1000th Post

I think I started this post about two weeks ago.  I had painstakingly found old posts to highlight, old and more recent photos to compare and contrast of our family and had actually started compiling blogging statistics:  number of bloggers I've met, number of bloggers I've kept in touch with after I've met them (shockingly few.  Classic case of "It's not you, it's me."  Not sure why), places we've lived, number of callings, number of documented Henry disasters.  It was all very time consuming but, for a thousandth post, I justified the effort.  It was to be my fait de accompli, if you will.  I figured if I never, ever blogged after this post, I'd at least have a nice summary of Life Is A Spasm Who Flow over the past five plus years.

Well...one errant keystroke, I'm not even sure what it was, deleted the whole thing.  I was mad at technology for awhile but then more disinterested than anything.  Still, I had this "1,000" in the queue and it kept me from blogging about other things.  Nothing was really up to snuff in my head about what a thousandth post should be.

Enough.  A post is a post is a post and this is my thousandth.  Whoop de whoop.  I've decided that a snapshot of what I'm like today - what I think, feel and look like, is good enough.  It's my life and my spasm, after all.  Let it flow:)

The idea came to me this morning as I pulled into a gas station immediately after dropping Seth off at the middle school.  Only yesterday, I vowed that I was going to give up soda again, cold turkey, because I learned early this year that I don't actually like it.  I mean, once you give it up and really lose the cravings, when you do drink it, you realize that it's just a nasty concoction of chemicals, carbonation and artificial tooth staining coloring.  But, the first trimester of this pregnancy had me in serious survival mode and it comforted me.  It doesn't anymore but I'm probably back to being somewhat addicted to the stuff.  Anywho, I was sipping from my stryofoam refill container and waiting at a stoplight and I wanted to write down, today, about how much I love my sons.  Like....I started crying in my car kind of love.

They are so patient with me.  Every morning, they forgive my, "I'm just so,so tired," that always translates into chaos as they help me find stuff for lunches, get breakfast, find clothes, shoes, backpacks, and race to the bus and school.  And I AM tired.  Constantly.  I am best from the hours eight to eleven in the morning and then I start to drag.  So much has been left undone and instead of complaining, they feel bad for me.  I don't like to play favorites, but Sam has been especially helpful.  Several mornings this week, I have heard him in the kitchen before I am even out of bed, gathering lunch stuff on the counter, feeding himself cereal - always fully dressed with his shoes and socks already on.  It makes up for the whirlwind that must form around Henry who hates mornings and declares every morning that he hates school, shoes, lunch, teeth, buses - you get the idea.  Anything he has to do.  I'm sure I could alleviate all of this with some planning and prep in the evening but you should see me in the evenings.  Not pretty.  After chauffeuring boys around non-stop from the hours of 3 until 8, I. am. done.  My back hurts.  For the past three weeks, my throat, head, nose and chest have hurt from the worst cold I have ever had.  It is strictly bath and bed time.  Bubbles required.

So, yes, I really am this whiny nearly all the time.  That is a sad, sad snapshot but real. I fervently hope that pregnancy hormones are to blame, but I have a feeling they simply heighten what emotions are already there. But, so is this deep love for my children.  They are incredibly good and I worry that my little blasts of scary-tired-mother ruin all of the other moments where we are best friends.  For example, yesterday, Seth needed his white shirt ironed for his choir concert.  If you could have seen this shirt....oh my goodness.  Other than taking it straight out of the washer, crumpling it up into a ball and vacuum sealing it, I'm not sure how it could have become so wrinkled.  Time was running short and Henry needed his Kindergarten homework stapled (had to make a book that involved cutting AND gluing.  Mercy.)  and I had just discovered that, at some point, he had ruined our stapler.  I don't know how but it was completely jammed and useless.  Consider the fuse lit.

Then, I go into the laundry room to iron Seth's shirt and discover that my new, expensive Rowenta iron has a crack in the handle.  A crack!  I don't know how it got there.  It was probably something I did but in that moment of needing to iron, being late, jammed stapler - all of a sudden - everything that was wrong came bubbling to the surface.  The broken dishwasher for the past month.  The central vacuum that stopped having suction,  the well pump that had to be fixed so that water would come out of the faucets when I turn them on, the crashed computer, the van whose damn engine light is back on, the flooded basement that still needs to be put back together (carpet isn't tacked down and baseboards are off and lying on the ground with their exposed nails jutting out.  I had a handyman give me an estimate for putting the baseboards back on and he told me $650!  I really need to become more handy), the toothpaste in the carpet of the bathroom....ALL of it exploded in a fiery shout, "WHY CAN'T ANYTHING JUST....NOT SUCK!" sending my kids hightailing it out to the van.   It makes me sad that I have these moments where I really do scare my boys with my loud anger.  I've never hit them but I know every syllable of audible anger, even if it isn't directed at them, is a verbal slap to their sensitive souls.  I want to be better.

We drove to the concert in Jay's truck because I couldn't find my keys and I hate my van with its jerking, misfiring second cylinder (what the check engine code repeatedly states is wrong.  So, why can't they fix it!?!)  and, although the car ride significantly cooled me off, I still managed to yell out my window at a woman who  parked right on the yellow line of the parking spot, making it impossible for Jay's mammoth truck to fit in the should-have-been-available spot next to her.  Bad parkers are a serious pet peeve of mine.  It's just so.....selfish.  And people whose actions expose their belief that they are more important than everyone else (dictators, pimps, loud talkers in restaurants, vandals, and people who take two prime parking spots on purpose to protect their precious cars (leave them home or park further away)) are some of my least favorite people on the planet.

In spite of my mood, or maybe because of it, I thoroughly enjoyed watching Seth sing.  He is having a great year and is really blossoming into a young man.  Sure, he still leaves his socks everywhere they shouldn't be, and can't clean his room without getting distracted by a book, but he is a quality kid.  He takes his duties seriously - even singing - and I even caught glimpses of some of the others boys in the choir looking back at him (big no-no, but still cute) to make sure they were singing the right part.  They should have been looking at the conductor but she was at the piano.  Kind of another pet peeve of mine but I get that sometimes it is easier to play yourself than find an accompanist.  It just didn't leave the kids, most of whom were immature and embarrassed about singing in the choir in their purple vests (they ARE in middle school, after all), anywhere safe to look.  I was proud of him and loved watching him sing.  I also loved sitting next to Henry while he tried to sing along to every song, whether he knew it or not.  My favorite moment was when the eighth grade choir from the other middle school (did I mention how the concert included three choirs from our middle school, a choir from the cross town middle school and two choirs from the high school?  Fun fun!)  started singing "And I'm proud to be an American," and he said, "Hey, I know this song!"  Like we have Lee Greenwood playing on our itunes all the time.  He's heard it at a few Bolder Boulders but the boy has a sharp memory and, there he was, singing along to the parts he knew.  Very patriotic.

The entire concert made me appreciate my sister, Maureen, and how good her choirs are and the effort that goes into them.  It's not an easy thing to teach fine arts, music, culture, etiquette and all of that fun stuff to youth.  Most don't seem to care, as I witnessed last night with all the whooping and hollering, coming and going during the middle of songs, and waving to parents from the risers.  But, she is good and they sound good and I'm so proud of her for all the work she does.

Which, of course, sent me over into a tizzy of appreciation and love for the rest of my siblings. I love each of them and am so grateful that they are my eternal friends. In fact, I just got off the phone with TWO of my sisters, Emily and Sarah, and now I feel silly for documenting my earlier rant.  They are that calming to my soul.  If only they had called an hour earlier.  I'd delete it all, but I already lost one thousandth post.  I'm not starting over on another, however less embarrassing and flaw exposing it may be!

My parents and Sarah will be here tomorrow.  If that fact doesn't calm me down, also knowing that I have a weekend to listen to general conference, where leaders of my church will address the world with messages of faith and support does.  I love this weekend.  I love knowing that there is purpose in the madness and struggle.  I love knowing that happiness and joy are equally available and that, when I open my eyes and heart, everywhere around me.  It is a necessary reminder.  Especially now.

I thought I'd keep this blog open all day to make it a more accurate snapshot than one mood during one part of the day but, looking ahead, it's too busy to think about blogging anymore.  I've got a YW in Excellence script to write, invitations to make, laundry to fold (oh my goodness do I ever), a house to pick up, a baby to feed (still in utero but it makes me feel less piggish)  and an afternoon and evening full of soccer practices to get boys to and from.  I also haven't seen my husband all week due to his cowboying-up (round-up time with his dad and brothers) and I plan on staring at his handsome face as much as possible tonight.

My soda is gone, so I'm going to be done with this post.  I'm not sure this is very coherent and I'm not going to do any editing, unless I find some glaring errors like a "your" in place of a "you're,"  but, at the very least, my thousandth post will showcase how I, Lucy, felt today, September 29th, 2011, during my 29th week of pregnancy from about 9 until 11 in the morning (with a long phone break in between).  It might not be everyday but it's today.  And isn't that what blogging is all about?

taken today on imac

Book Review: Matched

I'm tempted to give this book five stars because I enjoyed reading it so much. However, logic tells me as much as I enjoyed reading it, Matched, by Ally Condie, was missing vital ingredients required for a five-star masterpiece, like flushed out flawed characters, good descriptive writing (I had a hard time visualizing the setting), and, because it is obviously part of a series, a good ending. Still, for a Young Adult novel, I found myself thinking, thinking, thinking and I'm giving kudos for the thoughts.

Like many futuristic dystopian novels, some government entity, here called The Society, has taken away freedoms in order to eradicate or minimize pain. Unlike many futuristic dystopian novels, this society isn't marked by the gloom, doom, fear and isolation of the individual. Family life is encouraged, nay, scientifically planned. Education, friendships, health and wholesome recreational activities are encouraged. Of course, to ensure all this good fortune is maintained, it is also heavily monitored and regulated. Prescribed happiness.

Though not asked, I believe the central question posed in Matched is, "What makes us happy?" Is it good health? Financial stability? Loving and supportive relationships? As the protagonist, Cassia, frequently reasons, The Society's rules and established order provide for a good life. She has nothing to fear in her future. She has been perfectly matched to marry her best friend, Xander, who happens to be handsome, kind and intelligent. She has been assured of a good job as a sorter, something she enjoys doing and does well. Cassia knows all this and yet, either as an experiment or by accident, something happens that casts a shadow of doubt over everything she has ever known. For the first time, she questions her future. For the first time, she questions period. What she must decide is if her questions bring her closer or further away from the life she ultimately wants.

I can't wait to discuss this with others. I ordered a whole slew of copies for the group of teenage girls I work with at church and hope, through discussion, we can discuss Cassia's choices, planned life and agency. I hope they can identify with her concerns and hopes and fears. I hope they like it as much as I did.

Marky Mark and the Mini Mid-Life Meltdown

I threw up twice this morning. The first time was violent. I barely made it to the bathroom and had to hold my hand over my mouth to prevent an even bigger mess. Vomit all over my long sleeves, my hand, in my nose. It was absolutely nasty.

Then, I drove my minivan into the mechanic for the THIRD time in a month because the check engine light is on and it chugs and heaves when idling. I'm realizing that this eight-year-old car with almost a hundred and forty thousand miles is not going to last forever and, perhaps, if I ever want to sell it, the check engine light and tire pressure sensor light should probably be off. Just a hunch.

While I was walking to the nearby hospital where Jay was working this morning to borrow his truck in order to get myself back home, I had the worst pain underneath my belly on the left side. Not a contraction but a painful, ligament/muscle/skin pull. It really hurt. I had to stop and stretch for awhile to relieve the stitch. I noticed I was breathing much too hard for such a simple walk, got a glimpse of my ever increasing-in-size shadow and smelled the vomit still drying in my nose. Maybe one-hundred feet later, I coughed (school starts and our happy virus free existence is over!). Coughing almost always invites a gag and, once I gag, I can't keep anything down. Even bile. So, even though I had nothing in my stomach, I started throwing up yellow stomach bile on the side of the road.

If that wasn't humiliating enough (I prefer privacy if things are projecting from my mouth), a large semi-truck started down-shifting and I realized, bent over to avoid anything landing on my toes, that this truck needed to turn right were I was stopped. Still heaving, I start walking to get out of the way, leaving little puddles of my insides every few feet.

When Jay saw me, he asked if I was o.k. I wanted to cry and milk every bit of sympathy I'm sure I was due, but he is really sick today. The horrible cold has taken over his body and he can't even stay home from work. I said I didn't feel well, took his key and drove home.

The house is a mess. I've been working so hard, every day, to stay on top of it but the last two days have been non-stop go go go, and without a working dishwasher, the dining/kitchen area is downright unpleasant. Instead of cleaning it up, I ate a piece of left over chocolate cake. It, of course, has stayed down. And I wonder why I have gained so much weight already.

To further avoid cleaning the kitchen that will only need cleaning again tonight, I took advantage of having Jay's truck and drove to the butcher shop that had recently called to say the pig Jay bought at the 4-H fair was ready to be picked up. Of course, I mean the meat, not the pig. As I was driving, I turned Jay's XM radio from the POTUS station he had on to 90s on 9. Good Vibrations by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, one of my absolute favorite songs from high school, was playing. I fully get that this is not musical gold, but my lifelong guilty pleasure has got to be questionable-lyrics filled dance tunes (Don't be fancy/Just get dancey anyone?) There was no way to avoid smiling. I knew all the words and imagines flooded my brain of crazy, energetic dancing with my best young friends. Much too quickly, the smile weakened to a mere neutral face and then, without warning, my eyes filled with tears. I'm not that girl anymore.

While thirty-six is far from old, it is also no longer young. Dancing as I loved to do, with abandon and freedom and as much hip action as I liked, is not appropriate for someone in my situation. I'm not Madonna or Beyonce. I am an overweight, pregnant with her fourth, country-living mormon mom. Unless I'm surrounded by my fun-loving and always ready for a laugh siblings, I'm never going to really let loose to Marky Mark ever again.

That doesn't make me sad all that often. Most of the time, I enjoy being a grown-up. But, it's been a stressful week. There has been lots of responsibility, lots and lots of chauffeuring little ones, and much too much decision making and money spending. For those few minutes, on my way to pick up pounds and pounds of pork product, I wanted to be seventeen again, dressed in a funky blue and orange t-shirt and jean cut-off shorts. I wanted my hair to be long and tangled with sweat. To have the kind of life that didn't include pregnancy or laundry, crumbs or dishes. That didn't require me to research dishwasher models online or discipline children who continue to sneak food upstairs or nag young women to finish their personal progress projects for our YW in Excellence next month. Even better, to once more have a body that isn't covered in stretch marks, moles and spider veins.

The moment passed. The tears dried. I loaded the sixty pounds of pig into our laundry room freezer and felt grateful for the security and stability in my life. All those years of schooling and training - done. A best friend who gets me so completely that he even tries to make me laugh on a day when he feels like crap and I look like crap and I know-know-know that this is better. In a matter of minutes, Sam and Henry, quickly followed by Seth and whatever moods and homework they bring home will arrive and, just like yesterday and the day before, I'll take them to soccer and feed them dinner and battle the heartburn that my almost baby boy gives me each night. These vibrations of my life ARE good. Even better than Marky Mark's.

Where's Joseph When I Need Him?

I've read more than once that the state of pregnancy can induce vivid dreams. So true. Most nights, I have very detailed, borderline bizarre dreams that make me laugh, shudder or seek reassurance from various loved ones the day after. Here's what last night brought:

Sidenote: As I lay in bed this morning, each dream segment was so startlingly detailed that I decided to blog about them. Now, as I type, a fuzziness creeps along the edges, rubbing out certain parts.

#1. While in some kind of auditorium, cultural hall (it kept shifting back and forth between something with a low-ish ceiling and a gym), I was frantically searching my quilted church bag for the music the YW were supposed to sing. The room as packed with expectant parents and friends. So packed. Like Broadway show packed. I could not find the right music. I had all of this other music and as I'd pull it out, I'd know immediately it wasn't the right song and I couldn't even substitute because the sheetmusic would be incomplete with many of the middle pages missing. It was our turn to sing and everyone was waiting and I'm throwing things out of my bag, knowing people were turning around in their seats to watch me, and I'm purposely keeping my eyes down to avoid seeing the annoyance and expectations in others faces.

Suddenly, my friend and former counselor, Michelle, was at the piano announcing a different number. I felt panicked because Michelle doesn't play the piano (she does play the cello and ukulele, however. So cool!) and all at once, the girls were doing a choreographed showtune (not at all churchy, which stressed me out) that involved clapping and dancing on a set of risers. There were all sorts of girls I didn't recognize on the risers with them and I felt this huge mixture of relief that they were singing something and shame that I had failed them.

Possible interpretation: I am stressed that i can no longer rely on Michelle's awesome adaptability and knack for handling the YW on short notice. Also, I need to clean out my church bag.

#2. Also a church dream but much more disturbing. I was playing the organ as prelude and the meeting isn't starting on time. People are getting more and more loud in their conversation and, all of a sudden, this girl who is dressed somewhere between being a goth and a throw-back 80's punk rock gal (like she had on this humongous pearl cross necklace in blood red) came on the stand and was shouting and laughing and hugging all of her friends. My reverent playing didn't seem to matter and so I left the organ and sat on a metal folding chair in front of it and said to a girl with a frizzy perm, "Everyone is being too loud. We should be embarrassed I(I think it may have been a Stake Conference setting). The girl stood up, pushed me and told me to mind my own business. We started to brawl. Brawl! There was a hallway behind the seats on the stand and we were pushing each other down it and I told her to stay out. I won the brawl but not decidedly and I came back to play the organ and give the loud blond girl wearing the bright red cross the stink eye. Suddenly, I came to a hymn in the hymnbook I had never seen or heard but it was the perfect message. When I started to play it, the sound dropped to an immediate hush and there were several people crying it was so beautiful. I think I cried too.

Possible interpretation: The YW in the stake have been asked to sing a song at stake conference. I have no idea why this could or would be stressful to me, since it isn't at all, but maybe my subconscious realizes something I don't and is stressed about how the song will go (see dream #1). As far as the brawling goes, I would never, ever even tell someone to be quiet, much less physically fight them about it. I believe the perms and crosses have to do with some prejudices of mine.

#3. I am in eighth grade. I know this because I am in Mr. Barker's classroom only the room is facing a different direction than it actually did. I am waiting in my desk for the bell to ring but at the same time, am sticking my head out the door to see if Henry is coming. He is. He's running down the hall, trying not to be late (Mr. Barker was mean) and I'm hurrying him along in my head. He's bigger but still wearing the outfit he wore to last night's actual football game, a Thomas the Tank Engine t-shirt and blue zip-up hoodie. Only....bigger. He makes it in time, sits down one row over and one seat up and just as I'm about to relax, he starts brushing his teeth with a loud Sonicare toothbrush. My heart races at the noise and mess and Jay starts to rub my neck from behind me, telling me to calm down. I feel calmer. I love his touch and reassurance and can feel myself loving him deeply, even though we are only eighth graders. Then, many of those in the class start to brush their teeth and I realize it's all o.k. We just got back from lunch.

Possible interpretation: I worry about my kids hygiene habits and their new teachers since school just started. Another thought, Henry's personality stresses me out even though his mischief and marching to the beat of his own drum will turn out fine. Also, I desperately need Jay.

That's the best I can do without bidding Joseph to come and interpret these dreams for me. I'm looking for more prophetic meaning, like famine or plenty, but mostly think I should double check my church bag for the right music before Sunday. And, should you be thinking about it, don't go out and get a perm. I might beat you up.

Book Review: Angle of Repose

I loved this book even more the second time around. In my opinion, this is the perfect novel. I don't have the expertise to identify the exact narration technique, but to have the narrator, Lyman Ward, not only share his beloved grandparent's 100 year-old history from his 20th century perch, providing both redemptive hindsight and worrisome foreshadowing when needed, but also his own story as an amputee with a debilitating bone disease bitterly protecting his lonely independence, furnishing the relevance and motive, is brilliant. I know many other authors must also do this. It's probably considered common by those in the know within the world of literature. However, I read a lot of novels and I can't think of a single book I've ever read that has done it better than Wallace Stegner in Angle of Repose.

Angle of Repose dramatizes the life of Susan Burling Ward, a talented illustrator raised in an Eastern Quaker home, and her marriage to Oliver Ward, a kind, intelligent but tragically unlucky engineer trying to make a name for himself in the West. Through Susan and Oliver's first fourteen years together, the reader travels to mining camps in California, Colorado and Mexico, and eventually to pre-Statehood Idaho, painting an absolute masterpiece of American West history. Although Lyman Ward is a fictional character in a fictional novel, his passionate defense of the importance of history, could and should be well quoted by actual scholars in the field. Even his short but wonderfully persuadable argument against communal economics and relationships should be studied. They are that profound.

But, as the narrator states, this is really a story about marriage. What allows certain couples, who universally tumble down life's uncertain slope together, to reach a point where the tumbling stops? For rocks and debris in the engineering realm, it's called the angle of repose. There is an eventual stillness, for good or for bad, when the motion or hurt or progress or momentum stops. Perhaps it is balance and harmony. Or, perhaps it is staleness, stubbornness and unrelenting grudges. I'm sure the meaning of "angle of repose" could be presented either way. I lean towards the calm, comfortable stability definition but maybe the stationary rocks aren't content with their quiet.

I hope to return to this novel again and again. It's not a happy one. In many ways, there is a melancholy post-reading that I still can't shake. But, there is also a beauty in words, thoughts and vivid description that makes me clap for joy. I love this book.

Book Review: Girl In Translation

Stories that chronicle the struggle of immigrants and their motivation to succeed fascinate me. I especially seem to be drawn to multi-generational stories and the cultural gap that inevitably separates the youth from their parents.

Kimberly Chang and her mother emigrate to the United Sates from China and live in squalor as they attempt to learn English, pay back debts to the family that paid for their move and find a way out of the factory work that enslave them. Kimberly's extraordinary gift for learning and working hard is their obvious ticket to a better life but when the added distraction of love and relationships blur her focus, Kimberly must choose the life path she really wants.

The book's ending is almost an epilogue as the reader is allowed access to the consequence of Kimberly's choices quite a ways into the future. While satisfying in that I knew what happened-ish, I almost wish I didn't. I enjoyed the pacing of the majority of the book when each of Kimberly's school years, from sixth grade to her applying to college, were roughly given the same amount of space and attention. Suddenly, I was thrust forward and felt disconnected from the character I had been following. I appreciate the author's desire to conclude that, oftentimes, success and loss go hand in hand, but, since I felt annoyed at the end of the book, I'm not sure it really worked. Still, a very readable book about the drive of an intriguing Chinese-American immigrant.

A Kindergarten Kutie

There's just something about Henry.  I don't know what it is.  He has a life force that goes beyond charisma.  He drives me crazy at the same time as making me laugh out loud.  He is the most loving little boy you'd ever meet and probably the sneakiest.  He enjoys life and already lives it, at five, to the fullest.  I love him.

And now he's off to Kindergarten.  It's quite anti-climatic to send your youngest off to school all day when they've been in a speech/head start all-day preschool, especially when that preschool's class is next door to the kindergarten classroom.  He walked into the school this morning acting like he owned the place - and sometimes I wonder if he does.  Everyone knows Henry.  Even this morning as we walked down the  near empty halls before the bell rang, forth, fifth grade teachers, moms of other students, the administrative assistant all call out, "Hi, Henry."  Last year, students in every grade would yell out, "High five, Henry!" and hold their hand out, waiting for this little ruler to respond.  Sometimes he did.  Sometimes he didn't.  Maybe that's what makes a charismatic person so alluring:  the uncertainty of reciprocated attention.

He didn't need me to linger at all.  He found his cubby and immediately started asking his teacher all the questions I didn't have the answers to.  Why did she need him to bring cotton balls?  Where is his seat?  Where does he put his lunch?  Why are there computers in the classroom?  I gave him a hug and left his teacher to discover the power that is Henry.

He was excited to take his morning photos.  It was an interesting process.



Showing off his new "big" teeth growing in.  All my children are cursed with small mouths and big teeth.




Stand up straight this time, Henry!



Henry calling out, "I love you, Mom!"



Sad face when I told him just to smile.



But, what's over there?  The sun?



Looking the right way.




Good luck, Henry!  You'll be the best kindergartener ever!

Second Day of School!

Sam started third grade yesterday. It was while I was dropping him off at school that I realized I had, once again, forgotten to take "first day of school" photos. I wish I were that mom who always thinks about these kinds of milestones but, most of the time, I'm not. Thankfully, he hasn't aged much since yesterday and one sports outfit pretty much looks like the next.

He waved off my offer of walking him into the school and I sighed and smiled at his confidence and maturity. My tardiness does have one advantage. I can report that Sam had a great first day. He thought the day was a bit on the boring side, as it included a tour of the school (which he already knows) and lots and lots of going over the rules, but he was excited to organize his desk and see some long lost friends he missed over the summer. He's sad most of his best buds are in the other third grade class but, in his words, "It's not like you're supposed to talk in class anyway so I'll just talk to them at lunch and recess." He has woken early both yesterday and today to practice the piano at six am. Who needs an alarm clock when you have a Sam?





Seth started middle school. I am full of prejudice against middle school. I really didn't enjoy my own experience - awkward body changes, changing friends, really bad make-up technique - so I'm sure that is the major source of bias. It just seems like a horrible place to me. There is my skinny, albeit growing taller, eleven year-old hanging out in the same school as boys who can grow mustaches and girls who look eighteen. It freaks me out. I didn't want to inadvertently embarrass him, so I asked instead of just going along if he wanted me to help him find his locker and homeroom. No, he did not. He popped right out of the car and walked away. That was two children refusing my mothering in a matter of twenty minutes! I watched his skinny legs take him closer and closer to Babylon and wondered all day how he was doing.

He did great.

He loves middle school. I have a hunch that'll change when the homework and tests start, but he loves having a locker, loves switching rooms and especially loved PE, though that's not specific to middle school. He was sincerely happy. I need to change my tune and embrace this stage of development. Maybe he'll avoid having his own ugly sweater/stretch pants years.








Happy 2nd Day of School!

A Cow, A Boy and A Man

An illegal picture I snapped of Seth.  I should have gathered that someone who had taken the trouble to set up this elaborate backdrop and bring lights and a fancy camera might not want someone else standing beside him taking picture, but it honestly didn't cross my mind until he yelled at me that I couldn't take pictures here.  I sheepishly apologized but didn't delete!  


Seth's first fair as participant has come and gone.  My first fair as mom has come and gone.  Jay's first fair as trainer/protector/helper/reminder has come and gone.  You can tell by the number of titles who had the hardest week.  Jay was exhausted!

Jay and his siblings participated in 4-H and fair growing up.  This was a normal part of their world.  I went and rode the carnival rides and had the occasional lemonade as a child and teen.  Visiting the animal and craft world on the other side of the fairgrounds was not something I did.  Until this year, that is.  It is a whole other world, let me tell you.

Jay and Seth picked out a calf to raise as his 4-H steer from Jay's small herd of cows when they returned from their summer pasture in the mountains of New Mexico last September.  Jay knew the calf's mother was a calm cow and that the hereford breed is, in general, a calmer, smaller and easier to manage breed.  I wasn't convinced when the steer violently ran its head into the metal corral in protest to its halter being put on, giving himself a big ol' cow bloody nose.   Thankfully, it did gentle down.

Having Seth raise a steer for the past year has been an interesting thing.  For the most part, it didn't affect my life at all.  When Seth went to work with his steer (feeding him grain, hay and water, washing his hide, clipping its hooves, giving him a haircut, walking and leading him, curry combing him) it was mostly on Saturdays.  Jay always took and taught him.  I wouldn't have known what to do had I gone.  Most of the other days, Jay fed him without bothering Seth to come as it coincided with a run or helping his dad change water, feed the cows or help hay.   I worried a bit about Seth's preparedness as it was obvious to me that Jay was doing most of the work with Seth watching on or doing only the most basic parts of the job.  I realize now that Jay perfectly prepared Seth by giving him the confidence he needed to have a successful experience at fair while simultaneously preparing the steer to not hurt our 80 lb eleven year-old.  My heart has been softened by watching this beautiful example of a father's love and I was reminded of an eternal principle:  line upon line.  Seth will do more next year.  You should hear the two of them making their plans!

I'll tell the rest of the story with pictures.



Seth's 4-H group had a club tour where they each presented on a topic of their choice and showed off their future fair exhibit.  Seth researched the Hereford breed of cows and showed off Buddy, his steer.  I laughed when I saw these pictures.  He never wears these jeans because he hates them but must have not had any other clean clothes because I don't think most 4-Hers wear H&M skinny jeans and a Boden polo while working with livestock.  I think he's adorable.



I don't have any pictures of the first few days of fair because I wasn't there for very long (weigh-in, cleaning out the stall, watching the other livestock shows) but this is on day 3 and Seth is washing Buddy for his big show.  Jay realized how much showing steer has changed in the 20 year span since he's participated.  He described his and Seth's set-up and equipment as "old-school farmer."  Indeed, most of the participants had a much fancier set-up and much fancier steers.  I was proud of them for their "old-school" way of doing things.  I mean, who would have thought that steers need to be raised in air-conditioned shelters and fancy fans above their stalls to keep them cool during fair.  We also didn't have any spray-paint to artificially heighten his hide colors.  Considering how much less money was spent on this steer, he showed very well.



Seth was the only participant that showed a Hereford.  Most of the other steers were some sort of a Black Angus cross.



The scariest moment for me was watching Seth lead that steer into the ring by himself without his dad anywhere nearby to help if Buddy got spooked or, by the nature of it being an animal, did something unpredictably violent due to stress.  There were a few instances of Buddy not moving and someone would help him along by pushing his hind in the right direction but, for the most part, Seth did a GREAT job showing him.  It was funny to watch Jay mime to Seth what he should be doing.  I believe when I took this picture, Jay was trying to catch Seth's eye to motion for him to lift Buddy's head up by lifting up the halter.




Seth's class of steer, which were separated by hip height, was the largest.  He didn't place high but he didn't get last, which was a huge relief for both Jay and I who are intimately aware of Seth's sensitivity to disappointment.  We were thrilled when he got a Blue Ribbon group which qualified him for the auction the following night.



Grandpa Vaughn and Papa Jay were both very proud of Seth.  I love this picture of three generations of cowmen.  Seth's relief is visible, as is his excitement to go and get a cold rootbeer from a nearby vending machine.




The auction.  Oh....the auction.  Seth was 123 out of 125 animals to be sold.  He didn't even get into the ring until after 11:00 at night and by then, most of the buyers had left.  Still, Jay told him, "At this point, Seth, you are selling yourself and not your steer."  Once again, we were unprepared by the changes that had occurred since Jay's fair days and didn't doll the steer up with garland, bows or glitter, nor did we have an expensive gift basket carried by a cute younger sibling to present to the highest bidder (can you imagine how cute Henry would have looked walking around the ring in wranglers and boots?).  Thankfully, Seth's scout leader is married to a prominent business man in town who usually buys a steer and, unbeknownst to us, had decided to get Seth's.  His steer, though second to last, went for a $1.50/lb more than the  five or six steers had gone before his.  Seth was beyond elated.  He's naturally gifted at math and did the multiplication of price/pound times 1175 lbs before he even left the ring.


The auctioneers looking for bidders raising their hands.  It was a full time job keeping Henry from bidding on things.  There were actually a couple of bidders on Seth's steer, which got the bid up to $3.50/lb!!



Seth had a big smile on his face the entire time.  He really did show well, in spite of Buddy not having any fancy bows.

The next day, when it was time to load the steers on their way to the butcher, Seth confidently led his own steer into the trailer, no tears involved (apparently, there are lots and lots of tears this day).  Jay said there were dollar signs in his eyes instead and he knows that he has already earned a significant chunk for his mission.  My greatest concern was that something would topple Seth's fragile confidence during fair week and he'd never want to do it again.  Instead, Seth is looking at catalogs with his dad and wondering if he should try a heavier limousine cross breed next year.  He'll learn much more about the reality of profit next year, as he'll have to use his own savings now to buy grain and other supplies, but I wouldn't trade a single moment of this year's experience.   The money in the bank is a great and exciting thing, but I'm mostly happy watching Seth look at his dad with adoring and grateful eyes and Jay helping Seth become the great man he is destined to become.

Happy Birthday To Me

It was a very mellow birthday this year.  36.  Meh.  I am definitely not one of those women who freak out about aging but it’s weird to be closer to 40 than 30.  I hope I can always remember that it’s not the number of candles on the cake, but that there ARE candles on a cake.  There is a celebration of life.  My life.   

Still, this birthday had two strikes against it.  First, I felt like crud.  I kept hoping for a birthday miracle where I could just feel normal for a day.  Not nauseated.  Not tired.  Didn’t happen.  The other strike was that the day was hot and we had to spend it at the fairgrounds for fair.  Being a part of the 4-H world is something that I’m still getting used to.  While the animals and auctions and halters are all new to me, riding questionably assembled carnival rides operated by extremely sketchy men and women is quite familiar.  It even brings on a happy nostalgia.  I didn’t ride any rides this year but the boys got an “all-day” pass that we used for about two hours, until even they had exhausted their attention on all of the ten different rides.  

I appreciate the thoughtfulness of my friends and family who know how much I love birthdays and helped me feel special on my day.  

A card from my sister, Jen.  I got several other cards but I love how she remembered my “Queen for a Day” mentality.

Seth and Sam on the Ferris Wheel.  I appreciate rides with more speed and those that let everybody on and off at the same time.  I think the boys became equally frustrated with how much of the ride was spent moving a few feet, then stopping to load and unload.

Henry stayed away from anything he thought of as scary and since I wasn’t riding, was limited to the little kid rides.  He loved these cars that went around and around in a circle.

This looked like a ride I would have enjoyed.

One of those helpful carnival workers adjusting Henry’s burlap bag underneath him after he tried to start going down the slide with the bag in his hand.

Getting it.

Perfect.

A spinning ride.  Good luck with that one, boys.

My cake.  I guess I didn’t have candles.   I meant my above sentiments figuratively then.  And my sister, Sarah, was so sweet to arrange for me to have a Cold Stone ice cream cake from long distance.  I just had to go pick it up!

A lovely bouquet of fresh flowers from my sweet friend, Lori.

A watch from my mom (that we actually purchased duty-free on the cruise ship a month earlier.)

Jen also mailed me the first baby boy outfit as of yet.  I know people say baby girl stuff is way cuter but I think this darling ensemble gives any frou frou dress a run for its money.

Til next year!

Birthday Week - Bullet Style

As far as birthdays go, I have a feeling my 36th on Thursday is going to be a bit of a disappointment.  Perhaps since I'm already declaring it to be so, it won't be - sort of like when you lower expectations for a movie or book and then end up loving it.  Nevertheless, the day itself already has dentist appointments (dentist appointments of all things!) scheduled right in the middle and fair responsibilities that take Seth and Jay away for most of the day and so, in order to preempt any sort of self-pity which is likely to shadow me on my birthday, I'm declaring it birthday week.  I'll take the celebration in bits and pieces rather than in whole-day form.

I started today.  Nothing official.  Merely treats and gifts thrown my way by me throughout the day.  To be fair, Jay is very disappointed that I am taking away all of his super-husband-points by buying my own gift, but it's just easier this way.  He's already earned them anyway.  This is what I've done so far:

- Got my house cleaned.  True, I do this every other week, but that doesn't mean it's not a gift.  I usually only have the two ladies that come clean do the main floor, but today I splurged and paid them for an extra half hour to get the upstairs bathroom spic-and-span as well.  It brings peace to my soul to walk inside my house and have every room within sight sparkle.  The joy comes from not having to do it myself.  The floors are mopped and vacuumed.  The bathrooms are cometed and vacuumed (because I am still dealing with nasty carpet in my bathroom.  Who puts carpet in a bathroom?  Widowed women, that's who!  Not anyone that has to deal with boys and splatter).  My kitchen is clean including microwave, range, sink and, of course, counters.  I really love it. Really, really, really.

 - Treated myself and the boys to lunch at Costa Vida.  It involves a 45-minute road trip but as we had school shopping and elementary registration to do anyway, we made a day of it.  I got the pork salad and a diet coke with pebble ice and am grateful that my boys like the food there as well.  They are so good with the gluten-free crowd.  Not only do they claim to have gluten-free options, but they know about contamination and do their best to avoid it by changing gloves and using different surfaces for things ordered to be specifically gluten-free.  Can't beat that.

 - Bought a Bose Sound System for my Ipod.  I have been wanting one of these for years but always shied away due to the cost.  They had one reasonably priced at Sam's Club and I told Jay it was all I wanted for my birthday.   I picked one up and have been listening to Adele as she was meant to be listened to.  O.K, that's probably not true.  She's probably phenomenal live, but listening to her with a Bose Sound system is a close second.  I just love the sound!  I've been listening to my music either with the cheap white headphones that came with my ipod or over the computer speakers on our seven year-old desktop system.  I had no idea that any of these songs had bass!

 -  Finished school shopping for the boys.  I admit it's not really at the birthday-gift level, but it sure is nice to have it done.  No running around various stores during the last two weeks of summer for me (not counting today, of course).  Hopefully, next week when this fair thing is over, we can get to the lake instead of rioting with all the others over #2 pencils at Walmart.

 - Bought three newborn outfits for baby boy.  I know he'll need other sizes but it was so fun to pick out these cute little things.  I probably shouldn't shop with big brothers again unless I want to end up with ALL football-themed jammies.

 - Got a fun birthday decorated package from my sister, Jen.  I'm waiting to open it on Thursday so that there is something to open that day, but I'm kind of embarrassed about it.  She is so good at mailing things!  The rest of our family uses the wait-until-someone-else-visits-and-then-send-it-back-with-them-to-hold-onto-it-until-desired-recipient-visits-middle-man system and I have something that I said I'd send her from a month ago!  I'd promise to get it done this week but I don't think she'd believe me.  No matter - I vow to make it so!

So...yeah.  I kind of spent a lot of money today.  That wasn't really the point of celebrating, but it's how today went down.  Everything was planned and included in the budget so I'm not going to let the numbers, or the fact that the Dow Jones lost over 600 points today, get me down.   Because birthday week doesn't come around every....week!

Road Trip 2011 - Second Stop - Seattle

Cousins!  And very loud duck quackers which had to be confiscated later.

I was not looking forward to the 600 mile drive between my parents home in Montana and my brother's place in the Seattle area. Originally, I had planned to drive the distance in one day but my lackluster pregnancy energy made it seem like a bad idea. Spokane seemed like an ideal place to stop but my two usual hosts were both out of town so I made a small southern detour and went and stayed the night with my sister in the Tri-Cities. It was a very quick stop but still nice to see her on her turf.

Driving on to Seattle the next day will go down as the worst day of the entire trip. I left in the late afternoon and couldn't even get to Yakima before I had to pull over to throw-up. My kids were horrified as I'm usually much more discreet about it in a bathroom, but that's just the nature of the beast sometime. I made it to North bend before I had to pull over again. I knew I was in for a long night.

My brother and sister-in-law were very gracious hosts, but I fear I was a horrible guest. I was traumatized from vomit coming out of my nose (sorry about the TMI, but I need to adequately describe my horror) and very tired. The boys were in heaven to see their cousins and immediately started playing basketball, baseball and other various games. I went to bed. Or tried to. It was one of those nights were my stomach just decided to be angry and I retched several times throughout the night.

We had planned on doing tourist activities the next day so we valiantly set out for downtown with the intention of riding the light-rail to avoid parking fees. We couldn't find a single parking space in the park and ride so we ended up caravaning into downtown. I'm glad I had my brother to follow, who is an excellent navigator, and other than the expensive price to park, it wasn't too inconvenient.

Our first agenda item was to Ride the Duck. I thought this was a very entertaining activity for the kids. The driver was fun. The music was fun. The tour itself was rather uninformative but my boys were singing and clapping the entire time so it was 90 minutes well spent.


Passing another duck in Lake Union.

Where the duck vehicle enters the water.

This guy was very funny.  His character name was Joaquin d'Plank.  His jokes were very funny to the 13 and younger crowd and I loved his music selection.

I was still extremely low on energy due to my rough night, so we skipped the next item, visitng the locks (sp?) and instead walked down to Pike Street Market. This was not so fun for the kids and I wish I could have spent an hour or so looking at the various booths without them but they did get to see some fish thrown, so that was worth it. Next, we walked to my brother's office building and relaxed for awhile on the idyllic 17th floor. I guess its all the rage for companies to include a peaceful spot to work and Jon said that he sometimes takes his laptop out there to get some work down. Amazing views, serene landscaping. Very Seattle:)





The view from the 17th floor of my brother's office building.   Not too shabby.

We took it easy for the rest of the night. Jon and Tara were very accommodating to my situation and the kids probably had more fun just playing together than they would have doing anything else.

Friday, Jay flew into Seattle as he was running in the Seattle Rock-N-Roll marathon the following day. I left without the boys to pick him up at the airport and we immediately went downtown to pick up his race packet at the Expo. It's been awhile since I've driven by myself in a large city and it was crazy! I am officially a hick. I couldn't stand the traffic and the noise and the people everywhere!

That night, we had a great double date with our originally double daters. Back when we were both newlyweds, hanging out with Jon and Tara was our traditional Saturday night date. We went and watched my amazing niece, Alyssa, practice gymnastics for a little while (she is amazing.  I know it's super competitive but I really think she'll be in the olympics someday.  If not, then at least an elite college gymnast.  She can already do the most incredible stunts like giants on the uneven bars and back walk-overs followed by a back handspring on the high beam and she's only 10!) and  then got some Thai food, which tasted a lot better after a relatively sick-free day. Thank goodness.

Saturday was the marathon and a long drive to Boise when the race was over. Jay and my sister's husband, Christopher, were both running the marathon and Tara was running the half-marathon for the third or fourth time (I can't remember, Tara!) Jon took them to the starting line nice and early and then I followed his lead into town for some sweet parking and easy walk to the finish. I love this about my brother. He really knows his way to things. He's got a very innate sense of direction and shortcuts:)

We had a blast cheering everyone on. I know it seems boring to some, but I actually enjoy watching a race. I love looking out for Jay and this time, it was even more fun because I was able to look out for Christopher and Tara as well. We had signs and cameras and lots and lots of kids so we could make quite a ruckus when we wanted to.

After Tara finished, I went in search of a good place to cheer on Jay at about mile 26. I knew what he would be racing in, so I wasn't expecting it to be difficult to spot him. He had very deliberately found a racing outfit that looked like one of his high school uniforms. The sentiment obviously worked because he ran a new PR yet again, finishing in a blazing 2:53! He finished 16th overall and almost won his age group. The guy in the yellow singlet in front of him in these pictures beat him in time by 3 seconds, even though Jay passed him and beat him by 2 seconds at the finish line. Those timing chips!

As soon as we watched Christopher finish and visited for awhile at the finish line, we had lunch and headed towards Utah for football camp on Monday morning. I don't think sitting in a car for 7 hours is an ideal activity post marathon, but we made it. I wish we had had more time in Seattle and I really wish I hadn't been sick during the short time I was there, but I'm glad I went and very glad I was able to spend time with my brother. He's a favorite of mine:)





I first spot Jay and his candy-stripped shorts.



He sees us and turns on the heat, passing a guy.  He ran his last half mile in under 6 minute/mile pace!  Said he didn't feel like he had anything left in his tank but seeing us all cheering gave him the burst of energy he needed.



Making his move.








So good looking:-)



At the finish line with his proud boys.  Henry was feeling shy because he decided his sign looked dumb.  You can see his legs hiding behind Jay.




We convinced him it was an awesome sign.  He made it himself!



Christopher smiles at the end of his marathon.  I don't know how anyone smiles at this point.





The three victors.  Very proud of all of them.  We married well.


Jon and I showing off our own particular set of skills.  Holding heavy cameras and cheering at the same time.  Go us!  Please excuse the frizzy hair and no make-up.  Like I explained, the day before had been very rough and I was just happy to be there feeling human.  I kind of lose my vanity when I'm pregnant, much to my chagrin when I look at pictures.