What I Miss

You know what I miss most since being pregnant?   Having any kind of energy.

In a lot of ways, this pregnancy feels nearly identical to my others.  My gag reflex is exactly has it has been in the past:  highly sensitive so although nausea can definitely make me throw up, so can coughing, sneezing or burping.  I crave horrible food that makes me fat.  I feel depressed and cry at the drop of a hat.  I murmur.  A lot.

But, one sensation that seems extra heightened this time 'round is my extreme fatigue.  I don't know if it is my 35 years compared to my 24, 27 and 30 years in comparison, but I am tired all the time.  Bone tired.

Most days, I can get away with it.  My world has been very sympathetic to my expanding womb plight.  My young women didn't bat an eye when I came unprepared last Sunday to teach my lesson (a big chunk of the problem was because I had planned to show a movie I had ready on my laptop...which I forgot at home) and ended up holding up my cell phone at the front of the room so they could watch it start and stop intermittently as it buffered slowly on the Verizon network.   Embarrassing, for sure, but I even got a hug from one of my laurels afterward telling me it was a fine lesson.  My sister came down for a long weekend and patiently did my laundry, cooked my children's meals and repeatedly cleaned my kitchen while I sat moaning on the sofa.  My husband is a saint and always asks me how I'm feeling when he walks through the door instead of looking around at all of the piles of things I didn't get done.

My mother's brother died this week from pancreatic cancer and I'm leaving tomorrow morning for his funeral up in Utah.  As much as the past month has tried to convince me otherwise, some things, such as getting ready for a trip, can't be sloughed off.  The tire pressure sensor all aglow on my dashboard needed some attention (nail - slow leak - all fixed).  Milk, as well as a few other staples, needed to be purchased.  Child care needed to be arranged and the big Young Women's Camp Fundraiser, which is being held next Wednesday, needed to be organized enough to be delegated.  I also tried to sneak in a cut and color today because I have looked hideous for a month and am tired of braiding my hair.  When you add my unrelenting need to eat at least once an hour, it makes for a busy and very tiring day.

It doesn't sound like a lot, but my whole body is screaming for sleep right now.  Why don't I indulge and take a quick nap, you ask?  Because there is still stuff to do, it is almost dinner time and I want to go to bed early tonight so I can wake up as early as I need to and not fall asleep during my seven hour drive tomorrow.

I could really use some energy.  Just a small amount.  Nothing Herculean required.  Just the amount needed to get up out of this IKEA chair, walk down the hall and switch  my clothes from the washer to the dryer.  Perhaps if I just close my eyes for just a minute....

Last Day of School

Another school year comes to a close and I am really looking forward to having my boys home for the summer.  Seth and Sam are spending the day participating in the school's traditional "River Walk" which parents weren't invited to (and, really, who am I kidding?  There's no way I'd make an all day outing.  Lately, I barely make it out the door at all) and I'll head over in a couple of hours to watch The Big H graduate from preschool.  I signed up a month ago to bring a salad but find tossing greens with a dressing too overwhelming today.  Instead, I'll drive to a deli and pay way too much for something they made.

It's been a big week.  Seth's fifth grade graduation was on Monday.  He really is growing up.  It makes me feel proud and scared all at the same time.  The other night, he cleaned the entire kitchen and dining room by himself (there was a money incentive, but still!).  He put away left-over food.  He hand washed pots and pans in the sink, then rinsed, dried and put them away.  He wiped off counters.  He even vacuumed the floor.  It is comforting to know that not only is he able to help during the moments when if I move, I'll vomit, but willing.

There was a talent show on Tuesday.  Seth performed his Clementi Sonatina.  I'm glad to put that song to rest finally.  He has a love/hate relationship with it.  After so many months and months, he can't help but play it when he passes the piano but it'll be nice to hear something new.

Yesterday was the school's field day.  Jay was Super Dad and volunteered for the day.  I did the opposite of playing outside in the sun and water and played the organ at a funeral.  It was held at a local mortuary instead of a church and the piano/organ was in a small curtained room just off to the side of the casket.  I was only uncomfortable after the funeral ended and they opened up the casket for one more viewing before heading to the gravesite.  I played postlude and after about a half hour, the man's children each came up to the casket individually.  Their grief, through words and tears, felt very private and I was sorry to hear it.   It didn't feel right to be so close.

We've also had my niece and nephew stay with us this week as their parents are on a cruise.  I feel bad for them because they have the most boring aunt ever.  It's been a really difficult week for me.  I had some hope last week that the Zofran was going to help but it doesn't look like it has any real effect.  Somedays, I feel kind of o.k.  That's as good as it gets.  I never feel great.  I never feel normal.  But, there seem to be more and more days that are becoming just awful.  I feel grumpy and pathetic.   I tried to stay up and chit chat and be interested and attentive their first few nights here, but the past few nights, I have just had to go to bed.  The sooner the day can end, the better.  To make it extra fun, all five of us have Pinkeye and yesterday, we found another tick embedded into Henry's nape.  I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't freaked out about it.

My dad's birthday was yesterday.  He turned seventy-four.  I love him with my whole soul.  He is such a good man and I'm a fortunate girl to have had someone so noble to learn from all these years.

So You Think You Can Dance starts tonight!   That might be just what I need to get my mind through this pregnancy.  I've just about exhausted Netflix's British Period pieces miniseries.  I highly recommend North and South.  Downton Abbey was good and I'm looking forward to some resolution but I didn't like Wives and Daughters very much.   They needed a better climax for the romance between Roger and Molly.

I'm on some sort of a french braid kick.  I just finished doing my hair and think it's the fifth or sixth day in a row I've braided my hair.  I don't know what got me started and really have no idea what keeps me thinking it's a good look (it's not) but a braid it is again.  I feel bad for my niece.  She asked me the other morning if I'd braid her hair for school.  The little talent I have seems to be isolated to having my arms in an up and back position because her poor hair barely resembled braids when I was done (she wanted two).  I noticed when she came home from school, the braids were out.  It made me wonder if I should actually be hoping for a girl.

Oh my goodness, I am rambling.  But, I wrote.  That's something.

Fantasy Friends

Feeling completely justified in taking a break after managing to clean my entire kitchen and dining room, vacuum three rooms, clean the main floor bathroom, fold one of the eight loads of clean laundry needing to be folded (taking bids to fold the other seven!) AND shower, I decided if I'm going to sit, I might as well blog.  Perhaps my less than energetic current state will actually be good for the blog.  

While I might get a self-congratulatory pat on the back today (actually, the entire family has been impressed by my surprising motion), I admit last night was a completely different story.  Jay was exhausted from his preparation and presentation of cancer statistics to a local womens conference and his afternoon fifteen-mile trail run and the boys were glued to the Rockies game playing in the living room and so it was up to me to put on dinner.  I felt sick and very put upon and grouchily called everyone to the gourmet feast sitting upon the table: Hebrew National grilled hot dogs (hey...we're fancy and I don't do mixed meat wieners.  They must be all beef), an assortment of chips, strawberries with their stems still attached and a jar of pickles.  Once my showy feat of domesticity was over, I left the table and headed to my bedroom where I got lost in Tina Fey's new memoir, Bossypants.

I finished the entire thing and laughed out loud more than I have in awhile.  I decided when I closed it that Tina Fey and I could be good friends if we ever had the chance.  O.K.  Probably not since she seems to be more infatuated with the Alec Baldwin/Amy Poehler crowd but I think maybe pre-fame/pre-millions, we could have shared some great laughs.  I love funny people.  Not hyper funny people, mind you, who actually drive me a little nuts, but witty, sarcastic, self-depreciating, non-mean people.  And it's not like it would be all one sided. I could throw a  joke in there on occasion and supply some store-bought refreshments during our funny night pow-wows.

That thought led me to wonder who my other fantasy friends might be.   It gets tricky because lots of famous people, who are sort of the only ones in the running since I don't know about the other non-famous people, aren't very down to earth which is an absolute essential ingredient for friendship.  No high-flutin' girly girls for me!  That weeds out a lot but I think Adele for karaoke nights, Peggy Noonan for intellectual discussions over hot cocoa, CJane for all things regarding mormon momminess (although her infatuation with Provo might get on my nerves), and Katherine Heigl for the Hollywood scene.  She doesn't seem to try too hard and I loved her in Twenty-Seven dresses.  I should say Victoria Beckham since, you know, we're practically the same family (I swear I wasn't trying to copy her with this whole pregnant thing) but she scares me and doesn't eat enough.  Any friend of mine would need to enjoy food.

Interestingly, I constantly tease Jay about his fantasy friends.  He is not a very social creature but any tiny need he might have is filled by Dan Patrick and the Dannettes and Tony Kornheiser.  He passes on their funny stories to me just like he would had an actual friend from school/work/church or the neighborhood shared them.  He feels...close to them.  After reading Tina's book, I know how he feels and that's just after one book.  After years of listening to their daily podcasts, no wonder he feels as if he's friends with these men even though they have absolutely no idea who he is.

Who are your fantasy friends?

What Is It Worth?

I'm determined to blog through this pregnancy.  I have zero, zilch, no record of any of my other pregnancies.  I didn't write in a journal.  I didn't scrapbook.  I didn't even take pictures.  I think there are a total of five pregnancy pictures from all three and most are me sitting down looking at the camera with a visible wish that whoever was taking the picture would go away.  Other than my memories and actual children to show for them, it's like they never happened!

My only concern is that my record might sound like a sad sounding country ballad on repeat.  Um...I feel sick.  And tired.  I need to reach deep for new material.

I had a doctor's appointment yesterday.  She came in with a sympathetic smile tinged with a smirk.  You remember our last conversation was about getting an IUD.  She did redeem herself by running for saltines and water when I started to dry heave in front of her.   Fun, fun, fun!  I left with some serious swag and a prescription for Zofran, an anti-nausea drug I've taken in the past that really does work wonders.

One ironic thing about being married to an actual practicing physician now vs a medical student or resident is we have horrible insurance.  I say horrible, Jay says adequate, but I think that's because his partners chose it and he's being gracious.  Compared to what we paid for our three other children's births, this is going to be a lot more expensive.  Each doctor's visit requires a $65 copay.  I'm paying that much to be weighed and pee in a cup.  It doesn't feel like a bargain.  And would you believe that my ultrasound and future ultrasounds are not free?  The radiologists can waive their fees but the techs and hospital still need to be paid.  Reimbursement rates are at a horrible low in this economy and Jay refuses to add to the statistic or demand special treatment. Fine.

Except I just went to fill my Zofran prescription.  $144 dollars for 60 pills.  The script says to take up to four a day for nausea/vomiting.   At $2.40 per pill, that's almost $10 a day for nausea relief.  Is that expense justified?  I'd spend $10 for lunch but not every day.  I'd spend $10 for a book but, again, not every day.  I'm trying to justify the cost here.  Can I legitimately and in good faith spend $5 or $10 every day to feel better?  Or, should I just save the money and sit around some more?  Well, when I put it like that....

I think I'm going to decide it's worth it.  I have a feeling this is just the beginning of a pretty expensive baby.

Alive...Yes. Kicking...Not So Much

I'm not gonna lie, it's been a rough month.  I think there must be some kind of natural blogging instinct to not write when frustration or despair is raw.  Part of me wishes I had - to capture the real emotions as they happened, but, I think for history's sake, it's more kind to document with the perspective of hindsight.

However, the longer you go without writing, the harder it is to jump back in.  It's almost as if you need something really BIG to be worthy of breaking the silence.  I think I've got just the thing.

I'm pregnant.

It sounds incredibly stupid to say this came as a complete shock when I haven't done anything to prevent a pregnancy for the last three years, but after that much time, and because I needed help conceiving with all three of my others, I really didn't expect for it to happen.  In fact, I had a doctor's appointment last week and made a plan to get a Mirena IUD at the start of my next cycle.  Well...that cycle never came.

When a bout of nausea hit me last Tuesday, I had my first suspicion.  It's such a particular sensation associated with being pregnant for me.  I kept my worry to myself but at my Wednesday morning workout, my trainer asked me if everything was alright and after some tears, convinced me to go buy a pregnancy test.  I had such low energy.  While I drove home from Walmart, I glanced over at the passenger seat to see the IUD pamphlet jutting out from beneath the plastic bag holding a bright pink pregnancy test box.  I thought, "I bet most people don't pick up both of these things in the same week!"

I wish I had more faith or less pride to be able to say with complete confidence that this is the way things are supposed to be or that this is all part of a specific plan.  I'm not sure how that all works out after seeing many wonderful people and couples remain childless and some I consider undeserving proliferate with ease.  And unlike some I know, I've never felt that whispering or prompting that there were more spirits waiting to join our three boys.   I felt...good.  I felt content to move past the young-child-at-home-stage with Henry starting Kindergarten next year.  The idea of starting over - of getting all the things we'll need to have a baby again - still feels overwhelming.  And it's not just all of the paraphernalia we'll need.  It's really hard being sick again. It's really hard to think of all of the work I've put in to losing weight these past months being undone.  As willing as I want to be to stay in shape and keep exercising,  I have no energy.  I feel sick all day.  I'm throwing up in the morning and due to some troublesome spotting, have been instructed by my doctor to avoid anything strenuous.  That means my workouts as I know them have stopped.  Oh, I should still be going for some walks, I suppose, but it's easier to feel bad on my couch and watch movies.  It makes taking one of my three to five naps a day more convenient.

Even though this wasn't planned or expected, Jay has been really sweet and reassuring that we have a great home to welcome whomever is coming.  I like that thought.  We told the boys last night and I wish I would have thought to videotape their reaction.  Seth seemed a little upset.  Sam seemed excited once he actually believed us.  And Henry...oh, sweet Henry, well....he's in for the shock of his life.   I hope to feel like a normal person again soon, but if not, I know come Christmas time, when the baby is due, that this confinement, which turns out to be an appropriate description for now, will end.  Then, it'll be car seat/stroller/diaper bag/portacrib time.  Oh my goodness.

Please forgive my bemoaning.  I realize there will many blessings associated with this experience.  I have no doubt, whatsoever, that when all is said and done, this new life will bring more joy, more spirit and more love to our home.  And if there happens to be more estrogen as well...I certainly wouldn't be disappointed:)

Book Review - Captain Corelli's Mandolin

Wasn't Nicolage Cage in a movie adaptation of this book?  If so, I cannot think of a more poorly chosen actor to portray Captain Corelli, an Italian officer in command of invading and later keeping the peace on the Greek island of Cephalonia.  This captain was charming, quick witted, musical and, I'm assuming, handsome.  Afterall, famed beauty Pegalia couldn't even resist his charms.

This is an odd book but I liked it.  World War II seems to have an endless influence on authors and this is yet another story of another people in another place that gave me yet another perspective on the great war.  This doesn't feel historical, really, because of the quirkiness of the characters and narration, which almost took on a fantasy tone, but maybe that how the Greeks really are.

I really am a romantic because my favorite part of the story, by far, was the romance between Corelli and Pegalia.  The story offers much more - description of music (it is part of the title), wisdom from Pegalia's father, Dr. Iannis, folklore, Greek history and geography, Italian history, notes on friendship and, yes, the cruelties of war.

It also has one of my favorite quotes about love.  I've posted it before, back in December (can you believe how far behind in book reviews I am????) when I actually read this book, but I'm going to post it again.  I love it.

"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.  And when it subsides you have to make a decision.  You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.  Because this is what love is.  Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day or lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body...No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths.  That is just being 'in love', which any fool can do.  Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.  Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."


I'm so glad I read this.  I'm even more glad that I didn't have Nicolas Cage in my head when I did so.

Book Review - The 19th Wife

It was interesting to read two novels dealing with polygamy so close together.  I read David Ebershoff's The 19th Wife first, and as much as I didn't like it, I had to admit that it was well written.  Weaving a modern day murder mystery in with the history of Eliza Ann Young, the nineteenth wife of Brigham Young,  was well done and interestingly paced.

However, after reading The Lonely Polygamist, I decided I could justify my dislike of this book because it handled the subject matter so much more honestly.

The news portrays real life polygamist leaders as the very scum of society.  Warren Jeffs, the real life religious leader, made headlines a few years ago by becoming a fugitive after trying to force a young teen to become his umpteenth wife.  The government swooped in and the whole thing quickly unraveled into a huge mess.  The answer of what to do with the children, the women, and others who had committed no crime, was never answered.  The government and news media were much more concerned with handing down the moral verdict that what these people do is bad, bad, bad.

Maybe it is.  It's not something I would ever want to do.  But Ebershoff didn't just tell a story, he tried to sell his side of things, and as a result, The 19th Wife felt caricatur-ish and biased.  His descriptions implied everyone who lived this lifestyle was selfish, violent, vain and a sexual misogynist.  I even felt like their teeth might be rotting in their very mouths.  Blech.

Likewise, when fictionalizing actual historical figures, he took quite a bit of liberty with their motives and desires.  Maybe all historical fiction authors do this, and maybe I should squirm more often than I do, but the way he portrayed Brigham Young and other early leaders of the LDS church felt vindictive.  To just make up letters and journal entries that seemingly support his version of history, and explain in the author's notes afterward that, while completely fabricated, they have the "flavor" of things he's read in his research doesn't sit well with me.  I realize that's the influence of my own bias, but how is that right?

For me, there are more important things than a well written book.  Sure, Ebershoff is a fine author and knows his way around adjectives, narration and settings, but in my opinion, he cared too much about being right and too little about being honest.

Book Review - The Lonely Polygamist

Brady Udall's novel, The Lonely Polygamist, has everything I love in a book:  humor, sympathetic and flawed characters, conflict, action and a realistic resolution that ties up the plot's loose ends without forcing everything and everyone to happily ride off into the sunset.

So, why can't I happily recommend this book to everyone I know?

One word: polygamy.  I don't know how different readers might react to a book devoted to this uncomfortable subject.  Such a highly charged topic creates an immediate bias because most readers will automatically feel either defensive (for LDS folks, we kind of wish this part of our history would just go away - even if our own beloved ancestors practiced the controversial doctrine -  along with all of the fundamentalist offshoots that consistently tarnish our modern day image ) or smug, because clearly all polygamy - past, present and future - is evil, gross, atrocious and barbaric and any story about it is bound to portray it in all of its villainous glory. After all, how else could a story about a man who marries more than one woman go?

Well, Udall surprised me by catering to neither group.  His hero, Golden Richards, is a bumbling, unattractive and abundantly hairy man who rather haphazardly falls into the polygamous lifestyle.   From his childhood to his adult life, he sort of just lets things happen to him and four wives and twenty-eight children, a struggling construction business, and three homes with not enough bathrooms later, he realizes he is not a happy man.  He's lonely in the midst of a very chaotic life.

The book has several narrators which each give an interesting perspective into how a life such as this might be.  One of Golden's wives, his youngest, gets several chapters and feels unhappy because she's not MORE involved in the gigantic family drama.  With only one daughter from a previous marriage, she feels left out among the sister wives, and all but forgotten by her husband.

Another view comes from Rusty, the son of wife number three, whose mother is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  Alone, tormented by his many, many siblings, he gives the book its much needed comical edge.  I wouldn't want a son like Rusty, but his antics sure made me smile.

I'm not saying I approve of a family dynamic like this, or excuse it as being an acceptable variation of what I consider the very bedrock of our society.  But, a good novel is one which allows me to see, feel and be something that I mostly likely never would otherwise.  I suppose that's why, in spite of everything, I throughly enjoyed this glimpse into what should be an unfathomable, and yet is surprisingly familiar, human drama.

Book Review - Faithful Place

I've read both of French's previous novels, Into The Woods and The Likeness, and quite enjoy how she takes a character from the periphery in an earlier novel and pushes him or her to the center the crime/conflict/relationship in the next novel. In Faithful Place, detective Frank Mackey's past gets stirred up when the suitcase of his former girlfriend, Rosie, is discovered in the chimney of an abandoned house they used to meet in during a renovation.  Heartbroken, he left their hometown and most of the relationships with his very dysfunctional family behind.

Frank, whose whole life changed the night he assumed she bailed on their plans to run away together, has since been  married, become a father, and eventually divorced.  .Now, he's determined to face his past and discover if something else might have happened that night. Maybe she didn't runaway to the big city without him. Maybe something much darker happened. Maybe Rosie never left town at all.

French's skill, in my opinion, is to allow the mystery of the crime to take a backseat to the development of her main character. The clues are still unfolding and the whodunit pushes the plot along, but the breakdown of her protagonists - their fears, prejudices, motives and skewed perspective - make it a much more interesting mystery to read. In this particular case, I listened to the audio instead of reading and the addition of a Scottish accent in my head made it even more engaging.

You don't have to start with The Likeness to understand the storyline of Faithful Place, but I think having read it beforehand and the additional glimpse it gives into who Frank Mackey is, made Faithful Place a more interesting book.

I'd Blog But....

I can't. There are not enough words to describe the gauntlet of emotions that have been mine this past week. I am functioning but coherence in written format is out of the question.
There's a chance that statement is tinged with my flair for dramatics but I've tried to write something all day, and I just keep deleting everything I type. It's not coming out.

But, I'm still here. I'm fine. My eleven year old can't stand me most of the time, but its good. I'm the parent, right? Not the child beginning puberty who is most likely confused by new emotions and all the changes that are going on both seen and unseen in his body. Knowing that should make a difference. My feelings shouldn't be hurt. My heart shouldn't be heavy with disappointment while he defiantly sluffs off his responsibilities or when I discover a note not intended for his mother's eyes. And I definitely shouldn't feel angry that I have no clue what I'm doing and wondering what in tarnation Heavenly Father was thinking sending me children to raise.

It's not always bad but tonight it was. Yesterday too. Saturday had mostly good moments but I thought I'd just enjoy the surprising truce instead of blogging about it. Friday was ok but probably only because my expectations are lower at the start of the weekend. Thursday was bad. Wednesday was downright awful. I could only cope by putting headphones in while I read in an attempt to keep myself from shouting. Tuesday was bad. And Monday was so wonderful, it makes all the other days even worse. Because I know it's possible to have a really great day together (it was his birthday).

I feel like he is much too young to already be going through this hormonal change but I can't think of another explanation - at least one that doesn't totally freak me out. So, I'm going to try and be cool. I'm going to pray a lot harder, read and study a lot more diligently and hopefully, hopefully, emerge from this terrifying fog of change a better mother with a loving and intact relationship with my son.

Mind, Body and Spirit

Without my Biggest Loser classes dictating my workout schedule, I have been to try some new things this week. Well...I've always been free to explore, but after two hours of exercise, rare was the day that I felt like doing more, unless it was a Zumba class or skiing.  This week, however, has been a different story.   Everyday, I have tried new things, gone to new classes at different times to see what fits.  I hope I don't mess things up with my bohemian workout experiment.

One of the things I tried this week was a class called Nia.   I've tried the class once before when my friend, Meghan, taught it in Utah, but I didn't remember much about the class other than it felt a bit like modern dance.  The Zumba instructor at my gym, whom I enjoy so much, also teaches Nia and from my few conversations with her, I can tell Nia is her true passion.  She encouraged me to come try it but warned me that it was quite a bit different from Zumba.  I believe she described it as "more organic."

I got there right as the class started and the only space left was in the front row, immediately behind her and to the right.  No problem, I thought.  I'm fairly coordinated and pick things up quickly.  I'm sure it'll be fine.

Organic, by definition means, "derived from living organisms" and indeed it was - the living organisms being us. The burning candles along the floor in front of the mirror were the first indication that this was a different sort of class.  And when the music started, I immediately knew I wouldn't be hearing any Black Eyed Peas in the mix.

The instructor kept talking about "form and freedom."  Every move, she explained, had a form.  But, within the form, she wanted us to experience the "freedom" of the form.  Interpretation: we were supposed to do our own thing a lot of the time.

I don't know why, but that lack of inhibition, the freeness of it all, is really hard for me to enjoy.  When she was giving us steps to do, I did fantastic.  Just as I thought I would, I picked the moves up quickly and followed her spot on.  Then, she'd say, "Now, use your freedom!" and all hell would break loose.  In my head, I'm a 1-2-3-4-step ball chain, step ball chain kind of girl.  I like to move.  I love to dance.  I consider myself a spiritual person.  But, when she wanted us to do our own thing, I didn't feel free.  I felt silly.

We weren't left to our own devices for the majority of the class.   Mostly, those freedom moments were short and contained to a few beats of music.  For instance, during one song, eight counts were spent doing a move called "heart to earth."  Sounds kooky, but basically, we stomped two beats per legs with our chests bent over our feet with our arms slightly lifted from our bodies.  I was fine with that.  The next eight beats, she called out "Towards the sky" and all we had to do was aerobically skip backwards with a really straight back, and with as much vertical motion as we could muster.

The next eight counts were "to our community" and we basically salsa stepped diagonally forward with our arms open and reaching out and up.  That was my favorite move.  Maybe that means I really love my community and the earth and sky not as much.  If I had to rank them, though, earth comes before sky.  Community - earth- sky...can that order be good?

The final eight counts were when I really panicked because they were "ours."  We weren't supposed to follow her, and I don't think I could have had I tried (she can move really organically).  We were just supposed to BE and move our bodies the way our bodies wanted to move.  Oh my goodness, this is hard for me. I kept looking around at everyone else (which, I'm pretty sure is a no-no) to get ideas.  One woman looked like she was doing the robot but mostly, everyone just kind of jumped around.  I tended to stick to the salsa step in some related form or another.  I mean, there wasn't much time to come up with anything really fancy.

Until there was.  Towards the end of the class, there was an entire song dedicated to our freedom.  We could move however we wanted, in whatever direction we wanted - fast or slow or not at all.  The tempo was quite quick, so I started out doing this odd boxing shuffle.  I don't know why.  Perhaps my subconscious body wants to be a boxer, but shuffling just seemed safe at the time.  I knew I was supposed to do something with my arms, so I started swinging them in circles.  Soon, I remembered I am not an airplane so I switched it up and did various different things - usually needing to balance things out by doing an equal count on the other side.  I think I threw a jazz walk in there at one point.  Not an obvious one with splayed jazz hands or anything, but I knew what I was doing in my head and it was a jazz walk.

I can't tell you how hard it was for me to keep a straight face throughout that song.  As a group, I think we resembled some Native Americans at a Pow Wow, shuffling around in a basic clockwise direction doing odd little things with their arms and legs, but  there were some definite stand-out individuals.  One woman started crawling.  I had a hard time not staring at her.  Then another woman got on her back.  She stretched out for while but, next thing I knew, she was rolling around.  I prayed the song would end soon.

When it did, we started out cool down.  This will seem strange after what I'm sure appears to be a post full of mocking this class, but it was really moving.  The tranquil music playing and the sweat dripping off my arms and face (my jazz walk took more cardiovascular effort than you'd think) and the brushing motion we made back and forth on the floor with our fingertips while on our knees all combined into this...experience.  I think it was almost spiritual.  I was so grateful for my body.  I felt grateful for the beauty of the earth and the humanity found in all our different customs and cultures.  It was a short moment but it was a moment.  Then, my legs fell asleep (I'm not there yet) and I was very self-conscious again.

I thanked the instructor when the class was over and she asked me how I liked it.

"It was interesting.  Different.  I liked it but it's hard for me to get out of my head and enjoy the lack of inhibition," I replied.

"Really!  I couldn't tell.  You looked great and seemed to really get it."

"Um...I was faking it."

She laughed at that and said, "Well, you know what they say.  Fake it 'till you make it."

Would you enjoy a class like this?    Do you think experiences like this are really spiritual?  Am I too cerebral and judgmental?

There Was Sunshine In My Soul Today

And on my neck.

And on my chest.

And on my left arm.

And on my nose.

And on my forehead.

For an hour and a half (maybe two), I had a great time chatting with my friend, Michelle, outside.  We discussed loads of topics under a bright, Colorado spring sky, lapping the sunshine into our winter dreary spirits.

As the evening has progressed, my skin has gotten hotter and hotter, tighter and in a lot more pain.  Why do sunburns have to hurt so bad?  And am I going to have these bad tan lines for the rest of the year????

Biggest Loser - Reflections From Final Weigh-In

After 3 months of waking up at 5 am Monday through Friday, exercising with an intensity I never have before and keeping a daily nutritional log, I have reached the end of the Biggest Loser journey. In many ways, I am sad to no longer have the program to guide me on my quest for health and fitness. But, I know I have the tools in my head, heart and body to be successful on my own. I'm not done yet...not even close.

I lost 2 more pounds from last week making my total loss from January 3rd to April 4th 33 pounds. It's a number I'm feeling better about after learning that last year's winner, who lost over 40 pounds, had quite a bit of help with some cleanses. I'm not saying my colon is carrying an extra 7 to 10 pounds, and if it is then I'm seriously disturbed, but I'm glad that I know that all of my weight loss came off healthily and from making the lifestyle changes I need to keep it off.

I'm more excited about some other final numbers, however. In three months, I have lost 12 percent of my body fat. From each arm, I have lost 1.25 inches. From my chest, I have lost 2 inches (of all my areas, I was hoping for more from here.  Aren't women always complaining about losing their bosoms first?  Sadly, mine are persistent). From my upper abs, I have lost 4 inches. From my lower abs, I have lost 3.5 inches. From my hips, I have lost 5 inches! (I can't wait to fly.  Five inches just might keep me from touching the person next to me and that is one of my goals!)  From my legs, 2 inches off each. And, finally, my calves are .75 inches smaller. That is a total of 22.5 inches....gone! That's almost two feet off my body.

I believe there have been some definitive reasons for my success. First and foremost, I have the most supportive husband and children. They have never complained about my absence in the mornings. They have found ways to work together and become efficient at getting to work and school with new routines and habits. Last Thursday, when Jay and I needed to drive for a total of seven hours round trip to pick up his new truck, I chose to ignore my 5 am alarm. In my head, I justified my future missed workout with the defense that I didn't want to be in my car for any longer than I already needed to (it takes 20 minutes to get to where I work out. That's 40 minutes total). When Jay realized I wasn't moving, he literally started poking me in the back. Poke, poke, poke. After several minutes of him ignoring my protests and explanations that it just wasn't going to be a workout day, I realized he wasn't going to stop. So, I got out of bed, drove into town and had an awesomely hard boot camp workout. I hate it when he's right but I'm grateful when he's supportive.

Secondly, signing up and paying to participate in this program did what is called "putting some skin in the game." It was a significant chunk of change, an uncomfortable amount to waste, and there was a level of accountability, to trainers and teammates, that I've never experienced when I've tried to do it alone. Every day, I knew I had a class to attend. Every day, the workout was varied, difficult and pushed me past the point of being comfortable. And I had to go. For 2  hours, every day but Sunday, I had to go. Also, having someone literally look over everything I ate, every day for the first month (after that it was more random and eventually, just a verbal confession if I overate) was a huge motivation to eat well. Obviously, going to a gym on your own and eating healthy foods in appropriate portions all on your own will work, but I just never was consistent enough on my own to develop the necessary habits. I had to up the ante.

Third, I really think the size of my gym was ideal for me to shed my usual comfort of anonymity. I know ALL of the instructors. I'm starting to know a lot of the other people who come to work out. It's not a big gym where you can get lost and everyone keeps to themselves. There are no rows of treadmills or ellipticals, no large room of weights. Instead, there are three small studios and the only option is to take a class where they use toys you could buy on your own (kettlebells, bosu balls, resistance bands, medicine and fitness balls etc.) and be seen. Each time I ever joined Weight Watchers, I'd go to meetings for a few months but then stop because I couldn't see the point of paying to have someone weigh me and then sitting quietly for the class because I didn't know anyone. Sure, I could have been outgoing and gregarious and I could have made comments and been more involved. But, I didn't do it. Ever. I get oddly shy in situations like that. Same goes for large gyms. I don't even like to go to classes because it always seems like everyone knows each other. The small sized forced me out of my comfort zone and I think knowing and being known by like-minded individuals is a definite advantage.

Lastly, journaling about it has helped. I know I wrote about how embarrassed I was when my pictures were first taken and when my weight was displayed on that blasted white board, but, eventually, I lost that ego. Everyone knew how hard I was working so I cared less about the exposure. It almost became a source of motivations as more and more people started noticing the changes in my ability and size. The same thing happened here. Your comments, support and feedback kept me going. I've always wanted to quietly and, without fanfare, overcome my weight issue. Kind of like how I always wished I could keep my pregnancies quiet for longer so that the 40 weeks seemed shorter somehow. But, no, 5...maybe 6 weeks along and pretty much anyone who made eye contact with me would hear me confess my condition. I'm kind of a blabbermouth. It would have gone against my nature to go through the Biggest Loser silently. I'm so glad I was able to share it. Thank you for being so supportive.

Because I'm vain, I had to take a picture with some make-up on and clothes that weren't stretchy. Plus, I really didn't have any pictures of me over the last three months. No full body shots. It was interesting looking at the pictures I asked Seth to take this afternoon. I can see how far I've come but can still see so far to go. I'm going to take more pictures. I think it'll help me get where I want to go.

I'll still check in now and then. I'm not stopping and I've got some new goals to keep me in check, but it probably won't be a weekly post. But, it might be. If I need it to be.

February 6th.  Twelve pounds lost.  Only picture I have of me since early December in Memphis.  I didn't post this at the time because I was so disappointed with how I looked even after losing twelve pounds.  

Today, April 4th.   21 pounds lighter from picture above.

In normal clothes.  I bought these jeans at the end of last summer and couldn't wear them.  I couldn't even button them.  They are almost too big now.  

The Garden Party

I love my boys elementary school.  It is small, family oriented and constantly putting on events to draw the schools' families together.

Of course, being somewhat of a homebody, I don't actually want to go to these events, but I think it's quaint that they put them on.  Last night, my boys talked me into going to their annual Garden Party.

They served beef brisket, baked beans, potatoes, applesauce and a roll a la cafeteria style.  It was o.k.  They also hosted a dance with a middle-school aged band.  If that doesn't pull you off your couch, I don't know what will.  In all honesty, they were a really good band and the kids who danced had a blast.

Of course, my boys preferred playing soccer outside.  One of my favorite things about the size of this school is how inclusive the play is.  It has to be.  There couldn't form full teams if they left people out.  So...girls play with boys, grades intermix and it just feels more wholesome somehow.  I enjoyed watching them play outside with their friends.

But, I enjoyed watching them dance more.  Henry was hamming it up.  I don't know if he's an attention hog or just a very passionate dancer, but he was tearing the floor up all night.  Seth safely walked the borders of the dance floor until the very end, when his silly side got the best of him and he started some toe-tapping of his own.

Sam safely stuck to Bingo.  He played one game and won!  Sixteen dollars!  There were some jealous grandmas in the crowd.

Some pictures:

Choosing teams.  Brutal!  I don't know what Sam was so excited about.

Seth going for the goal.

High fives with his friend, Luke.

Elise dribbling (this is for you, Michelle.  She looked like she was having a lot of fun).

Henry doing some of his ninja moves he's been into since watching the Samurai Pie episode of Backyardigans (Jen, you can imagine the sound effects that go with these sweet moves, can't you?)

I love watching girls dance.  I really do.  It brings back so many fond memories.

Henry making a long circle around the gym doing some kind of robot march.

He danced even when no one else did.  And the band played on.

Some floor dancing.  Some of his best moves.

Seth playing ninja, an actual game, NOT learned from Samurai Pie, with his friends.

I had to take this picture.  Two fifth grade boys at a dance and two fifth grade girls at a dance.  They are so different!

Still dancing....

Meanwhile, over in the cafeteria, Sam takes on the Bingo crowd.

And won!

One final dance with dad.

Not the most exciting Friday night, but I love my boys and love that they love their school.  But I have NO idea why they called this a garden party.

Doing It Dave Ramsey Style

This is one of those posts where I debated, "Should I or shouldn't I blog about it?"  Because, frankly, blogging about possessions is obnoxious. Sorry, but it is. Especially in this economy and knowing so many great people who are struggling and feeling overwhelmed.

So, I must be clear that I am not blogging about a new possession for the sake of the possession, though it may seem like it. Instead, what thrills me and what I feel like shouting from the rooftops is the pleasure I feel about being married to a disciplined man and my joy that comes from witnessing the reward of his patience.

Jay finally got a truck. A really nice truck. A Dodge Ram truck. The exact truck that he wanted.  I can finally put another answer to question number six on the year-in review posts (See 2009 and 2010).

Five years ago, Jay was driving a beat up 1987 Toyota pickup.  That same year, we took a Dave Ramsey called Financial Peace University that changed how we would buy things forever.  One of the biggest tennets of his budgeting plan is to pay cash for everything.  He makes exceptions for homes and education, but barely.  Jay and I signed on and have been living like no one else (a catch phrase of his) these past five years.  That Toyota truck was purchased for $500 from friends of ours in Denver during medical school. Hoping it would simply last until graduation, we were thrilled when that little blue truck continued to faithfully transport Jay to the hospital through his residency until it got totaled after being got rear-ended in 2006. Would you believe the insurance adjuster gave us $1500 for that truck????

He took that $1500 and bought a rebuilt 1995 Dodge Ram 1500 from some shady Ukrainians. There were no records for the truck and the carfax report only said that it had been in a collision. Still, for $1500, it ran and it was a truck. Jay was happy.

One year later, we were in Salt Lake City and he had a wicked commute to the U of U hospital. After the third or fourth time it stalled WHILE driving on I-215, he sold the truck for $1000 and bought a 1999 Volkswagen Passat. Using the budget ideology learned from our Dave Ramsey class, Jay never budged from his belief in paying cash for a used car. I suppose I didn't fully admire his faithfulness to the budget because a $6,000 used car still seemed really fancy to me. It was a great little car. For a few months.

Then, as it often happens with used cars, things started breaking down. At first, he fixed every problem. Gotta make this car last, we both thought. Once we got to D-town, however, something screwy happened to the computer or electrical system or something, and his dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. When the mechanic explained that nothing was actually wrong with his engine or his brakes or his oil level or the temperature or his tire pressure, Jay decided to save the $1,000 it would cost to fix the computer glitch and put up with all the blinking red lights.

He's driven it like that for the past three years. During that time, the transmission has become questionable, the power steering is going out, I hit a deer and ruined his passenger side, the door came off the glove box, the sun roof stopped working, the back windows need to be taped to stay up, and a loud, obnoxious beep dings three times about every twenty seconds.

I couldn't have put up with it. I love our budget and claim to be a total believer, but I could not have driven that car for three years in the condition its been in. I mean...I suppose I could have, but...no, I don't think so. At least not with a cheerful disposition, like Jay, who has only really complained about his car a handful of times and even then, only when the beeping became too much for his frayed nerves.

What really ups the ante of my admiration is that Jay has made good money for the past three years. Enough so that he could have walked into any car dealership and picked out whatever car he wanted and would have been able to make the payment with relative ease. I even encouraged him to do just that.

"Go buy a truck!" I would tempt, after seeing a commercial for zero percent financing or a chunk of change in rebates. He'd just give me a kind of sad, closed-mouth smile, the equivalent of a you-just-don't-get-it pat on the head to his weaker-willed wife.

Instead, we saved. And saved and saved and saved. And saved some more.

It seemed like we'd never have enough to get the truck that he wanted. Occasionally, my loss of focus would return and I'd encourage him to abandon our cash-only ship and use financing. He stayed true to the course, however, and today, he drove to work in a vehicle whose bells and whistles are actually supposed to be there.

He found it on Carmax. It took over a month to get it to the nearest-to-us Carmax dealership and we drove down yesterday to pick it up. It is used but barely so. Jay figures he saved $10,000 by having someone else put 5,000 miles on it first. Best of all, Jay got it on his terms - by paying cash.

For the first time in the fifteen plus years I've been with him, Jay has a car that he likes.  Also, for the first time since he bought that reliable Toyota pickup, he owns a vehicle made in the same decade we currently live in.

I really like Jay.

Seth enjoying the sun roof

What man doesn't feel more like a man with his own big truck?

Pretty sweet ride.

A Fun Day

Lately, things have been hectic around here. Last week was especially busy with it being the Pinewood Derby (and if you know Jay at all, you know that as Cubmaster, it was a pretty big deal and he spent hours of his time getting everything ready. By the way, both Seth and Sam did great. They each placed second in their dens, which was a good lesson for Seth, who has won it all for the past three years), the weekend where Seth had to do the initial weigh-in for his 4-H steer, a primary activity, the YW general broadcast and a birthday party. Oh, don't let me forget CSAP, the acronym for standardized testing 'round these parts. We certainly haven't been able to forget as reminders have come home most evenings requiring plenty of rest and healthy food for our little tester! On top of it all, Jay's dad was recently injured, limiting his ability to lift hay bales and such and so Jay has been going over more often to help out.

Needless to say, Jay and I were in desperate need of a bit of fun together.

We took full advantage of his day off yesterday and following our morning workouts, headed up the mountain for one last day of skiing. The snow at the bottom was pretty awful: slushy and brown, but the resort had received over eight inches over the weekend of new snow, so the top and backside were in pretty good shape.

I love skiing with Jay. It is the perfect date. We have the chairlift ride up to chat and catch up and the way down to do our individual thing. Jay is a much, much, much better mogul skier than I am, but I decided that I needed to improve so most of our runs were down black diamonds with large moguls. I still stink horribly at them but did feel like I got another great work-out in and after a few hours, we were both tired enough to call it a day.

I got the idea on our very last run down to the lodge to videotape. It isn't a difficult run at all, so thought I'd get a pretty good picture holding my Flip camera in my hand. By way of warning, I almost felt a bit of motion sickness at the end after watching it. Believe it or not, I was not flipping tricks on the half-pipe at any time during filming. I just have a very unsteady hand. Watching it makes me smile, however. It was a great morning.



We capped off our morning date with a bite of lunch at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants. I've eaten nothing but salads at restaurants for the past three months and decided to splurge on the enchiladas. They were just the way I like them, stacked blue corn tortillas with cheese and onions, covered in a spicy red sauce and topped with an egg. Yummy! Of course, when I entered my meal into my MyPlate on livestrong.com, I wished I had had the salad. Eating out does not jive with weight loss, let me tell you!

When the boys came home from school, we told them to hurry and get their homework and piano practice in and then took them to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Roddick Rules. I hated Middle School. Truly hated it. But, I loved this movie. I can't remember the last time I've laughed that hard during a movie. The roller skating rink....the candy bar stain...the mom dancing during the talent show. So funny. I liked that it was about brothers too. My boys really don't pick on each other like these brothers, but it still had a pretty good message about how that relationship is forever...so get along!

Later in the evening, I was able to blog and read for an hour. It was my kind of day.

Too bad every day can't be like this but when one comes along - I'll take it!

Biggest Loser - Week 12

This last week really felt incredible.  There were several times I made mental notes of how much stronger I was than when I started this journey in January.  Specifically, I knew my heart was stronger when I could finish a three minute jump rope circuit, boxer style, and still carry on a conversation when I was done.   I knew my weak abs were getting stronger when I held myself in the plank position for a minute and a half without a break.  And there is a dreaded lunge sequence she makes me do off of a step where I have to increase my reps from one of each to ten of each that always makes my backside cramp up.  This past week, I wasn't yelling out in agony until I got to nine reps (the tenth one wasn't pretty, but I'm going to make it past ten soon.  Just you wait).

I swear, I could even feel my body changing.  Normally, I stay off the scale until my weigh-in, but on Friday, I was just feeling really different so I weighed myself at home.  Imagine my delight when the scale displayed a number four and a half pounds less than the Monday preceding it.  I figured with two extra days, I could make it at least an even five.

Then, this morning, I officially weighed in after spin and the scale was only down one and a half pounds.  Grrrr.

My trainer could see my disappointment so she whipped out her camera and showed me my pictures (front, sides and rear view) of my day one.

Oh my goodness.  She has serious blackmail on me.

Her point was to reassure me that I've come a long ways and the scale be damned.  Then, she decided to really make her case and my second hour consisted of doing all of my least favorite exercises.  They are my least favorite for a reason: they hurt and are hard and some I couldn't even do one rep when I first started.  When she bashfully brought out out the gliders for mountain climbers on an inverted Bosu ball, I outwardly groaned.  This is my most dreaded exercise and she knows it.  I hate it.  It hurts....everything.   But, forty reps later, I stood up, high-fived her and absolutely knew that I am a different person than I used to be.  I am changing.  It's pretty incredible.

Upon finishing our torture session...er...workout, she re-weighed me.  Another 0.6 down.  I don't think I lost six tenths of a pound in one hour.   What that change reminded me is that the scale is fickle.  Sure, it's a number I want to see get smaller and smaller, and it will as long as I keep doing the things I'm doing, but I'm not going to let 0.6 pounds, or 2 or none control my day.  I'm just not.

For the record, I am officially down (thanks to the second weigh-in) 2.2 pounds from last week.    That's 31 overall.  Next week is measurements and final pictures.  I'm going to try and remember my camera so that I can have a final picture too.  I haven't really taken any since I started and I hope I can see as much difference as she can.

Boyfriends and Basketball: A Comparison

At fifteen, I was tall, frizzy-haired, prone to acne breakouts on my chin and wore braces.  If What a babe! isn't the caption for your mental image of that description, you aren't alone my friend.  My memory of that time doesn't include scenes of turning suitors away at the door.

Still, I was fifteen and it is a truth universally acknowledged that all fifteen year-olds in possession of braces and acne must be in want of a boyfriend.  I had set my cap at an older boy, a senior in fact, who, although my friends insisted had too small of a head for his body to be considered traditionally handsome, was funny and smart and could sing the high part of "More Than Words" by Extreme in our oddly named madrigal choir, Saturday's Children.  Oh, how I longed to sing the harmony along with him.

Halfway through the year, the braces were off, I had completed a successful round of Accutane and I was going out, not to any actual place but OUT out, with this boy.  It was a fairy tale and I was living it.  For four whole months.

Then, he cheated on me by kissing another Child of Saturday (my duet partner for Chiquita Banana, if you want to know.  I put push pins through her head in the picture I had on my bedroom bulletin board) while we were still officially a couple and he had the gall to come to County Market, where I was employed in the bakery section, to officially break up.   Standing there in all white (dress code), with tears on my cheeks, I told him to "Just go," and cried and cried and cried while I shrunk wrapped the donuts into various dozen arrangements.

It was a teenage tragedy.

Until it wasn't anymore.  I'm not sure how long it took me to realize, but eventually, I understood that there are only two eventual outcomes when you have a boyfriend:  either marry or break-up. As the odds favoring break-up outweigh the likelihood of marriage during that particular stage of life, I decided to skip the boyfriends and, thus, hopefully, the heartache.  Of course, I was still a normal, warm-blooded American girl.  Boys and their Mars-esque behavior plagued my thoughts and actions the same as everyone else, and I learned that heartache has all kinds of shapes and sizes, but I kept my resolution and never again had a serious boyfriend, or even a boy I dated exclusively, until Jay came along.   I think it was the right decision for my sensitive soul.

When the BYU Men's Basketball team lost to Florida last night, I felt like I was wearing those white stretch pants all over again (thankfully this is only a simile and no actual white stretch pants were involved) .  My stomach was filled with disappointment.  My heart, so enchanted by Jimmer and the Gang, felt betrayed by their errant shots and inability to rebound.  I know they played hard and tried their best and Florida was a good team but....you know...they could have beat them.  Florida was totally beatable.   I don't think the Gators and all their SEC glory advanced to the Elite Eight because were a better team.  They just made their shots in overtime.

Which brings me to a rather obvious realization.  With each March Madness and NCAA tournament bracket, there are only two eventual outcomes:  win the National Championship or end your season with a heartbreaking loss.   From a fan's point of view, the odds are overwhelmingly high, even probable, that your team's season will end with loss and disappointment.

Because I rarely consider BYU as my sport's boyfriend due to their notorious habit of choking at some point during any given season in any given sport, I haven't felt this let down by them before.  But Jimmer was too easy to love.  His charisma and talent and freakishly impossible shots were as bewitching as any acoustic Extreme song.  I fell and I fell pretty hard.

Now I am sad and left wondering if any of it was worth it.   All those late nights cheering with my family.  The matching Jimmer jersey's I wholeheartedly approved of Jay buying for each of our boys.  The song, "Teach Me How To Jimmer" downloaded and played on itunes.   These things are all bittersweet right now.

Eventually, I know I will stop obsessively reading articles and their comments about BYU and Jimmer Fredette.  I will stop feeling defensive when Jimmer is called a ball hog by some ignoramus and insulted when his talent is questioned.  I know this because eventually I stopped driving by the house of my small-headed ex-boyfriend to see if she was there.  I will get over it.  And due to the beauty of my short attention span, it will probably be sooner than later.

But those Cougars.  They allowed me to hope as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before.  They didn't give me the fairytale ending, as most boyfriends don't, but I did enjoy the pleasure of their company these last four months.  Wow.  I am handling this WAY better than my fifteen year-old self.

For your enjoyment:



Don't pretend you don't know all the words!

Biggest Loser - Week 11

I lost a pound and a half. 

My teammate has quit so now I am it.  The only Biggest Loser left.  It's kind of lonely.  My trainer is kicking my tail and I sort of wish someone else were there so her eyes could be somewhere else for thirty seconds.  Instead, she has her hand on whatever muscle she is working to make sure I am really working it.  Plus, she's decided I'm ready for her "advanced" workouts.  Mama.

I had hoped for a bigger loss, but you know what?  I still lost a pound and a half.  I'm going to be just AOK with that. 

You Lose Some, But You Win Some Too

Today has been a competitive kind of day. It started way earlier than my one day to sleep in should due to Seth needing to be in a nearby town for his Destination Imagination competition, which started at 7:30 am. Yawn.

We got off to a precarious start when I ran over Henry's scooter as I backed the van out of the garage. We don't have three cars. We don't need a three car garage. But, man, I'm telling you there is constantly something behind my van. The crunch set me off and I totally yelled at all three boys. I hate it when I do that. It wasn't all three's fault. I don't even know why I had such a hair trigger this morning, but I'm going to blame it on my failed Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls. Rhodes things never work for me. They either over raise or do nothing, as was the case this morning. Even though I cooked them for more than the recommended time, they were gooey, dense and uncooked. I don't know why I'm writing about failed cinnamon rolls. I don't even know why I'm blogging about a broken scooter. I suppose my point is that we had a rough morning.

There are always two components of the competition - the Instant Challenge, where the team has to think on their feet and come up with a solution to whatever situation the judges give them, be it a theatrical improvisation or to build something using only the supplies given and the bigger category challenge the team has been preparing for competition for months.  Seth's instant challenge started at 7:38 this morning.  They other part of the competition involves choosing one of seven different challenges.  This year, Seth's team chose the category, "Foiled Again" which involved building a weight bearing structure out of wood, aluminum foil and glue, which had to weigh less than twenty-five grams, as well as coming up with a skit where a character is "foiled" or thwarted in something they wanted to do.  While the skit is in progress, each structure is tested to see how much weight it could hold.  There were other size requirements, including height and width, and it was really interesting to see the variety of structures the different teams came up with.

The entire point of DI is to allow the kids to work together to come up with their own solutions.  Seth's team built a structure you'd probably expect a bunch of ten and eleven year-olds to build.  It wasn't level and when they set it into the testing mechanism, it failed the height requirements.   Unfortunately, this drama threw their concentration during their skit and they didn't finish their performance in time.  It was so sad to see these really bright and good group of boys and girls who really had worked hard so disappointed.  Seth especially took it hard, I'm not exactly sure why.  Their skit was really cute and clever and they all said they felt they did well in their Instant Challenge, but they still ended up placing 9th out of 11 teams.  No moving on to state for them.



Both of the fifth grade teachers came to cheer on their students.



Happily waiting for the "go" signal.



Once they get the go, they have eight minutes to set up, perform and get they weights on the structure.  You can't really see it, but the thing on the far right hand side that looks like a plunger sticking up, is the top of the mechanism for testing the structure.  They had to fit their design inside a box and then the judge put the square red top on.  If the red square touched the four corner posts, the structure didn't meet the height requirements, which is what happened to our team.  They messed around with it a little, and at one point had all four points not touching, but then the structure started to lean and it was disqualified.



Seth and his friend, Elise, star as nerds who get bullied by a couple of pranksters.



The pranksters get the nerds by throwing a bowl of foil on them.  But, they were eventually "foiled" when their next prank ended up getting them.



The team with their team managers after they were done.  You can see how upset Seth is.

Jay wasn't able to watch Seth because he had signed up last fall to run in the Moab Half Marathon.  Winter is always a difficult time to train but whatever Jay has been doing is working because he destroyed his PR (personal record).  Last year, he ran it in an hour twenty-five minutes and this year, a year the winner ran almost three minutes slower than last year's time, he ran it in 1:19.  He came in second in his age group and fifteenth out of more than three-thousand runners.  I love it when people I love succeed in their endeavors and it was fun to hear the excitement in Jay's voice when he called to tell me about the race.

This evening, we enjoyed watching the BYU game against Gonzaga and Jimmer Fredette's incredible three-point shots.   Having lived in Spokane for five years, we love the Zags too, so it was hard to see them lose, but when I say things like that, Jay tells me I'm not a very good fan (I hate that teams have to lose!).  Henry is so sick of having basketball on the TV all the time so right in the middle of the game, he found the remote control and switched it over to Wonder Pets.  Of course, being the sensitive child that he is (we are three for three in that department) he got more upset that we all got upset.  He spent the night in his room in protest, creating all sorts of havoc (like hiding all of Sam's bedtime things) but I had learned my lesson from this morning and didn't get upset a third time.  In fact, I made sure I gave each of my beautiful boys an extra kiss (or two.  Or five) when I tucked them into bed.  Hey...I'm calling that a win.