End of a Season

The volleyball season is over. We had our highs. We had our lows. We came in third out of 40 teams, which isn't too shabby. Of course, I must give credit where credit is due. Where would I be, here in 2007, in all my bronze glory, without the hours and hours of grueling practice back in the day? Certainly not a third place finisher in a certain Salt Lake area regional volleyball tournament. That, my friends, is what happens when you keep the dream alive!

Look how far I've come:

Warning!!!!

****Spew Alert - Spew Alert - Spew Alert****

From my humble beginnings as a freshman - I can't imagine that I thought that hair was acceptable for a picture, especially an official keepsake picture...but there's the proof that I did.

I couldn't find my sophomore year so moving on to my junior year. Ahh...white shorts. Really, can you go ever wrong with white shorts as part of a young teenage girl's uniform? It separates the posers from the players as not all are willing to make the necessary sacrifice of personal pride. It could have been worse. They could have been tight spandex. I'm pretty sure those would have weeded me out.

And here's my triumphal entry during senior's night with my proud parents. You could consider this walk a symbolic journey. Leaving the past high school glory for a much brighter, albeit much less color coordinated, glory years later. Say...the year 2007.

I never could sum up the courage to take a self portrait at a game in our red jerseys. I'm sure I'll regret it, but this photo actually works out better. It's as if I've come full circle. Bad hair and all.

To all my fans, I say, "Thank You." It couldn't have happened without your comments and support. This third place finish is for all of you...everywhere.

We Are The Champions....

of our pool bracket.

"What is she talking about?" the confused reader asks.

Volleyball, of course.

Yes, I went and played again. I had to. I was called to repentance several times and even visited at my door to repentance several times. The volleyball coach is nothing if not persistent. (She also turns out to be the sister-in-law to one of my friend's visiting teachers on the other side of the continental US of A. Never, ever think you can write truly anonymously).

O.K....so it wasn't repentance, but the coach really did make an effort to keep me in the loop and encouraged me to come play. I missed the stake tournament, so wasn't planning on going to the regional tournament at all but she showed up at my door with the rules and address and strongly urged me to come.

I went, sheepishly, and had a surprisingly good time. The good time from playing wasn't surprising, but the camaraderie and sense of team was. We were in true volleyball form with frequent huddles to the middle and lots and lots of high fives.

The best part was we played by official Olympic rules so we had jerseys with numbers, pretty strict refereeing and we even had to line up on the back line after each game. I thought it was a hoot when we'd all forget after the game (because who does this?) and go to our sideline chairs for a drink of water and the ref would remain up on his stand at the net with the whistle in his mouth and his arms up waiting for us to line up.

The worst part was all the prayers. That sounds bad, but there were four during the tournament. We had to pray when the game that preceded ours was over. Then was our opening prayer (ten minutes later). Then we had another opening prayer with a different ref (I think everyone was too embarrassed to explain that we had already prayed) and then another closing prayer. I like prayer. I even like saying the Relief Society Motto in unison with fellow women (which we also did) but it seemed like a lot of "remember who you are"s to me. Perhaps there's been some ugliness in the past.

There were four teams playing and we had to play each team twice. The games were to 25 and you had to win by 2. The top two teams got to move on. Our team was 6-0 at the end of the night. We are moving on!

So, my guilt which lead to a night of volleyball has led to another night of volleyball. Tonight. It's double elimination now and we've got our eyes on the prize. I'm not sure what the prize is, or when it gets awarded (there are supposedly loser brackets and I think this tournament goes on for another week) but my eyes are on it.

Go team!

Physical - Zumba workout (arriba!)

Spiritual - Mosiah 8-10

Nurturing - Reading lesson, stories, puzzle with Sammy, not whooping Henry and even cleaning up his mess lovingly (that might be a stretch) when he put pens down the vents (because he's figured out how to pull them out of the floor) or left wet toilet paper in balls all over the downstairs carpet.

Work - washed all the sheets and made all the beds. Folded and put away another load of laundry. Cleaned Master Bath.

All Good Things Come To An End

No silver linings here. My good and optimistic mood couldn't last forever. Instead, expect some whining and woe-be-gones from me. And no themes or organized thoughts either. I'm looking to purge.

I haven't been in much of a blog mood lately. So, I've mostly stayed away and now I'm way behind with reading and writing. I think it's because I have been trying so hard to be...well...witty. Keep it light and frothy, you know? But sometimes, I feel too annoyed or tense to produce froth. Sometimes...all I've got is flat, fizzless drama.

I'm going to jump back to Wednesday. No...back to Tuesday night. I'm feeling done with trying to make the best of this year. I still don't really know anyone in my ward and by now, after three months of going to choir practice and enrichments and volleyball, I think a connection would have been made if it was ever going to be made. I suppose I'll still go, but without any expectations of finding a playdate or kid swapping friend.

I decided not to go to Volleyball on Tuesday because it has kind of turned into this flashback of my junior varsity team in high school. We were sort of a bickering, moody squad with an incompetent coach. When I mentioned a few weeks ago that I was called by the "coach" I wasn't really expecting a church volleyball team to maintain that coach/player relationship. The man who called, whose calling is sports coordinator, asked one of the women players there on the first night, if she would take over the organizing of the women's team. Now, in my opinion, if I had been asked, I would interpret that kind of assignment as I'm now the gal who makes the calls to remind people of games and such. But this nice sister, she took his meaning of delegation completely different. She's become our "super coach". We do drills and she stops play to instruct us what our positions are at any given time and has set up a 6-2 offense. Don't know what that means? Just some volleyball lingo that is confusing most people that come to play and over-doing it a bit, I think. You'd think I'd be excited about this serious play, about finding another like-minded dodgeball player, but I find her bossiness and take-charge attitude irritating. Most people there have the basic skills to play. So let us play. I don't need a coach who gets after me for not going up for a block when the other coming-out-for-a-fun-game-of-jungleball team we are playing Saturday morning finally zings one over the net for one of their three total points. There is a time and a place...

I know! I sound so snarky and judgmental! Maybe I'm being proud and annoyed because I don't like not being in charge. I don't know what my problem is but I didn't hide it very well at our game on Saturday. Jay made a comment about how I didn't even try to be nice and I'm embarrassed that I displayed my uglier, pettier side. I can't even look at her in the eye when she talks to me anymore. Anytime she talks to me, she's reminding me of something I need to do (snap your wrist, cover that tip, call for it) and it's gotten to the point where anything she says or does now bothers me.

Then, on Wednesday night, I went to the Blogger Bookgroup, which I invited myself to. I knew it was open to whoever, but when I showed up on Wednesday night, and walked through the doors of someone I'd never met, or even knew of, I felt completely overwhelmed by my own lameness and neediness. Hi! Be my friend, please! I put on my attentive eyes, my I'm-a-friendly-girl smile and tried to contribute bookish things to the actual discussion of the book (which I am not all that used to!) and mostly tried to fight off the urge to get up and go home. I knew if I left early - earlier than everyone else - that I'd be announcing my discomfort and I didn't want any of those lovely ladies present interpreting my discomfort as having to do with anything they were saying or doing. Everyone there was gracious and welcoming. I had a very nice conversation with Amie and Hannah and several other people made eye contact and smiled at me.

It was completely my problem, my head shouting that I am tired of showing up for first dates like I'm on the prowl for friends. Really....I'm not. It just seems like that from the way I've been behaving. What I am looking for are experiences for making this year....the extra growth at the end of this great medical journey that is seeming more and more like a skin tag for me (totally pointless and awkward looking) and a third brain for Jay (because the other two are already full), meaningful and worth the effort. I mean, a year is a year! I don't want to write off #32 for me! I won't get a do over! So...off to volleyball and dinner and book discussions with people who don't know me and won't really get the time to get to know me, I go!

You'd think the perfect solution to feeling out-of-sorts among relative strangers might be spending an exorbitant amount of time with one's family. You'd think so.

I thought so. Thursday, Jay had an academic day (basically a day off...but it's named such so that he can spend it studying guilt-free or not studying with shame and trepidation), so instead of volunteering, I accompanied him to the Salt Lake Temple for a live endowment session. I'd only been there one other time, so was looking forward to being in that historic and beautiful building.

It was lovely. Almost perfect. The only time I didn't act completely grown up was when the somewhat large and moustached man sitting behind me in the chapel beforehand started energetically and without tone, humming along with the organ music. Jay was sitting reverently reading the scriptures and I found my shoulders starting to shake with a shameful giggle. I stopped, but with my head bowed, my eyes darted sideways to Jay's equally bowed head and I saw his smirk. My shoulders and stomach betrayed me again and Jay tried to gain some composure by pointing out some doctrine in the scripture he was reading. It might have worked, had the humming not continued, but one set of scriptures was not enough to halt the tide over our rapidly growing out-of-control fit of hysteria. I stood up and got my own set of scriptures off a bookcase and returned to my seat. It worked. Other than that...our experience in the temple was very nice.

To repay Kelly for what turned into a five hour babysitting session (we timed our arrival poorly so that we had to sit for almost an hour before our session started - a whole hour of humming!), I offered to watch her two children for an equal length of time and feed them dinner so that she and her husband could have a nice dinner together, alone. But, I forgot that I had offered to take my sister, Sarah, to the airport so had to load all five kids into the van during late rush hour as Jay was now appropriately using his academic day and off studying at the library. This turned into a McDonald's night for us and yet another day where I didn't get my laundry done or house picked up. Some of you might not be able to go to bed with fruity pebbles on the carpet and unfolded baskets of clothes on the floor of your bedroom, but I did.

This weekend, Jay and I planned to play our alumni card and really experience BYU homecoming. We spent the morning putt-putting around. We kept Seth home from school thinking we'd leave for Provo early but ended up only leaving about a half hour before his school day would have finished anyways. We drove over to the newly discovered Chipotle after Jay researched online about it's friendliness towards the gluten intolerant. Happily, they declare all their food, minus the flour tortillas, to be gluten-free. We ate there on our way out of town and then got to Provo and discovered we really didn't know what to DO there. We had tickets to the Homecoming Spectacular later that evening, and I racked my brain for memories about what I did in my free time the five years I lived there. We decided to drive up Provo Canyon and stopped at Nunn's Park. I kept expecting, hoping for some sort of play area for my kids, but after walking a ways, and passing all of the many, many engaged couples (it is THE place to be for the young and in-love), we turned around and headed back towards the van.

At the beginning of the walk. We were all still hopeful of finding some sort of playground or open area to run.

I remember tubing down this river. It looks kind of wild now!

Two of my cute boys

I love Bridal Veil Falls

Sammy had the spirit of things and splashed around a bit.

Proof that I was there.

Jay called our niece, who is a freshman at BYU this year, and we went and picked her up for dinner. We ate at Tucanos, which is another Brazilian steakhouse patterned after Rodizio Grill that assured us all of their meat was gluten-free. Our niece, Karin, is so enthusiastic and upbeat about her experience at BYU so far. I think it's great! BYU can be a hard place to be for some, and it was entertaining to listen to her excitement about her FHE group and dorm friends.

Cousin Karin

After dinner, we drove her back to her dorm and parked at the Marriott Center for the Spectacular a full half hour before the show was scheduled to begin. As BYU runs on Mormon Standard Time, it was closer to 45 minutes early. Our kids were ready for it to be over before it began and the next two hours weren't pretty. We had strangers offering candy to help us appease Henry and both of us were left wondering what we were thinking, bring our children to that show. We expected it to be a little more...peppy. It was beautiful and well-done but very adult and concert like. We left early, me carrying out a heavy and sleeping Sam whose dead-weight legs kicked every single head in sight on my way out. Jay had already exited with Henry.

Then Jay got sick. Gluten sick. He was miserable the rest of the night and could hardly sleep for the ache in his stomach. I could hardly sleep knowing he was miserable and sitting in a chair in our dark room trying to find comfort. Henry could hardly sleep because he had a softy for a mom who would snuggle with him to try and keep him quiet. Seth could hardly sleep because he was so cold. Sammy did just fine.

The morning came quickly as Jay, Seth and Sam were all entered in the Homecoming races. Seth and Sam ran a half mile and Jay signed up for the 5K. The boy's race started at 8:15 so I dropped them and Jay off at the track while Henry and I searched for a parking spot. There is no parking in Provo. Especially around the stadium and track. I drove around for a while, but then fearing that I'd miss my little one's efforts at 800 meters, parked at the out-of-business pizza restaurant parking lot across the street from Helaman Halls.

The boys did great. Seth came in 22nd and Sam was 26th. Sammy scored a medal for being the third fastest in the boys 1-4 year old bracket. No doubt Seth wished he, himself, had earned a medal but quickly put things in perspective by telling Sammy that his bracket was less crowded so it was statistically easier for him to place in the top three. He didn't use the word "statistically" but that's what he meant. Luckily, Sammy paid him no heed and enjoyed his showcase of bronze.

Last minute instructions from dad

Seth's turning the corner and Sammy is on the far right side of the picture.

Seth working hard to pass a three year old (notice how far off the ground he is. He sort of lopes around when he runs.)

Sammy strong at the finish

On the winner's stand (and yes...the first place winner was Seth's three year-old nemesis.)

Jay left for his race and we hurried back to the van hoping it wasn't booted or towed. It wasn't and we drove over by the Maeser stairs for a pancake breakfast and to watch Jay's race and subsequent Homecoming Parade. The line for the pancakes was long, the pancakes blue and a bit undercooked, and the eating messy and exhausting. You wouldn't think eating blue pancakes would be, but in between balancing four plates with two hands, going back for more milk after cups were spilled, chasing after Henry who took off in the parking lot...I was ready for my hands to be syrup free.

Jay came along and I discovered my camera was out of batteries. I felt bad as I know he threw in some good form for the camera on his way by. We waited for him to make his way back to our parade spectator spots and set out our two camping chairs. My camping chair is appropriately green and beige, but Jay's is a bright orange and black shrine to Tony Stewart, NASCAR's bad boy.

It soon attracted the attention it was obviously meant to attract, and within minutes, I found myself in conversation with a friendly NASCAR fan, showing off his Tony Stewart cell phone. I politely alternated between talking about the controversial switch to Toyota next year and chasing after Henry who had discovered a pile of leaves in a gutter. When Jay arrived, the conversation really got going and we spent the next hour clapping for judges riding in old convertibles, a few marching bands, some re-used floats from the Days of '47 parade and competing for the odd piece of candy thrown every now and then.

But we hadn't had enough of struggling with Henry yet. Or listening to how thirsty Seth and Sam were. So, we headed back to the Days Inn, our Homecoming weekend splurge, and showered and changed into Cougar Blue for the big football game against Air Force.

I thought Henry would be so tuckered out from his late night, fragmented sleep, and parade chasing that he'd fall asleep on my lap during the game. It was not meant to be. He screamed and clawed and arched to get away from me. I was already uncomfortable because I was determined to hold my own against our row of seat encroachers. During the last game, when Jay didn't come until half-time, our fellow row dwellers sort of spread out until we were left with only three of our four reserved seats. We made do then, but we arrived early enough to sit me down on #34 and Jay on #31, with our boys comfortable and little in between us.

Soon, our row filled up and before long, I found myself thigh to thigh and arm to arm with a rather large gentleman. He and his wife had brought a couple of those folding bleacher chairs and with us on one side, and another group to their left, they couldn't fit both of their chairs side by side on the bench. He never asked me to scoot over, and I wouldn't have if he had because I was legally on #34, but it was a mental battle not to move when I had the space as our boys don't quite fill their entire spot. But I knew if I gave, then he'd just take and I had a point to make. I paid $30 for my seat as well, and if he needed more room, then he could buy one of our tickets. So I sat there...touching. Very uncomfortable and I couldn't concentrate on the game. Ultimately, Henry forced us out of there anyway with his screeching and carrying on. All of the old, grumpy men there to WATCH the game kept giving me the evil eye.

I spent the second quarter underneath the stands and finally had a run-in with a blogger. I've been waiting for it to happen and was pleasantly given the opportunity when Lindsay came over to say "hi." We had a nice chat and I went back to our seats at halftime with an asleep Henry. He stayed asleep until the start of the third quarter, when our side enthusiastically shouted "Cougars!" after the "B!" "Y!" "U!"

I didn't matter because by that time, BYU was so far ahead and it started to rain. We were definitely not good scouters, as we were reminded by the numerous rain parkas that were pulled out in almost synchrony. When we were wet enough (which was pretty wet) we left the game.

In a different mood, all of this would have been felt and reported with a happier and more fun spin. It was fun. All of it. The volleyball, bookclub, Homecoming weekend. But it was also hard and that's the part that feels real to me right now.

Lucky for you, this, too, has now come to an end.

Bump, Set, Spike...Give 'em What We Like!!

I love this music sidebar thing. I have so much fun choosing songs! This one was from my high school pre-game warm up CD. Go Lady Bruins! (For full imagery sake, imagine me dazzling in Gold and Brown...running a lap with my team while we're all swinging our arms)

Last night I went and played volleyball at the Stake Center. I realized today that I could post about it with absolutely no censoring. Nobody that was there reads this. Nobody even knows who else was there. Freedom!!!!!

I have been wishing, hoping, plotting for a volleyball night for women for as long as I've been married. In Denver, our church building was really unique in that they didn't have a gym, but rather, a true cultural hall. The ceiling was lower, it was carpeted (without basketball lines) and had stairs to the stage that went the entire width of it. You know....like the Lincoln Memorial or something. We did attempt to play volleyball there occasionally, but with the low ceiling, flimsy posts and risk of major rug burn, actual play there happened few and far between.

Of course, now that it finally starts here, I am moving. It's actually been going on for a month now but last night was the first time I didn't have a conflict or memory lapse. I got to the church at 8:30 and met two other ladies passing a ball back and forth to each other. I turned on my super charm and introduced myself and we made a triangle. Bump, bump, bump. Wheee!

Another woman comes and now there are four of us. Bump, Bump....wait a minute....set....bump. I'm still smiling but starting to wonder if this was the better choice over my bubble bath. After about fifteen minutes, the person with the keys to the closet shows up and we finally get the net set up.

It's been forever since I've played a game with a net set at women's height, which is way more fun. The few times I've played anything but backyard ball, the game is co-ed so the net is raised to the men's setting. For good reason too....the ego of certain men usually takes over and it prevents most from pummeling the ball down onto unsuspecting Sally Sue. Plus, I can't hit on a men's net. My vertical is all of about three inches.

While the net is getting set up, a few more women show up so there are nine of us total. We play four on five, which is o.k., but there are a lot of holes on the court and no one on either side is good enough to cover them. But I'm happy. I'm playing volleyball... I'm having a good time.

But it's kind of quiet. So, I turn on my hyper boost (my family will know what I'm talking about) and start totally spazzing out. Making jokes, taunting the other team in that overly friendly way (guffaw, guffaw) trying to get some smiles from these people. My attempts at breaking the ice hardly even get an eye twitch, though, so I concentrate on my game instead.

Nobody seems to be having a particularly good time, and I start to wonder why some came if it wasn't for the social interaction. Like the one woman who always punches the ball with her fist, no matter how the ball is coming to her. Serve receive? Punch! Trying to set (although...there is no way she was actually trying. I'm just saying the ball came to her on the second hit)? Punch! Free ball? Punch!

I noticed a pattern that whoever's team she was on tended to lose. At first, we switched up the teams by having two people from each team switch sides. The next time we started to switch up teams, one woman asked if we wanted to choose balls for teams. Huh? There are only nine of us and it's pretty easy to remember who was on which team the game before. There stood the eight of us, looking around, waiting for someone to make the decision so I said, "sure...let's choose balls."

She runs over to her backpack on the stage and whips out a tin pan. The kind my mom puts homemade carmels in or peanut brittle at Christmas. Rather than sweet treats, the tin was full of orange and white ping pong balls. She came prepared! I jokingly asked if she served in the primary and I didn't even get a smile! Tough, tough crowd.

Balls chosen and teams decided, we started again. Puncher and I happened to both choose white balls so the next two games weren't very fun. I really, really didn't want to be that bossy lady who is trying to relive any kind of glory day by "coaching" her team. But, nobody was getting the serve up because three people were crowding into the back row and everyone thought the other person would get it. When I asked who the setter was, in hopes that someone would move up to the net, the only response was, "Whoever wants to, I guess." No...no...no. It's supposed to be the person up at the net. The person you try to get the serve receive to. Smile on the outside, screaming on the inside.

I realize I sound like I'm starring in the movie, Dodgeball, but most of the women there were really trying to play. Everyone was serving overhand (except for one person who started in a low crouch and then did some bizarre sidewinder serve) and almost everyone at least attempted to set up a play instead of catapulting the ball back over after only one hit. It was more like someone just needed to take charge, you know?

We continued on, choosing more balls every so often. After we had been playing for about an hour, a man from the stake poked his head into the gym to see what was going on. Now, this man is THE nicest man. The most pure hearted man I've ever met. Truly, one of my favorite people ever. But he went on, and on, and on.....and on about how wonderful it was that we were there playing. "Look at you guys! How great that you are here playing! This is so neat! Gosh...I just think this is the best thing!" Eventually, his enchanting enthusiasm could no longer mask his real meaning which was, "look at you out of shape women getting out of your houses to be active together! Way to go! Keep up the effort!"....but in a totally nice way.

I don't know why women don't do this sort of thing more frequently or regularly. Well, I actually do. We have husbands who have callings or jobs that take precedence. Or important and valuable family and couple time to recharge and refresh a relationship. But, if the men can sneak out of the house for basketball AND ultimate frisbee AND softball (although, I should mention Jay rarely does. He, bless his heart, always says he'd rather be home with me!!!), women should try to do something every once in a while, too, that doesn't involve desserts.

We promptly ended at 10:00. I bet most people return next week. It was a good time. It would be even more fun with a few more people. Oh...and Sarah? Someone had knee pads! And it wasn't me!