It's been a day. Not a bad day but just one of those days that has a lot of...circumstances. Daniel has some sort of stomach bug which doesn’t make him act sick or whiny but has had 4 episodes of diarrhea, which is pretty messy when dealing with the newly potty trained. Not very fun for mom to clean up but I feel for the guy. He still felt happy enough to sing this sweet ditty right before his nap.
I started working on a Christmas project that is going to take many hours to complete but I kept finding ways of interrupting myself. I am not a good multi-tasker so the only way I tend to get things like that done is to focus, ignore all the other to-dos, and work until its done. It's not a very pleasant or efficient way to accomplish things but it's how it goes. Next week is so busy that I'm nervous I'm not going to get it done unless I can sort of neglect things one day this weekend and hopefully finish.
I'm getting some new furniture for my living room delivered on Monday so I'm finally utilizing the
“sunroom” of my house (a room behind the kitchen that has walls of windows on 3 sides that I’ve basically used as a storage and workout room for the past 4 years so there is quite a bit of stuff to transfer to a new place. Or get rid of.) and converting it into an additional family room by moving our current living room furniture into it. I'm also putting an additional TV in there in the hopes that this will become the sort of go-to hang out room for my kids. I constantly battle them bringing food into the living room when they are watching sports and I don’t want the battle over spills on my new furniture. My point is, that a new TV required another Direct TV genie receiver which required an installation from a Direct TV service guy which required me dealing with a stranger in my house for over 3 hours because whoever originally wired this house did it weird. Every service person that’s ever come to work on anything (plumbing, electric, cable) has said it. Three hours with a stranger is a lot of discomfort for me. I don't know what I'll do if we ever remodel because I sort of dread anyone in my house.
My replacement phone from cracking the screen on my iphone was also delivered. I purchased Apple Care with my phone which is kind of dumb when you don't live near an Apple store. I could barely make out text on my screen it was cracked in so many places (I dropped it in the church parking lot several weeks ago) but they have this deal where they will send you a matching refurbished model and you send back your broken phone. It sounds easy but it wasn't I had no idea about the SIM card, because I've never had to know about it before, so I had to have a lengthy conversation with verizon technical support when I couldn't figure out how to activate my replacement phone. This all happened while my kids started trickling home from school and while strange Direct TV guy kept asking me questions I didn't know the answer to while cursing about how confusing everything was in my house. Oh...and earlier....while I was showing him how to access all of the cable in the crawl space, I found a dead, decomposing mouse I had to discard. I wanted one of those Ebola hazmat suits but had to use what I could find which was some tongs, a lot of paper towels to make sure my skin didn't come close to any of it and a large paper bag. Blech.
I realize that I am being obnoxiously melodramatic about what are undoubtedly first world problems (except for the diarrhea and dead rodent. Those are legitimate grievances by any world standard). But, yeah, wah wah about having to get new furniture and TV and phone. Poor me). Thankfully, because I am not trying to audition to be a Real Housewife on a reality TV show, I wasn’t grumpy or anything, just not relaxed or really not wanting to deal with much more before I did have a stress meltdown. It was probably not the best day, then, for Henry’s playdate with his friend, Owen. Unfortunately for Owen, I had promised and arranged for him to ride the bus home with Henry so now I had another extra person in the house (Direct TV guy is STILL here) and it’s raining and cold and there is no working TV and....and....and...
I was fine because I knew I had a night out with Jay ahead of me. Before he left for work, he had left a cute note on the kitchen counter asking, “Will you go out with me tonight?” with a box for yes and a box for no. I checked “yes” and looked forward to it all day.
The Direct TV guy finally left after 3 hours (he had to reinstall cable through the entire house. I have no idea why), Owen’s mom came to pick him up, I went into town and got Seth who was playing basketball with friends at the Rec center and picked up Burger King for dinner for the gluten kids. I made a quick broiled roast beef and cheese sandwich for Sam and, finally, Jay and I went to the 7:00 show of Interstellar. Our dinner was popcorn, diet coke and milk duds but it was fine. It’s all fine. I’m with him.
I am still in love with my husband. Of course, I love him, because I know that love is a verb and we have so many sacred shared experiences together that I can’t imagine not loving him. But I am also in love with him. He is my favorite thing. The other stuff becomes funny side stories when I get to spend an evening laughing about it all with him.
I know this is basically two days in a row of Jay gratitude and I thought of leaving out all of the annoying commentary about an ordinary day and just being grateful for dates and time with him but it’s more than the date and it’s more than the time. It’s him. It’s the promise of him. No matter what happens, I know he will be the yin to my yang and, the salt to my pepper, the twinkle to my star. Forever. I am blessed.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Daily Gratitude - Day 14
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Daily Gratitude - Day 13
I’ve tried to come up with a less personally intimate statement but none come to mind so I’ll just say it. I love taking baths. They are restorative to my soul. For the past three weeks, I have been missing the sanctuary of my tub. Like faucets tend to do over time, the tub faucet had developed an annoying drip. Not being handy or very smart about these things, I just kept trying to turn it tighter so that the dripping would stop because it isn’t very relaxing to listen to “drip...drip...drip” for an hour which is the approximate normal length of my bath time.
Handles will only turn so far, however, and when I tried to push that boundary, I broke it right off. Drat.
“It’s an easy fix,” said Jay. I hesitated. Jay is incredibly handy and I’ve been quite impressed with the his ability to both fix and learn how to fix (he claims you can learn how to do anything with a Youtube video) but he’s also the kind of guy that doesn’t have a lot of spare time. The lawnmower doesn’t work and you can get it running again when you get around to it? That’s fine. I can wait. Let the lawn grow overlong. The bathtub might be out of commission for a few weeks. WTH?!?
Actually, I’ve been very supportive and patient. On the outside. Inside, I’ve been dying. Every day off Jay has had, he’s worked on getting it running again. It was complicated, I guess. He’d think he was almost done and something would go wrong...it would be too late to go to Home Depot...he’d get to it on his next day off. I smiled, always offered to call a professional plumber and then pine for my hot soak when Jay assured me he was quite capable of finishing the job himself.
It may be ugly but it’s such a comfy tub! Oh, how I’ve missed this burgundy beast!
Today was the day he proved himself true! With almost the same amount of pride the astrophysicists must have felt landing their spacecraft on a moving comet after 10 years, Jay glowed with pride when the water came out of the faucet with no leaks anywhere. Hallelujah. Of course, with three weeks of Home Depot runs, it looked like a construction zone. I didn’t care. I scrubbed down the inside of the tub, filled it up with really hot water and the soothing bubble bath sent by my sister, Sarah, and took a bath at 4:30 in the afternoon. It felt like heaven. Balance was restored.
So, I’m grateful for baths, obviously, but I’m also grateful for my smart, multi-talented hunk of a man who seems to be able to do anything he sets his mind to do.
Monday, December 30, 2013
When Two Rights Make A Right
Jay and I get tired of playing the heavy in Seth's life. We both understand the parenting concept of finding and focusing on the positive, encouraging better behavior by rewarding the good rather than punishing or complaining about the bad but I think we both struggle in its execution. I am the homework/grades, piano practice and room cleaning nag and Jay is his scoutmaster and Deacon's quorum advisor and we both feel that he hears the words, "You need to..." leave our mouths much too often. Basketball, in a way, has become a way for us to dabble in the art of positive reinforcement. We love the confidence he has gained with improved skills and we are impressed by his daily work ethic and dedication. He loves the sport. Period. Playing it. Watching it. Practicing it. Reading about it. Dreaming about it. Other than it dominating all of his free time and the cause of subsequent homework/piano/chore/scout nagging, basketball is a very good thing for all of us.
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| His free throw still needs work but he made it in this shot! |
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| He's got a great outside shot even though he usually ends up playing post because of his height. |
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| An earlier tournament from two weeks ago (this one was Saturday only) that his middle school team won. |
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| Post tournament breakfast at Denny's. Seth benefits when eating with his gluten-free dad and brother because he gets their toast. He loves sourdough. |
For those reasons, Jay and I were both inclined to say, "Yes" when an opportunity arose to compete in a basketball tournament down in Albuquerque the weekend after Christmas. The team was a mix of players from both junior high schools and beside the fact that he would be able to continue to practice and play, we thought it would be a great chance to meet and befriend some of the boys he will undoubtedly know next year in high school. Because my parents would be in town and the tournament was a Saturday/Sunday event, Jay was the logical choice as the parent who would accompany him and bring him home Saturday night. I didn't really know any of the other parents well enough to send Seth with them and even though I'm fairly certain Seth wouldn't have chosen to play on Sunday anyway, not having to sit on the sidelines and watch others play the game he loves without him made his choice a bit easier to make.
His team won their first game but got clobbered in their second. That defeat put them in a bracket that required a 9:00 pm Saturday night game. The momager in charge assumed Seth would miss this evening game due to the 3.5 hour drive home but Jay didn't even hesitate with his response. If Seth was going to sacrifice his desires by not playing on Sunday, than he would make it possible for him to play every game he could on Saturday, even if it meant getting home in the middle of the night.
With their previous game ending at 1:00 pm and having already checked out of their hotel room, Jay and Seth had seven or so hours to kill. They went to the mall. They went to a movie. They drove to see the Albuquerque temple. They tried to nap in Jay's truck. Jay texted me a few time with pictures and warned me that they were both starting to feel a cold coming on (because there are still a few more days left in December to shore up its "Worst month of 2013" title).
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| Seth played tough and ended up on the ground a few times. He was more upset about the hole in his beloved basketball culottes (my word) than the painful raspberry on his knee. |
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| In front of the beautiful Albuquerque temple. |
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| At his happy place. Looking at all things Nike. |
I wished them luck and tried to stay awake to learn the outcome of their night game. At 10:08, Jay texted, "56-20 loss. On our way home." A disappointing loss for sure, but the team they played was bigger in size and more polished from practicing and playing together for a year. The loss ended the tournament for the entire team, making the Sunday play issue obsolete - which was a relief to me. I wish it didn't matter but I hate the whole Sunday and sports issue. I would like to avoid the conflict entirely, even if it means losing.
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| Tournament team. I only know the names of about half of these boys. |
I barely heard Jay come to bed and come morning time, we were all struggling. Well...my parents seemed fine and relaxed but all of my kids were off and grumpy and I had overslept and, in one harried hour, was trying to get myself ready, Daniel and Henry ready and in my daze of hairspray and buttoning shirts and pants, didn't realize Seth was still asleep at 8:10 am. Sam woke him up but when I saw him come downstairs, with his glassy eyes, scratchy throat and runny nose, and say, "I'm sick," I was ready to do battle. As heartless as it sounds, he had already missed church twice in the last month with legitimate illness (tis the season, I suppose) and if his dad, who was also sick, was well enough to go, then so was he. I didn't even have to say anything. Jay felt the same way and his response sent Seth angrily and upset up to his room to get dressed as fast as he could. The rest of us sat in the car and waited for him.
He came scrambling out to the garage and even though the rest of us were waiting in my car, he got into Jay's truck. With a running count of heavy sighs already, I got his attention and he switched wordlessly over to my vehicle, shirt unbuttoned, barefoot and holding the rest of his wardrobe in his hands. I had to bite my tongue from saying, "There will be no future basketball tournaments if this is your attitude on Sunday!" I knew the majority of his major moody meltdown stemmed from him feeling sick, but I still felt annoyed. Where was the gratitude for his dad's late night driving? It was a silent 20 minute drive to the church.
On the drive over, he had tied his tie and flattened down his hair but it wasn't until we were only about 2 minutes from the church that he finally started to put on his socks and shoes. With a groan and a thrashing of his head back into the front seat's headrest (Yes. His father had kindly sat in the backseat as well) he announced that he had picked up a shoe that wasn't his and he only had his right shoe. The other was an old Payless brand, black slip-on that was a size 6. It was also another right shoe.
I didn't respond but my mind made the decision that I would drop everyone else off at the building and then drive Seth back home to get his other shoe, most likely lecturing him the entire way about being more responsible, grateful, and organized. We parked and I got out of the car to get Daniel out of his carseat but left the vehicle running since I would be right back in it. Jay, on the other hand, had other plans. He efforted his way out from the way, way back and took off his shoes and told Seth to switch him shoes. I was a little distracted during this exchange, because Henry was forcing his way out and pushing the middle seat into Sam and was managing that minor squirmish but I saw Seth dash off towards the chapel in Jay's brown shoes. I didn't know what to expect when I came around the back of the car, and found Jay attempting to put on Seth's mismatched black shoes. I certainly didn't expect what had been a stressful and tense Sunday morning to become one of the most humorous and memorable of my life.
There was Jay, sitting sideways on the passenger seat, with one normal looking shoe and one much-too-small-obviously-non-matching-wrong-footed shoe. My immediate thought was to a scene in the movie "Strictly Ballroom" when a woman's husband can't be her dance partner because of his literal two left feet. That comedic genius was now Jay's reality and I laughed so hard I started to cry. He wasn't really going to church in those shoes, was he? Oh, yes, he was.
Jay usually helps the deacons with the sacrament but he didn't that day. I think he knew he might cause a scene if he attempted to reverently pass the sacrament with one foot halfway out of a shoe pointing in the wrong direction. Instead, he sat next to me and I intermittently got uncontrollable giggles if I glanced at his feet. My mom asked me what was going on and I told her and she got the giggles too. All was fine and well until Daniel sat on his squeezable pouch of sweet potatoes, making a huge orange mess on the carpet which led to his own personal meltdown. Jay, sitting on the edge of the row, swooped him up and shuffled out of the chapel as fast as his two right feet would allow.
He didn't make it back into the meeting and I don't know if it was due to Daniel's stubborn tantrum or his desire to avoid more awkward movement but I didn't give it much thought until I saw him again after the end of church. Colds that are worst in the morning had let up and both he and Seth seemed in good spirits when they returned to the car. I asked Jay if anyone said anything about his shoes and he replied, "No. Nobody even noticed. I don't think anyone checks out my feet." We all laughed and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
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| It's sort of hard to tell from even this short distance. I guess that's why Jay was able to make it through church without drawing much attention to himself. |
It could have been such a different story. I could have gotten involved and fumed and fussed about privilege and priorities. In other words, it all could have gone so poorly. I'm enormously proud of Jay's handling of the entire weekend - from the late add-on basketball game and midnight drive to the sacrifice of his personal vanity. The lesson we were going for, from the moment the invitation to this basketball tournament came, was, "We support you! We love you! We want you to be happy and you can be without ever compromising your values or breaking the commandments!" Two right shoes could have thwarted it all. Instead, his father showed that honoring your priesthood responsibilities is always the right thing to do, even when you're tired, sick or in a hurry. We all know that two wrongs don't make a right but two rights certainly can.
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| Closer up. I'm still giggling. It's like Cinderella's ugly black slipper not fitting! |
Saturday, April 20, 2013
A right on Hereford, and a left on Boylston:A Letter About Boston
Written by Jay and posted with permission
April 16, 2013.
A letter to my boys:
So that someday you will understand…
A right on Hereford, and a left on Boylston…
On Monday, April 15, 2013, I changed why I run.
On that day, terrorists detonated homemade bombs on the sidewalks of Boylston Street as runners finished the Boston Marathon. The bombs were planted near the finish line, and were designed to inflict the most damage on innocent spectators and contestants.
The second of two bombs exploded directly across the street from where your mom, Seth and Sam stood three years ago, cheering me on to my first Boston finish.
I have had a love affair with the Boston marathon for nearly my whole life. I read about the heroics of Alberto Salazar winning when I was only 8 years old. Every year, I read with increasing interest and stronger desires to join the throng on the hallowed streets from Hopkinton to Boston.
I first tried to qualify in 1998, but fell short. I tried again in 1999, but was even slower. I gave up marathon running, deciding that a Boston run was not in my future, and focused instead on starting my family and completing medical school and residency.
After 14 years of training, three boys, some disheartening personal experiences and two frustrating illnesses, I started running seriously again. I ran to restore some dignity in my personal life.
Sam, your shock at learning that I had run a marathon before was a big motivation. I wanted you to SEE me run a marathon. And remember it.
That soon changed. I wanted you to see me run BOSTON, and remember it. I trained longer and faster and harder. I know it took away time from you. But I was stricken with a Boston fever.
I was thrilled, and relieved, in the fall of 2009, when I qualified for Boston by several minutes. Finally, a major life goal achieved!!! Charles River, here I come. Boylston Street, here I come.
Running my first Boston marathon in 2010 was almost an out of body experience. I tried to soak the whole experience in. Scenes play back in my mind like a trailer for a personal movie. Riding the bus to Hopkinton, and waiting for the gun to fire at the starting line across from the little white church. The biker gang in front of the bar (there is nothing better than being cheered on by heavily bearded and tattooed men and women (yes, bearded women) in leather chaps)! To the shrieking tunnel of college girls in front of Wellesley College with their signs screaming “Kiss Me” (okay, I did sneak a peck on the cheek of one girl – because I thought I might not ever get another chance, and I’d regret it if I didn’t. She wasn’t anywhere near as good looking as your mom, though!). To the right hand turn at the Lower Newton Falls Fire Station, and starting up the first of not one, but three separate Heartbreak Hills that ascend Newton. Cresting as I ran by Boston College, being heavily cheered by heavily drunk college guys (these guys are way to drunk for 11 AM). Descending into Brookline, and finally seeing that CITGO sign in the distance. Seeing it, but never quite reaching it. Seeing it and knowing that it is at mile 24. When is that sign going to get here? Who put up that stupid sign, anyway? Is that really the right sign? And then finally passing the sign, crossing under the highway, and then the most blessed two turns in all of distance running:
A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON
Turns so sacred that they actually sell t-shirts with those words printed on the back. Turns where the sound of the crowd actually seems to lift you off of your feet and push you from behind towards the finish line. Cheering, clapping, bells ringing. It is like the whole world is there to watch you finish.
And unlike almost every other sporting event, there are no boos. No catcalls. No references to new glasses for the referees. No wishing that the other guy will fall or fail. No jeering. No negativity. Strangers running with strangers clasp hands because you did it. Stronger finishers encourage the injured. Signs everywhere explode with messages of inspiration. Go mom. Go dad. Go son. Go Bill or Jane or Frederico.
It is just your cramping calves, twitching hamstrings, and tens of thousands of Bostonians, Americans and foreigners propelling you to finish. How anyone can run down Boylston Street with dry eyes is a mystery to me.
Tears were already flowing when I saw you with your mom in front of Lord and Taylor’s. Yes, that Lord and Taylor’s. The one across the street from the second bomb. Seeing you, hugging you and giving you a high five made every one of those previous 26 miles worth it. Reuniting with you after the finish line, with that heavy metal around my neck, made me proud to be your dad. And I think you were a little bit proud of me. I hoped that you would always remember that day. And that your dad finished Boston. And that Boylston Street is a special place. A place to be revered and treasured. A place unlike any other in the world.
I went back to Boston in 2011, but without my personal fan club to cheer me one. Because I was alone, I noticed even more than before, how much the people of Boston and surrounding areas supported the marathon runners. The number of spectators is amazing. The cheering is continuous and incessant for 26.2 miles. The signs, extra water bottles, messages written on the road in chalk; everything about the race screams loudly how much Boston loves their marathon. And how much the marathoners love Boston. I think it was that crowd that pushed me onward. Onward to break 3 hours for the first time. Another goal I thought I might never achieve.
That is why what happened on April 15, 2013, was such a shock and personal devastation to me. I was crushed for the people of Boston. Crushed for the race that I love. But disturbed that someone or someones wanted to change the most special street in Boston. Someone wanted to take Boylston Street from us.
And Boylston Street is a special street. There have been more cheers on that street than perhaps any other. Personal triumphs, joyful reunions, tearful struggles, people helping strangers, dogged determination, fist-pumping elation, and weary completion are all witnessed on Boylston Street. Everything that is positive about humanity is found there. And none of the negative.
Until last Monday. When two bombs blew the innocence and joy of Boylston Street almost off the map. Almost.
Tragically, those terrible bombs did end the lives of three. Martin Richard, age 8, reminds me in many ways of you boys. Smiling. Wearing an Under Armour hoodie. Cheering on strangers running by, because that is what you do on Boylston Street.
Krystle Campbell, age 29, was there to cheer on friends, like she had done almost every year since she was a little girl.
And Lu Lingzi, a graduate student from China at Boston University studying math and statistics, there with friends just to take in the spectacle that is Boylston Street.
All three had their bright futures tragically dimmed.
As I went to bed Monday night, before I knew all of the details we later discovered, I thought to myself, “I need to go back to Boylston. My kids need to go back to Boylston”.
The next morning, your mom said to me, “I think you should run Boston again next year.”
I checked the website. My last marathon in Denver still meets the Boston qualifying standards by 5 minutes. Registration opens up in September. I have until then to try for a better qualifying time so that I can increase my chances of making it in. I’m going to give it everything I’ve got so that next year I can make…
A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON
I hope you will be there to cheer me on. On Boylston Street. By the Lord and Taylor’s. And I hope that you soak in the cheers. The American flags that I’m sure will be waving. The Boston t-shirts. The Red Sox jackets. The positive wave of humanity crushing the weak will of terrorism. The triumph of runner, spectator, official as we complete another Boston.
I’ll be thinking of you as I climb Heartbreak Hill(s). But my heart won’t be breaking. I know you’ll be on Boylston Street. Cheering on the elite winners, surrounded by strength. Because I know that we are strong. Our family is strong. Our country is strong. Our faith is strong.
This world might be scary at times. There are people that do things that we don’t understand. There are evil people that try to rob our innocence and steal our victories. There are places to avoid. Places to be scared. Places to wonder if we’ll make it back.
But Boylston Street is not that place. And I will not let terrorists or anyone else turn such a positive place into a place that should be feared or shunned.
And so, now, I run for Boylston Street. Next year, we will return to claim that street back. I’ll run down it. You’ll stand on the sidewalk among strangers and feel confidence, not fear. You’ll hear cheers, not boos. We’ll claim it back for runners. For cheerleaders. For supporters. For friends. For families. For the Johnsons. For Boston. For America. For all that is good in humanity.
A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON!!!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Well...I Never
There are lots of things I never thought would happen in my life that have never happened.
I never thought I would ever be arrested for anything and I haven't been.
I never thought I would be a world famous trapeze artist and I'm not.
I never thought I would crave raw tomatoes and I don't.
But, there are a few things that I never thought would happen in my life that have, in fact, happened.
I never thought I would only have sons.
I never thought I would prefer a primary calling.
And, I never, ever, ever thought I would own a barn on our property. Heck, I never thought I would own "property". My vision for my future life ran more along the lines of having a nicely fenced yard.
When we moved here five years ago, we rented a house in the neighborhood I thought I wanted to live in. It was soon obvious to me that while it would be a fine place to live and there were certainly lots of reasons to be happy there, I really would rather live closer to town - preferably in town.
Travel with me from that moment in life to our current abode - 25 acres ten minutes from town and 20 minutes from the church (where we have to be at least 3 different days of the week) and you can see how, at times, I scratch my head and think, "Well...I never."
It's not that I'm unhappy. On the contrary, I quite enjoy the peace and tranquility not having any visible neighbors affords. I like our house. I like the childhood my boys are having even though it is so different from my own hop-on-my-bicycle-and-go-to-a-friends-house-youth.
It's more that I'm dumbfounded. I have a memory of sitting with Jay while we were dating and sharing information about our families. I can hear him telling me about his dad, who, back then, worked as a radiologist, was currently a stake president and had a 100 cow working ranch. Because Jay was also going into medicine, and was serving in a busy college elder's quorum, I asked right then if he wanted a ranch in his future as well. He laughed and assured me that, no, that was not the life for him. Because I thought that lifestyle was crazy! I still do!
Well, I think something happens to a young man who becomes a man and life's responsibilities are often weighty. Something also happens to a man who has a father nearby and he discovers that his former childhood chores are now great ways to spend time with him. Jay discovered that ranching is not only a great stress relief but that he really, really, really likes the study of cows.
It definitely began with our boys foray into 4-H a couple of years ago. Seth's second to last place finish was a bit of a hard blow to his dad. When neither boy fared much better last year, Jay, whose competitive nature has him think things like, "If you're not first, you're last," and, "Second place is the first loser," while running upped his 4-H game. Because, when all is said and done, it is, I have learned, a game.
A steer who looks a certain way will always win at a county or state fair. It wasn't this case when Jay was a youth participating, so he's had to learn through experience. These steers are almost always progeny of the same few champion bulls and they have straight backs and big butts and long hair. They have other numbers too but, like HD television, you can see the difference when comparing side by side. To get these steers, most go and buy these club calves from certain well-known dealers. They can cost anywhere from $4,000 to $9,000, as a calf, and that makes no economic sense to spend that kind of money up front, feed them grain for 10 months and then maybe get that much at the sale. You would lose money, which is not the point of this great beef endeavor. The point, at least at the start of this all, was to have the boys learn about animals, teach them about the responsibility of daily care, and have them earn money for their missions.
So, last year, Jay took an artificial insemination course over in Utah. For a few days, he learned the science behind it and then had lots of practice on some poor, poor heifers who were on their way to the slaughter house (PETA...look away). He studied and researched and studied some more and bought some straws of semen, which are only about $20 each from these same champion bulls, and then tried this technique on 10 heifers. He was thrilled when 8 of them birthed these genetically chosen calves, even though only 2 of them were bulls (phew). His defense for all this rigamarole is that the boys will be more interested in continuing to participate if they don't place so poorly but I know my husband and I know that he is positioning his team for a win. It might not be this year and it might not be next year but, by golly, he and his boys are going to compete!
Which brings me to the barn. Jay hated taking advantage of his dad's corral space and barn for the steers. He also hated that the boys were that much removed from being involved in their daily care as it required a ride over and, more times than not, it was easier and more efficient for him to just do it himself. He figured, and he is right, that with our own barn and the steers just a hop, skip and a jump away, the boys will really take on the responsibility and learn the economic lessons and gain the work habits that will make them better men. When the timing worked so that we could afford it and use a hard-working contractor friend who needed employment, Jay got to work designing his barn. It really is something, the things this man can do when he want something.
Like most construction, it took more time and money than was originally thought and although it still needs electricity (had to wait until spring for the ground to thaw) and gravel to make the road to it less treacherous, it is done. Jay moved the steers over here about a month ago and it took my mother visiting for me to finally meander over there and have a look at it. That's as into it as I am. Because, well...I never thought I'd have a barn. But, now I do.
The barn has an open side with easy, covered storage.
Right now, while it's cold outside, the steers live in this outdoor corral. Jay plays a radio during the day so they get used to sound. The electricity comes from a long extension cord from the house.
The inside of the main section of the barn. Basically, this is an indoor basketball court. Jay originally designed it to have a 20ft high ceiling but realized 18 ft was plenty tall enough. I envision hosting a few fun barn dances with lights strung along the top. How fun, right?!
This side of the barn is more storage but that back room, the one that isn't full open, is what will be the cool room. This is where the cows will spend their days during the summer. It will have air conditioning to allow their hair to remain long and them to gain as much weight as possible. Crazy, crazy, crazy! But, this is the kind of set up the past champions have.
I like it. I mean, it's a barn and it doesn't really do much for me personally but it brings my husband much joy, makes my boys more active participants in their market beef projects and keeps all of them closer to home, which is very nice. I still hope and pray that having 2 steers nearby keeps him satisfied and go on record right here declaring that I still have no desire to be married to rancher who is also a radiologist but I do have a great desire for Jay to be happy and if helping his dad and creating a winning 4-H steer from frozen bull semen is what brings him happiness, then I really am for this. It's not the cozy guest cottage that was my once-upon-a-dream but if you're really adventurous and don't mind sleeping next to some furry neighbors, there's plenty of room in there to accommodate visitors:)
Friday, March 01, 2013
What We're Up To
My throat really hurts. For the past week, it has been hurting but only at night. Anywhere between 4-6 pm, one tonsil (but never both) would seem to get bigger and bigger, making swallowing and talking really painful. Ibuprofen would help and since it never really bothered me during the day, I didn't really care. It seemed like a pretty benign cold.
Then, last night, the huge lump on one side of my throat actually woke me up at 3 am it was so painful. I took some more Advil and some Nyquil for good measure and could. not. wake. up this morning. I did wake up just enough to get Sam and Henry down to the bus and probably dangerously drove Seth to school but then I went back to bed and slept until 10:30 this morning. I had the strangest dreams I had in a long, long time. I was out in public wearing my winter nightgown (long sleeved, mid calf) but also had on a pair of mid-calf garment bottoms on that the nightgown couldn't cover and I kept trying to get into a sitting position where I could curl my legs up so no one could tell. It was so stressful! Especially when a dog kept crawling onto my lap. I think I was in a nursing home of some sort because older people kept coming up to me wanting to pet the dog. That is what a 3 am Nyquil dose will do to your subconscious brain! And my throat still hurts today. I am so desperate I may even attempt at gargling salt water. This has not gone well in the past.
Besides my throat pain, it's been a good week. A bit stressful, which has me stressed. You see, February was my month to host bookclub and it is always on the fourth Thursday of the month...so...it was last night. The way our bookclub does it is whoever is hosting chooses the book and then puts on dinner for everyone. As our group currently has 14 members, it can be overwhelming if everyone decides to come. Lucky for me, only 5 decided to come so it was a very doable dinner for 6. I don't know when I turned into a person who gets anxious having people over but I definitely do now. All week long, I was dreading Thursday night and mentally couldn't wait for it to all be over. I have done some reflecting and think it boils down to a few things. One, I am simply out of practice. Having people over must follow Newton's first law of motion: an object at rest will stay at rest unless an external force acts upon it. The external force was five ladies coming over to discuss (maybe. You never know how much the book will actually get discussed) Beautiful Ruins and their imminent arrival led to me finally putting some pictures in frames, getting a few new serving bowls so I didn't have to have pots on the table, and coving my very worn table top with a tablecloth. It also involved lots of food shopping, cleaning and then cleaning up. The evening went fine and I think everyone had a nice time but the forced object in motion is craving its usual rest again. But, I know it'd be better if I stay in motion and become more social again.
Jay has had some A.I. (Artifical Insemination) success already. This is a big week for him as the heifers he impregnated by insemination are due to deliver if his technique and fancy bull sperm worked (that sentence needs to be taken in context or else it seems very weird). Out of the ten he attempted, three have delivered. Unfortunately, all three have been heifers (he is trying to breed club steers for the boys). All ten got pregnant but if they don't deliver this week, then they got pregnant from his dad's bull a month later. Every day, he is this funny mix of excited and worried and is over checking on the cows all the time as two of the baby heifers born this week had to be pulled because they were too big. I'm a thousand percent certain that he wasn't quite as worked up any of the four times I delivered our children.
Seth competed in History Day this week and made a documentary on Jesse Owens success at the 1936 Nazi Olympics as a turning point of attitude towards blacks and competitive sports and did so well that he and his partner qualified to go on to the state competition. He is quite pleased although I don't think he has the kind of competitive spirit or natural fascination with history to spend the time making the kind of improvements he needs to make to make his project really good and coherent. I was relieved when on of the judges echoed my own advice and said having "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry play during slides of Owens racing wasn't really appropriate. His story telling and research are definitely the reasons the judges ok'd them to state and not his annotated bibliography that includes the name, "Dogg, Snoop" on it (he must have produced the Katy Perry song).
Presenting the documentary to the three judges, including the superintendent of our school district.
Seth and Jack with their award.
Sam is on track for getting eye surgery in 12 days. He is still wearing the prism stickers on his glasses and his eyes still look crossed but at his last appointment, the ophthalmologist felt assured that she had all the information she needed to get the best alignment for his eyes. That meant no more missing Tuesdays to drive to Grand Junction and back and not missing basketball practice. Unfortunately, a nasty fall after a ski jump sidelined him this week after he severely bruised both heels. He wouldn't put any weight on them all week and walked on his tip toes. The tipping point to normal walking came when his calf muscles became more sore than his heals. He is healing nicely and will hopefully be walking and seeing straight soon.
Eyes are a little straighter with this prism stickers. His doctor said that his eyes "eat prisms" which means that he adjusts quickly but will adjust even more than they need to, which skews the data.
Henry came home with a very bad report from his teacher the week before our winter break. I'd blame it on me being gone, as he has had those kinds of reports from teachers in the past when I am gone and his routine is off, but it was the week of Valentine's and so probably had nothing to do with my absence. I don't know what set him off but when his speech teacher, reading teacher and 1st grade teacher all report that he is surly, uncooperative, talks back and says everything is "boring" and "he already knows everything" then mom and dad don't let it slide. He also had a bad report from his ski teacher two weeks ago and screamed the entire ride home that he "hated skiing" "skiing is stupid" and "I never want to ski again!" only to be perfectly fine this last week. It's all about his mood and I don't know what sets him off. Mood or not, he can't be disrespectful like that and he's been cut off from all electronics this week and his bedtime moved from 8:30 to 7 pm to ensure a well rested psyche. He really is a charmer but he can also be quite difficult if he's unmotivated or tired and it is sort of embarrassing when he shows this side of him to his teachers. He's had a good week so far. I'm hoping he doesn't get the winter blues because this seems to happen almost every year at this point of the school calendar.
His teacher sent this picture to me. I guess he can be happy some of the time. He's in the blue coat.
Daniel is at a super fun stage. He's still not talking or saying any words, including mama or dada, and while I don't think that's a red flag, having gone through Henry's speech delay discovery has me a bit wary. He does mimic intonation and you can tell he's trying to say, "Where's Daniel?" and "Peek-a-boo!"by the way his voice rises and falls. He's super expressive and loves to give a funny glare or pout with his eyebrows down and furrowed only to raise them up and smile when his internal comedic timer dings. He loves his stuffed elephant and it has become his comfort object at night. I don't know if I just sleep through his wakeful periods at night at home or he quietly self soothes but whenever we travel, he does not sleep well. We spent the February 8th-14th up in Denver and he didn't sleep through the night once. It makes this girl who likes to travel not like travel quite as much. Sleep or no sleep, I'll keep him because he is so darn cute.
Fun little mess maker. Good thing the tablecloth from bookclub dinner was still on the table this morning!
Sunday, January 20, 2013
If You Give A Man A Suit
Within the first month of our married life, Jay threatened me with a mustache. Back when we were dating, I had all sorts of vocal and juvenile opinions about what was and what was not acceptable dress and grooming standards for a man. Braided belt? No. Sideburns? Yes. Light blue denim jeans with white tennis shoes? No.
Mustache? No.
He knew it and yet, as a joke, every few weeks or months or even years (we have been married for awhile. If you're going to use a joke over and over, it needs to be spaced well) he wouldn't shave his mustache along with the rest of his beard. He'd approach me, with a glint in his eye that would usually alert me to his mischief before the hair above his lip did. Usually, he'd lean in for a kiss, I'd refuse, he'd shave. That was the game.
Over the course of our marriage, I have appreciated and benefited from the fact that Jay does not criticize me. I'm sure there have been many times he's had to bite his tongue but no matter what I do or say or look like, he keeps his negative or "helpful" comments to himself. I can actually only think of two things he has ever vocalized he wished I wouldn't do. One, and this was in the early days of cell phone use, was to not use my cell phone while I was driving (saturation of cell phones in both our lives has made this desire expire) and the second was to not interject guesses into a story he's telling me (I have to try really hard to remember this one. I know I've bugged him when he gives up on a story and sighs, "Never mind.")
I'm not saying I was ever a nag or even anything resembling one, but I have picked up on his habit. Even things as trivial as hair length, color, jewelry or shoes, I make changes and purchases without ever worrying whether Jay will care or not. I think he's like most men and prefers my hair long but if I feel like cutting it off or changing from blond to brown, I make the change (after consulting a few sisters) and, maybe, Jay will compliment whatever is new if he happens to notice. Unless it is drastic, he usually doesn't.
That's all fine and good and inconsequential and I'm not sure having an opinion about those kinds of things is heavy handed or not but there are some things that I know he's noticed and still doesn't comment about. He has never said anything about my weight. Ever. I have had friends and heard stories of other women whose husbands monitor their appearance and weight. Suggest diets and workout routines. Most of the times, the motivation is to help and support but I'm still always horrified by this kind of revelation because I can only imagine the humiliation I would feel if Jay made a snide remark while I ate something or bought me, with no provocation or request, a Thighmaster or something.
It was with this in mind that I kept my mouth shut about Jay's most recent mustache reveal. I think over time, on some level, I've picked up on his non-joking desire to sport a mustache. He's grown a beard a few times over the years and it usually bugs him before it bugs me. I don't mind a man in a beard. I figure if that's what genetics insists upon, then so be it. A mustache, on the other hand, is pure choice. It's fashion. While not my preferred look, I admit it looked very cowboy-esque, the exact look he was going for, and with that understanding and lots and lots of love for this man for his unconditional patience with me, I kissed him anyway.
The mustache stayed. It stayed and it stayed and it stayed. The longer it stayed, the more comfortable in his new look Jay became. Oddly enough, very few people asked Jay about his new fancy facial hair. Instead, if they could manage, like at his Christmas work party, they asked me. My reply was usually, "I don't know why he's growing a mustache. It might be to tease me but I think he likes it."
Like my own family, I think his siblings and parents were the most comfortable teasing him about it. I think their jokes and ribs provided even more motivation for Jay to keep the mustache. I never forgot about it but, like most things that seem like a big deal at first, its presence started to matter less and less. In what could be the biggest surprise of my lifetime, I found myself attracted to a man with a mustache.
Sometime before Thanksgiving, Jay and I went on a date to see Skyfall. While I wasn't as keen on the movie as he was, we both really liked James Bond's suits. That trim cut appealed to Jay, who always calls his suits "clown suits" by the way they hang on his slender frame, and I took note. When passing through Utah on my way to Montana, I stopped at a Banana Republic Factory Outlet and found a slim cut suit as a gift for our anniversary.
You'd think I would have been unable to forget about the suit but I had hidden it in the back of our closet (Jay is one of the least curious gift finders I have ever known. I never need to go to great lengths to keep gifts hidden from him because he does not look for them. Ever.) and forgot to take it with us on our overnight anniversary trip. When he presented me with my bracelet, I felt dumb for not having a reciprocal gift for him and presented it to him the minute we returned home, lest he think I had to run to the store for anything.
He loved it. I knew he would. He wore it the first Sunday following our anniversary. We got ready in the same bathroom and I saw him in his suit, with his mustache and thought nothing of it. Only, "He looks great!"
Then, while driving to church, I looked at him sideways. Something was off. Different. It took me about ten seconds of looking and then I smiled.
The mustache was gone.
He started to laugh and said that when he looked in the mirror after he dressed, he decided the mustache look did not match the James Bond look. One had to go.
So....the story goes....if you give a man a suit....
He might shave off his mustache to go with it.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Five For Friday
1. Jay and Seth are going on a boy scout Klondike campout tonight. With our -15 degree overnight low temps of late, it is a relief that the expected low is only supposed to be 7 degrees while they camp. Jay is nervous as scoutmaster that the boys he doesn't have control over, in other words, everyone else besides Seth, will be underprepared for the conditions. I don't envy him his task or his chilly environment.
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| Ready before school this morning. Jay is going to pick him up and off they'll go! |
One of the challenges of the camp, besides staying warm, is a sort of Iron Chef Cook Off. They have 50 minutes to present a meal to the judges with three components. The meal must include something pickled, and the ingredients lime and cilantro. Exactly the kind of things you'd think boyscout aged boys would enjoy eating, right? Crazy enough, we found a couple of recipes that just might be good, depending on how adventuresome your tastebuds are. For the pickled food, we found a pickled pulled beef sandwich on Paula Dean's website. Those southerners sure think of some odd ways to prepare food. Simple enough, all Jay needed was a 2 pound chuck roast and a 24 oz jar of dill pickle spears. Dump the pickles with juice onto the roast, crockpot on low for at least 12 hours, add some pepper, shred and....voila: pulled pickled beef. His troop is going to top it with a cilantro and lime coleslaw and serve it on a hamburger bun. Neat.
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| I hope it tastes better than it smells |
Jay considered cooking it overnight up there with a dutch oven, but neither of us have ever used one and he is already taking a large camp stove we purchased for the pioneer Trek a few years back, so, for sake of ease and making sure the meat was actually cooked, he cooked it in the crockpot, here in the house, and plans to reheat it on the campstove. All perfectly legal but I woke up nauseated by the pungent smell of cooked pickles on beef! It's a good thing I am not pregnant because this is the kind of smell that would have sent me hurling. The website warned us as much (look at the bottom of the recipe) so we set the crockpot in the sunroom, thinking that would be far enough away from where we usually are that the smell wouldn't be too bad. As luck would have it, Jay can't smell a thing! It's like his olfactory glands don't pick up this particular scent of nasty. Unfair but it'll all be over soon enough. If only it would have been the coleslaw that needed to be pre-prepared. That looks tasty!
2. It seems like a chocolate protein shake would be right up my alley for meal replacements. Sometimes, if its cold enough and I'm feeling motivated to be skinny enough, it is. But, I think I like to chew too much. I miss chewing if too many smoothie type beverages are in the lineup. Today, I was a little disturbed when I opened my pantry cupboard to pull down the Jay Robb Egg White Protein mix and see this man staring back at me. I get that he's ripped and he's probably trying to associate his physique with his miraculous brand of powder, but, if you're going to be showing off a bare chest, you better be at the beach or post workout. Just posing in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt is sending me mixed messages. Messages like, "I'm a creepy guy and you shouldn't buy my product!"
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| The cross...the shirt....the body oil...the goatee. It's just not my thing. |
3. I just got back from a soda run and noticed I am wearing my pants inside out. That isn't good.
4. For the past three months, our primary chorister has been very hit and miss. At least twice a month, I have had to step in at the last minute and do an impromptu singing time. If it was a sharing time, I'd have anxiety ulcers by now but I'm much more comfortable leading a singing activity on the spot. Unfortunately for the kids in our primary, those off the cuff singing sessions don't come with any primary glamour, namely laminated visuals. Truth be told, even with advanced warning, the likelihood of me bearing cricut produced good is very low. If it can't be done on the chalkboard, it's probably above my artistic level.
Well, primary chorister has been released and new primary chorister has yet to be called so I am also officially the interim primary chorister until further notice. The song of the month is "I Am A Child of God" and most of the kids know the first verse well enough but if I were a gambling woman, I'd bet against most of them knowing the other three verses. So, here's my idea using a crazy combination of three oft-used primary games. I am going to sit the children in a circle. Following the format of the game Hot Potato, they will pass around an actual potato while singing (or listening to) the various verses of I Am a Child of God. Before the song begins, one participant will roll a number die. Whichever number faces up is the number of words in order the person holding the potato when the music stops will need to produce. In a twist of the game "Hangman", I will bring a Mr. Potato Head and if whomever's turn it is to deliver the next few words can't successfully remember, parts of Mr. Potato Head will come off. The last piece will be his mouth. I'm calling the game, "Don't Let Mr. Potato Head Lose His Voice!" We'll keep repeating a verse until he either loses his voice or I decide everyone knows it well enough to move on to another verse. Too confusing? Too many games going on? I'm a believer in musical repetition being a great memory device and if you can trick kids into forgetting how often they are singing the exact same song, the words get into their head. I write this all out because I've been burned before. Sometimes, an idea I think is great or even just plausible, will go very badly. If something doesn't make sense or you can imagine this entire game going down in a ball of bored singers' flames, please speak (comment) up! I've still got a day for adjustments or an entirely new idea.
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| His mouth would be the last to go. He even looks like he's singing! |
5. I leave one week from today for Israel!!!!!
Let's hope there's none of this:
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| No missles! No need to use the Iron Dome! |
And lots of this:
Not promising an exact recreation of pose or outfit, but I'll try.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
A Twelve Year-Old Trip
*this is a catch-up post
One of my favorite things about being a parent is making up the rules. Call it a God-complex (although, aren't we actually trying to become like God? OK, debatable about whether he decides the rules or if the rules are the rules), but I enjoy the responsibility and reward of child development. Most of the time. Sometimes, it is actually awful. But, I'm focusing on the positive!
After admiring a few different friends' traditions for milestone birthdays (one takes her twelve year-old to Disneyland for a one-on-one trip and another goes on a motorcycle odyssey with a custom itinerary and destination for the twelve year-old), Jay and I decided that rather than a gift, turning twelve was a great age to celebrate with an experience. The offered gift could be an event at a reasonable location (location was added after the London Olympics were mentioned by Seth out loud).
We don't own a motorcycle and aren't superfans of Disneyland like some (I do like it. Great family vacation. I'm always surprised, however, by adults who love it all on their own) so decided to leave the final decision to the twelve year-old - veto power and parental discretion firmly in place.
Seth must have understood the value of the offer because he took a long, long time to decide what his birthday trip would be. I think both of us assumed he would immediately choose a sporting event for a favorite team. He sort of nodded whenever different ideas were suggested, as if agreeing that they would be fun, but never locked in his final answer. I saw his vulnerability and thought I'd suggest a thing or two, including a New York trip with me including a Broadway show, but he just smiled. Drat.
He eventually decided upon the BYU v. Notre Dame football game in North Bend. I think visiting college campuses while in middle school is an excellent opportunity to expose the variety of possibility for higher education and was thrilled that he and Jay would be visiting such a historic and established university. There was one brief week when I was almost the parent who got to take Seth when Jay's work schedule conflicted with the already purchased airline tickets but when left with the choice of having me accompany him instead, still leaving on the originally planned Thursday, or changing the itinerary and waiting until Friday (losing a whole day!) to go with Jay, Seth chose to wait. It hurt but in a good way. I'm a huge fan of father/son bonding.
They flew into Chicago and after a lot of one-way street turning and a few stops to see famous landmarks, they got out of the big city and drove to Indiana. There, they attended the BYU football player fireside, which they described as dangerously packed. As in, there was no way this many people inside a stake center passed fire code. There wasn't room in the chapel or overflow so they put people in the various auxiliary rooms to watch via closed circuit TV. They said people were even standing in the hallways. They managed to find a bit of floor in the primary room.
The next day, they visited the campus, seeing the most famous sites, and then left plenty early to enjoy all pre-game festivities. Jay is definitely an enjoyer of all things pre-game and usually has less than willing accomplices (me), and Seth is a lot like Jay. I'm sure he's learning all the proper neuroses about not being late. They got sweatshirts and programs and made friends in the stand with Notre Dame fans (who they said were very nice and polite) and even though BYU didn't win, they still had a good time.
At the time of the game, Notre Dame was a good team and even ranked in the top 10 but not really considered a plausible contender for the BSC national championship. It was fun to watch both Jay and Seth feel a little bit invested in Notre Dame's football team after their trip and continue to cheer for them throughout the remainder of their season, for Manti T'eo to get the Heisman and for them to win the National Championship game. We even all had Notre Dame gear like real fans, thanks to their trip.
I'm bummed that I can't find any of the pictures of the actual game (they must be on Jay's phone. These are the ones he emailed to me). I know there were a couple more of campus as well. Oh well, maybe I'll find them later. I think these are worth preserving. Each picture includes Jay's sent captions.
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| It begins |
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| On the plane |
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| Second breakfast. Buying him a cinnamon roll made me cool again. (My response: You were already uncool? Jay's response: Permanently) |
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| Excited about Direct TV on plane |
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| Other things that make me cool: Dodge charger rental car. |
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| Going for coolest Dad of the year! (clearly, Jay is a little concerned about being uncool) |
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| Wrigley |
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| Only seats left |
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| Our view: on the floor of the primary room |
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| Welcome to Notre Dame |
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| Touchdown Jesus |
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| You would not love the seats (Jay has learned over the year that I do not enjoy benches or thigh touching strangers) |
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| Straddling (My response: I would be having strong emotions right now. Good luck with your new intimate friend!" |
***********************I HAVE FOUND THE MOTHERLODE!************************
Got a hold of Jay's phone and found the FULL-SIZE non-compressed photos that will be much better for the memory book. I don't have captions for these photos so I'll create my own:)
