Bragging Rights

I love to brag about my Dad, doesn't every kid? When I was younger, I would brag that my Dad would ride his bike to work, and back. Everyday that the weather was good, he would come puffing up the hill, red faced and sweaty from the upward journey home in the heat of the day. I thought he was so cool! I used to brag that he owned his own business too. For awhile, he did custom made signs that business's attached to their car doors or shop windows. He even let us kids get in on the action by selling customized Christmas Greetings to the neighbors, we thought we were so cool. By the time I was a teen-ager, my Dad had fully embraced his adventurous side and taken up hang-gliding. He would soar in the sky like a graceful bird, and I the proud peacock. It wasn't the cool thing to do when you were a teen-ager to brag about your parents, so I'm sure I didn't give him the kudos he deserved, but now that I'm forty-something, and my Dad is 70, I feel even greater pleasure to brag about him a little, it is Fathers Day after all.
A couple of days ago, my Dad and brother in-law Tom, fulfilled a lifetime dream of my Dad's. I remember as a kid, everytime we would make the 4 hour trip to my mothers hometown in good ol' Lyman UT, my Dad would mention how he would love to someday take the trip on his bike. Well, this week he did it! They biked the 200 miles down, and alot of ups over the big mountain, and made it back in 2 pieces (cuz there was 2 of them). I'm so proud of him! He still hang-glides too, and did I mention he wind surfs as well? But I would sound shallow if I only mentioned his physical triumphs. I have far more to brag about his high morals and integrity.
I remember when I was quite young, my Dad promised to take us camping over the weekend. We looked forward to it all week, and when Friday finally rolled around and Dad came home from work, we were beside ourselves with anticipation! Only one problem, Dad was sick. I'm sure as kids we were self-centered and acted all put out and disappointed that our weekend getaway would be put on hold, but before we even got our hankies wet with tears, Dad was loading up the station wagon and reassuring Mom he would be fine. He made a promise to us kids that he would take us fishing and camping, and he wasn't going to break his promise. There are few memories that really stick out of my childhood like that one, I'll never forget it.
Another memory that I don't have of my Dad, is of him swearing. I have never, ever heard my Dad swear. He had seven kids, so I consider that a miracle of sorts. I love to hear the story told by my sisters about the night that he could have sworn, probably should have cussed, but he didn't. It was late at night, everyone was in bed, and my Dad got up to probably get a drink of water. Down the dark hallway he went, turning the corner to walk into the kitchen, and "BAM", someone closed the sliding door from the living room into the kitchen, and my Dad walked face first into it. He probably said ouch or something, no one is quite sure, because my sisters were too busy giggling after hearing the exchange between the door and my dad. This did stir a reaction from my Dad, he hollered, "Shut Up! It's not funny!" which made them laugh all the more...it still makes me laugh just thinking about it, (sorry Dad, but it really is funny).
I have so many fond memories growing up with my Dad. He was always so funny and loved to make us laugh. Whether it was our turn on pop-goes-the-weasel, or airplane rides as he spun us around by our hands and feet.
From my Dad I got my love of reading, my love of singing, my hairy body and my gift of weeping. I try to emmulate his integrity, his honesty, his sense of humor and positive outlook.

Now if I can just figure out how to bloody stop swearing.

Love you Dad! Happy Fathers Day!

sometimes you just can't tell

long asymmetric haircut
Originally uploaded by wip-hairport

I won't tell you where I was yesterday for reasons you'll understand as we go along, but let's just say I was enjoying a oreo mint milk shake with my mother, sister and daughters. I felt like we were trapped in a scene from the twilight zone. The guy, or girl, or whatever it was that helped us, was very friendly. He, or she, had very long hair, black fingernail polish, possibly eye liner and star earrings in his/her ears. Now I know some guys have long hair and have their ears pierced, but girly looking star earrings? The obvious flat chest gave it away, but I had to think it through, some girls are pretty flat chested ya'know. So, we're enjoying our shake, and in from the back walks thing number 2. (que twilight zone music, ni-ni-ni-ni) This guy/girl had short man hair, was a little chubby, they could have been man boobs, but a voice like a girl. You know it's bad when my mom asks what it was. I think we decided, based on the tone in the voice, it must have been a girl. My husband, peering over my shoulder, just informed me it was a guy. He get's so creeped out he'll only use the drive-thru.
It reminded of an incident several years back. I had just started working for JetBlue and was anxious to start working at home...only one problem. My phone line wasn't connecting to their modem. So, back to the center I went. I pleaded with the phone company to send me someone, anyone, soon! And sure enough, they sent me someone, or something. This very sweet person, had lady hair, I don't just mean it was long, it was curled and styled in that 'I don't know what to do with my hair' look. It had to be a woman. The voice was, well, have you ever had a cold and your voice gets really deep and seductive, and it's really fun cuz you sound like Bette Davis, only alive. Well, this person sounded like that, but tried hard not to sound like that, it had to be a man. The body shape, well those phone repairman uniforms aren't too flattering on either sex, but it was obvious she had something going on up top, so it had to be a woman. Although, he/she knew just a little too much about computers, not to say that girls can't know the difference between a gigabyte and a, a, well I can't think of another computer term, but just because I don't know a darn thing about them doesn't mean that other women can't, but like I said, she just knew a little too much, that gave it away, she was a man. She didn't wear makeup, but then again, not alot of women in the phone/computer repairman business do, at least I don't think they do, he was a woman. Did I mention this happened along time ago? Trey was only 4 years old at the time. I need to stress this fact because of what happened next. He was with me in my office while he/she was working on the phone line, Trey was really quiet and behaving himself so nicely (I realize now he was just confused and trying to process the information his little eyes was seeing) and then he did what most 4 year olds would do when needing an answer to their question. He asked it..."Mom, is that a man or a lady?" Have you ever tried covering up something embarrassing by talking really fast, and loud, hoping it will turn the focus on what your saying, thus forgetting what has just been said? I just hoped that he/she didn't understand the language of 4 year old boys who sometimes show signs of a slight speech impediment. But just in case he/she did hear me, I excused myself and Trey and I fixed a nice plate of cookies we just baked for the nice man/woman who so proficiently solved the problem. I was so thrilled with the outcome and impressed by his/her phone and computer skills, that I wanted to write a letter of praise to his/her boss. This is it! I thought, the moment of truth..."What's your name so I can write in and tell them what a wonderful job you did?"
"Jerry" he/she said.
Wonderful...that explains SO much. Was that Gerry or Jerri or Jerry. Like I said, sometimes you just can't tell.

Looking at the Bright Side

Well, it's official...Kayla has graduated! It's a day she'll never...remember. Seriously, she was on every type of cold medicine we had and was pretty much in a drug induced haze the whole time. Poor thing, she always seems to get sick at the worst times. Pretty much everytime we go on vacation, California, Yellowstone, I guess we have been on vacation more than twice, but still, it really sucked for her. And then there's Christmas. While everyone's ripping into their stash, Kayla is spread out on the couch hoping Santa left her a humidifier and box of kleenex. She rarely gets sick, but if it's a special occasion, her immune system weakens at the very thought of having too much fun. She'll probably get sick on her wedding day too.
I thought it was a real success, due to the fact that I didn't even cry. At least not during the ceremony, although the national anthem made me choke up a little. The guys who sang it were amazazing! I only got weepy when Kayla brought home her yearbook and I read a few of the comments made by her friends, they all love her! They all consider her such a good friend! They all want to stay in touch! And it made me sad, cuz I know how it is. She'll go off to college with one of her friends, they'll be best buds up there if they don't drive each other crazy. She might see a few others on occasion when she comes home for the weekend. She might go to a few farewells for her friends leaving on missions, and might even go to a few receptions. Eventually she'll get married too, have kids of her own, and before she knows it, 5 years will have past and she's going to the reunion and wondering how did I lose connection with these people I swore my undying friendship too?

Umm, maybe that was just me...afterall this is the facebook and twitter generation. She'll probably never miss a beat with any of them. She'll get to see their new dorm rooms, new boyfriends, new hair cut. She'll hear all about their hard classes, their boring professors, where their missions are taking them. She'll know before their mothers do when they become engaged, and when they get pregnant. So why am I getting all teary-eyed about it? Her friends will never be more than a click on the lap-top away. I get a grip and try to look at the bright side of things and have come up with my top-10 reasons of the "Best Part about your Daughter Graduating":
10-No more parent teacher conferences
9 - No more worrying about them getting out of the school parking lot safely.
8 - No more late nights helping her with her art/science/spanish/english project that didn't get started till the day before.
7 - No more reading and signing 8 different class policy forms.
6 - No more reminders every 5 minutes between 6:30 and 7:00 am to wake up or she'll be late.
5 - No more messages on the answering machine that say "Your student has missed one or more classes today" when you thought they were in class that day.
4 - No more honking huge piles of textbooks dropped by the front door.
3 - No more nagging about homework, staying up too late, and procastinating big projects.
2 - An extra $250 in my bank account come next fall cuz I don't have to register her for High School.....and the number one answer is.....drumroll.....dadadadaddadadadadadada
1 - Using the money I would have spent on new school clothes for her and going shopping at Kohl's for me!

I love you Kayla! I'm so proud of what you have accomplished all these years. I'm so excited to see what your future holds for you. I hope you follow your dreams and become a psychologist so you can come back home and help your poor old crazy mother when I don't make sense, although your probably already too late. I hope you love the college life and make the best of it! Then fall in love with some cute student who's going to make alot of money someday, and best of all, I hope you have a daughter just like you! Cuz you have been a complete joy, and you deserve someone to give you as much love and laughter and joy as you have given me.

But then again, you'll probably just get sick.

What NOT to do when your daughter graduates...

Three years ago, my oldest child was graduating from high school. 6/6/06, bad omen. I should have known it wasn't going to be easy, nothing ever is with your first child.
I cried in the playground on her first day of kindergarten as she walked so bravely into those big doors, 12 years later...I cried everytime I thought of her leaving the safety of Mr. Dehaans classroom to enter into the big wide classroom called "life". Mr. Dehaan was Chelsea's concert choir/Belle Voix/Madrigal teacher, but he was so much more. He was a mentor, a great example of the gospel, and although he couldn't preach it in class, he taught them every chance he could when they performed in sacrament meetings throughout the valley. So it was on this day, 6/1/06, that my sad tale begins.
Mistake No. 1- It was the saturday before graduation, and I had asked my friend Melanie to come to the house. Melanie was a student of cosmetology and had recently learned the art of making ones eyebrows perfectly seperated and arched. I must have been a sucker for pain that day, because after my eyebrows were waxed, I decided to have my upper lip, chin, side-burns, (I know, I'm hairy) and nose waxed as well, and no, it wasn't the top of my nose (yeah, ouch!). Pretty much my whole face came out feeling as smooth as a baby's you-know-what. But no time to admire my hairless-ness, I had a baptism that afternoon to go to as well. My niece Heather had asked me to lead the music, so I had little time to waste before I had to get ready and make the 1/2 hr. drive there. Applying make-up to my stinging face wasn't as easy as I had hoped. I had never been waxed before, and didn't know the consequences that would follow. My face was red, tender, and swollen, but I hoped the makeup would conceal the redness and the swelling would go down before I reached my destination.
Mistake No. 2- The kids and I piled into the car for the pleasant drive up to Bountiful that beautiful summer day. Chelsea, in the front seat, had control over the tunes that filled our air-space. She had her Madrigals CD, and although I normally love to hear their beautiful voices, all I could think of that day was the fact that she would no longer be a Madrigal. She would no longer associate daily with those friends whom she became so close with. She would no longer have a teacher like Kelly Dehaan to encourage and inspire and bring out the best in her. So when the madrigals started singing the song "Do you Remember", I LOST it! Tears started streaming down my already puffy face. By the time Chelsea noticed something was amiss and asked if I was OK (hint: never ask a weepy-woman if their ok) that put me into full-out bawl-fest. Now I have to choke out why I'm crying, how life would never be the same, for her or me. How she was moving on, and although she may have been ready, I wasn't prepared to let her go.
NEWS-FLASH: I am not a pretty cryer. Let me just tell you, I have one of those faces that when it cries, it gets all distorted, and red and blotchy, and my eyes turn red and puffy, but even knowing all that, I still didn't know quite how bad the consequences were.
We made it to the baptism, I tried to sneak in the back, but the soft prelude music and my emotions that were still not quite under control got the best of me. I was crying before they even started. I made Chelsea get up and lead the music, I just couldn't do it, and that brought several heads turned in my direction to see why it wasn't me up there. I got more than a few strange and concerned looks from my family. All through the talks, the baptism, the blessing, all I could think of was the day Chelsea got baptized, how it didn't seem that long ago, and now look at her. Where did those years go? After the baptism, I quickly left, and by left I mean I got in my car and drove away. I was bawling again. The flood gates were opened and didn't seem to want to close until I got it all out. So, I took a little drive till I could calm down. By the time I got back, they had started the luncheon. Of course by now everyone was worried about me. Where did I go? Why was I crying? But even my explanation didn't seem to soften the confused and worried looks upon their faces. It wasn't until I got home and looked in the mirror did I realize why I saw horror and worry in their faces...I looked like a freak! I thought the swelling and redness would have gone down, but instead, due to constant crying I'm sure, my face was even more swollen, red, blotchy, and bald! I was so embarrased...people who didn't know me at the baptism must have thought I was a burn victim.

So, this year Kayla, I am not going to get waxed (I'll have to go hairy) I will shy away from baptisms, and will not listen to sad, remember-when songs. I have learned my lesson, you will not have to...what did you say? Tonights your farewell concert choir performance? You get to present Mr. Dehaan his gift? The Madrigals will be singing "Remember"? Oh boy, I'm in trouble...here we go again!

I can't decide...you choose.

I didn't know whether to title this blog...Call it a smoothie and they'll drink anything!

Fear Factor...mom style.

OR


Got Kale?

I sorta got on this health kick. I say sorta cuz it only lasted one day. A friend of mine was telling me about this great drink that she makes everyday, how good it is for you, how she lost all this weight from it, her nails are stronger, her body leaner, her bodily functions moving along nicer, and I'm thinking, sounds great! I could do that! What's in this magic drink?
Kale, cranberry juice, and fruit.
(a little hesitant now) OK, sounds healthy. I like fruit and juice. Don't know what kale is but can't be too bad right? wrong. I go to the store with my list and my determination in tact. At the produce section I stock up on fresh strawberries, bananas, apples, then I come to the leafy stuff. Chard, spinach, green leaf, red leaf, and kale. (it rhymes with hell, go figure) And as much as I like the fresh, crisp, colors of the others in the leaf family, Kale just didn't do anything for me. It's ugly. It's dense. It's water content non-existent. But I didn't want to be judgemental on the poor vegetable, afterall it's my secret ingredient to a bathing suit bod. So I bought a headfull, and feeling so good about my new-found healthiness, I bought spinach too. Then came home, put a few leaves in the blender, added some pretty juice, bright red berries, and within a matter of seconds, "Grass in a Glass" was born.
Do you like the smell of fresh cut grass in the spring? So do I! Do you like the taste of fresh cut grass? Neither do I! But that's how this drink tasted, like the smell of fresh cut grass. Some smells are better left un-tasted. It wasn't so much the flavor as it was the bits of crunchy-ness in the foam. If I have to chew my drink, it just gives me too much time to think about what's in it. So I tried to gulp it instead, bad mistake. It almost came back up. Sipping through a straw was the best method I found, like wading into a cold lake, one inch at a time. One sip at a time, and 45 minutes later, I finished my first Kale Slushy. But was it my last? I'm not sure I have what it takes to become a health-nut, then I remembered something I read in a e-mail once and it solitified what I thought all along:

I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.

Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in the hospital, dying of nothing...

So I think I'll stick to the greens that lay on my plate, preferably the ones heaped over pork barbacoa, black beans (those are healthy) rice, a cheesy tortilla, drowning in a river of house dressing. Afterall...

I didn't really want to wear my bathing suit this summer anyway.

Happy Mothers Day Moms!

Have you noticed how mom's are a unique species. Giving birth to a child, also gives birth to new feelings of defending their young, putting selfish desires aside in order to take care of the new one, and doing all in ones power to keep the baby alive. I marvel that some mothers travel thousands of miles to give birth to their young where climates are warmer, thus enabling a better start for their babies. Or mothers that starve for months, not risking the life of the newborn to search for food, or the ones that do find food, only to regurgitate it to feed her babies. Um, did I mention I recently saw the movie "Earth"? I loved the beautiful scenery and the feeling that I was right there in the jungle or the ocean with the animals. But I was taken back by the realization that mothers everywhere and of every kind, yes animals included, all have the same love and tender feelings for their newborns. It just proved to me once more, how those feelings of pure, unselfish love is instinctual. If even the smallest of animals, like a bird, to the biggest, like the Blue Whale, can get it right, why don't we humans always get it right.

We might not all have been born with maternal instincts. Certainly any person after witnessing a temper tandrum thrown by a unhappy child at the store or a resturant, loses all desire to breed offspring, but once that tiny, precious little child is placed in your arms, a greater love is born and the instinct to protect and care for, giving little thought to your own needs, kicks in. And just like a momma bear, we tend to want shelter our little cubs from anyone that would want to hurt them.
I see it everytime at the ball park. Some little 11 year old that comes slidding into homeplate, only to be called "OUT" by the ump. You know who the mothers are, they're the ones behind the chain link fence shouting "WHAT? He made it by a mile! Open your eyes ump!"
I admit, I have been known to express my unsatisfied feelings with the man in the mask before. It's instictual, baseball brings out the mamma bear in me.
Did you know whales birth their babies in the caribbean where the water is warm, then 2 weeks later travel 2000 miles back with their baby to the icy waters of the antartica for food? As I am huddled in the stands with my coat, gloves and blanket wrapped around me, my son is on the field with nothing but his t-shirt and hat on. Everytime he runs back into the dugout I'm there offering a sweatshirt and a blanket to wrap up in while he's waiting for his turn at bat. He always assures me he's fine, he doesn't feel the cold. How can that be? If I'm cold he must be freezing, right? It's just the mamma whale in me.
In Africa, during the dry season, animals of all kinds gather at the last remaining water holes to stay alive. Enemies stare each other down as they slowly dip their tongues to the precious water, cautious of each others sudden movements. After the game as each boy is given his 'treat ticket', 24 boys all descend on the snack bar at once. Each one shoving his way to the front of the line, garuanteeing themselves a hot dog before they run out. I'm always at the back, telling my son, who is small and polite, (2 deadly combinations for the snack bar mob) to get in there! Don't let that kid cut in front of you! Just shout out what you want, someone will hear you! Did he just push you? Shove him back! Don't be afraid to speak your mind! I'm afraid baseball also brings out the mamma lion in me.

As you can see, we're not so different than the animal kingdom. Sure, we don't eat our young like some species do (although somedays we might agree with this theory) and I don't know that animals feel remorse or regret after they attack their enemies the way I do. (I'm sorry to the obnoxious lady on the other team for whom I made a snide remark too, and yes, I did apologize after the game). But we share a common bond, in that we love our offspring. We try to nurture, teach, and help them survive in a crazy world until they're old enough to tackle the world on their own. And when they are ready to leave the nest, we usually do as the birds of paradise. We might shed a tear or two, but when the door is closed safely behind us, we turn to each other and do the happy feet dance!

(Uh...It's actually a mating dance, but hey, we know what that leads too. And afterall, we just got rid of one child and don't need another one to replace it!)

Happy Mothers Day Mom! Oh, and if I refer to you as a mamma elephant, don't be offended...that just means I'm willing to follow you wherever you lead me!

Say What?!...part deux

It's nice to know I'm not alone in the world of "what-the-heck-did-she-just-say". I've come to the knowledge that there are more people out there with the same affliction. It's a pretty common disease. They even have a name for the condition, it's called "Spoonerisms". Now I can reassure my husband I'm not just crazy, I have a negitimate lame for it, I mean legitimate name. If your wondering if you have it, a few symptoms are eggs that litch, (legs that itch) your chips are lapped (lips are chapped) you have sudden urges to shake a tower (take a shower) and you love cop porn, umm, I meant pop corn.
I do have cause to believe, at least in my case, that this is a heriditary condition. After all, my sister Susie cuts her grass with a mow-lawner, and my cousin Makell changes the channel on her TV with her mocon retrol. When she was little she used to try to catch hossgrappers, so we know it can reveal itself at an early age. I like to think I have inherited my flowery vocabulary from my Aunt Owena who is so proficient in spoonerisms that down south they call it "Owena-eeze". My favorite Owena-eeze story told by my cousin Faun is:
Aunt Owena was at the grocery store with her daughter Charmaine and mentioned she needed to buy some (say it out loud, it's funnier) "CARN STARCH" . Not sure if it was just her southern country accent creeping out, she asked her mother, "What did you say you need?" Now poor Aunt Owena, being flustered and all knowing she had mispronounced the word, shouted out "CORN STORCH".
Ah, that makes me laugh! I love my Aunt Owena! We're just like poo tease in a pod!
SO...
If you find yourself fighting a liar, instead of lighting a fire, or looking at pretty flutter-bys instead of pretty butterflys, don't be alarmed, but you may have 'spoonerism'. But don't take it as a blushing crow, or a crushing blow, your condition isn't harmful, it's actually helpful. Afterall, laughter is the best medicine. And if people make fun of you, well...just remember...it's better to have Owena-eeze than mad banners. I mean, bad manners.

SEE YA, EYE BALL

(i mean, see ya, bye all)