didn't listen to me, and now he's paying for it, big time! I know the woman is supposed to always be right, but somehow neither one of us read that manual, so he's the one in our relationship who took it upon himself to always be right. And I'm ok with that, really. He's like my own personal Google. If I don't know something, I can go to him and he usually knows the answer. Tary is, in my opinion, really smart. I'm not just saying that because it would reflect poorly on me if I said that I married a dumb person. He has said that his smartest decision was to marry me, and I wouldn't be inclined to disagree, afterall, he's always right. I'm not being being sarcastic either, if I was I would have used the italic key when I said he was always right.
Does it ever get annoying that he's right all the time? I must admit it has it's downside, especially when I really think I'm gonna win the argument. Sometimes I'm stubborn and won't concede that he's right, but eventually I realize, for example, that "Devasted" isn't really a word, that my tires on my little car are meant to be little, and over-inflating them will (and did) result in a blow-out, and that W-2 forms are not junk mail and should not be thrown away before April 15th, even if that means sitting out on the counter for 3 months.

Tary can figure out the endings to movies before they happen, knows the group name from every song that comes on the radio station, including the year it became a hit, and while watching a sporting event on TV, he can yell out the foul or penalty and the person who committed it even before the commentators can, and he's always right!

But I still try darnit. I'm still trying to convince him that having a TV in the bedroom is not a good thing, that washing the dishes for me is a good thing, and that sweeping me off my feet with a broom is just as effective as a dozen roses.

So, when I warned him last saturday night, that he should not play church basketball, did he listen to me? When I told him they would be gunning for him, and reminded him how this team beats him up did he listen to me? When I suggested he would be better off staying home and watching BYU play basketball instead, did he listen to me? (have I rubbed it in enough yet?)

OK kids, you can open your eyes now...

I WAS RIGHT!

When I had to take him to the emergency room that night because he couldn't walk and could hardly stand the pain, the doctor asked what happened to him, his reply..."I didn't listen to my wife". That's right buddy! The one time you should have listened to me, because that was the one time I was RIGHT! You missed it! I might not be right again for another 25 years and you blew it! But no, you had to go and get stepped on by a big samoan guy and blow your achilles tendon, and had to go and get surgery, and now you'll be on crutches and using a scooter for the next 3 months while your wearing a cast, and going through rehab for another 6 months, and won't be able to play ball this spring. And it's just a good thing I wasn't right about how we should take a cruise for our 25th anniversary, because we wouldn't be going had I been right about that...so see! The one thing I was right about...

Of course, had you listened to me and stayed home, we never would have known what would have happened to you, and we never would have known that I was right. Hmmm, maybe this wasn't such a bad thing afterall...

...and that right there, my friends, is why I am the one who is never right.

No Sweat!

2010-01-21T08:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if there is a medical term for my condition. The medical world probably has more important things to do than to diagnose a little problem like mine. My condition is not life threatening, it doesn't cause pain, and it's not contagious, just a little embarrassing at times. And since medical professionals don't take my ailment seriously, I've come up with my own medical term for my condition..."HEAD HOT". Not Hot Head, that implies something entirely different, and although I am probably that too, we're not going there today.

HEAD HOT: definition; a) the inability to extract sweat from one's face. b) Unable to cool down naturally from one's sweat glands. Symptoms: getting really, really red in the face.
Lay-mans terms: My face doesn't sweat!

For those of you who don't share my ailment, you probably don't appreciate the gravity of the situation, afterall, what's wrong with having a little color in your face? Nothing, if you want to look like you've just ran a marathon, when actually it was just 30 minutes of walking on the treadmill, although I may have been guilty at times for letting others believe I just ran a 5K on the treadmill. I like to work it to my advantage at times. But mostly, it just gets me in trouble.

Take the trek for example.

9 years ago our stake was preparing the youth to go on the pioneer trek in Wyoming. Tary was on the high council over the young mens and so we had the opportunity to go beforehand with all the bishops in the stake with their wives to visit the sites and make plans for the youth conference. It was a beautiful summer morning when we started our trek from the visitors center to Martins Cove, about a 5 mile trek round trip. It wasn't a hard walk, but as the sun baked down on us, we all started sweating a little bit...everyone but me that is. Oh, my armpits were probably a mosquitos playpool like everyone else's, but my face was holding in every last bit of moisture it could contain. Soon my face was swelling and turning so red that if there was an oompa loompa around I'm afraid he would have tried to squeeze my head like a ripe tomato to see if he could extract juice from it. No such luck, all I had where several concerned bishops wives who literally took their 'Relief Society' oath into action and tried to relieve me of my condition. One lady gave me her big straw hat to wear, another slathered me in sunscreen thinking I was getting 3rd degree burns, another sat me down and wouldn't let me get up till I had drunk a liter of water, convinced I had heat stroke. Several offered to sit with me while the others hiked up, thinking I had heat exaustion and wouldn't make it alive if I continued. My poor husband, I don't remember any sympathy from him, except for maybe him feeling sorry for me for all the unsolicited attention I was receiving. He was probably rolling his eyes and prodding me along with his walking stick. I was fine...I wasn't dying...I wasn't that out of shape...I was just hot. And that's what happens to me when I get hot. Then I was embarrassed, and that made it worse. I'm just glad I didn't start to cry, my face would have probably exploded.

Sadly enough, I'm afraid I passed down my genetic defect to my son. Poor thing can't run down the basketball court without the coach pulling him out to get a drink of water.
Coach: "Are you OK? You look hot...go get a drink"
I'm not much better though, I'm always nervous when I forget to bring my inhaler because he looks like he's been holding his breath for 5 minutes when he steps off the court.
Mom: "Are you OK? Can you breathe? Go get a drink"
Deep down I know he's fine... he can breathe...he's just hot.

So, there you have it. If you see me and my pale skinned body out and about, but my face looks like it had a close encounter with the sun, don't worry, it's not fatal. I'm OK.

I probably just gone done running a marathon...

No Sweat!

Another 'Faun' Birthday

2010-01-10T09:24:00.000-08:00

My posts are getting harder to write now that I'm in my second year of blogging. I've used up all my blogging juices, I have reached my peak of posting and feel like I'm on the downhill slope. Take this post for example...Faun's birthday. What can I say this year that I didn't say in last years post. I'm stumped. Although I mainly focused on stories from the Faun of my youth, the stories from the Faun of my now are stored somewhere in-between the files of my mind that also require me to remember everything I need to know for work, my church calling, my motherhood memories, calendar items, dentist appointments, visiting teaching, parent teacher conferences, staff meetings..the list goes on. What I'm trying to get at here, is that most of the time my little brain is overstuffed with, well...stuff. I have a hard time remembering certain things that should be important, but somehow don't get filed in that folder of my brain that says "IMPORTANT...do not forget!" For instance, things like the punchlines to jokes...I only have one joke stored in my brain...one. Yeah, I'm really fun at parties. Books...I have to look at the cover of the book to see if I've read it by recognizing the picture, even then sometimes I get halfway through a book before I realize it sounds vagely familiar. So everytime Faun calls me up and says "Did I tell you about..." I always say, "I'm not sure, tell me again..." it's not because I didn't love her story the first time, it's because I suffer from short term memory. It's true, ask my husband or kids. If I forget to buy something for them at the store and they complain to me, I say, "Have you told me 10 times yet? If not, don't blame me", yeah, it takes that many times of hearing something before it starts to stick.
So, my point is...where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I've been trying to think of a funny Faun story to share on her birthday. Today is Fauns birthday. I do remember that. Do I remember all the late nights staying up laughing till we cry? Yes. Do I remember what we were laughing about? No. But one story does stick out in my mind...probably because I painted a mental picture of what happened while she was telling me, and it's not something that one forgets too easily. I hope she doesn't mind if I share this funny story with you.

Not too long ago, on a Sunday much like today, Faun was sitting with her little primary class during singing time. The music director, to encourage her little congregation to sing loudly, brought an incentive to those who showed musical promise. Little dots...measles, she called them, to put on one of the teachers...dot them up, if you will. All the little children agreed Faun should be the teacher they spread the 'musical measles' too. So Faun got to sit at the front of the room while the children sang their songs. Being the good little patient, she suffered through dots being placed on her face, and in her hair while the kids laughed at her funny new 'spotted' look. Things were going quite well, the kids were having a good time 'dotting' her up, while they were singing loud and proud. But kids can be quite unpredictable, and it seems like there's always one in every group that has to stir up trouble, usually the Bishop's kid, and in this case it was no exception. A little boy was chosen to come up and place his measles on Faun, and much to Fauns dismay, and the embarrasement of every male teacher in the room, Faun ended up, not with measles on her chest, but something that resembled 'pasties', placed stratigically on the bulls-eye (if you know what I mean). Two little dots, that started out innocently enough, were now the cause of blushing, eye-averting and snickering throughout the primary room. Poor Faun, what could she do? She was a good sport about it, and although her dress ended up a little stretched out in certain places from trying to subtlely rearrange the position of the dots by pulling and tugging, she kept her dignity and her virtue, and has since been able to laugh it off.
As of yet, I haven't heard whether the 2nd counselor in the bishopric has been able to look her in the eye, and as far as I know, the primary chorister has retired the 'musical measles', a cure has been found and they haven't been seen since. It's a miracle really.

Faun, you still make me laugh! Let's keep it up for the next forty-something years!
Happy Birthday! Love you!

19 years ago...

2010-01-06T20:44:00.000-08:00

...I welcomed my second child into the world. Kayla. Did you know her name means '...sister of my soul'. Not really, I just made that up, but that's how I feel.
I remember being worried about having another child and loving her as much as I loved my first one. I didn't think I could ever love anyone else as much as I loved my little Chelsea. But when they laid that sweet little baby in my arms, I knew my worries were over.
We named her Kayla after my middle name, Kay, so of course she was destined to be just like her mother. And she pretty much is. We look alike...that is, if I had naturally curly hair, a perfect nose, perfect cute teeth and sparkling blue eyes, we would practically be twins. We also share the same emotional DNA. In any given movie, if someone, or something dies, if someone is sad, or even happy, if someone is lost, or found...if the background music starts playing soft and sweet and my heart overflows into my tear ducts...while everyone else around me is rolling their eyes, I know I can turn to Kayla and we'll both have tears running down our faces. Like me, she has a soft heart. And a very giving heart.
She'll be the first one to come to the aid of a friend. I can't count how many times she would decide, usually at 11 pm, that she needed to run to the store to buy something for a friend who needed cheering up, or who was having a birthday and she needed to decorate their locker. Plates of cookies went out to anyone who was sick, or broke a bone, or just because. I suggested she become a nurse because she is so compassionate, but she wants to become a psychologist, because she likes to listen to other people and tries to help them with their problems.

And so, what seemed like only yesterday that she was born...my little girl is now too far away to hold. She's all growed up and on her own. She doesn't need me to comb the snarls out of her hair anymore. She doesn't need me to match her outfits, cut up her food, read her bedtime stories, and kiss her goodnight. I'm not there to help with homework, listen to her boy problems, and get her out of bed ontime.
But Kayla, I'll always be here when you need a home-cooked meal, dorm decor advice, and a shoulder to cry on...cuz you know I'll be crying right along with you.

And your never too old for a good-night kiss, neither am I. I miss your good-night hugs and kisses. I miss you most of all. I miss that little girl who would make up stories that never had an ending...that sang and danced and twirled everywhere she went. But I know she's still in there somewhere...you still make me laugh...you make my heart sing...I'm so proud to be your mom.

xoxoxoxoxox

Happy Birthday girl! Love ya

2010...A Space Odessy?

2010-01-02T14:18:00.000-08:00

Well, it's 2010. Did we ever think we'd see the day? Wasn't the millenium supposed to be here by now? Or time travel, or something...magnificent! It looks the same as 2009.
When I was little, my favorite cartoon was the Jetsons. I'm not sure what year they were in, but I'm pretty sure by now we were supposed to be traveling by flying cars, or transporters, or something to beam us up and around with. And shouldn't I have a robot maid by now, doing all the cooking and cleaning? I must be stuck in the 20th century. Call me old fashioned, but my car still runs off gasoline, I still have a phone that has a cord attatched to it and doesn't sing to me when someone is calling.
I fight off wrinkles with something that comes out of tube and not out of a needle. My fingernails are my own, and so is my bra size.
I still buy stamps, write checks and balance my checkbook from a register.
I use my phone to talk to people, not to type to them, email them, or take pictures of them. I do have a computer, complete with my "Doss for Dummies" manual, which I never did read. I still have movies on VHS, songs on cassettes and vinyl records, and a video camera as big as a size 12 shoebox.
My dayplanner is not electronic, and neither are my scriptures. I workout on a treadmill with weights in hand, not a balance board with a numbchuck in hand.
I still get my directions from a map and streetsigns, and if someone is telling me to turn right at the next intersection, it's coming from the backseat, not the dashboard.
I have a pair of thongs (that I wear on my feet) and a friend from High School named Gayla, Gay for short, and no, we didn't make fun of her name. Back then it still meant 'happy'.
Call me old fashioned, but I still think the best 3 words one can hear are "I love you" and not "You've got mail".

Really, I'm not opposed to the future and the technology it brings. Afterall, can you imagine life without a microwave? I don't know how my mom survived all those years without one...I guess the same way we survived growing up without cell phones.

Life is good. I'm excited for the new opportunites this year will bring. A new position at work, a new grandbaby in our home, a new storage room! (still thanking the hubby for that one).

Now, I wonder where I can get one of those robot maids.

T is for...

2009-12-24T07:07:00.000-08:00

TREES!

It's true, I have three;
(I am a Christmas geek)
and just like my kids
their all so unique.
My living room tree
is white head to toe
it sparkles and glistens
with snowflakes aglow.

It's not so traditional,
it's a one of a kind;
but I love that it's different,
my clearance tree find!

It's just like my Chelsea
(who's also very white)
she lights up a room
she's bubbly and bright.

And yes, she is different,
but in a good way,
she's a whole lotta fun
and she still loves play.

My downstairs tree
filled with angels galore,
awaits Santa's arrival
and presents implore.

It's a nice sturdy tree,
(it has yet to fall down)
and it brightens the corner
and sheds light all around.
Much like my Kayla,
my angel on earth,
she's brightened my life
since the day of her birth.

She has a tender heart
and is such a selfless soul,
when she's gone for awhile
it leaves such a hole.

And last but not least,
my fun kitchen tree,
it's just a little thing
but as cute as can be.

It gives me such joy
as I'm preparing the meals,
it makes homemaking easier,
gives my cooking appeal.

My sweet little boy,
whose growing too fast,
is the spice of my life
he makes living a blast.

He's the star on the top,
the presents beneath,
the lights that twinkle,
the holiday wreath.

In short he's the one
that keeps Christmas exciting,
wish he'd always stay young,
Christmas spirit inviting.

But I know though my trees
may be frozen in time,
no chance they'll grow bigger
or diminish their prime.

And all I can wish for
as the years go by,
that grandbabies will come
and new excitement supply.

S is for...

2009-12-20T20:17:00.000-08:00

SANTA!

Santa! I know him...
that jolly old elf,
his name brings a smile,
I can't help myself.

My memories are fond
of the night he appeared
with his bag full of toys
and his red suit and beard.

I climbed on his lap,
I jingled his bells,
we sang a few songs
and he stayed for a spell.

He emptied his bag,
we didn't make a fuss,
we stood by in awe,
all those toys just for us!

Now some people say
that the holiday season
should be had without Santa,
for he's not the real reason.

But I'm here to say
that he made an impression
on a four year girl
who now has a mission.

I love to be Santa
and spread cheer of my own;
to give hope to the down-cast
and those all alone.

For I know that our Savior
can't be here to give aid,
that's why He has helpers,
his little Santa brigade.

So don't knock old Santa,
he's the Spirit of Giving;
He brings joy to all ages,
and makes winter worth living!

I is for...

2009-12-14T19:58:00.000-08:00

INFANT

The baby in a manger lay,
the shepards watched afar;
the wise men from the east did come
while guided by the star.

The night before his birth took place
his voice came to another;
"...on the morrow come I into the world"
He came, our loving brother.

I wonder, did He know that night?
Was the veil of heaven parted?
Did he know right away his path in life,
that His work on earth had started?

Or was this infant born like us
to find His purpose on earth;
did He know as a child his mission,
did He feel of His great worth?

Some answers I might never know,
but of this I know for sure;
that Mary's love for her little babe
was a love like God's, so pure.

R is for...

2009-12-12T14:52:00.000-08:00

RED & RUDOLPH

The Christmas colors, red and green,
are such a pretty pair;
I love to adorn my house with them,
it adds a festive flare.

Rudolph has a nose so red
at night it lights the sky;
When clouds are thick and all looks lost
he leads them when they fly.

Now don't tell the kids, but Rudolphs been shot,
Tary threatens to shoot every year;
He's in our living room, red nose and all,
the poor little skeleton deer.

I'm kidding, you see, we just like to pretend
for how else could I let such a sight
stay in the same room with Christmas galore
if I didn't think he had every right.

He's not been disgraced, his dignity stays,
a little tinsel is not a big crime;
we just used our resources to disguise the truth
the elk is our reindeer part-time.

H is for...

2009-12-06T12:08:00.000-08:00

HAPPY!

"Happy Holidays" to you
Is the political thing to say;
"Happy Kwanza"..."Happy Hanukah"
However you celebrate the day.

In England they say "Happy Christmas"
I wonder if Dickens is to blame;
But wherever you are, however it's said,
I hope it's a good one just the same!

A "Happy" Day happened 22 years ago,
my first little girl was born;
not in a stable, no manger for her
But a miracle for me to adorn.

And so it continues, this cycle of life
in each little babe sent to earth;
no need to be fearful, no need for tears,
He sends us his miracles through birth.

And each one is special, just like the Christ child
with a purpose to come down and fulfill;
I pray that we'll come to know Him, our Savior
and our lives to reflect of His will.P.S.

My rhythm is off, I know;
my rhyming, a little slow.
I'm functioning half speed,
with cold medicine I need.

I'm drowsy, I'm drippy,
my nose is all red;
all I want to do is
climb back into bed.

But I won't, cuz I can't...
I'm not in habit to complain
just thought an explanation was needed
cuz this post is really lame.

I hope everyone has a HAPPY day!
Chelsea, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Love ya!

C is for...

2009-12-01T18:11:00.000-08:00

CANDY!

It's candy day
that yummy tradition,
we invade Wendy's house
and mess up her kitchen.

We dress in our aprons,
(now don't they look cute)
we're ready for action;
a chocolate pursuit.

We stir and slow boil
so carmels don't burn;
with brittle however
we haven't quite learned.

10 pounds of chocolate
you'd think was enough,
but we ran out while dipping,
had to use the cheap stuff.

Chocolates chips don't melt
the way we expect,
and some poor little turtles
have some slight birth defects.

Toffees and truffles,
popcorn and fudge,
chocolates and nut rolls,
my weight shall not budge.

I'll stick to one piece
of candy per day;
at that rate I'll have it
eaten by May.

Unless my family
finds where it's hid,
then I won't have to worry
of pounds to get rid.

C is for calories,
consumed more at this time;
but I say heck, once a year
it's not such a crime.

My Blessings.

2009-11-29T20:19:00.000-08:00

I've had a hard time finding time to blog lately, tis the season I suppose, but I didn't want to let the Thanksgiving season get away from me without giving turkey day the credit it deserves. Poor little holiday, it kinda gets lost between Halloween and Christmas, just stuck in the middle like the white fluff in an oreo, but we all know that's the best part. And the Christmas season just wouldn't be the same if it didn't have Thanksgiving to preceed it. Afterall, the thing I'm most thankful for is...
wait. I'm getting ahead of myself here, let me just back up a minute.

This is my 3rd attempt at writing my Thanksgiving blog. My first started as a list as to all the things I was thankful for, but it sounded so, I don't know, routine. Kinda like the dinner prayer. We're all thankful for the same things. Family, friends, a home, good health, blah blah blah. Not that those things aren't important, they all are, and I'm thankful for everything and everyone in my life. It was just kinda boring, and I have such few readers as it is, I didn't want to lose anyone on blessing #137, the heater that comes on that I occasionally sit on and hog up all the heat when my toes are cold.
So then I attempted to write a silly little poem about my blessings. But got hung up trying to rhyme words with "husband" and "basement" and "family", and I didn't think "shunned" and "replacement" and "absentee" would go over too well with the point I was trying to make.
But then something happened yesterday that gave me a whole new perspective about my blessings. I was fortunate to attend the musical production of "The Savior of the World" with a few of the priests and laurels in the stake. It was a beautiful story that told of the events that led up to the Saviors birth, and the events following his death. The spirit was so strong, and the feeling was one where you wished you could bottle it up and take it out into the world with you. It made me wonder why I don't seek out more opportunities to feel the spirit. Why don't I attend the temple more, why don't I study my scriptures and pray more diligently. Why don't I feel all warm and fuzzy all the time? The feeling lasted for a good 30 minutes, till I came home and had to worry about what to make for dinner, and why did Max Hall throw that pass, and why is my laundry basket overflowing again after only 2 days?
But I put on my happy face, went to the market to buy something for dinner, closed my eyes as I walked past the laundry heap, and cheered with the other shoppers as they announced BYU won the game in overtime over the loud speakers. I came home and turned on my merry christmas music while I prepared french dip sandwiches for the family, and as Donny Osmond sang about Mary, "did you know that your baby boy is heaven's perfect lamb, the sleeping child your holding is the great I Am", those feelings I had felt earlier came back with such force, that I realized, that it doesn't matter how long my list of "Things I'm Grateful For" is, without the Savior, none of those things would even be there. My eternal family, the comforts of my home, the food I eat, the clothes I wear, the very air I breathe, wouldn't exsist if it weren't for the Savior. He created this beautiful world and every bounteous blessing that we receive from this earth comes from Him. He sent me to a wonderful family to be raised by loving parents and wonderful siblings to help me on my journey. He guided me to my wonderful husband and sent me 3 wonderful, beautiful children to help me progress like Him. He took upon himself my sins, my sorrows, my pains, so He could comfort me when sad, hold me when I ache, and save me from my mistakes. He did all that for me, and you, so we could someday be with Him again, and with our families, forever. I am so Thankful for my Savior. I love Him, I want to be like Him. I'm trying, but sometimes, ok, alot of the time, I fall short of the mark. But I know He loves me anyway, and doesn't want me to give up trying.
See, this is why Thanksgiving is so important. If for nothing else, to remind me that all blessings come from Him. And now we get to celebrate His birth and thank Him for all that's he's done for us, by giving back to Him, by giving of ourselves to others.

P.S., in case your wondering what #2 on my most thankful for list is...take a look!

My new storage room is finished! (I love my husband)

#138 on my list is PIE!

Unless it's Pecan Pie, then it's up there in my top 10!

Just a warning...this is not a holly jolly post

2009-11-18T20:21:00.000-08:00

I have been neglecting my blog lately. Not because I haven't had anything to say, mostly because I've been avoiding this.

My basement is making me CRAZY! Creative juices just don't flow amid chaos and clutter. I know some people work best in a un-organized, un-structured, un-controlled environment, but I'm not one of those people (although my childhood room would have suggested otherwise, my mom will be happy to know I've outgrown my fear of shag and prefer now to actually see the floor I walk on)

My poor husband is working as hard as his little 50 hour a week job, church meetin', mutual attending, football watchin', softball playin', pipe fixin' hands can go...so I can't really be too upset. It's just that, well, do you know what a inch layer of sheetrock dust can do for ones morale? The dusting alone was about to send me over the edge. I hate dusting.

Obviously I've just given up. I just have to remind myself to keep my eye on the prize, keep a eternal prespective, this too shall pass, opposition in all things, look for the silver lining...blah blah blah. Someone called me a Pollyana the other day because I was able to find the positive in what looked like a dismal situation (Super Saturday craft gone wrong), so I'm trying hard to keep a smiley face and look at the bright side of things. Here's what I came up with:

1) I can more easily locate my husband because his white footprints lead the way.
2) I can feel good about my sons bathroom hygiene because I can see that he washes his hands when he's done by the white dust trail he leaves behind on the bathroom lightswitch, the door, the faucet, and the towel.
3) I can serenade my husband after a long day of sanding sheetrock to the tunes of "Frosty the Snowman"
4) Nothing puts you more in the christmas mood than having that permanent "Jack Frost has been here" look.
5) The forcast in our home looks rather promising for a White Christmas.
6) Someone moved the couch for me, so now I get to vacuum up 6 years worth of breeding dust bunnies.
7) I found my lost silverware, .53 cents in change, my Jane Fonda workout video, and the mystery of the missing yogurt has been solved.
8) My husband's hair is whiter than mine.
9) Can't wash dishes cuz the water is turned off.
10) What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and makes for good blogging material.

As I may have mentioned before, my goal is to have my husband finish my storage room by Thanksgiving, so I can deck the halls, and my basement too. And just as he was making real progress, he informed me that he would be making a hole in the ceiling to fix the broken pipe that started leaking this past spring. My house smelled like the bottom of a laundry hamper filled with damp towels for months! I cleaned, I fa-breezed, I almost hired a hound dog to sniff out the source. But clever little me figured it out by myself when I took the picture off the wall that hides our pipe fixture and noticed the wet cement behind it. The hot summer sun dried up all the wetness, and the smell eventually went away. Did I mention this happened in the spring? Well, he decided now would be a good time to get to it. Why not? Tear everything up at once. No sense in making a mess twice, just get it all over with. What's another hole in the wall. Thanksgiving is still a week away, plenty of time.

Husband just informed me the pipe was the wrong size. Another setback. Another delay. Only one more weekend before black friday...what's that you said? You have a softball/snowball tournament this weekend?

SLAM!

Did you hear that? Pollyana just stormed out of the room, good-bye.

Wow, 2 Posts in one...

2009-11-06T08:01:00.000-08:00

Post 1

Tary and Linda are pleased to announce
the arrival of their newest addition to the family:
Ophelia Oven (Opi for short)
delivered on Oct. 4th, 2009 at 5:35 pm
Weight: 120 lbs.
Height: 37"
The family loves and adores her as she has already made herself an invaluable member of the family. We are so proud of the things she can already do:

She can bake bread, bake pies, and recently baked this delicious cake!

She fills our home with delicious aromas, graces our table with hearty casseroles,
and satisfies our souls with goodies galore.
We all hope she'll be with us for a very long time (unless that is, I win the $30,000 kitchen makeover from Taste of Home). Welcome to the family Opi!

POST 2

Halloween has come and gone. It was another successful year for the candy conisseure. We went up to Layton again this year to celebrate Cindy's goulish birthday, only she was confined to her home with sick kids, so we celebrated the hallowed night without her. Trey went as Napoleon Dynamite. It was the easiest costume I've ever done. Poor kid, looked just like him with his Dad's old glasses, all I had to do was deface a old t-shirt and call it good.
Chelsea had fun making up her cousins, and herself. And Kayla was, well, we were just happy that Kayla was there. She was a tired Student/Maceys employee/cowgirl. The weather was very cooperative, not too cold, and the streets were alive with little goblins and gouls. It was a fun night, thanks Wendy!
And now that Halloween is out of the way, I was so looking forward to my day off on Monday so I could clean my house to the jolly tunes of 'Jingle Bell Rock' on the radio. Imagine my dismay when I tuned in and only got 'Tears to Fears'. That pretty much sums up how I felt. How could they not be playing christmas music? I admit, 2 years ago when I turned on the radio the day after halloween and I heard those glorious strains of Excelcis Deo that I was a little shocked. I thought it was just a one time song to help us get in the mood, to help us get out the door and do our part to help boost the economy. But when one song turned into 2, then 3, then all day, I was mystified, horrified, and secretly pleased. Last year, I wasn't sure if they would do it again or if it was just a once in a lifetime fluke, but come Nov. 1st, we were 'Rockin around the Christmas Tree' once more. I tried to pace myself, you know, only listen in the car, or while making dinner, but soon found I couldn't resist the merriment and sense of anticipation the music would bring. They didn't tolerate my obsession at work, so I made up lost time at home, decking our halls with hours of jolly, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.
So this year, I was mentally prepared. I was ready come Nov. 1st to embrace "Frosty the Snowman". Afterall, "It's the most wonderful time of the year" and once halloween is over, I'm ready to "Let it snow". Well, Nov. 1st was a sunday, so I wasn't too dissappointed that Sounds of the Sabbath was playing, although I was hoping they would throw in Away in the Manger every once in awhile. They didn't. But come monday morning, I just knew my voice would be heard "Up on the Housetop" singing with the "Angels we have heard on High". First thing monday after I 'don'd me now our maid apparel', I reached for the cleaning supplies, cranked up the volume and turned on fm100, expecting "Silver Bells" to see me through dirty sinks and toilets, dishes and dust. "Do you hear what I hear"? "Mr. Grinch" radio announcer is playing his usual monday morning Elton John will-get-you-to-work-on-time crap, while my heart is sinking. No explanation, no excuses, just a whole lotta 'nuttin of christmas'. How dare they! First they get us hooked. They lull us christmas musicholics into a safe environment where we don't have to sneak our Nat King Cole and Amy Grant from their hiding places, because they've made it available to us 24/7. They have forced us closet christmas listeners out into the open, and we're ok with it, because now we know we're not the only ones who like to spread "Joy to the World" before Thanksgiving. And then, they take it all away. Again we are shamed. We who have listened, have been outsted. They know who we are.
We are the ones who pull out the christmas fabric in July to start a new christmas countdown. We are the ones who have our christmas shopping done by December 1st. We are the ones who have a freezer full of christmas candy that we started making in October. We are the ones who go the craft store in September, and while everyone else is grumbling about the Christmas stuff out already, we are holding back a cheer and refrain from shouting 'Finally'! We are the ones who have a closet stuffed with christmas sweaters and proudly wear each one, no matter how old, ugly or dated they may be.
You can repress us Mr. DJ, but you can't keep us down! We will not let the lack of Christmas music diminish the spark of excitement in our hearts. "Oh Come all ye Faithful" listeners of holiday cheer, bring out your music, your Amy and Celine. No more need for "Silent Night"s, "Go tell it on the Mountain", "Christmas time is Here"!

P.S. Yes, I posted this while listening to www.live365.com, where they play christmas music nonstop. Take that cosy and fm100, hah!

All Hallows Eve

2009-10-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

Halloween is almost here,
the ghosts and goblins gather near.
Preparing for that special night
when all the children get a fright.

The pumpkins cast their eery glow
and flicker and fade as the wind softly blows.
The vampires in their coffins arise
as children scurry with piercing cries.

The zombies walk the streets alone,
the living, to the dead unknown;
they seek revenge in the evenings chill
every hallows eve from the graveyards hill.

The witches are heard from miles away
their cackles invite all to come out and play.
Riding high on their brooms to get the best view
of the lone lost child to add to their brew.

The spirits of the dead awake,
the dust of years they raise and shake;
their souls are free to roam unseen,
they wander quietly serene.

The werewolves at the moon will howl,
among the children the monsters prowl.
Mothers oblivious to the dangers that lurk
see only costumes from others hard work.

They marvel how real, they seem so tragic,
then shrug it off to makeup magic.
They share the night with the creatures of old
unaware of the dangers their forefathers told.

TV, movies, books and games
made all scary things seem rather tame;
noises, strange lights and things that go 'BOO'
are all man made, they're not really true.

So the zombies, monsters, werewolves and ghosts
return defeated to their devilish host.
All hallows eve just isn't the same
for the creatures of night it's become rather lame.

(happy ending)

But the children still love it, it's candy they seek
and if by chance they meet a real freak,
a genuine monster whose teeth drips with drool,
no scream they'll make, they think it's cool.
(scary ending)

But may I suggest you take my advice,
these goulish creatures are not very nice.
They didn't dress up like 'Thriller' to dance,
you won't get too far, you won't stand a chance.

The creatures of night of whom you detest
will soon be your guide, they'll have you possessed.
And to their world they'll drag you down
in the muck and the mire until you drown.

Six feet under will be your new home,
till next hallows eve' when you come out to roam.