Equanimity

Faith vs. Fat

2012-01-26T21:28:00.003-07:00

Let's talk about fat. Specifically, my fat. Now there are many of you that may be rolling your eyes or may be thinking..."If she's on this courage kick why is she talking about fat?" Here is the answer: BECAUSE I am on this courage kick I HAVE to talk about being fat. People don't like the brashness of the word "fat." They prefer heavy, overweight, big...anything but fat; but fat is what it is - so I'll stick with that.

I wasn't always fat. I was actually pretty cute. In fact, I loved working out, but my fat has nothing to do with loving or hating exercise. Fat has been a source of protection. My first 10 pounds crept on after I was assaulted by a group of teenage boys. It wasn't a lot of weight - but it was just enough to feel a little bit invisible and safe. Those 10 pounds were just enough to stop any wanted or unwanted attention from other boys. What may be shocking to many of you healthy weight individuals is that being overweight is a great way to blend into the background. People don't like to notice fat people. You will deny it but it's true. It's a physical invisibility cloak. I know it sounds contradictory but it has been proven to me on multiple occasions.

In college, I began to regain my confidence. It was also nice to not have to see my attackers at school every day...that helped tremendously. I had these incredible and supportive roommates that helped me feel strong and worthwhile. I no longer needed the 10 pounds...so they went away.

After marriage, they returned. In fact, they brought friends with them. I would sometimes lose the original 10, but the friends never left and when the 10 came back they brought more friends. They seemed to always know the password to get back in, "We'll make you feel better. We'll make the hurt disappear." It was the ultimate social marketing plan...if fat were people.."and then they told two friends and so on and so on." The idea was that each little pound could protect me, insulate me from pain. But, it doesn't work that way...instead it just keeps all the pain inside...trapped. What I didn't realize, is my fat was showing how little faith I had that the Lord would look out for me. I know! I am as shocked as you! I have always thought of myself as someone with great faith...but by turning to food and not the Lord I was sabotaging my own chance of happiness. Phillipians 4:13 says, "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." It doesn't say, "Christ will help you through these areas, ice cream will help you with the rest."

Here is the amazing part...this part's important, so listen up! As I have released my pain to the Lord and begged for his forgiveness in how I have treated myself and in the failure of my marriage something incredible has happened. Where there was pain, the Lord has filled me with gratitude. Without fail, every time I kneel and pray seeking release and forgiveness I am always left with the most incredible feeling of lightness and thankfulness.

So now 10 pounds are gone. There is a lot more to go, but here is the difference: the 10 pounds that left are the original 10. I don't have to be afraid to feel because the Lord is with me wherever I choose to go. Who knew that the ultimate weight loss plan was waiting patiently for me the whole time? I just had to trust in the Lord.

Courage

2012-01-07T15:45:00.005-07:00

I am very excited about 2012. 2011 was a little rough for me. I got a divorce, sold a business, got a new job and went back to school. Needless to say, it was one of my more stressful years. As I have mentioned in a previous post, I am looking at all of these changes as a chance to start over...to begin anew. I decided I need to give myself a theme, to stay motivated and hopeful with this somewhat uncertain stage in my life. My theme is courage.

Back in the spring of 2011 when my entire life seemed to be falling down around me I received a call from my sister. "I'm in the car," she said, as if I would assume she could possibly be anywhere else, "and I have received some inspiration for you. Everyday you need to read Joshua 1:9. EVERY DAY." We chatted a little bit and I promised I would follow her inspiration.

(On a side note, Lisa called me a few weeks later and said, "Rob has the kids, so you have my complete attention. You can cry, vent, whatever you need." "Ummm, well, I'm making dinner right now and not especially feeling like having a breakdown. Oh - and the girls are right here." "But Rob has the kids! You have my undivided attention!" Lisa - I would like to apologize for not being able to have a breakdown at that particular moment. I want you to know there have been several since...but I wasn't sure if Rob had the kids. :))

Anyway, taking care of a few things I pulled out my bible.

Joshua 1:9 "Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of good courage; be
not afraid, neither be thou dismayed for the Lord thy God is with thee
withersoever thou goest."

LOVE IT! I have been reading this almost every day since and I will tell you there are days where this verse is what has kept me going. People call courage a lot of different things: confidence, strength, fortitude, initiative, even gumption. (Maybe my theme should be gumption - no one ever uses that word anymore.) But it all boils down to courage. There are a lot of people that live their lives with amazing courage. I'm not talking about the life or death type of courage; I'm talking about the courage to wake up, every day and do your best. There are so many people that have struggles and challenges that aren't just one or two rough days, but maybe weeks, months or even a lifetime of shoring yourself up every morning to begin again.

I was delighted when I read an article written by President Thomas S. Monson, the president of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, to find that he wrote about courage this month, as well. He included the following Ralph Waldo Emerson quote:

Whatever you do, you need courage. Whatever course you decide on, there is
always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties
arising that tempt you to believe that your critics are right. To map out a
course of action and follow it to an end requires some of the same courage a
soldier needs. Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to win
them.

So, no more excuses, no more blame, this is the year we courageously follow our hearts. Won't you join me?

Eleanor Roosevelt Won't Get Out of My Head

2011-12-15T20:43:00.005-07:00

I have started and deleted about 7 blog posts. I don't seem able to complete a thought. This is not my fault, it's a genetic disease called "tangent-itis." My Grandma had it and now my sister and I both have it in varying degrees. There is a small possibility that Lisa does not have it - her issue may be simply an abundance of children vying for her attention. She has been known on occasion to call me so that I can then sit and listen to her tell each child that she can't talk to them because she is on the phone with her sister. By the time she is finished talking to them one of us usually has to go. Don't get me wrong - I completely adore my sister, she is just pulled in all kinds of directions. She spends about 40 hours a week in the car and has occasionally called me and demanded, "Say something funny...I'm falling asleep at the wheel." That is a lot of pressure! (Lisa and I also suffer from postal impairment - the inability to get things in the mail.) Wait....do you see what's happened? A little tangent-itis has slipped into my train of thought. What has actually been on my mind is Calvin and Hobbes, Eleanor Roosevelt, and guardian angels.

Many, MANY years ago, when I was at BYU, my fabulous roommate, Dana, gave me this Calvin and Hobbes comic strip

She said it reminded her of me - it totally cracked me up. (Sorry it's a little blurry.) Sadly, it is true - but only to a small degree. Give me just a little attention and I am buoyed up for a long time. Give me too much and I start feeling uncomfortable. (We can psychoanalyze that at another time.)

It's amazing how a kind word or act can change your whole state of being. Yesterday, I was feeling a bit lonely...well, lonely and maybe a bit depressed. (I should not have watched BBC's North and South - again another issue to psychoanalyze at another time.) Anyway, I thought to myself, get out of the house, run some errands, be productive and you'll feel better. (I can on occasion give myself good advice.) I desperately hoped, even prayed, that I would run into a friend - just to have someone to chat with - if only for 30 seconds - just enough to get grounded again. Lo and behold, there at Smith's was my dear friend Christy. (Insert angels singing here.) Don't even attempt to tell me it was mere coincidence - I believe that God heard my prayer and gave me that little reassurance (and much laughter) that I needed...enough to keep me going for several days at least! (She has been my guardian angel more than a time or two.) This, of course, reminded me that I have been angry with Eleanor Roosevelt.

One of my LEAST favorite quotes in the entire world is "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." I don't know the context in which this was said - but today it is often used by people to excuse poor behavior. (Example - It's not my fault she felt hurt.) Here's the deal - if your small kindnesses can have a big impact on someone - then why wouldn't the un-kindnesses? (Is that a word?) I wish I were one of those people who had the confidence to deflect insults that may come my way. I can deflect a few - but every once in a while they sneak in. The Eleanor Roosevelt quote I wish we heard more often is, “The giving of love is an education in itself.” So delete the first quote from your brain and replace it with this one. I have the feeling that focusing on quote number 2 may be the secret to being an example of quote number 1.

I'm back!

2011-12-02T00:28:00.004-07:00

It's December...can you believe it? Last December was the beginning of the end of my marriage...so it's been quite a year. Business is sold, divorce final, new job, back in school, new profile on my blog (just need a new pic) - feels like a new beginning and one I am feeling excited about. Don't get me wrong, I'm no Pollyanna - there have been some rough days BUT I'm off both antidepressants and Diet Coke- so, hooray!

In spite of my school busyness I plan on posting to my blog on a more regular basis, so stay tuned for more. In the meantime a brief story:

When I was around 13 or 14 years old I had this fabulous white dress with a ruffle along the bottom. One Sunday, at the end of church, I was waiting in the lobby for my family when I looked down and noticed some lint in between my ruffle and skirt. I bent down to pick it out. Hmmm....more lint. I picked out a little more...turns out that the washer and dryer found this ruffle to be a great home for little minuscule dust bunnies. I became so wrapped up in picking out the tiny bits of lint that I completely forgot that I was in a public place. I was no longer bending over picking the lint out of the ruffle...no. I was now standing up...holding the bottom of my skirt right in front of my eyes, trying to pick out the lint. Imagine yourself in this scene. You leave the chapel to discover a teenage girl standing against the wall holding her skirt up in the air. Not exactly what you expect after a church service. I have wondered how many people walked by, flabbergasted, before Karla Pratt came rushing over and said, "Michelle, what on earth are you doing?" I was suddenly aware and mortified at how wrapped up I had been in my little ruffle project. "I don't know what I'm doing!" I said to Karla...she laughed and I jetted to the parking lot to wait in the car for the rest of my family. (The fact that I went back to church the following Sunday just shows how committed I am to church!)

So why on earth would I mention this? Because I think it is easy to become so wrapped up in our own little issues this time of year that we forget we are surrounded by a lot of people who could use a little bit of our focus. It's so easy to assume that someone else will step up and help...when the Lord meant for us to be that someone. So stop stressing about the presents and take a moment each day to make someone's day just a little brighter. If this is too big of a leap for you, advice wise, let me offer this instead....keep your skirt down...at all times...'nuf said.

Legally Blonde and the Seven Stages of Grief

2011-07-27T23:43:00.005-06:00

I've been watching too much TV. I seem incapable of doing much. Not only has my marriage ended, but my job has ended and I am going back to school and trying to figure out how on earth I will support my girls and myself while attempting to pursue a new life. I'm either highly over-qualified or under-qualified for any job that would work with school. I have been working out - so that's a plus - but I can't seem to do much beyond that. I had these fabulous "reorganize the house" plans that have merely limped along.

I realized that I had gone completely nuts when I started being inspired by Elle Woods in Legally Blonde and Queen Latifah in Last Holiday. I had been sucked into the 2 star movie dark side. Pretty soon I will be practicing the bend and snap. Step away from the remote.

On that note, earlier this week, while at the pediatrician with Kristen, I suddenly burst into tears. Okay - maybe not all that suddenly - but I had absolutely no control over the tears. Biting my cheek, clenching my fists, looking at the ceiling....zero luck. The doctor was asking Kristen how she's coping with the divorce. She said, "Things are better. There's no tension at home anymore." And waterworks commence. I felt awful that she and her sister have had to go through so much and I just started to cry. What a lovely moment for Kristen.

I realized that I needed to do a little reading, a little research, if you will, on going nuts through divorce. Maybe, just maybe, Elle Woods won't have all the answers. So, I googled "stages of grief divorce." 270,000 results popped up. I picked the one that started with "Learn how to heal..." I clicked and began to read. (It's on helpguide.org.)

Shock or disbelief. (Been there done that.)

Denial (If I change what I want.....did that 18 months ago.)

Anger (Brief moments but more sadness, really)

Bargaining (I may have skipped this one.....maybe I took care of it with number 2.)

Guilt (Definitely been going through this one....especially when it comes to the kids.)

Depression (Welcome to my home.)

Acceptance and Hope (I'm sorry what....there's hope?)

One of the first things to stand out was "Realize that it's okay to have different feelings." (I don't think they meant feeling like all chick flicks are speaking directly to you.) "It's normal to feel sad, angry, exhausted, frustrated and confused. (check, check, check, check and check.) "You may feel anxious about the future. (Giant check.) "Give yourself permission to function at a less than optimal level for a time." (HOORAY! I have permission!) "Treat yourself like you have the flu." (Does this mean I can lay in bed and have people bring me soup?) "Try not to make any major decisions or changes for awhile." (Oops.) "Don't fight your feelings." (Aha.)

So I have decided to not fight my feelings. If I have plans with you think how exciting this will be! Will she be fun and happy and then completely dissolve? Will she be lackluster and tired, followed my maniacal laughter? Who knows! You just get to sit back and watch the healing. The idea is that if I allow myself to feel and deal with this bombardment of feelings, I may be able to move on and reach that Utopian seventh stage of acceptance and....drum roll please, even hope. If that doesn't work I can always look for words of wisdom from Legally Blonde 2.

Miscellany

2011-07-17T19:32:00.003-06:00

1. The Jehovah's Witness missionaries now bring their doe-eyed toddlers to your door. Very clever.

2. On the same day I received the following feedback regarding my return to school: "You are going to love it. It may take you a few weeks to get back into the swing of things - but you will do so well!" "It is going to be the hardest thing you've ever done. Be prepared to talk yourself out of a failing grade. Find a study partner that can carry you through."

3. It's hard to be so "get over-able."

4. Found out I still need another textbook.....grand total now $500. WHAT?!

5. Loved seeing my daughter's cell phone wallpaper was a photo of a sign reading "stay on the path."

6. I have become a huge fan of dry spice rubs. Fish, chicken, beef - Watch out!

7. I have fabulous friends and family.

8. In trying to spread the word about my voice over acting I've done a better job of selling the career, rather than myself. oops.

9. Found out my church library partner won $23,000 and a TV on the Price is Right 10 years ago.

10. I've been trying to decide if I should paint my front door red or black. I went to a scrapbook store and purchased several sheets of paper closest to the colors I was favoring. I taped 6 of the same color sheets on the door.....my daughter then went on to tell me that she liked the color on the far left better than the others. She wouldn't believe they were all the same color.

Where Am I?

2011-06-25T19:45:00.004-06:00

Here is not exactly where I expected to be. I was fairly certain I would end up over there....you know? The place with green grass, single digit sizes and moments of peace - not a 41 year old, overweight, almost divorced, unemployed mom. Now that may by your dream but it was not mine. Other than the mom part (which is absolutely the highlight of my life), the rest does not come highly recommended. Unless, of course, you enjoy some rather fierce moments of pain and self-doubt. BUT, this is where I am. My choices....with a few influences from others....have led me to this point. So, now what? This overwhelming question, that most people believe they will somehow answer in their 20s (ridiculous), haunts my mind.

Yes, I am going to school in the fall to receive a second bachelors and hopefully be able to attend grad school and become a speech pathologist. This is a plan, but does nothing for me at the moment. Yes, I have been studying, working, attending classes, workshops and private sessions in Voice Over work....but again, only a plan....not a destination. (Insert self-promotion here: Hire me...I sound fabulous.) I simply don't know how everything is going to fall into place. I know, I know...no one does....but I like when there are a few more pieces in place.

One such piece, for instance, is what will I do to earn a living? Due to a rather restrictive non-compete agreement with my former franchiser, I cannot pursue a job in any field in which I might be remotely qualified. Plus, attending school full-time and being a mother make it difficult to find a job that seems like it will work with my schedule. Some of you may say - "Take whatever you can get!" This would be easier to do if I had not spent the last 9 1/2 years performing a job I had never wanted.

So, I find myself here...the waiting room for over there. It's full of maybes and hopefullys and ifs and whens. I realize that this is a great opportunity. A new beginning. A chance to pursue the dreams I have always had to set aside. But those dreams feel awfully distant. It seems as though there is a grand canyon beyond the waiting room door and my dreams are just a dot on the horizon. Was that a melodramatic enough return to the blogging world? Have you missed all of my mixed metaphors and allegories?

THANKFUL

2011-03-08T20:17:00.002-07:00

I've been feeling exhausted. I don't know if it's depression, a virus or both. When I have a spare moment all I want to do is sleep. I've become a huge fan of the nap. Of course this morning I enjoyed a vigorous snow shoveling before work - assisted by my wonderful neighbor Cam. I think he had already done several driveways when he came over to help me. As I finished shoveling and headed off to work I turned on some music. An uplifting and fabulous CD thoughtfully given to me by Jill began to play. I felt a wave of gratitude.

Throughout this divorce process many friends ask, "What can I do?" "How can I help?" The answer quite frankly is...I have no idea. But what does help is the asking and what helps even more are the prayers. There is great comfort in knowing there are people out there that I can turn to...people who are ready and waiting to help me...as soon as I figure out what I need. When I have those days that I become burdened with thoughts of "How will I possibly make ends meet?" or "Will there ever be a man who could love me?" or general fear of the unknown I feel this gentle nudge back in to the realm of positive thinking. I believe those nudges come from the power of prayer on my behalf. There is nothing more touching to me than to think of someone praying for my well being.

I don't know how I will make ends meet, I don't know if, when I'm ready, there will be a man out there for me - BUT, I do know that the Lord has blessed me with an amazing family and incredible friends whose faith and kindness buoy me up everyday. I am so blessed.

What I want to be when I grow up...

2011-03-06T19:11:00.004-07:00

I have decided that I would like to be the person my book case represents. Is that realistic? Tonight I was attempting to write my 40th story and it was not going well. There was much deleting and backspacing and even a furrowed brow or two. I generally write whatever come into my head...disturbing, I know...and the thoughts were not coming out - not well, anyway. So, I decided to take out the garbage. (Stay with me...we'll get there.) As I took out the garbage I thought of the nasty old bathmat in the laundry room I had been meaning to throw away and headed down to get it. (Still with me?) On my way I passed by the bedroom that Bob and I once shared - now mostly empty except for some piles of books and many mating dust bunnies. I thought, "I really should vacuum and set up my sewing machine, so I can finish Kristen's costume for the play. But, I can't really vacuum because of all of the books." This made me think that I needed to put all of those books away, since I seem to have lost the ability to concentrate on reading anything. (If you are wondering about the point....it's coming...stay with me.) So, I took out the nasty bathmat and went downstairs to put away my books. As I was gently shoving them into the rickety, particle board bookcase, I began to read the spines:

Felting: The Complete Guide
30 Days to a More Powerful Vocabulary
I Don't Have to Make Everything All Better
Saying It Like It Is
Organization Made Easy

Why did these stand out? Because I have not cracked open any of them. Not a one. (If you gave me one of these books, please know that I love you....it's nothing personal....I'll read it eventually...I hope.) These are not the only unread books in my bookcase. I actually have 3 books on felting, but have never felted - is that correct terminology? If you have ever been to my house you know that organization has definitely not been made easy for me. Saying it like it is? Occasionally out loud, but mostly to myself. I Don't Have to Make Everything All Better has sadly been my approach to housekeeping and my vocabulary is as powerful as my non-functioning dishwasher.

According to my bookshelves I have found my perfect weight, lost it and found it again. (It's very elusive, my perfect weight, we haven't met in person for about 18 years.) I have not only treasured my garden, but I have solved all of it's problems all while excavating my authentic self. It's exhausting. More so if it were true. Merely having these books in the shelf - but never using them hasn't seemed to have caused any real difference in my life. It turns out I am going to have to actually do something. I am making some changes (besides the divorce). I am taking voice over classes...something I have always wanted to pursue AND I have applied to graduate school. But there are so many things I still want to do or to change...and I think I will get to them...as soon as I finish reading all of these books.

Believe it or not I haven't forgotten Story #40...But first....

2011-02-15T09:16:00.003-07:00

I have known what story #40 has been for quite some time....but seem to lack the ability to focus enough to write it. You see, I am in the middle of a divorce. It is amazing how it seems to take all of my brain power to merely exist. All acitivities beyond mere existence seem to be more challenging. It has also removed my ability to have any kind of short term memory. Kristen has now missed two orthodontic appointment....even when I remind her - I still forget.

The odd thing is, I frequently don't FEEL that stressed, but my life performance seems to be dropping major clues. The biggest? I have not been able to focus on reading. If you know me at all, you know that is bizarre. Reading has always been my escape, my stress release, my go to favorite activity. Now the words seem to sort of float around on the page. I focus for 1 to 2 pages and then the shut down sequence begins.

Now don't go thinking that I spend each day in a state of depression - because I don't. I alternate between happiness, sadness, anxiety and sometimes all 3 at once. I really am okay. I really do believe that, but then I get ready for a meeting and within 30 minutes have completely forgotten I have a meeting. Maybe it's not the divorce, maybe I, like many Americans over 40, am in a constant state of mini-stroke.

On the plus side, everyone I run into has to cock their head to the side when they ask how I am. And the way it gets asked always verges on the way you would talk to a two year old - so it's always entertaining. Some people require hugs and comforting...I guess you never realize how much your life affects (effects?) others. Some people are angry...am I supposed to apologize to them? Others offer advice, marriage therapist recommendations, etc. Been there, done that.

Bob and I are on good terms. This may sound strange, since we are divorcing, but we will still be co-parenting our fabulous kids for the rest of our lives. I can't imagine not being able to have calm and friendly discussions regarding the kids. Another plus? My family and friends have been incredibly supportive, kind and loving. This I am most grateful for.

This is a whole new chapter in my life. Definitely ample material for blogging. I have signed up for Voice-Over classes (I start next week!) I have also applied to go back to school....which I am very excited about.

So, Story #40 is just around the corner - but I want to explain my hiatus from the blogging world. And, remember to cock your head to the side as you leave your comment.

The Miracle of a Hair Stylist

2010-12-21T14:00:00.003-07:00

Have you ever been cocky enough to think, "I could never be more stressed than I am right now." Only to discover there were dozens of levels above your current state of chaos? I have been amazed at the heights I have been able to take stress to - particularly the last 4 weeks. If it were an Olympic sport I would be a contender for the gold medal.

As I have been hitting my maximum peak stress performance I decided I needed a break! What better pick me up than a visit to Suzanne, my fabulous friend and stylist. What is it about how our hair looks that changes how we feel about the world in general? I always like to pretend that I am not shallow enough to have my mood determined by my unruly locks...and yet...when they look good I feel good. I can't change my weight in a couple of hours - but Suzanne is able to make me look better and feel better all through the magic of scissors, words of wisdom and a good scalp massage. I am starting to wonder if the stylists chairs are made out of the same stuff as Wonder Woman's golden lasso. Once you sit in the chair - WHAM! - your world starts spilling out. As the split ends and faded color falls to the ground - so do my worries, concerns and stress. She is the "Anti-Olympic Stress trainer." (That made some sort of sense in my head.)

So, new hair style gives me the sense, even if it is only temporary, that I have a new lease on life. I am in charge of how my day...my life will go....at least until I try to make my hair do this by myself tomorrow.

Sometimes you just need a good cry

2010-11-04T17:23:00.003-06:00

Life has been rather hectic the last several months and apparently there is no reprieve on the horizon. Things are going to get more crazy. This morning I was feeling pretty discouraged. While sanding my living room ceiling I just started to cry. In fact, I started to sob. I sat down on the floor and had a good, long cry (something I don't allow myself to do very often.) And after that good, long cry I felt a little bit better. Nothing is solved, nothing will be easier....but a cry can be therapeutic, don't you think?

Story #39 Recurring themes or an encounter with Patsy

2010-09-24T20:02:00.004-06:00

Not too long ago, on my way to a good-bye dinner for one of my employees, I met Patsy. Who is Patsy? She is the elderly woman I saw collapse on the sidewalk while I was driving down the street. When I saw her fall, I quickly turned around and parked along the sidewalk. She was slumped against a power pole, and although her eyes were open, she was unresponsive. A student from the U had also pulled over - we tried to get her to answer basic questions. "Are you okay?" "What's your name?" "Do you know where you are?" She just gazed at us...saying nothing. I dialed 911 and told the operator what had happened and where we were. She said paramedics were on the way.

As I hung up the phone, our patient began to come to - "Are you okay?" I asked. "I don't know." she answered, grumpily. "My name is Michelle, I saw you fall, what's your name?" "Patsy." "How are you feeling, Patsy?" I asked. "I need to go home." Patsy replied. "I would be happy to help you get home. Can you tell me where you live?" Patsy gazed at me for some time. I wasn't sure if she couldn't remember where she lived or if she was giving me the "once over." I do look very suspicious, after all. After a long pause, she said, "Just let me finish my walk!" "Well, I have called the paramedics. You fainted. I think your body is trying to tell you to rest. Let's wait until the paramedics arrive." "I'm old! I faint! That's what I do! You shouldn't have called the paramedics - it's none of your business." She stood up and took off down the street. What do you do at that point? Wrestle her to the ground? Yell, "Let me help you, damn it!" The student and I looked at each other. At this point the paramedics called trying to find us. I told them where we were going to be, hopped in my car and caught up to Patsy. She is surprisingly fast - for one who just regained consciousness. I scrambled after Patsy and checked on her again. She waved me away and again took off down the street. Never fear, the paramedics and I were determined to help her, whether she wanted it or not. When we located her a block away, I waved to the paramedics and took off. I chuckled, while driving to my dinner, thinking about her "I faint! That's what I do!" comment - I thought it tied in nicely to Story #39....Recurring themes.

Now, the nice thing about Patsy is she seems very accepting and comfortable with being a person who faints. It's what she does, after all. Most of us would find this a difficult way to live life....dropping to the ground unexpectedly, at any given moment - but at least she recognizes herself for who she is.

I don't seem to have reached that "This is who I am!" state of mind. In fact, I find I spend a large amount of time wondering, "What if?" "If only I had..." "Why didn't I..." instead of living in the moment - and enjoying myself. I spend all of this energy pondering variations on the past and planning for a future without doing anything in the right now.

Let me give you an example: I started gaining weight in my late 20s. So, I have had just under 15 years to think about how I hate being overweight, how embarrassed I am by my weight, how it inhibits me from reconnecting with friends from the past and enjoying the energy that comes without cumbersome fat. See what an effective use of time this is? And with 15 years of regret and self-hatred comes.....more weight. Now, you sensible people are thinking, then why not just do something about it? This is a valid question. The problem is, I have learned to turn to food for comfort in all emotional arenas. If this is not your source of comfort, you may not understand. But for me, learning to comfort myself in other ways has proven to be a challenge. I am starting to make more changes and fewer excuses as I come to accept myself for who I am, because nothing triggers eating and reduces energy like spending your thinking time wondering how your life could be different. After all, we can't make changes until we know where we are. (I am really struggling with the grammar tonight. Please be patient.)

You see, this life is not a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Did you read those? I loved those books! You would come to the end of a chapter and get to choose... open the door turn to page 39, take the stairs, turn to page 53 - But the best part was...if you didn't like what lay in store on page 39 you could still turn to page 53. It was the perfect story....endless revisions. Our lives don't exactly work that way. We can continue to make revisions - but we never, ever, get to go back and start over. No matter the stretch of your imagination, or love of science fiction, you will never be able to turn back time. Never. Ever. Get it? (I'm trying to!)

BUT.....

You can get out of the recurring themes you despise in your life. I think Satan loves to make us feel hopeless and mired down by guilt and regret. He can get you thinking that there is no real chance or possibility of change - so just get comfortable in the mire of despair, you aren't going anywhere.

BUT...

He is wrong! We can change, but only when we are honest with ourselves. If something is TRULY important to you, you will make the time to make it happen - period. You won't say, work won't let me, the kids have so much going on, etc. You will just do it. Until then, any change you talk about making is really just an area that interests you and nothing more.

I find I only make progress with changing my mindset and accepting myself when I include prayer and thanksgiving as part of the process. Only with God's help can I begin to shake off my old habits and enjoy the life I am living. I have spent most of my 40 years - especially, the last 20, wondering who I could have been. I plan on spending the next 40 enjoying who I am. I am a fat business-owning Mom, but I don't like that, so, in honor of Patsy, "I change! That's what I do!" No more imaginary "what ifs, " the choices I have made created the person I have become....and that's not so bad - in fact, I'm starting to like me...just a little.

I'll be posting soon!

2010-08-08T11:59:00.001-06:00

High stress level=no time or creative energy for posts.

Don't give up on me...more coming soon!

Story #38 Stories from Strangers

2010-07-14T22:12:00.003-06:00

Since I was a child, people - people I don't know or barely know - have told me their stories. They have shared with me details of their lives that surprises me in its intimacy. I have often attributed this to my super power of invisibility...maybe they sense me there - but aren't sure...therefore their story is safe with me.

I usually don't say much of anything - just listen...frequently because I don't know what to say. One time at the store, when I asked the checker how her day was she responded by tearing up. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Today is my birthday," she replied, "and I miss my kids. I got 3 kids and I haven't seen 'em in a year. I tried to call 'em - but my parents won't let me talk to them. I don't understand why I can't just talk to them....I want 'em to know I am thinkin' about them. It's just especially hard because it's my birthday. I just wanted that as my birthday present." "I'm so sorry." I say. I wonder why she doesn't have her kids, why her parents won't let her talk to them. It must be fairly serious - since it seems as if she doesn't have visitation...but she was clearly distraught. As she continued to scan my groceries she started telling me about each one of her kids. She pulled a worn Christmas picture of the three children out of the pocket of her smock. She pointed to each one and told me their names - how old they were in the picture - how old they are now. She asked me if I had any kids. "I have 2 girls." I said. "Well, don't you ever do anything that would screw up living with them...never." "I won't." I said. I gathered up my groceries and told her good-bye....and left wondering what would happen to this woman, and more importantly, what would happen to her children.

For years the same man would come to my business to re-certify every one's cpr and first aid certifications. I will call him John. John taught through stories - okay, not stories, but real first aid and even life and death situations where he had been on hand to issue aid. One day, after finishing our staff training he started to chat with me. He had a great sense of humor, and some pretty funny stories to tell. Somehow, our conversation moved to his time in Special Ops for the army. He served as a member of a medical team. Their "Special Operation" was actually helping the citizens of Afghanistan - treating a variety of ailments, from toothaches to more serious problems. Their mission was to build a relationship and trust with the community to improve feelings about the American troops being there. One day they had spent some time treating a teen aged boy who was wary at first. They won him over and soon he felt at ease and was laughing with John and the other medic. Apparently, this boy was thought to have some knowledge about the whereabouts of key Taliban members. A young soldier came and began interrogating the boy....roughly, physically....John teared up as he told me this. "We had worked so hard, so hard at getting him to trust us. So hard, working on healing ALL of his wounds...and then this young punk comes and un-does EVERYTHING. I couldn't take it anymore." He seemed to suddenly come to an awareness of his surroundings, "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I went in to all of that. Tell me about you...tell me about your life." Trust me - there is pretty much nothing you can say about your own life after hearing a harrowing story like his.

If you have read my blog for awhile, you'll know I have shared a few more recent instances.
I have stories like this that go all the way back to elementary school. Some of the stories are sad, some funny and some down right inappropriate - but there are many. I feel honored, but puzzled, about why people tell me their stories. I am not sure if Heavenly Father has placed me their because that person needs to share their thoughts, or because I need to hear them for my own life learning. Maybe it's both. What I think it really means is that in this age of fear, paranoia over privacy, people are desperately looking for support - or understanding - even from a stranger. I think being there to listen is something I can do.

Story #37 Bob

2010-06-14T19:10:00.004-06:00

It is night time. Bob and I are in bed reading. I look over at him and realize we are both lying in exactly the same position. Left hand holding the book, right hand under head. I think, "Which of us started in this position? How often do we both end up doing the same thing?" We looked like synchronized readers. My mind begins to wander...once again wondering what to put in Story #37. How do you sum up marriage? How do you paint a real picture - the good, the bad and the ugly. I often think Alicia Keys had it right - we spend our whole lives falling in and out of love with our significant other. Hear that newly engaged/married? In AND out...but then back in again. A never ending teeter-totter. When the out begins for the first time you panic...think..."Oh, no! What is happening?!" But you both shove and squirm and then somehow tip back into love.

I adjust my position - try to refocus on my book. I glance over at Bob again. Somehow we are once again in the same position - Right leg bent, both hands holding book. Weird. I glance sideways across my pillow at him. I think... the first thing I noticed about Bob, when I finally really LOOKED, was that he was strong. Not like...hey, nice body (although, he did have a nice body)....but - he could keep me safe. I felt safe when I was with him. I needed to feel safe. I felt safe being just me. I guess because I was not initially head over heels I wasn't worried about what kind of impression I was making...I wasn't trying to be someone I thought he wanted me to be...I was just being me. You can't back track from that, you know? Once you put yourself out there...that's it...they know who you are. This time, though it was okay. This time it felt comfortable because we were both comfortable - he wasn't trying to be someone other than himself. He wasn't playing any games with me. No yawn and stretch to put his arm around me - no dorky pick up lines. It felt...nice.

I remember the first time he held my hand. There was no awkward moment, no hesitation - he just reached out and held my hand. We were in his old Jimmy, returning from an evening of water skiing. I was looking out the window, when I felt his warm hand reach over and grab my hand. My stomach flipped. I glanced over at him. He was chatting with his buddies in the back seat...and just kept holding my hand. Isn't that silly...how romantic something like that can be? Madeline L'Engel once said that her favorite thing about marriage was the idea of knowing that even if you are half a world away from each other, there is someone out there for you. Someone waiting for you, thinking about you, missing you. What a wonderful feeling....that sense of relationship security - kind of like the first feeling of my hand in his.

There have been many traditional romantic holidays and gift giving occasions that Bob has missed...and some angry feelings about the red convertible mid-life crisis in the garage - but, also some unexpected expressions of love. One night I woke up feeling so sick. I stumbled upstairs, so I wouldn't wake anyone up and started to vomit. (Lovely, I know.) Amidst this awful literal gut wrenching experience I suddenly felt my hair being pulled back and a hand rubbing my back. Even in this wretched state I was touched. Bob, who can sleep through screaming children, annoying alarms, thunderstorms and probably bombs - somehow noticed me gone and came up to check on me. That is romance.

Of course, there are no guarantees. Marital life is not endless bliss. We have definitely had "the ugly" as well as "the good." So much so that we almost dove off the marital cliff of divorce. (How many random metaphors will I get going in this story?) I reached that moment of truly asking myself...do I want to stay married to this man? After much prayer, contemplation and inner turmoil we both decided, "Yes." We want to stay married and I find that incredibly romantic. To have been through hell together, to know each other's annoying traits, wonderful qualities and petty grievances and choose that person anyway - that is romance.

And so, days from our 19th anniversary I am glad that I am married to this man. I know that he loves me....and I love him. I glance over at him again....he doesn't look my way, but reaches over with his right hand and signals me to come closer. We both prop our books on his chest and continue reading. Ahhh, romance.

In Nicole's defense...

2010-05-22T12:49:00.001-06:00

Of the 4 family members Nicole is the least guilty of surface dwelling. Not immune to it - but the least guilty.

The most glorious sound...

2010-05-21T11:22:00.005-06:00

You may not know this - but the most glorious sound is that of a toilet flushing. Yea! We now have two functioning toilets and two functioning sinks upstairs. You are free to use them as long as you don't mind the fact that there are no doors. Sadly, I don't think Bob will mind that at all...we will have to teach him some self-control. (And speedily paint the doors.)

On a Bob note - whatever relationship havoc the remodel had done to our marriage, the painting has repaired. For some unknown reason, Bob finds the fact that I am spending countless hours painting, very attractive. Go figure. Maybe it's the baggy, paint riddled jeans - or perhaps the paint in my hair. I don't know why I can't paint without getting it in my hair. I pull it back, put on one of Bob's baseball caps - but still, at the end of the day - paint in the hair. Someone asked me the other day what colors I chose. "Look right here." I said as I pulled forward a lock of hair, "This is the bathroom color. What do you think?" She thought I was strange.

At a bridal shower I attended last night, several neighbors said they wanted to come see the progress - to which I responded "Anytime!" But inside cringed...since the rest of the house is complete and total chaos. You see, I live with 3 surface dwellers. All of their belongings must be on some highly visible, horizontal surface. Did I mention I have an 11 foot bar in my kitchen? That's a lot of surface to cover people - but never fear - my family comes through. Alright - I confess it's not all them - sadly, (sigh) some of it is me. If I leave one magazine or the mail on the counter it seems to be the permission everyone was waiting for to start the stacks. Stacks and stacks of randomness (trying to avoid saying crap.) It drives me nuts - but it gets so bad that it seems overwhelming. Bob has all of these items (papers) that he apparently is going to need at any given moment and therefore cannot move or put away said papers.

As I attempted to clear up the other day I discovered (please enjoy the irony) a book I had purchased on organizing. The book talked about how some people need to see everything, others need it hidden away. Therefore, if you want to see everything, your desk should have stacking trays instead of filing cabinets. Anyway, in spite of the way my home is looking these days, I am definitely a "hidden away" kind of gal - and thought Bob must be a "visual" organizer. (His desk at work has approximately 200 stacking trays, give or take). When I asked him, I was stunned to hear him say "hidden away." What?! have you seen you? You are a hoarder in the making! But - nevertheless, I went with what he told me. I took this gorgeous, large filing basket, placed it on the desk in the kitchen and made folders for all of his vital papers. I lovingly showed him where everything was - and YET each time he would look for something he would come to me, panic in his voice, unable to find said papers. They are right here....on the desk, in the basket, in the folder, in the house that jack built. (sorry) This is what the basket looks like now: The surface dwellers have taken the basket captive. I would move the stack to show you the cute files, but I simply lack the courage.

A few observations on painting...

2010-05-15T19:27:00.004-06:00

1. How can my muscles be so sore from painting?

2. I know I must be gaining "contractor" skills because my pants keep slipping down as I work.

3. My Sister-in-Law's mother can paint in stilettos and look amazing. I look like I have been finger painting with a wild group of small children. More like full body painting...

4. It is 7:30 on Saturday night...we have only prepped (takes FOREVER to fill all those little nail holes and caulk) and primed the two bathrooms since yesterday. I am now terrified of the living room. It has never seemed so large.

5. When I go to people's houses I'm going to start complimenting their walls. Not the color, just the mere fact that they have paint on them.

6. Now I know why my brother paints his walls and ceilings the same color. Was 3 tone such a great idea?

7. Who wants to have a paint party?

Story #36 Testimony

2010-05-10T10:11:00.003-06:00

My testimony of Jesus Christ and his gospel has always been and will always be the guiding force in my life. I have been blessed with a faith, that even during difficult times I know that the Lord know me personally and loves me. I wrote the following story many years ago. Although it may be slightly high on the cheesiness scale - it represents how I feel about the Love Heavenly Father and Christ give to me.

Little One

Once upon a time there was a small family of sparrows living in a large oak tree at the edge of a meadow. The oak tree was the best place to live because on the other side of the tree was a glorious mountain reaching up into the sky. Gazing at the mountain tops filled a young birds’ heart with excitement over the idea of someday soaring up into the clouds.

In this family of sparrows was a bird much smaller than his brothers and sisters and so his mother called him “my Little One.” Because of his small size, Little One was always the last to learn a new skill, and frequently left behind in the nest as his mother attended to the needs of his siblings.

Little One did not mind being left alone. He would sneak out of his nest and hop along the branches to the other side of the oak tree to gaze up at the mountain. On the mountain lived a large and powerful eagle. Little One loved to watch the eagle spread his massive wings and seemingly float up into the clouds. How he longed to feel that kind of power and wished that his undersized wings could move with the strength of that eagle. Watching the eagle would inspire Little One to practice flying amongst the branches of the great oak desperately flapping to get up to a higher and higher branch.

One day while waiting for his family to return a large storm moved into the meadow. Winds blew and torrents of rain began beating down against the leaves of the great oak. Mother bird returned to the nest and tucked her small family in against the cold air. Little One peaked above his mothers head just in time to watch the eagle mount up his wings and force his way into the storm. Filled with concern over the safety of his hero he asked his mother what the eagle was doing. His mother explained that eagles were so powerful they could fly to the eye of the storm and let the winds push them up to the blue sky above. There they would soar until the storm had passed.

As time went on, Little One’s practice amongst the branches paid off and he was finally strong enough to join his family in the meadow searching for worms, insects and other tasty treats. Little One loved to pretend he was the eagle and flap about amongst the flowers of the meadow.

Time passed and Little One continued to grow, although never as quickly as his brothers and sisters. One day after hours of play Little One snuggled into some tall grasses to rest. Quite unexpectedly a large storm roared across the meadow.

Sheets of rain pounded through the grass, pushing the blades into the ground. Little One quickly awoke and flapped his wings toward the great oak to join his family. But the power of the storm was too great and each time Little One would take flight the rains and winds pushed him back down. Again and again he tried, but to no avail.

Tears filled his eyes as he cried out for help getting weaker with each try. He lay helpless in the muddied grass thinking that this was the end - until he thought of the eagle, forcing his way to the eye of the storm where the winds would push him up into the blue sky above. He knew that this was his only hope for survival.

In one last great attempt, he closed his eyes against the rain and wind and began flapping wildly against the storm. The wind tore at his feathers and pierced through to his skin. The heavy drops of rain tried to force him back down to the muddy meadow below. But with the image of the eagle in his mind, Little One kept working. Eyes closed against the cold winds he continued to push until his muscles burned with pain and his feathers became heavy with water.

Suddenly he seemed to feel a push from below as the winds began to lift him up. The rain was no longer pounding on his frail body and when he finally dared to open his eyes, he gazed upon endless blue sky above, while the grey clouds brewed below. The triumph of the moment filled Little One with gratitude for the times he had been forced to stay behind and watch the eagle. The eagle, whose image had inspired him to get through this trial of his life.

As the Little One looked around he could see the eagle off in the distance. But what Little One did not see was that the eagle had flown with him taking the brunt of the storm upon himself until they pushed through the storm together to the serenity of the blue sky.

Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young shall utterly fall; But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:30-31

Copyright 2004 Michelle Denney

Release the Kraken! aka Remodeling with Bob and Michelle

2010-04-26T14:37:00.007-06:00

Frightening, isn't it? This is what Bob and I both turn into when we have to discuss the remodel. It's not pretty. Try as I might, anytime we talk about the house it gets ugly...fast. We always end up with something nice, but I feel like I have to fight....for....every.....little....decision. (Say the words slowly - make them sound painful - as if you are desperately clinging to a cliff, by your fingertips and you will start to get an idea of how I feel.)

To give you an example, 3 years ago we remodeled our kitchen. It's a kitchen, sitting area, desk, dining area all in one. I wouldn't call it a 'great room,' such as newer homes boast, but it dreams of being a 'great room' when it grows up. Anyway, I had in mind the color I wanted to paint this new room, Sherwin Williams Burlap (fabulous color). I purchased a test quart and painted a 2 foot square on the wall. Bob came home and said the color was awful. Over a couple of weeks I painted so many squares of test paint colors that local taggers were coming to admire my work. Although our checkered wall was artistic, I was frustrated! None of the colors seemed to please Bob and I still had my heart set on burlap. One day Bob walked over to our wall quilt, studied all the colors and said, "You know what? I really like this one here." He was pointing at Burlap...my very first choice. I wanted to dump all the other test quarts over his head. I said, as calmly as I could muster, "THAT is the very FIRST color I showed you!" "Oh - well, why didn't you just go with that to start with - instead of wasting money on all these other colors?" "Because you said you thought it was AWFUL!!!!" "Hm." he said and walked away. I proceeded to pull out another chunk of my hair.

The tricky part is that Bob tells me he doesn't care about the colors, carpet, tile, etc. Then when I show him what I have selected he will say something along the lines of, "That's what you chose?" Now I know you are thinking - don't ask his opinion if he says he doesn't care. But there are a few problems with that line of thinking: First, he shares his opinion whether I ask or not; Second, since it's his house, too, I want him to like it; and Third, I happen to be an obsessive people pleaser. It's a terribly annoying trait....one of the things I ALMOST learned in therapy is that not everyone will like me. It's a work in progress. Don't get me wrong - I am not a complete push over - I happen to be just as stubborn as he is - depending on the circumstance. Unfortunately, we haven't seemed to embrace the concept of compromise. I either cave, or no decision gets made, or I give up.....wait, is that the same as caving? It's only been 19 years - we're still learning how to get along.

I tend to pick small areas that I decide he will have absolutely no say in. For this project the area is light fixtures. I greedily relish every lighting choice. In my mind I think, "Hah! Look at this sparkly chandelier I chose. It will dangle over our bed FOREVER and there is nothing you can do about it!! Bwa-ha-ha!" Of course, he will most likely be oblivious to these triumphant moments - or I will endure snide little comments for 2 -3 years....but I don't care...I actually struck out on my own and made....A DECISION! (Isn't remarkable to think I run a business?)

You forgot to turn off the light

2010-04-20T17:44:00.004-06:00

Yesterday I as feeling slightly STRESSED. Between the economy still taking pot shots at my business and the remodeling, I have had a hard time focusing. Last night was no exception.

Kristen and I still read stories together before she goes to bed. I told my girls that I will read with them at night as long as they are interested. It has been a great excuse to read some fun young adult and children's novels. After reading together and saying family prayers I tucked her in bed. We had our traditional hug, kiss and "Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite" moment and I left her room. I forgot to turn off the light.

I had slipped into the bathroom only to hear her call out, "You forgot to turn off the light." "Sorry, sweets, I will turn off the light when I come out." As I was washing my hands, my mind became inundated with questions: how much time it would take to run back to work to get time cards, how could I improve summer camp enrollment, will the contractor remember to move that light?, I need to go pick out my carpet color, will we have to paint ourselves or be able to pay someone, Oh - shoot I never worked out today and it's almost 10! I have a busy day tomorrow I need to get out of here....and on and on. This and more took place in the brief amount of time it took me to wash my hands. I left the bathroom, slipped on my shoes and headed out to my car. As I was pulling out of the driveway, Kristen came running out of the house and said, "You forgot to turn off my light." I apologized, told her I had a lot on my mind...she said it was okay and went back into the house.

I thought, "Why would she get out of bed, come up the stairs and stop me from leaving to remind me that I forgot to turn off her light?" Am I seeming so consumed with my own problems that she is feeling like her needs are being ignored? There is more to this than remembering to turn out the light.

I spend all day teaching parent's about child development - but fall into the trap of not practicing what I preach. When all is said and done, no matter what happens at work, in my marriage, in my mind, I want my children to feel important. I want them to feel and believe that they are truly great individuals.

This week I am teaching parents about the importance of affection. That instinct to cuddle, coddle and cradle our little ones actually turns on a "switch", if you will, in an infant's brain. It triggers the neuron development that builds self-esteem and social development. Without that affection, an infant will not thrive.

In the 1920s the popular parenting trend was to be a "hands off" parent....literally. If your child did something that made you feel proud you could kiss their forehead or pat them on the head, but hugging, snuggling, being overly demonstrative would be detrimental to the child in the long run. In 1928 a physician, a pediatrician actually, named Dr. J. Brenneman, decided something drastic needed to be done to lower the infant mortality rate at his hospital. He insisted each infant and child be hugged, rocked, cuddle and carried throughout the day, or "mothered." The mortality rate dropped from 35% to under 10% in one year. The only change was the "mothering."

Unsolicited parenting advice: Learn all you can about child development...then trust your heart.

As my children grow and we all get busier and I have to think, "How many times have I hugged her today?" Virginia Satir says we need 4 hugs a day for survival, 8 hugs a day for maintenance and 12 hugs a day for growth. Had I been fitting in 4 or 8 hugs?

When I got home from work Kristen was still awake. I gave her another hug and told her that I shouldn't have forgotten to turn off her light. She said she was kind of embarrassed that she had made a big deal over it. I told her that no matter what was going on in my world....nothing would ever be more important to me than what was going on in hers. I gave her one more hug and then turned off the light.

Randomness....

2010-04-16T11:51:00.003-06:00

The pressure to finish the stories is mounting. I want to finish them, but I will be honest - I know that certain people are expecting a story about them....but it may not all be a bed of roses - you know? The whole point of the stories was to be 100% me - but I don't want to offend...any thoughts?

After the earthquake in China, Kristen turned to me and said, "We're next." There was an earth quake in Utah yesterday....hmmm. Psychic?

I really don't think Prince Charming in Cinderella was all that charming. I mean he danced with her all night and never found out her name? Hello!

The checker at 7-11 spent a full 5 minutes telling me I shouldn't drink diet coke, after I purchased a big gulp. Do you think her boss knows?

On Wednesday, on my way to pick up Kristen from dance, I went through Wendy's drive through to get her something to eat - since she goes straight from dance to church. This was my ordering experience.

Me: May I please have a jr. bacon cheeseburger?

Wendy's woman: The bacon will be 80 cents extra.

Me: confused pause.....umm....it's on your $1 menu.

Wendy's woman: Right (annoyed) but if you want it in your kids meal it will be 80 cents extra.

Me: I don't want a kids meal.

Wendy's woman: So you just want the sour cream and chives potato?

Me: (very, very confused) I think you're looking at someone else's order. I just want a jr bacon cheeseburger and a value french fry.

Wendy's woman: (super annoyed) Do you want that in addition to the kids meal and the potato?

Me: Nope. Could I just have the burger and fries?

Wendy's woman: long pause....so now you don't want the kids meal?

Me: I never ordered a kids meal - just the burger and fries.

Wendy's woman: Fine! pull around for your total.

It was a strange experience - especially when I ended up with 2 jr. bacon cheeseburgers and the fry...

How's your week?

Story #35 Nicole

2010-04-03T09:29:00.007-06:00

When Bob and I decided we were ready for a baby the doctor and fertility drugs quickly came into the scene. Taking temperatures and expensive pills all to see those 2 blue lines on the pregnancy test. When I finally got that result (at 4:00am) I couldn't contain myself....I was THRILLED!

Nicole was born 3 weeks early and was a tiny 6 pound 17 inch little one. I remember when it was time to leave the hospital. Bob had gone to retrieve the car and the nurse went to get the discharge papers. I was left with this beautiful tiny creature that I was supposed to dress. It didn't go well. I thought, "Why did you leave me alone with her? I don't know what I'm doing!" Somehow it worked out.

When Nicole was 6 months old, Bob was working full-time and attending graduate school in the evenings. He was pretty much gone form 7 - 10 every day. Most everyone on my street worked full time...so it was me and Nicole...without a lot of socializing options.

Having read far too many parenting books, I was always concerned that I did things just right. I knew it was important to narrate the day for Nicole - and with it just being the two of us - I felt like I needed to make things really interesting. I spent so much time talking to her I would sometimes get hoarse by the end of the day. I was fairly certain that her first words were going to be "Mom, SHUT UP!" (They weren't, by the way, her first word, at 8 months, was bear. There were pictures of bears right above her changing table so I would always talk about the bears and make up stories about them to entertain us both.

She was always around the -20% for height and weight, so you can imagine how shocking it was when she would start speaking. By 12 months she was saying 2 word phrases - which is incredibly early....but since she was about the size of a 4-5 month old...well, you can imagine the reactions we would get when we were out running errands.

She was in no hurry to walk, however, so it was just shy of 18 months that she finally took her first steps. How ironic that one of her favorite past times now is to go running.

She has invented many great words over the years - most of which we still use:

Shun-oh - Lotion

Chidder - kids, children, etc.

Pwa-pwaps - okay we don't use that one - I just think it sounds funny.

Dad-oo - What she called Bob for years....now she calls him George. We don't know why.

Pa-ba - what she called Grandpa Bob for years.

Cereal with yum-yums - Oatmeal with brown sugar.

We always read stories before bedtime....this was the debate process that took place:

Me: Go get 3 books to read.

Nicole: I'll get 7.

Me: Nope, just 3.

Nicole: How about 7?

Me: Okay - how about 4?

Nicole: 8?

Me: You don't seem to be catching on to the negotiation process.

At the age of 7 she announced to all of the children at Christy's daycare that there was no Santa Claus - or Tooth Fairy. It was not a good day at Christy's daycare. (And, by the way, I wanted her to enjoy believing in Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Her announcement to all the daycare kids was the first I knew about her doubts. Turkey.)

She has grown into an incredibly talented, wonderful girl....I mean young woman.

I don't know anyone who tries harder to obey the teachings of Jesus Christ. She reads her scriptures everyday without any nagging from us. She takes her commitment to the Lord very seriously for which I have great admiration.

You ask her to do something, she does it. What parent doesn't want that quality for their child?

She is a great pianist, in spite of very petite and always cold hands.

She is a lover of books - hurrah!

She is a great student....usually all A's.

She is an award winning artist!

She has a fabulous sense of humor.

She is drop dead gorgeous.

She is a great friend - easy to talk to and fun to be around. I adore her.

Aren't I the luckiest Mom?

Story #34 Kristen

2010-03-24T09:34:00.007-06:00

I am dragging my feet about ending my stories. I know that I need to write about the girls and Bob - but find that a bit overwhelming. Of course right now I am finding work, home and life in general overwhelming - so much so that my shoulder are basically one giant knot!

On Saturday Kristen turned to me and said, "Mom, our family needs a theme song." "We do?" I replied. "Yep. That way when everyone finishes breakfast and we head off in our different directions - our theme song will play." "Do you have a song in mind?" "Nope - I'll get back to you." This is one of many reasons why I need to write about Kristen.

When I was pregnant with Kristen I asked Nicole what we should name her new baby sister. She looked up and immediately announced "Pwa-Pwaps" as the perfect name. It is almost as catchy as Kristen.

I love that when Kristen was a toddler and would single-handedly destroy the entire house in under 3 minutes flat she would then proceed to bat her eyelashes at me and say, "I love you, Momma." Just to make the destruction okay.

I love that Kristen was so excited about her first zit, she stretched out her arms and declared "Puberty has arrived!" She then preceded to point out the zit to each one of Nicole's friends. That first one may have been exciting...but now she experiences a little more dread if a new one appears.

I love that Kristen, at a young age, told me, "You just don't get how important fashion is to me, Mom." And that she has already decided that she is the kind of girl who will always be okay with spending $60 on a tank top. (I feel just a little differently.)

I love that Kristen has pretty much memorized the script from What's Up Doc? - just like her mother.

I love that Kristen is very comfortable around disabled people of any age, or anyone who looks or acts a little differently than most. She is always outgoing and friendly with EVERYONE. (In spite of the fact that she made that guy cry at the post office....see story #30.)

All babies and animals love Kristen - that says something!

I love how hard Kristen works in school - her grades are very important to her.

I love that I find love notes from Kristen, as well as invoices for "the pleasure of being her mother."

I love that Kristen dances in dressing rooms when trying on new clothes. Is she testing the twirl-ability factor?

When Kristen was a toddler she was constantly asking questions. If I didn't know the answer she would say, "Well, think about it!" (This is still a family mantra.) This led to me OCCASIONALLY making up answers:

One day at the grocery store, Kristen age 3:

Kristen: Mom, what's that guy's name?

Me: I don't know him, so I don't know his name.

Kristen: Well, think about it.

Me: His name is Fred.

Kristen: (Loudly) Fred, hey Fred!

"Fred" does not respond.

Kristen: Mom? What's wrong with Fred?

She would always try to add things to the cart. When I would explain that we couldn't get that item because it wasn't on the list, she would say, "You meant to put it on the list - but you are always forgetting!"

I love that Kristen has that gift for picking great colors, fabrics and designs.

I love Kristen's incredibly nimble fingers that enable her to create beautiful artwork and beautiful harp music.

I love that Kristen has the confidence to sing a solo in front of her class.

I love that Kristen understands the importance of stylish shoes.

I love how important following Jesus Christ is to Kristen.

I am so lucky to be the mother of this incredible, beautiful, talented, smart, kind person!

I meant to have all kinds of photos for this - but my scanner has decided it's not in the mood.

Positive Attitude on speed

2010-03-15T12:04:00.002-06:00

I just finished a two day conference that incorporates a totally new approach to sales at my business. Part of the homework I had to do before the conference involved reading a book and filling out numerous worksheets to get me to the positive attitude equivalent of Jim Carrey in Yes Man. (You can see it is still a work in progress.) I had the perfect example of this attitude, however, from my fabulously precocious niece, Eva.

Eva: I'm going to be a ballerina when I grow up.

Grandma Mim: You are?

Eva: Yeah, because I'm really good at being pretty.

Don't you love that? She is really good at being pretty and is confident enough to say it.

I'm home this morning from work to do all the things I didn't get done this weekend: Laundry, cleaning, pay bills for work. But I am afraid to go back into the laundry room. The last time I was in there a chunk of floor from the bathroom above fell on my head. The remodel marches on.

Story #33 Someone's watching me?

2010-03-08T10:43:00.004-07:00

The house destruction has begun. My cats, one in particular is have a small nervous breakdown. I think he'll survive.

In Junior High I had a great group of friends and we remained friends into high school - with one big difference - they all started to party and, being a good little mormon girl, I did not. This meant that I soon was just a school friend. No one wanted to hang out with me on the weekends - unless they needed a designated driver. (You had to be drunk to be grateful for a ride in Fred the Ford - our mighty Pinto station wagon.)

One day, my junior year, I was feeling rather frustrated about never being able to share in the stories or laughs from the weekend. So frustrated that I actually told them I was tired of not being included. One of the girls said, "We didn't think you would want to come, since we were drinking." "Well, maybe I do want come. Maybe I don't care that you are drinking." I said this in a huff and stormed away from the cafeteria table. Jennifer, one of my girlfriends ran and caught up with me. "Wait, Michelle! You're not serious are you?" she asked. "Yeah," I said, "I'm serious - I'm tired of not seeing you guys." She grabbed my arm and told me that I was the only person in her life that had ever stuck by their beliefs. She told me she would be devastated to see that one person stop practicing what they preached. She gave me a big hug and made me promise that I would never turn away from my beliefs.

I never knew anyone was noticing - let alone cared. It was a truly life changing moment.

Never ending sorting

2010-03-04T19:29:00.005-07:00

My house is like a disaster...no...wait....My house is like an onion. A giant onion and under each layer is a rapidly procreating community of random crap. And in each one of these communities is a pair of nail clippers. Yep, nail clippers. Yesterday, in my never ending sorting I kept finding nail clippers. 5 in total last night...one more today. I don't understand where all of these nail clippers keep coming from, because we have a pair in each bathroom. Yet behind the love seat, in a random box, under my sewing table, pretty much each new corner contained nail clippers. I just think that's strange. Couldn't I keep finding money instead?

It reminds me of our wedding gifts. We received over a dozen electric can openers. This was great fun for a number of reasons. First, we had not registered for an electric can opener...anywhere. Second, I have a weird dislike of electric can openers. I can't explain why - but on the annoyance scale they are at the fingernails down a chalkboard level. (Just one more strange quirk!) We also received dozens of hideous...I mean hideous picture frames, several of them containing our wedding announcement. I don't get that. I mean, I already had a copy. Can you imagine if you gave someone a book or say, a new frying pan and the following Christmas they gave it back to you nicely framed? Or, if you framed a note someone sent you and gave it to them for their birthday? Actually, the idea of that has me laughing so hard that I am weeping. (FYI -We did not receive any plates, flatware, towels or pans.)

Story #32 The Mother-In-Law

2010-02-21T21:25:00.002-07:00

For the past week I have been digging through our storage room. We are very lucky to have a very large storage room...but that also means that anytime someone finds something they don't know what to do with - it ends up in the storage room. Basically the upcoming remodel has turned into the world's largest spring clean. I need to move everything from the living room, bathrooms and man cave (soon to be master bedroom) into the storage room...in order for that to happen I have to clean out the storage room...at this point it seems endless!

Our storage room is filled with boxes and boxes of things from Bob's Mom's house. She passed away 8 1/2 years ago and most of the boxes have never been sorted through. Do you need paper flannel board figures from the early 60s? I've got them! Cleaning supplies from the 70s? They're here, too. How about boxes full of Kindergarten worksheets? Come on over! Bob's mom saved everything. Bob was an only child so when it came to cleaning out his Mom's house there wasn't a lot of help. Fortunately, several ladies from church helped me out - but I still ended up with a lot of things that have just gone to the recycling bin - or the dump.

I remember going through her kitchen. One drawer was filled with twist ties and yogurt cups, another had re-used aluminum foil, and another had rinsed out plastic produce bags. She couldn't stand to throw anything away. She would clean out her fridge and then give us a "bag of groceries" that I would take home and throw away. She was incredibly frugal and saved every last dime that she could - but there was one thing she was willing to spend money on and that was her son. She didn't think she would ever have kids and didn't even realize she was pregnant until she was over 6 months along! Just think, nowadays she would be on reality TV for that one!

Having a miracle child is tough in one respect....no woman is ever going to be good enough for him. To say that she was thrilled when Bob and I got engaged would be...well, an outright lie. She was very unhappy and she had no problem sharing her feelings with me. Of course the way she found out we were engaged was not ideal. Bob had come to visit me in Oregon after Christmas and had ended up proposing - not exactly planned - but once he met my parents, he fell in love with them and realized the only way to have them was to marry me. So he had talked to my parents - but had yet to inform his Mom. He said once he had the ring and it was "official" he would tell her. (I think he sensed the impending doom.) So you can imagine her surprise when my Mom called, looking for me, and said how happy she was that we were engaged. Analu did not share her sentiments. She felt that the only reason we were getting married was because I was.....well...how do I put it nicely? Because Bob wanted to sleep with me....she felt I was a bit trampy. You can imagine how that warmed the cockles of my heart.

Unbeknownst to me I was just beginning to feel the pangs of food poisoning. Not just any food poisoning - Salmonella poisoning. I ended up deathly ill and was grateful that my landlady at the time found me passed out on the bathroom floor. She took me to the hospital where they hooked me up to 3 I.V.s - one in each arm and one in my foot - to try and rehydrate me. Bob had gone out of town for work and had no idea that I was so ill. I spent a few days with my grandparents before I was strong enough to go back to my basement apartment. When I returned home I had a call from Analu. She wanted to know how I was feeling and wondered if she could come over. I mistakenly thought she had wanted to come and apologize. Instead she came to bring me a list she had compiled of all of the reasons I would make a poor wife and mother. She had written it down so that I could refer to as often as needed. She went over the list with me and left. I was stunned. I shared the list with Bob who was embarrassed and mortified - but still out of town.

After giving it a great deal of thought I created my own list full of scriptures on the importance of not judging, of loving one another and on the beauty of marriage. When I presented this to her she was surprised. She had felt so much better after sharing her list with me - she couldn't understand why I was sharing this with her. I told her that she had never given me the opportunity to respond to her list. This concept was also surprising to her - she had never thought I would have the need or desire to respond.

To say the first several years were challenging would be an understatement. But as time went on I learned more about her and the difficult past she had. Bob's father had been brutally emotionally abusive to her - which led her to divorce him and raise Bob on her own. She never felt good enough about herself to date again and simply became focused on raising her son in the best way she knew how. For years she took care of her Aunt, who lived in their home, in addition to being a full-time kindergarten teacher. Learning these things did not excuse the way she treated me - but helped me gain a better understanding of her. Years of depression and self-neglect took their toll and her diabetes took a turn for the worse. There were several occasions where I would be out running errands with the kids and suddenly feel like I needed to go to her house and check on her. I would find her in a diabetic stupor and quickly give her some juice or a candy. As the diabetes worsened I would sometimes find her completely disoriented having been unable to make it to the bathroom and confused about the time of day.

I did my best to help her in any way I could. When she entered a rest home Bob visited her every single day. I would go with him most of the time - and of course the girls - her new pride and joy - would come along as well. In spite of all of our difficulties, I hated seeing her go down hill so quickly. She was a doting grandmother and I often think how great it would be for the girls to have her here, cheering for them.

Her diabetes progressed to the point that amputation of her legs would be necessary for her to live. She was going to dialysis 3 times a week and her dementia had grown worse. When she learned of the possibility of amputation she decided she wanted to stop the dialysis - which would mean she would die within a week or so. Bob did not like this decision and spent a great deal of time trying to talk her out of it. One day she called me and asked me to come and see her alone. I went to the nursing home and found her in the "sun room" waiting for me. For the first time in a year her mind was sharp and crystal clear. She told me that she was sorry for how she had treated me. She knew I was a good wife for Bob and a good mother to the girls. She told me that she had thought and prayed and was ready to return to Heavenly Father- it was her time. She wanted me to help Bob understand that this was the best thing for her...that she was ready.

That was the last day she was able to communicate. I sat by her bedside holding her hand for 2 days as she lay in a coma. At 10:00pm on the second day she passed away. I had already come home when we got the call. I was so sad that when she passed we weren't there. She had spent so much of her life feeling alone that I hated the idea that she would die without someone with her. When Bob and I went to see her I was surprised at how peaceful she looked and hoped and prayed that her spirit felt peace. I like to believe that she is in heaven watching over us all. I hope she can see the wonderful people her grandchildren are and the good man that her son has become. I'd like to think that someday she and I can have the friendship we missed out on here on earth.

Story #31 The First Dad

2010-02-16T20:40:00.002-07:00

A follow-up: I did write Kevin on his mission (story #29) and was excited to see him when he came back. Upon arriving at BYU, however, he met a girl and blew me off. I was bugged. We could have at least been friends...it's not like I waited for him! (Dating was quite fun at BYU.) When we ran into each other about 6 months later I was dating someone else - and after that I met Bob....you know the rest!

So I have battled with the idea of this post for quite some time. Although I do believe this is my story to tell - it's a question of should I tell this story. But, clearly, I have decided that, yes I will tell it.

My parents were separated briefly when I was around 6 months and after some attempts at reconciling were divorced when I was 3. The reasons and issues surrounding their divorce are NOT my story - so I won't go into it here.

My Father moved to France for a couple of years just as they were getting divorced so I did not see him again until the age of about 5...maybe 6 I'm not sure. Since he left when I was so young I did not really have many memories of him. I still remember going to his apartment that first time. I was nervous. I remember Lisa holding my hand as we walked up to the apartment building and buzzed to be let in - she seemed nervous, too. As the three of us were welcomed in I remember Lisa and Marc hugging him - but when he went to hug me I stiffened up and felt scared. Although I knew he was my Father - I had no memory of him - so, unfortunately, it felt like a stranger. He was not at all pleased with my reaction- and thus the reasons for my fear were confirmed. As an adult I can imagine how painful it must have been to have that kind of response from one of your kids...but I was not an adult then and could not filter my feelings as I can now.

Through the years there were many misunderstandings and hurt feelings. I think we were both looking for something from the other person that neither of us was capable of providing. There are some things I still don't understand. Why don't I remember him at any of my piano recitals? Why do I remember my Mom's friends visiting after I was hit by a car, but I don't remember him? My sister would say I should ask him these questions - but I don't see the point. Having children of my own I have realized how much he missed out on. I love all of the parenting moments - the good, the bad and the ugly. Each moment teaches me so much about who I am and how I can help my children become who they want to be. I was lucky that I had a wonderful Stepfather who filled the huge "daddy" void in my life.

There is a picture of my Father with the three of us kids when I was just a baby. He is holding me and Lisa and Marc are on either side of him. It looks like we were on a picnic of some kind. Growing up I spent a lot of time looking at that photo - trying to imagine that moment. Was I excited to have him pick me up? Did he sing me songs? Did he read me books? What would he do that would always make me giggle? I would invent the answers based on what Lisa and Marc would tell me about the games he used to play with them. He clearly loved us, but maybe it was just too painful to be the "limbo" parent. Maybe it was easier to distance himself.

I saved every letter and postcard from him. There was one letter, in particular, that I have cherished for years. It was a letter for my eighth birthday - with a fabulous poem about turning 8....it was only recently that I realized the letter was dated a month after my actual birthday.

In spite of many difficult times - I made a decision one day that I wanted to be at peace with the relationship I had with him. I wanted to let go of insecurities, hurt feelings and misunderstandings. I spent a lot of time praying for the peace I was seeking.

Then one day I remembered something or dreamed something. I believe it to be true...but to this day I am not completely sure. I remembered going out with him to the Mill Race - a stream in Eugene where you could rent canoes. We climbed into our wobbly canoe and began to paddle down the stream. The banks of the stream were lined with enormous blackberry bushes. We would get just close enough to fill our hands with the delicious berries with out getting caught in its brambles. As we coasted along the stream my fingers and lips became stained a deep shade of purple and soon I could hear the rushing of the water where it went through a grate and under the street. Soon we would have to turn around and go back.

As we got to the end of the rushing stream we saw piles of grass and debris trapped at the grate. On top of this enormous pile was a broken stop sign...on which were several small ducklings. The mother duck was on the stream bank making quite a racket - desperate to save her babies. My Father carefully climbed out of the canoe and into the water, where he moved the stop sign and saved the baby ducks.

I don't know if this is a memory or if this is a dream. Maybe it is some bizarre dream interpretation of him reading me Make Way for Ducklings - but I do know that something about that story softened my heart and helped me let go of most of my hurt feelings. I asked my Father one time how you know if something is a dream or a memory. He said that if you were watching yourself - could see your face - it was probably a dream - but if everything you saw was from your view point than it could be a memory. In this dream I only remember looking down and seeing my blackberry stained fingers, hearing that loud water and seeing him save those ducklings.

I'm sure there are many psychological interpretations that could be made from our relationship and many fingers that could be pointed in many different directions. All I know is my relationship with him is part of the reason I have arrived at this point in life...and that is a pretty great place to be.

Story #30 Proud Parenting moments.....um, actually embarrassment via my kids

2010-02-12T19:44:00.005-07:00

Everyone knows being a parent is hard work - but no one ever tells you about the way they will embarrass you when they are young. I'm very familiar with this concept since I work with children. One of my favorite moments was during a parent child class. It was a few years ago, when women were wearing ridiculously low rise jeans. Because of this fashion statement we frequently saw more of the moms than we wanted to see. One day a little girl ran up behind another Mom who was sitting on a mat (let me be clear...this was not her Mom) and stuck her finger in the 4 inches of butt crack that were looming above her waist band.

Now things like that are funny when it is not your child - mortifying when it is your child. I have a few of those moments myself. One great moment was when Nicole was about 2. I was standing in line at the pharmacy, waiting to pick up my pre-natal vitamins....Nicole was standing quietly next to me, when I started to hear some of the other line dwellers snickering. I looked around, the snickering was getting louder - they were all watching Nicole. Nicole was playing with a long "ribbon" of condoms that were hanging from her coat pocket. I was slightly horrified - but more so when she looked up at me and said "Look, Momma, they're shiny." at which point everyone burst out laughing.

Another moment is one that is truly mixed with pride and just a sprinkling of embarrassment. Kristen has always been a girl with some attitude. She was constantly asking questions and if you replied, "I don't know" she would say "Well, think about it." (It was the way she would say it that was funny.) One day, after dropping Nicole off at preschool, Kristen and I went to the post office. There is always a line at the post office. If you don't have children let me fill you in on a little child development tidbit: children are not built to wait in lines. It is a physical impossibility. So, while I was waiting in line Kristen kept running back and forth between me and the display of postcards and stationery hanging on the slat wall. Several of the packages of postcards had fallen onto the shelf below - just at her height - so she would pick them up, show them to me, then put them back on the shelf.

During Kristen's show and tell activity an elderly lady and her adult son came in. The son began watching Kristen running the postcards back and forth. He came over and tapped me on the shoulder, "She shouldn't be doing that." he said. His voice was very deep and garbled. It was clear he had some mental/physical disabilities. I told him, "It's okay - she always puts them back." He watched for a few minutes, clearly not pleased with my answer. He then went over to Kristen and told her she should go back to her mommy. I was afraid she would cry - his voice was very deep and unusual. Instead she put her hands on her hips leaned forward and screamed "STOP TOUCHING ME." The man took a step back, looked at his mother, looked back at Kristen's angry face and then he started to cry. Although I felt badly for this disabled man, I was quite proud of Kristen. No one was going to mess with her!! My Mom always says girls need to be feisty...Kristen has that covered!

One of the most memorable moments is certainly not one of my most stellar parenting moments - but the girls and I still laugh about it.

When Kristen was 2 she became quite a hitter. Her target - there was only one - Nicole. Kristen would tell us that she wasn't hitting...they were smaps. Love smaps. She just like to give Nicole very firm love smaps - as if changing the name made it ok. Nicole did not like the love smaps and neither did I. In an attempt to end the "smapping" I would follow all of the parenting rules - I was consistent, calm and quick to respond. I tried taking away privileges...for weeks...no effect. We turned to time-outs.....again weeks of no success. One particularly bad day I resorted to... brace yourself...spanking. Now I didn't do it in anger - but I didn't know what else to try. So, very calmly, I said to Kristen, "If you hit your sister again I am going to have to give you a spanking. Do you know what a spanking is? It's when you get hit on your bum. I don't want to give you a spanking. Do you want to get a spanking?" "No," she replied "I don't. I won't hit anymore." But of course 2 minutes later she "smapped" Nicole. "Uh oh, Kristen...do you remember what was going to happen if you hit Nicole again?" "Don't do it Mom. I'll be nice." she said. "I'm sorry, sweetie - but you knew what would happen."

I then told her to come over to me and I laid her across my lap. I spanked her very, VERY gently at which point Nicole burst into tears and yelled, "Don't hurt my sister!!" This caused Kristen to start to cry and I quickly followed suit. The three of us sat on the couch crying and hugging each other. We decided hitting was a bad idea and none of us was ever going to do it again. She never hit again after that....and neither did I.

Story #29 A really good summer romance

2010-02-10T10:28:00.004-07:00

First - a pet peeve. What is up with all of these costumed individuals on the sidewalk waving signs for cell phones or cash for gold or pizza? Is this really some great new marketing tool? I figure it must have some success because they are every where! So, how does this work, is someone out running errands, sees a pink gorilla dancing around outside a store and thinks "Gee, that makes me want to go upgrade my cell phone." And if that is the way their thought process works should they be allowed behind the wheel of a car?

Second - I have been so crazy busy lately!! I want to blog more, but work and an upcoming home remodel are completely sapping any sort of creativity that I can muster, let alone time. So be patient! I will get more consistent again soon! In order to post this I am happily neglecting completing my 2010 budget for work. (Yes, I do realize it is the middle of February. But this way it's really easy to figure out January's budget.)

Third - Last night I went to a spa party and won a gift certificate....a one hundred dollar gift certificate to....(drum roll please)....slumber parties....a sex accessory type catalog. So anyone need a whip? I had no idea how naive I was about certain things....definitely an ignorance is bliss kind of thing. I probably shouldn't put that in my blog - I already get a lot of weird spam - but I just think it is so funny! It could not be more wasted then giving it to me. (Sorry, Bob.) So expect some really unusual gifts this year! Michelle O. - anything you want for your birthday?

Anyway, on to the much requested "good kiss" story...Maybe not the best story to follow the last announcement. WARNING: The cheesiness factor is bordering on a "Velveeta" rating...so proceed with caution.

The summer before my senior year in high school I went to spend some time with my Aunt and Uncle in New York. We were going to be heading to Europe to pick up my brother from his mission and my parents thought I would enjoy spending some time with my Aunt, Uncle and cousins before we left. They lived outside of Rochester in a small community call Honeyoye Falls. It was a gorgeous area with a mixture of mansions and slightly smaller homes. I have always had a great relationship with my cousins and my Aunt and Uncle - so I was thrilled to be there.

Down the lane, in a beautiful house (you should have seen the library), complete with a 3 hole golf course and a large pond (large enough to row around in a small boat), lived a young man whom I will call....um.....Fabio...no just kidding....I'll just use his real name - Kevin. Kevin was just getting ready to leave on a mission and had a lot of spare time on his hands. Over the course of several days, Warren (my cousin) and I spent a lot of time with Kevin. We played cards, went to dinner, watched movies and took some walks. He had a beautiful smile, great sense of humor and was so easy to talk to. I was crushing in a big way. Never in a million years did I think someone this cute would be interested in me - but lo, and behold, he was interested.

Do you remember what it feels like to feel the flutter of butterfly wings when a certain someone brushes their hand against yours? Or gently guides you through the door by placing their hand in the small of your back? The way your breath would catch in your throat and you would have moments where you could swear you were floating? That was how every moment was that summer. We had an incredible time together. It didn't take long before Warren wasn't joining us on our evening strolls. I couldn't get enough of anything he had to say and he seemed to feel the same way. Too soon, our trip to Europe came. Now don't get me wrong - going to Europe was an incredible feeling and I loved seeing Marc again after 2 long years - but my mind was back in Honeyoye Falls. Everywhere we went I would wish that I was there with Kevin. I had fallen and fallen HARD!

After 3 weeks we returned to Honeyoye Falls for just a few days. I couldn't wait to see Kevin and was slightly distressed upon our return to discover that he was out of town for a few days. By the time he returned we would have 2 days together, then I would return to Oregon and he would go to Argentina for 2 years.

The highlight of this summer romance was definitely the last night together. He invited me over that evening for a picnic. When we arrived at his house, he walked me down to the pond in the vast backyard. It was a beautiful evening, complete with fireflies, candles, soft music and a warm breeze. We sat on the blanket talking, laughing and barely eating. "I wish we had more time together." he said, "I wish you weren't flying back to Oregon tomorrow." "Me, too." I replied. He stood up and brushed off his pants. He turned up the music and said, "I have been trying to find a way to ask you to dance, without it seeming silly." (Insert sigh here.) I stood up and he wrapped me in his arms and we danced. I know it sounds over the top corny, but I am telling you it was foot sweeping on the level of a zamboni.

Soon a light sprinkle of rain began to fall, we both looked up, started to laugh and hurried into the house. He took me into the library. An enormous room lined with mahogany book shelves and great big leather arm chairs. He guided me over to the sofa where we started to talk....YES, TALK...for hours. Around 4 a.m. he started to rub my shoulders. He ran his fingers through my hair then traced my jawline and the outline of my lips with his fingertips. His fingers ran along the edge of my ear and across the back of my neck as he gently turned me around and gave me a long, soft, gentle kiss.

There was no long make-out session, no groping hands, just one tender, heart-felt, passionate kiss. As he pulled away I had to remind myself to breathe. We both looked at each other - slightly teary - wondering what would have happened if we had met at a different time - when the toll of the grandfather clock began.

The sound of the clock suddenly brought me to the awareness that I had been out ALL night and might have hell to pay when my parents discovered my perfectly made bed. We both agreed it was time to go. We walked down the dirt lane to my Aunt and Uncle's house as the sun was starting to rise. The closer the house got the slower we walked. We embraced one last time and I crept into the house, forcing myself not to look back.

It was the kind of summer romance that every teenage girl deserves to experience. No regrets, just sweet memories of a first love.

Story #28 The Ivory Keys

2010-02-04T13:17:00.002-07:00

You know, I sort of started this 40 stories for my 40th for a couple of reasons. One was to get myself writing on a regular basis and getting down some memories, another was sort of a "this is me" portrait. A way to see how I ended up where I ended up and to be okay with that place. A lot of stories are funny, but many are difficult stories. I haven't written many of the difficult ones because I don't want to put others in my life in a less than stellar light. So I feel very conflicted. I have always believed that with journal keeping you should be yourself, the good, the bad and the ugly. How else will our children and others learn how we hopefully rise above problems - and how we all experience difficult times? Too often during emotional times, people are afraid to share how they feel - afraid they are the only ones to feel that way - afraid to look foolish or strange - wouldn't it be nice to know you are not alone? I heard in a lesson at church that we should always keep our journal entries positive....I thought that was...well...idiotic. We wouldn't be able to bask in joy if we hadn't experienced some pain, right? Don't worry, though, I will try to the skeleton displays in my own closet - not yours.

I come from a very musical family. Music has just always been and continues to be a part of our lives. The fact that I have a semi-grand harp and a baby grand piano on 40 year old carpet should let you know where our priorities lie. I am very happy that my talented daughters are continuing the musical tradition!

I started to play the piano around the age of 8. My mom never had to tell me to practice because I was always competing for piano time with my brother and sister. When something seems unattainable, it becomes more enticing! (Now you are all trying to figure out how to get that situation going with your kids, right?) I liked piano right off the bat. My first teacher's name was Lori and Marc and I both took lessons from her. Lisa didn't enjoy lessons - I think she maybe took a year? But, of course she was the one that could and still does, just listen to a song and sit down and play it. No fair.

Anyway, we took from Lori for some time and then stopped for awhile. I went through one more teacher before I started taking from Beverly Smurthwaite. I loved taking lessons from her. It wasn't long before I found that playing the piano was a great emotional outlet. I didn't always feel like I could let my true feelings out at home - but the piano was always a great source for releasing joy, anger, depression, and happiness. Mrs. Smurthwaite seemed to sense what an emotional release the piano was for me and we spent a lot of time exploring different composers for the types of emotions they elicited. Because of this I felt a very deep connection with her. Our lessons each week felt like some kind of musical therapy and in those teen years you need that!

The problem was I suffered from performance anxiety. I thought "Why do I become so incredibly terrified to play in front of other people?" My siblings would frequently seem quiet and shy - but then - put a mic in front of them and they would come to life! I wanted the piano equivalent of that...maybe if I had been shy that would have happened. But when your older siblings make you go up to the clerk in a store to ask questions - or to be the one to ask where the restrooms are - you get over the shy thing rather quickly.

I soon became the designated accompanist for family performances - that wasn't so bad. I knew I wasn't the main event...I just had to try and make the singer look good - but to play a solo? Terrifying! My hands would shake so much that I could barely get the keys to press down. Of course, the more anxious I became about the shaking, the more I would begin to forget what I was playing....leading to one horrid performance after the other. Since I had this pathological desire to live up to Lisa and Marc's ability to perform I continued in a cycle of self-induced piano panic.

In my junior year of high school I had spent months working on Mozart's Fantasia in D minor. I loved this piece!! (I still do.) It had these amazing runs that made me feel like I could play anything. Mrs. Smurthwaite, knowing of my tendency to panic, spent many lessons helping me get comfortable performing the piece. I thought maybe, just maybe, this piece would be my break through moment. I would conquer my fears! At the recital I walked bravely up to the piano. My heart beat was calm, I felt almost relaxed, until I pressed the first key. The piano I was playing on had incredibly stiff keys. The recital took place at a local church and it became clear that the organ was the instrument of choice. To get any tone out of the piano took immense finger strength.....I felt doomed. There was no way I was going to be able to perform the runs at the necessary lightning speed. I stumbled through the performance, on the verge of tears the entire time. As I finished, instead of walking back to sit with my parents, I immaturely ran out to the car. I was so embarrassed.

At the end of the recital one of the other students, an adult woman, came to the car and told me she loved my performance. I looked at her like she was crazy. She said, "I know it didn't come out the way you wanted it to, but the emotions you were able to convey through the music touched my heart. I just wanted you to know." Hmm.

As years went by, I couldn't seem to shake my inability to perform a piano solo or accompany someone, without making error after error, until about 10 years ago. A neighbor of mine asked me to accompany her while she sang to a group of retired folks who met at church every Monday night. I practiced hard. It was a challenging accompaniment and I didn't want to do anything that would distract from her singing. As I took my place at the piano I said a small prayer and began to play. As I played I began to realize that these people weren't listening for mistakes, but simply grateful for the performance. I felt this wonderful sense of love and appreciation as I played for my friend Kathy. I had never played so well. I didn't make one mistake - I think Kathy was as shocked as I was. But instead of feeling proud, I simply felt grateful for the experience. I realized that playing was not a way to bring positive or negative attention to myself, but a gift that I could give to the kind souls who would listen to me play. I can still picture the faces of the people in that room - and I try to remember that feeling whenever I have the opportunity to play.

Story #27 Colliding with Cars, part 2

2010-02-01T09:56:00.005-07:00

A quick work story:

A conversation between a few 4 & 5 year old boys:

Boy 1: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Boy 2: I'm gonna be Santa Clause!

Boy 1: You can't be Santa Clause! That's not a real job!

Boy 2: Yes it is!!! I give away toys. That's my job.

Boy 3: That's not a real job, 'cause you don't make any money, you just give it all away!

Boy 2: GRRRRRR!

Anyway....

I tend to be slightly delusional in many areas of my life. I frequently get shocked when I look in the mirror..."Who is that fat woman?" since when I peer down at myself it doesn't seem that bad. (Rosie O'Donnell called it the opposite of anorexia - thinking you are thinner than you really are.) Although the dieting is progressing...

When it comes to cars I didn't realize how delusional I was until my birthday party. I always think of myself as a good driver, after all I didn't get my first ticket until last year, and I really haven't been in any accidents......have I?

It turns out I have - but fortunately I was usually the only driver. So I am a great driver out on the street where there are other cars and drivers - but put me in a parking lot full of driver-less cars and watch out!!

Case #1: The summer after my freshman year in college, my church was putting on a big musical which both of my parents and myself were participating in. It just so happens that shortly after the rehearsals began I broke my right ankle. I was lucky enough - after a few days of crutches - to be put in a walking cast. (You should have seen me dancing!) The walking cast was cumbersome and heavy, but far better then spending the whole summer on crutches!

After rehearsal, one Saturday, I climbed in my mighty Pinto to drive home. As I slowly backed out of the parking space, my heavy right foot slipped off of the brake onto the gas pedal and WHAM! I hit something hard. I pulled on the emergency brake and stepped out of the car. I had managed to back into my parent's Camaro - which then rolled back and hit the family van. Did I mention that the 3 of us drove separately? In one fail swoop I managed to ding up all three of the family cars! Fortunately, the damage wasn't bad, but my normally mild mannered StepDad was less than thrilled.

Case #2- Shortly after Bob and I got married I drove his car to work. We always referred to it as "the mighty Jimmy," and it was a nice companion to the pinto - "Fred the Ford.") Well, I was driving the mighty Jimmy and went to workout after I finished work for the day. Still to this day I am not quite sure what happened.....I decided to take a short cut through a bank drive-thru and somehow lost control of the car - slamming into one of the concrete pylons. Don't worry - the concrete was okay - the Jimmy not so much. I was so scared to tell Bob! I found a pay phone (remember those?) and called him at work. I was sobbing on the phone. He waited patiently to find out what was going on - as I calmed myself down enough to tell him I was suddenly struck by how funny it was that I tried to drive through a drive-thru...get it? I know - but maybe I was in shock. So, as I told him I started to laugh hysterically (it's neat to be crazy) until I was almost in tears again. Just like my Dad in case #1 he was less than thrilled.

There happens to be one other story, but it's not very interesting. Suffice it to say - the mini-van ended up with the passenger side all scraped up. Sharp concrete corner in a parking garage drive way....I choose to blame the concrete.

If you are ever in a car with me you have absolutely nothing to fear! I save all my fender benders for my alone time. Need a ride?

Story #26 We're armed and dangerous

2010-01-26T16:29:00.002-07:00

Sorry about the very long delay in my posts. Without going too far into the TMI realm, let me just say that over the past two weeks I was unknowingly experiencing an entire year's worth of PMS. Don't you wish you had been with me?

Marc and I spent a lot of time together when we were growing up. I look back on it fondly, he probably looks back on it as having to babysit all the time. Marc educated me on the finer points of movie and television viewing at a very early age. Without him who knows how much I would have watched Land of the Lost, Charlie's Angels, The 6 Million Dollar Man or Star Trek. As soon as videos came into the picture he kept me well trained on what made a movie worthwhile (although I believe that definition may have changed over the years). Many of the movies we watched were a little scarier than I would have chosen for myself...but I didn't want to seem like a baby. We would watch all the James Bond movies, then all the Alfred Hitchcock movies and so forth. Most of our viewing entertainment was either a thriller, sci-fi or the (much dreaded) horror flick.

One night, as we watched some pre-Stephen King scariness I thought I heard someone outside. I mentioned it to Marc who immediately thought my movie fear level was affecting my senses. Moments later we heard some more noises....and heard the front door knob rattling. Hah! It wasn't just my over active imagination!! I asked Marc if we should call the police. Channeling some sort of Captain Kirk-esque macho-ness, he said no, went into the kitchen and came out with a big knife. He crept into the front hallway with me tiptoeing closely behind. The doorknob was slowly turning back and forth. Keeping a close eye on the door knob, Marc stealthily reached up and slid the door chain onto it's latch. (That 1/4" of chain link will keep them out!) I started wondering what Marc was going to do with this knife....every thing I imagined seemed awful or ineffective so I ran and called a neighbor who lived up the street.

I now have mixed memories on whether Marc tried to open the door and just reach the knife through...but I'm not sure.

We both jumped about three feet when there was a loud knocking on the door. "Kids, it's me, Larry! It's okay you can open the door!"

Relieved, we un-slid that all important chain lock and opened the door. The entire front yard was covered in toilet paper. Some of my sisters many suitors, knowing how a girl would swoon over the sight of toilet paper, had not only bedecked our entire front yard (we had an ENORMOUS maple tree), but had also covered the front door and the windows with shaving cream...thus the door knob jiggling - they wanted to be thorough, after all. I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins I couldn't sleep for hours. I think Marc may have been slightly disappointed that he wasn't able to get rid of the intruders, or better yet avenge the toilet papering and fly off into space. The next weekend, we chose a comedy - not as exciting, but no need for knives and sleepless nights.

Story #25 Jane of all trades, Mistress of none

2010-01-15T19:26:00.004-07:00

Before I begin, a question...Do you get those emails from places like MyLife or Classmates that say "You are in demand!" or something similar? I keep getting those and I have to say I find it disheartening when I excitedly open the email, wondering who could be demanding me and lo and behold...in the past 12 months one person looked me up. I realize this is just a ploy to get me to join their site....but if they really want to get me they should bump up the numbers a little. Anyway.

My creative abilities, like my energy, comes in waves. Nothing, nothing, MUST CREATE, nothing. Perhaps this is why I have experimented with many moments of craftiness - and yet I am greatly lacking in expertise in any one area. My sister-in-law and her friend Jill have this wonderful tradition of creative Friday, which has always sounded heavenly to me. They make cards, labels, work on scrapbooks, or whatever project they are trying to finish. I have thought this is something I should do! Or I should crash their party! In reality, I wonder if I would just sit across the table from them and stare, mind blank, no creative juices flowing. I could be their cheering section. "Wow, way to create." "WooHoo!" Or maybe I would simply gaze into space mumbling things like..."You're so pretty." (I know - I'm in a really weird mood today.) Could I be creative on demand? No, idea.

Now, don't get me wrong....I am not all thumbs or completely inept. In fact sometimes I think I may have created something great - but then I see a project of someone who is very dedicated to their art and I realize mine looks like some kindergarten craft involving a toilet paper tube. I think that is the main problem - I just can't seem to dedicate hours on end to building skills in one area. My name is Michelle and I have crafting attention deficit disorder.

Many, many years ago I went with my cousin, Warren, to his water color lesson. Warren is a very talented artist, so I think the instructor was expecting some sort of talent from me. I just wanted to observe the lesson but she insisted that I join in. She said, "Water color is a very forgiving medium. Just paint." Ummm...I looked over at Warren...I was cheating already...what was he painting....I'll just copy it. She caught on very quickly and became very frustrated, "Don't you have any ideas of your own? Let your heart decide what to paint." So I did what any normal, television raised child would do, I channeled Bob Ross and tried to paint a happy little mountain with a happy little lake. It didn't go well. Too many years of laughing at Bob Ross to actually get help from him. I am pretty sure I caused Warren's teacher to have a mini-stroke. She finally grabbed the brush from me and muttering under her breath, tried to make something artistic out of my blue circle and brown triangle. Apparently an artistic flair and anger flare go hand in hand. All the while, Warren was thoroughly enjoying the interaction between the two of us. Giggling as he painted these incredibly beautiful flowers. I was the artistic equivalent to the child in the corner with the dunce cap on. I have been terrified of water colors ever since.

A few years ago, out of budgeting concerns, I decided that I would not take on any new hobbies. Whatever hobbies I had experimented with at that point was it. I could try and excel in those and nothing more. So, for some reason that shut me down completely. In the past I have done:

tole painting

scrapbooking

cross stitch

sewing

quilting

Russian needle punch

sketching

calligraphy

Just to name a few. I decided that nothing could be added to the list. Because, if you are crafty, you know that every craft comes with 4 billion necessary accessories. There is always some new invention, book or product that will improve your crafting abilities. I blame Martha Stewart. She made crafting accessories so cute you just had to have them - then all the other crafting companies followed suit.

So now that I have limited myself to these areas I have produced very little in the past few years. I have done a needle punch for my Dad and his wife, a cross stitch for my Mom, a few sewing projects for friends and the girls and that's it. What I would like to do is just put my girls on a couple of pedestals and say..."Look what I made!" Is that crafty enough?

Story #24 Is this my story to tell?

2010-01-13T22:01:00.002-07:00

I always try to be very aware of whether or not I have the "right" to tell a story. There is one about Nicole that I have wanted to share but didn't want to take away from the fact that this happened to her...I just happened to be the mom. I can only tell what happened on my part - she was unconscious for most of it anyway.

Remember when the Olympics were in Sydney, Australia? I clearly remember those particular games. I remember that my parents were visiting. I remember that Bob was working a swing shift job and therefore gone in the evenings. And I remember that Nicole almost died.

I had just put the girls to bed. My parents had begun watching the games upstairs in the family room - so I went in and joined them. After about 2 minutes a thought came into my head, "Go down to bed." I thought this was very strange. It wasn't very late and I wasn't tired - but I definitely had a thought that I should go to bed. I ignored it. The thought came again, more intense than the first time, "GO TO BED." I turned to my parents and apologized. "I'm sorry, but I have to go to bed." I quickly went downstairs. First I peeked in Kristen's room...she was fast asleep. Then I peeked in Nicole's room - she wasn't there, but her bed had vomit on it. I went into the bathroom - she wasn't there. I looked in my room and saw her lying on my bed. "What are you doing, sweetheart?" I asked. She didn't respond. I could tell from the reflection of the hall light that her eyes were open. I walked in and turned on the light and discovered that Nicole's eyes were open but she was unresponsive. Strange noises were coming from her throat. I ran over and sat her up - pounded on her back - thinking she was choking - but got zero response. Her skin was grey and her lips were blue. I was terrified, but calm. I called to my parents. They helped me wrap her up and my Mom and I raced to the car.

I have never driven so fast. I flew down the hill - knowing that there would be green lights and absolutely no one to interfere with our drive to the hospital. I honked the horn at each intersection to warn people that I was coming through. At one point my Mom said, "Slow down!" But I knew I couldn't slow down and I knew we would get there alright.

I pulled in front of the emergency room doors, scooped Nicole out of my Mother's arms and raced inside. Right there in the hallway was a doctor and two nurses who were just going on a break. They saw me, came running over, and snatched Nicole up in their arms as we all raced back to a gurney.

They fired off questions:

"Has she had any medication?"
"Does she have access to anything poisonous?"
"Did she fall or hit her head?"

No. No. No.

"I read her stories, we said prayers, she went to bed. Everything was fine."

Her oxygen level was at 40%. She had aspirated on vomit. She was having a grand mal seizure. She was not regaining consciousness. I was so scared - and yet I felt the hand of the Lord with me the whole time. Why would the Lord prompt me to go downstairs, why were there only green lights and no traffic on such busy streets if she were not meant to live?

Her small little form was surrounded by medical personnel talking over one another and working on her all at once. They were able to clear her airway. Her oxygen levels were improving, but she was still unconscious.

They took her back for a CAT scan. Through the entire process she remained unresponsive. When the doctors determined that she was stable they loaded her into an ambulance to head to Primary Children's Hospital.

It had been over an hour and a half and she had not woken up. Even with strong faith, it is frightening to see your little one in such a position.

I climbed into the ambulance beside her. Bob and my Mom were going to drive separately. The ambulance was surprisingly quiet. The paramedic who sat along side me gave me a sad, awkward smile. For some reason, that was the moment that my eyes finally filled with tears. And that was the moment a little voice said, "Momma, where am I?"

Never was there a more glorious sound in the world. I explained to her that she had been sick and the doctor wanted her to have a special ride to the hospital to make sure she was okay. She said, "Alright." Then closed her eye and went to sleep.

After testing and another scary seizure the neurologists discovered that Nicole had abnormal electrical activity on the lower left side of her brain. They didn't know what was causing the problem, but they could treat it with medication. The type of seizures she had were somehow triggered in the process of her falling asleep. I haven't slept through the night since. I always have to check on her and on Kristen. I remember when she was about 10 and I peeked in her room in the middle of the night she murmured "I'm fine, Mom." Nicole's pediatrician gave me great advice. She said, "Epilepsy is something that Nicole has, don't let it define who she is." I tried very hard to remember that - but still felt a little nervous when she would swing, or swim or ride her bike.

My neighbor is convinced angels moved her into my room. "How else could she have gotten there?" She has asked. Maybe she is right. I certainly never would have done more then glanced in to see if she was in bed. She was 5 years old - we weren't at the point where I was holding a mirror under her nose to see if she was breathing. So it leaves one to wonder...

I'm happy to say that she has been seizure free for almost 5 years. We were very fortunate that she grew out of this form of Epilepsy. I feel very blessed that I heard that voice telling me to go to bed, blessed that my parents were there, blessed that the traffic was light and blessed that those medical personnel were so quick to resond - Because I can't imagine my life without Nicole in it!

Story #23 Mr. Meanie, the neighbor

2010-01-06T21:04:00.005-07:00

Cheesy name, I know...but I'm still recovering from my illness. The main problem is I don't remember the man's name...I usually change names anyway...but I couldn't come up with anything so you're stuck with it.

When I was younger, my Mom found a puppy at school. It was a very, small puppy who had been left by the dumpster - so she brought him home. I would have done the same thing. I mean - who can leave a puppy by a dumpster? Anyway, I don't know if my Mom's original intent was to keep the dog - but, we felt pretty excited about him and someone quickly named him Freckles. Once he had a name we knew he wasn't going anywhere.

Freckles quickly grew into quite the energetic animal. He was some kind of cocker spaniel mix with the same amount of energy as 20 border collies. When he wagged his tail it turned his entire body into a macaroni noodle - and he wagged frequently. I was slightly afraid of him - he could jump ridiculously high and we had very limited control over his behavior.

One of his favorite behaviors was to dig under the fence and run down the street. At the end of the street was an immaculately groomed yard. On the corner of this particular yard was an enormous round juniper bush. I know it doesn't sound grand - but it was quite spectacular both in it's size and in the fact that it looked so perfectly smooth with one glaring yellow spot. The owner of the house, Mr. Meanie, spent a lot of time keeping his yard looking beautiful and in no way appreciated the efforts Freckles made in watering this particular bush. Mr. Meanie yelled at him, swore at him, and on the last occasion threw a wrench at Freckles.

Freckles was completely oblivious to his bad behavior and was far too quick for Mr. Meanie to actually hit him. But Marc and I were upset. We went into the house and told our Mom how truly mean Mr. Meanie was. We wanted her to take action!! She didn't say much, just listened and then ran to the store.

I don't know if it was the next day or the same day - but I do know that our house was filled with the most incredible aroma. Now, my Mom was a full-time working, single Mom so she didn't have a lot of time to bake - but there was one special treat we would get on birthdays and special occasions. This very moist, creamy chocolate cake with whipped cream frosting. Even as a child I was not a huge cake fan - this was an exception. I'm craving it now just thinking about it! Yum.

You cannot bake something in your house without drawing all of the house's occupants to the kitchen. Scent hypnosis. We quickly converged on the kitchen feeling very excited that we were having cake ...hooray!! After the torturous cooling period my Mom began to whip the chocolate cream frosting. Tensions arose....2 beaters 3 kids...you do the math. When eternities had passed the cake was finally assembled and we were instructed to put on our nice Sunday clothes. It was all very exciting! Scratchy but exciting!

We came downstairs and found that Mom had covered the cake. She told us that we needed to apologize to Mr. Meanie and let him know that we would try a lot harder to keep Freckles in our yard. As an adult I can imagine how frustrating it must have been to work so hard on your yard and to have the same dog continually thwart your efforts, but as a child I thought "Hey - I want that cake!" We slowly walked down the street - Lisa, being the oldest, was elected spokesperson. We went to the door and knocked. I said a silent prayer that no one would be home. Mrs. Meanie, who was not so mean, opened the door. She was taken back by seeing three dressed up children holding a 4 layer cake. Lisa said, "May we please speak to Mr. Meanie?" Mr. Meanie came to the door wearing his familiar green coveralls. Lisa gave a beautiful apology and handed the cake to Mr. Meanie. He looked at us, did not smile, and closed the door. Man was I peeved.

I seethed all the way back to the house. "He didn't even say thank you!" I ranted to my Mom. "That's okay, that wasn't the point. The point is we apologized and tried to make the situation better." Hmmm. That took a little wind out of my sails. I wasn't thrilled...but....

Later that day my Mom received a phone call from Mrs. (not-so) Meanie. She told my Mom how touched Mr. Meanie had been. No one had ever been so thoughtful. She was crying as she talked with my Mom. After the call, Mom let us know what she had said and we all felt pretty good. Important life lesson learned through chocolate...or the lack thereof.

We did not suddenly become best friends with Mr. Meanie...but there was a definite softening of hearts all around and we did try harder to keep Freckles in the yard. Freckles remained a super hyper dog until Lisa, Marc and I came home from visiting our Father in Illinois to discover that Freckles had packed up and moved next door. But that's another story.

I interrupt these stories for the following announcement

2010-01-04T19:07:00.004-07:00

I am afraid I have scarred Kristen for life. You see, since Saturday I have been quite ill. I'm not sure what I have but the level of leg pain...yes extreme pain in my legs...and the ...ummm...fiber emergencies....and the fever has been rather unpleasant. So why has this scarred Kristen? Well, Friday - no - Saturday night things were really bad. I had gone into the bathroom with barf bucket in hand and the next thing I remember is Kristen saying, "Mom...Mom? Are you okay? Should I get Dad? Mom?" I came to folded over the side of the tub twisted in the shower curtain - but with a full moon shining. Poor Kristen. The scare of me passing out has left...seeing the full moon...still with her.

Oh - a note to Jill. I do have an exorbitant number of whoppers - this is why I think I was meant to blog:)!

Story #22 Our special kids don't have to take PE....or the first day of 7th grade

2010-01-01T13:23:00.003-07:00

Every 6th grade elementary student feels ready for junior high long before they can actually enter. I was no exception. I hit my growth spurt early, so I was taller than a lot of my friends and most of the boys. Elementary school was sooo 5th grade.

I was under the delusion that I was not at all nervous for junior high, only excited. The truth came out when I woke up for the first day of 7th grade. I woke up with such a severe muscle spasm in my neck that my head seemed permanently tilted to the left - with my ear about an inch from my shoulder. I called my Mom, a school teacher, to beg to stay home. It was a crazy day for her...a total of 26 excited 5 year-olds would be arriving any minute. She told me to take a hot shower and as I moved around it would loosen up.

It did not loosen up.

I looked drunk as I walked to Jefferson Junior High School. Just experiment...tilt your head all the way to one side and then try to walk a straight line. Not so easy is it? Let's just say it was a very wobbly walk to school. I was mortified. It didn't matter that I had picked out the perfect outfit and was having a great hair day...if you can't move your head you simply look and feel weird.

As I stumbled to my first class I found that I could put my hand under my head, resting my elbow on my desk and look, already, oh so bored with class - but at least like I was doing it on purpose. My friends approached me in the hall...."What is wrong with you? You look weird." Thank you. It turns out I woke up as a living Picasso painting.

My favorite memory of the day was going to my first P.E. class. There was no desk on which to rest my elbow - I couldn't hide my temporary disability. The PE teacher called roll and asked us to raise our hands so she could put a face to each name. She then sent everyone out to the field, but asked me to stay behind. I am convinced she only called roll to figure out my name.

"Michelle" she tenderly began, as though talking to a 2 year old...or a puppy, "I think there has been a mistake with your schedule. Our special kids don't have to take PE. Would you like me to find someone to walk you down to the office?"

Some of you may think this was the perfect way to get out of junior high PE, otherwise known as, how to humiliate yourself and see how unpopular you really are. But I was slightly offended.

"I'm not a special kid....I mean....ha..ha...my Mom thinks I'm special." I stammered, "But I woke up with a crick in my neck and I can't seem to straighten out my head and neck."

Her sympathetic look turned to suspicion as she gave me the "once over." "If this is some kind of joke, it's not funny." she said. "Get out there with the rest of the students....4 laps."

If you thought walking straight was hard - you should have seen the running. I'm fairly certain I ran the equivalent of 6 laps that day.

After a long neck massage and another hot shower it started to loosen up. By the end of the week my Picasso days were over, I could walk a straight line again. But the damage was done. The P.E. teacher was convinced I was some sort of troublemaker and seemed to find great happiness in my lack of dodge ball skills for the rest of the semester.

Story #21 Trying to get home or There's been a problem...

2009-12-30T21:04:00.004-07:00

I may have reached my fortieth birthday, but I haven't reached my fortieth story...on we go!

The summer before my junior year in high school I went to Greece as an exchange student. While there are a few interesting stories from that experience I want to start with the ending...trying to get home.

A few months before my departure the Athens airport was briefly overrun by terrorists and therefore, no one was eager for 20 some high school students to fly directly to Athens. (Although, what are the chances that would happen again so quickly? In fact, I don't think it has happened since.) So, we flew into and out of Yugoslavia. It was a 24 hour bus ride, a lot of which took place in communist country - so there were no rest stops, convenience stores or places to get out and stretch. On the way to Athens we all needed to stop and have a bathroom break. We finally found a small cafe, along the desolate highway. The owner of the cafe said we could use the bathroom if one of the girls gave him her gold watch. She reluctantly agreed. Getting toilet paper took a necklace. It was worth one square per person. ONE SQUARE! Anyway...this is supposed to be about the way back....

We had a similar ride back to Yugoslavia, but this time our bathroom breaks consisted of squatting on the shrub free roadside. After a mostly event free evening (someone tried to buy one of the blond girls from our guide - see why it's better to be a brunette?) we flew back to New York City.

Upon our arrival to the Kennedy Airport we were met by the local student exchange representative who distributed our previously purchased return home tickets. She came to me last..."Are you Michelle Olivier?" "Yes." "Well, there's been a problem with your ticket. It appears that the airlines you purchased your ticket on has gone out of business." "WHAT?!" (I should mention I hadn't slept in over 24 hours.) "What can I do?" I asked her. "Well, if you go to the United ticket desk, they said that they would accept your ticket." "Great - where is that?" She went on to explain that it was in another terminal and I would need to take a shuttle bus to get to it, the actual flight I would be on left from another terminal still - so this wasn't going to be a simple process. She then left.

Two of the other girls, Mary and Siobhan, stuck with me. Siobhan was leaving from the terminal that I was heading to for my new ticket and Mary had a few hours before her flight left. Mary said she would stay with my luggage and wait there, so I wouldn't have to carry everything. Siobhan and I left Mary and headed off to the shuttle. Siobhan and I crammed into the elevator to street level. As the doors opened I felt a sharp jab at my wrist and saw a young man take off running. He had cut my watch off of my wrist. Great. We had no time to deal with that, and hurried to a shuttle bus. This is where I learned that New Yorkers can be really pushy. After two buses came and went without us being able to get on we decided no more mr. nice guy and shoved on our way onto the third bus.

As we traveled along the maze that exists at the Kennedy Airport we heard a loud pop, the bus swerved and then pulled over to the side of the road. The bus driver came over the PA system, "There's been a problem. We blew a tire. You will all need to walk to the next shuttle to get to your destination." So the whole pushing and shoving process began again, this time with grumpier people.

When we finally reached the United ticket booth, Siobhan and I said a quick good-bye and I went and retrieved my new airline ticket. After another wrestling match I was able to return to Mary. It was going to be a close call...my flight was leaving really quickly. When I found Mary she was sitting on my suitcase, sobbing. "What's the matter, Mary?" She went on to tell me, "There's been a problem. I moved over here to the corner to get out of the way - well a couple of guys came over and started giving me a hard time. They stole your camera (which was in the front pocket of my carry on) and mine and who knows what else would have happened if this nice couple hadn't come to my rescue. I'm so sorry!" "That's okay! It wasn't your fault. I'm so glad you're not hurt!" I tried to comfort Mary but was really pushing it time wise to make my flight. We said good-bye and with all my luggage in tow, I went through the shoving match for a spot onthe shuttle bus to get to the terminal. I went racing up to the gate only to discover that I had missed my flight by 5 minutes. I asked the gate attendant if there were any other flights - but no...no other flights that night. I pulled my suitcase off to the side, sat down on it and had a good cry. After a few minutes another gate agent came over and asked if she could help. I explained the situation and told her I didn't know what I was going to do. She did a little checking and discovered another flight that would get me to Salt Lake City via Chicago - but it left from the La Guardia airport. She said if I hurried - meaning a taxi, not a bus - I could make it.

I rushed outside to the porters and told them I needed a taxi to La Guardia. One man went to hail me a cab, while waiting I asked the other man how much a cab to La Guardia cost. "Oh, $20-25 plus tip." he replied. "Oh, thanks." Hmmm, I had exactly $12 American dollars, the rest of my money was in drachmas (Greek). I didn't say anything, but said a quick little prayer. Right as the cab pulled up a woman came up and asked for a cab to La Guardia. The porter asked her if she would like to share a cab with me...HOORAY...thus sharing the fare as well! She agreed and we hopped in and took off. The minute the cab got moving she burst into tears. She told me how she was from Denmark but married a New Yorker. She had just put her parents on a plane back to Denmark and probably would not see them again for several years. She was distraught. She cried and talked the entire ride. I tried to be sympathetic and kept wondering if it was too late to ask her what her first name was...or tell her mine. By the time we got to my stop she told me not to worry about the fare. I had been so nice that she would pay for it. Hooray! I got to keep my $12!! I thanked her and hurried into the airport.

Miraculously, I had not missed my flight! I checked my bags and boarded....nervously waiting for something to go wrong. It didn't take long. After we started to pull away from the gate the captain came over the P.A. system. "Ladies and Gentlemen, there's been a problem." I wanted to jump up and scream "Okay, it's me! I'm the problem, I'll get off the plane! I knew this was too easy." Shockingly, however, I was not the problem. "Ladies and Gentlemen, one of our passengers has had her bag stolen. This bag contains her family's passports and it is imperative that this bag is returned. We will not take off until the bag is returned." We sat there...at the gate for one hour. I'm not kidding. I was starting to get a little nervous; will I make my connecting flight in Chicago?

Eventually, we took off. I have no idea whether or not the bag was returned - I can only assume that it was. I just think, if it was someone else on the flight why not take off on time and strip search us all, if necessary, during the flight. Think how well we would have gotten to know one another.

As we pulled into O'Hare, those of us with connecting flights were given our gate numbers and allowed to ...what's the word...deboard? disembark? How about leave? We were able to leave first and race off to our respective gates. I arrived at mine just in time to see it pulling away from the gate. There are few feelings worse than that of watching your own flight leave without you. It was 1:00am. I was stuck in the airport with no luggage, just a purse containing my passport, $12, some drachmas and a toothbrush. A United ticket agent informed me the airline would put me up in a hotel for the night, since it was their fault I had missed my connection. I said that would be great, since I was exhausted!!!! He asked for I.D. and discovered that I was only 16 years 8 months old. Too young to stay in a hotel by myself. A member of the United team would have to stay with me. An hour and a half later they found someone willing to stay with the minor.

We arrived at the hotel, she with a full bag of clothes, me with my grooming kit and the same clothes I had been wearing for almost 2 days. I climbed into bed exhausted while she got on the phone, started making calls and turned on the cable. The TV was loud. She was loud. I was tired. I pulled the blanket over my head and got to sleep for 4 hours.

A fun little side story. I was flying to Salt Lake to see my sister, who was pregnant with her first child, before returning home to Oregon. They lived an hour from the airport. Since these were the ancient times before cell phones, there was no way to reach Rob once he had left for the airport, to let him know that I would not be there. At this point he had driven there twice.

When we returned to the airport I was put in a special room for minors. The next oldest person was 8. I couldn't wait to get on my flight...these were the pre-diet coke day...I was tired. Don't you love that a soda is a milestone for me? I got on the flight and flinched every time a flight attendant or captain got on the intercom system. I was waiting for the problem declaration...somehow it never came. On Rob's third trip to the airport he finally found me and I enjoyed two whole days being alternately disgusted and amazed at the thing contorting my sister's belly.

I drove home to Oregon with some family friends. They dropped me off in the driveway. As they drove away I lugged my suitcase up to the front porch. I was finally home. I put down the luggage, took a deep breath and grabbed the door knob - only to discover that I was locked out. There's been a problem, I thought. I tried the back gate - also locked. I stood on the garbage can and clambered over the fence to the sliding door. Locked. I was finally able to break in via the garage and welcome myself, the problem, home from my long journey. (Almost as long as this post!!)

Story #20 The Perfect Day

2009-12-29T00:18:00.003-07:00

I may be talking about today - but it is counting as one of my stories! I may only be halfway to my goal...but I am still going to finish my 40 stories!

Today may be as close to perfection as one could hope for - and it didn't even include a day spa! Today is my 40th birthday, in spite of my brief anxiety last night, I woke up feeling pretty great today. I lounged in my jammies for a ridiculously long time and enjoyed listening to many different versions of Happy Birthday being sung over the phone by wonderful friends and family members.

My parents came by and brought me a beautiful 4 generation photo array from me to my great grandmother. Then Christy and I went to Zupa's and where I had a super yummy "nuts about berries" salad and shared a sandwich. We chatted and caught up on each other's lives, which was long over due.

I then came home, plopped on the couch and read while listening to Nicole play the piano. When Bob came home he presented me with Gone Is Gone by Wanda Gag, both a first edition and the reprint from 2002. I was floored and teared up! I have wanted a copy of that book for about 20 years - it was the perfect gift.

The girls and I played cards until we left for a family dinner at some mysterious location. I was thrilled to walk into the restaurant and discover a room full of some of my favorite people. Not only that, but Bob had made (paid someone to make) a dvd montage of photos of me...many of which I had never even seen before! What an amazing, fun fabulous evening!

I have been so blessed to have crossed paths with so many intelligent, funny and talented individuals. I was so touched to see so many of them together in that one room - I felt like I wanted to raise my hands up to the Lord and thank him right there and then for this group of guardian angels who have blessed my life!

I am so grateful to Bob for all of his effort in making this such an amazing day - I love you, Babe!!

I was also touched that dear Jill had sent a present along with Michelle to the party. Her card was short, but profound and made me realize this is where true equanimity lies:

Surely life must get better as we acquire wisdom and life experience because we know what to hold onto and what to let go.
Thank you dear friends for helping to make this a perfect day!

Story #19 The Dorky Little Sister

2009-12-27T22:31:00.004-07:00

Tomorrow is my 40th birthday. I have been excited about it until tonight. Bob started making up a little song where he mentioned me turning 40 about a hundred times and it has left me in a funk. I find this annoying because up until now I felt fine about 40 - but it has left me feeling like the "dorky little sister"....thus the following:

My brother and sister are only 1 1/2 years apart in age. I am 4 years younger than my brother and, therefore, 5 1/2 years younger than my sister. Because of the closeness in their age I always felt like they had this connection that I was not a part of. I was the caboose child...never quite able to catch up with the rest of the train. Growing up I often had this feeling of wanting them to like me more. Now I realize this sounds rather pathetic...but I was a child, after all. I would often say things that I thought clever or funny and they would roll their eyes, or say "Michelle" in such a way that I felt foolish. I remember being at my Grandma's house for dinner and waiting for the opportunity to use a new phrase I had recently read. If you have read my profile you know that I get phrases stuck in my head just like you may get a tune stuck in yours. Eventually, you must hum or sing that song, willingly or not, it just needs to come out! So, when my Grandmother offered me more potatoes I cleverly replied, "Thanks, but no thanks." In a cool off handed way, emphasis on cool. Marc and Lisa both moaned in disgust. "Michelle - apologize!" Lisa scolded (taking on the mother role, even though the mother was present...isn't that what big sisters do?). I couldn't understand why it was wrong, but I felt like a fool.

Another stellar example is my first foray into swearing. My Mother had sent me out to the drive way as some sort of make-out deterrent for Lisa and her boyfriend who were chatting on the front lawn. They were bickering about one of his friends, so the deterrent was unnecessary, when Lisa asked what I thought about this particular friend. (Keep in mind I was 9 or 10.) "He's a bastard." I said. Lisa and boyfriend burst out laughing and continued laughing for several minutes. I was flustered and wanted to disappear. I didn't know what I had said. Marc and I had been watching James Bond movies and I heard the word on the show....I thought it meant a bad guy or a jerk. Lisa calmed down and went into Junior Mother Mode. "Michelle, is that a word you would ever say in front of Mom?" The ultimate test for pretty much anything. "Um, no." I answered. "Good," she replied, "Don't ever say that word again." I slunk back inside feeling like an idiot.

These are only two of many examples. I just so desperately didn't want to mess up around them. You see, they were both incredibly talented and incredibly beautiful and I felt like the goofy, dorky, annoying little sister. I remember sitting in the audience when either or both of them were in a play or singing in a concert and feeling so incredibly proud. "That's my brother! That's my sister!" I wanted to shout to every one around me. But somewhere with this pride was also a feeling that I could never live up to their level of success.

There were moments where my Mom added to this feeling. I remember in the 6th grade being tested for which math class we would attend in junior high. There was a remedial, basic and advanced option. I ended up scoring in the basic category, as did most of the kids, and feeling fine with that...until I went home. My Mom exclaimed that both Marc and Lisa had tested into the advanced class. She wanted to have me retested....I once again felt like I had unknowingly embarrassed myself. My Dad (step dad) told her that if I was happy with the result we should let it go.

There was a lot of unspoken pressure to succeed in my family and I just didn't think I could live up to the reputation that Marc and Lisa had set. People would say, "Are you a great singer like your sister and brother?" How the hell are you supposed to answer that? Yes I'm amazing - sit down, while I dazzle you with my greatness. "Um not really..." I would say - "but I want to be" - I would think. "Oh, that's too bad." was the reply.

In high school I focused on school leadership and science, since Marc and Lisa didn't have a history there. I thought that if I could pave my own path I would feel better - but the music pull was too strong. I still ended up auditioning and joining the jazz choir and having a great time. The director always wanted me to try out for a solo, but I never did. I felt like I would never rise to the quality of Marc or Lisa's vocal abilities.

Now I realize this post is rather scattered and seemingly shallow - but sadly a lot of these types of feelings plagued my thinking...and clearly still do....oops...hole in therapy showing. So, let me end on a positive note.

There was a young lady in my ward (church) growing up who sort of took me under her wing. I believe she was Marc's age - maybe a year younger. She was at our house one day, I'm not sure why, and the topic of my sister came up. "She's so beautiful." I gushed. "So are you!" she said. I looked at her, puzzled and slowly replied, "Um, no, I'm not." She grabbed my hand and led me into the bathroom. She stood me in front of the mirror and said, "I can't believe you can't see how beautiful you really are." She then proceeded to write on the mirror 'You ARE beautiful.' She said, "Every time you see that I want you to know that is meant for you! Not Lisa or Marc, but you! You are beautiful!" I had never felt so touched or grateful to anyone ever in my life. It was a time where I felt like she was looking at me for me and not because of who's sister I was or who's daughter I was. It changed how I thought about myself. Because of that I named my daughter Kristen after her.

I still have far too many moments of feeling clumsy, awkward and...well...dorky - but just thinking of that moment in the bathroom with has left me feeling a lot better than I did at the beginning of this post. Isn't amazing how a simple act can change a person's life?

Story #18 This is supposed to be the happiest place on earth!

2009-12-26T09:46:00.003-07:00

Before I begin, let me share with you another one of my shining moments. Yesterday, after stockings, cinnamon rolls and presents we decided to see a movie. Although entertaining, Avatar was just a bit long and left me with a screaming headache. On the way home I asked Bob if he could stop at Maverick so I could get a Diet Coke chaser for my Tylenol. Bob and the girls waited in the car as I went in for my drink. It took several minutes (since they had to change out the syrup), but was worth the wait. I know it's pathetic how excited I can get over a drink. As I came strutting out of the store, thrilled with my one dollar purchase I walked right past my car to the car parked next to it. Both cars were running with people inside....anyway....I walked over to this OTHER car and opened the door - before I realized this was the wrong car! Hello brain...where are you? The people in back had a look of horror and surprise, while the woman in the driver's seat was cracking up and graciously accepted my apology. I then decided to actually get in MY car, and could not stop laughing that I had done that. Bob was also cracking up...the girls, however, seemed to have shrunk about a foot and were just mortified. It still makes me giggle thinking I did that!

On to story #18. A Christmas story. Eight years ago, just as we were officially becoming owners of the gym I came up with this genius idea: Let's surprise the girls and take them to Disneyland for Christmas. Bob had mistakenly heard that it was very slow at Disneyland on Christmas day, so it would be a great time to go. We had been so busy with our acquisition of the gym that I wanted to do something special for the girls for Christmas. I decided that we would pack everything up while they were at school and preschool, pick them up, tell them the surprise and start to drive to California...stopping in St. George or Vegas for the night.

I was excited. I worked my butt off trying to get everything arranged, without letting on about the surprise. Soon it was time to pick up the girls...this was going to be so fun...what child wouldn't love this? As we came home I sat everyone down in the living room and read my clever little poem (yes, very geeky, I know) about our surprise. Although I can't find the poem I know it ended with "We're going to Disneyland for Christmas!" I said this last line with a happy shout and was greeted with total silence. I took this as disbelief, so I told the girls "We're going to Disneyland for Christmas! Isn't that going to be fun? We're going right now, the car's all packed!" Nicole burst into tears. Kristen, seeing her sister's reaction, also began to cry. Bob started to laugh. Ignoring Bob, I asked the girls, "Why are you sad?" Nicole wailed, "I don't want to go to Disneyland! I want to stay home for Christmas! Don't make me go!!!" This sent Bob into an even bigger peal of laughter. "It will be fun...it's Disneyland. We will have such a great time! Think how fun to go to Disneyland on Christmas Day!" Kristen said, "Santa won't know where to find us! Why are you making us do this?"

I was stunned. I had worked so hard on the "great" surprise - and my children felt like they were being punished. I tried to explain that Santa would know where they were and what a great time we would have, but to no avail. I ended up down in my bedroom, crying to my Mom on the phone about how no one wanted to go to Disneyland with me.

Finally, the girls begrudgingly agreed to go to Disneyland for Christmas - and so our happy journey began. The high point of the trip was Christmas day at Disneyland. It turns out that Christmas Day isn't their slowest, but rather their busiest day of the year. The park was acres of wall to wall people. Good Times. It took forever just to get a fast pass for a ride, even the gift shops were too crowded to spend any time in! As evening approached, the air became cooler and I decided I would go to the car to get every one's coats. As I was returning to the park with an armful of coats I realized that I could not remember where I was supposed to meet Bob and the girls. Was it the entrance of Frontierland or Space Mountain? I tried to call Bob...no answer. I went to Frontierland and waited....no sign of them. I ran over to Space Mountain....nothing. I continued to run back and forth between the two places until I felt like I had run a marathon. I knew the girls would be worried - but for the life of me I could not find them. I kept trying Bob until my phone died, but with the noise of the park, Bob could not hear his phone ring. By the time he thought to call me my phone was already dead. Soon I was beginning to feel a bit panicked. I went up to two security people and asked, "What do you do when someone is lost?" "Have you lost your child ma'am?" "Um, no.....I'm lost." They looked at each other and smirked. "Well, when we find a lost child we take them to city hall on main street." "Where's that?" I asked. Again they smirked and said, "We should probably show you the way." They were probably right.

When I arrived at City Hall and went up to the front and asked them woman if a man with two young girls had been in looking for, well, me. She looked confused and shook her head. I explained how I could not remember where we were supposed to meet and did she have any recommendations. She told me that when they had a lost child they had them sit in this back room, full of toys, etc. She said I could wait back there. As I sat down next to the only other occupant, a 3 year old boy, I imagined the following conversation:

Boy: What are you in for?

Me: I lost my family. How 'bout you?

Boy: I kicked Mickey in the shins.

Me: Rough.

Boy: Yeah.

After awhile and many strange looks from the woman watching the boy, I decided to leave and walked out the doors...they couldn't make me stay!...and stepped out onto Main Street and lo and behold, there were Bob and the girls coming to retrieve me from lost and found. I was thrilled. I couldn't stop hugging them. We slipped on our coats and found a good spot to watch the parade and made a family pact that we would not return to Disneyland for many years. We've kept that pact.

Story #17 Practical Jokes the later years

2009-12-22T10:02:00.004-07:00

(I couldn't find the photos I wanted to post with this story...if I do I will let you know!)

Marc trained me so well - that left to my own devices the fun continued...only not on Lisa anymore. When I was a freshman at BYU my inner prankster came out again. The first instance was an act of revenge.

My roommate Dana was and still is quite a cutey - so many of the boys were interested in her. So much so that they were frequently asking me how to get her interested in them. One boy...maybe his name was Sean? I can't remember. He became convinced that Dana wasn't interested in him because of something I had said. So one night in our Dorm lobby (after Sunday night prayer) he pinned me down and gave me a hickey. Jerk. I was mad and felt a little violated. So I decided I needed to get even. My friend Andrea was game.

We dressed all in black (ninjas, baby) and armed ourselves with whipping cream, shaving cream and toilet paper and completely obliterated his car. I mean we covered this thing in so much paper and goo that we giggled all the way back to the dorms. The next morning we woke up early and watched out my 5th floor window as he discovered the attack on his SUV. It was fabulous!! The best part - he never suspected me.

Sometimes, I'll admit, maybe I went a little too far. Heather, another girl on the 5th floor, joined forces with us when the "Y weekenders" would come. These were high school girls touring the campus who wanted a feel for college life. I'm afraid we didn't show them the brighter sides. One of the favorites was not just saran wrap on the toilet, but also icy hot on the toilet seat. The great thing about icy hot is the more some one tries to wipe it off - the more they actually rub it in. One weekend we were actually in the bathroom brushing teeth when one of the Y weekenders walked into the stall we had booby trapped. We had never actually been in the bathroom when our high jinks were hitting their target. As she closed the stall door, Heather and I looked at each other and grinned. We had never brushed our teeth so slowly. We had to stifle our laughter as we heard a small gasp from inside from inside the stall. We waited for her to come out - but after a few minutes and she still hadn't emerged we left the stall.

Alright - I know I sound like a creep but I was 18....it was funny at the time....Okay, I did try to confess.

One evening our dorm Mother called all of the girls from our floor down to the lobby. She said that she was tired of the practical jokes and said that she would keep all of us down there until one of us confessed. We all sat there silently for several minutes. Finally, I raised my hand and told her that it was me. I was the one who had been perpetrating the discomfort of our guests. She looked at me for a long time and then...no lie...said "Michelle, that is ridiculous I know its not you. Okay if no one is going to tell me who it is you can all go back to bed." So, I tried to do the right thing...can I help it if I have an innocent face?

Story #16 Practical Jokes -the early years

2009-12-20T10:45:00.006-07:00

At an early age my brother Marc began to teach me some of the finer points in life-such as, why William Shatner made Star Trek cool, Why James Bond is the best crime fighter (it's the gadgets, my friend), and how to torture our older sister, Lisa.

There is only a year and half between Marc and Lisa, which created quite a love/annoy relationship. I frequently ended up being a pawn to be traded in their occasional squabbles. Suddenly, each would try to win me over to their side as a slap in the face to the other. They would offer to play with me, read together, play games - so I didn't mind their arguments.

I remember one night when a sitter was tending, when I was about 4 or 5, that Marc and Lisa tricked her into going outside. It was just before bed and they decided they weren't quite ready. So they locked her out of the house. I remember Karen, the sitter, banging on the sliding glass door begging me to let her in - while Lisa and Marc begged me to step away from the door. It was a rough night for everyone.

Anyway, in her teen years, my sister could be a bit moody, and therefore Marc was often inspired to play a joke or two on her. There was one series of jokes that he convinced me to be a part of.

The year I turned 8 or 9, my grandparents gave Marc and me footie pajamas. We both felt that we were far too old for these - but found a fantastic use for them a couple of years later.

Marc told me it would be funny to stuff one of the pairs of pajamas so that it looked like a real body. Using towels and rags we stuffed and rearranged until the body shape seemed just right. We then took a mask of Marc's and one of Lisa's pom poms and fashioned a head. We spent a great deal of time giggling and plotting all of the things we could do with "the body." Our first foray into "Lisa torture" occurred late one Friday night. Lisa had been out with friends and our Mom was also gone. I hid at the top of the stairs on one side - Marc hid on the other side. We turned off all the hall lights, so that as Lisa opened the door she was greeted with the small glimmer of a nightlight. As she stepped in to the hallway Marc threw the body over the stairs to as I did my best slasher flick scream. As the body crumpled at Lisa's feet, her scream far surpassed the strength of my own. Marc and I burst out laughing - which caused Lisa to alternate between death threats and tears.

When my Mom came home and discovered what we had been up to she was pretty upset. Marc had warned me that we could get into some trouble - but he knew just how to avoid it. As my Mom sat across from us in the family room and began to lecture us on our cruel behavior, Marc and I both began to giggle and grin. My Mom tried to be cross, "Now, you two stop your laughing!" But the more we giggled the more she lost the ability to do any kind of disciplining. She finally muttered, "Oh, you two..." At which point we jumped up and ran to our rooms.

Trick number two with "the body" only worked because my sister's room was always a complete mess. We arranged the body in her bed (which was always lumpy with blankets and clothes) and hid in her closet. As Lisa stumbled into bed and began tossing and turning, her arm went across the body. She paused. She gently felt next to her then went tearing out of her room screaming for my Mom and Step-dad. Marc and I flew out of the closet and ran into his room - wondering how we would avoid getting into trouble this time. I think we may have gotten out of it once again...Yet another great life lesson Marc has shared with me!

Story #15 Happy the Chimpanzee

2009-12-14T22:59:00.005-07:00

I am keenly aware that I have not posted in days...and that I am only on story #15...hmmm.

The crazier things become at holiday time, the more I shut down both physically and mentally, until I am a mere blob convalescing on the sofa. I lose all motivation to get anything done, even though I will probably end up in tears at some point. In spite of this, I still chirp out a happy yes at any invitation or project request....what on earth is wrong with me? Anyway...

I mentioned in a previous post that my family spent every August and Christmas in Salt Lake City with my Grandparents. As I'm sure you have figured out, my birthday is right after Christmas, thus most of my under 12 birthdays were spent at my Grandparents house.

Now, this may not seem like a big deal, but when you are a child a birthday party is a pretty big deal. You look forward to the friends, the games, the presents, and the cake. Although every effort was made to make the birthdays joyous, it is a very odd sensation to feel like you are crashing your own birthday party. My grandparents would invite any neighborhood children that were in town to join us for my party. So, all of the guests knew each other, but I didn't know any of them. There were a few awkward moments..."Thank you for the crayons, Angela. Which one of you is Angela?"

(Don't be distracted by my pink, shiny, taffeta dress...that is not the point of the story, although I do look stunning.)

For my eighth birthday, my Mom and grandparents wanted to make it a very special day - so they hired a chimpanzee to come to the party. The chimpanzee was named Happy and you could "rent" him for a special occasion from the Hogle Zoo. As much as I enjoyed watching the animals from the outside of the cage - having one in the same room with me, with no bar barrier, was a little disturbing. You'll notice that one of my arms is wrapped around in a protective motion, while I shake hands with Happy. I remember feeling worried that his hand would be slimy, but it was actually dry and soft. Happy performed several flips for us and I was encouraged to help feed him some oatmeal and bananas.

Notice the body language...lean away! Lean away!

Even though I felt nervous, it was a rather incredible thing, having a primate at your party. I had to keep these pictures from my children for fear that they would believe this was some sort of family tradition. No need to go completely crazy! This was also the year that my brother discovered the birthday candles that would not blow out. I tried so hard to blow out these candles that I merely passed out. Marc also taught me the pleasant game of "Who can punch the softest." I always won....not a good thing.

After that party the neighborhood children realized that nothing could top a chimpanzee and future birthdays had a much lower attendance. Which was okay....fewer awkward moments.

Story #14 Airport Voyeurism

2009-12-13T20:26:00.003-07:00

A recent story!

A few times a year I have to travel for business meetings. This summer when Katie, my gym director, and I returned from Texas we discovered that *gasp* Bob had not left to pick us up yet...so we knew we were in for a wait. We plopped down in a couple of chairs by the luggage carousels and settled in for some good people watching.

There were several different groups clustered near the escalators waiting for their missionaries to arrive. We began intently watching the family closest to us, trying to figure out who was who. After about 15 minutes, the long awaited for son began to descend the escalator. The family burst into cheers and began to cluster around the bottom of the escalator. We were betting on who would be hugged first...I thought Mom and sure enough I was right. Then he turned to Dad and held on for a long time as both Dad and Son started to cry. Standing in the background, behind the siblings and extended family was a beautiful young lady, who clearly was the girlfriend. As the newly returned missionary made his way through the family, this young lady began to fidget more and more. You could see him glancing sideways at her, but finding someone else to hug....the nervousness was palpable. Finally, he walked over and gave her a nervous and very fast hug. He then went back to his parents and hugged and wept some more - but every few minutes he would go back over to the girlfriend and hug her again...each time just a little bit longer. You could see that he was quickly remembering how nice that could be!

Katie and I were both a bit emotional watching the scene before us. We both teared up as the parents embraced their son, and laughed as he kept checking out the girlfriend. I loved watching his astonishment at little sisters that had grown so much over the past 2 years. I couldn't help but think about how much our families in heaven and our Heavenly Father are watching us now and waiting to see what we will make of our lives. I absolutely believe that our guardian angels are family members that have already passed on. I believe they are keeping an eye on how we spend our precious time here on earth. I hope that when I return it will be with tears and rejoicing at a job well done. (Every once in awhile I have my moments of spirituality.)

Story #13 First kiss

2009-12-10T20:02:00.004-07:00

My first kiss story...is well, a little pathetic. I would like to say that it was a romantic, knee melting moment, but I would be lying.

In 8th grade a boy named Cam asked me to "go with him." Isn't that such an inane term? Not quite as clever as today's "going out"...but still. I liked Cam as a friend, but nothing more. I turned him down. The next several days he was so depressed that I started to feel really badly for him. So, I told his brother that if Cam asked me again I would say yes. Pity is always a great foundation for a strong relationship...tip from me to you!

The next day Cam asked me again and I said yes. For a couple of weeks the relationship consisted of hand-holding and listening to him moan on the phone that he wished he were smarter. Everything a girl could hope for. The problem was, spring break was coming up and I knew that Cam wanted a kiss good-bye. I had the typical concerns: "Will I do it right?" "Will he have bad breath?" "Will I have bad breath?" "Do I really have to kiss this boy I don't like?" I did kiss that boy I didn't really like (more than a friend). It was more like a mini-make out session where I was merely focusing on it not being awkward and hoping for an "A" in technique.

At 17 I finally had that knee melting, breath taking, head spinning kiss. Technique never crossed my mind, but that's another story.

Story #12 Getting asked to Senior Prom

2009-12-08T22:11:00.002-07:00

Quick note...Kristen's arm is not broken...whew!!

High school dance invitations here in Utah are crazy to me. Boys and girls alike invent all kinds of clever and creative ways to ask out their date....they can involve flowers, fish, decorating some one's car or room and so forth. Well, in Oregon we weren't quite that clever. There were only two formal dances a year: Homecoming and Prom, and the invitations consisted of a phone call or the whimsical passed note in class. While I had a lot of boy friends I never had a boyfriend in High School - thus these formal dances were merely a way to make sure that twice a year I felt like a leper. To be fair and honest, I did go to homecoming and both proms, but mostly with friends from church. I'm also aware that my refusal to get drunk or stoned was a huge impediment to dating success in high school. Go figure.

Anyway, one favorite memory from high school was getting asked to Senior Prom. I was sitting in the courtyard pretending to study, when a young man named Steve walked my way. (Man there have been a lot of Steve's in my life!) I don't remember his last name, but I do remember his confident "I work in the A/V department" strut as he made a bee line in my direction. He came over to the platform I was sitting on and grabbed one of my hands with both of his. Oh my! He then said, "Michelle, I would be so honored if you would accompany me to our Senior Prom." If you are thinking this is one of those feel good stories where the young lady (me) accepts, even though the guy is a geek, and just appreciates the courage it took him to ask, stop reading now. It turns out I'm not that altruistic.

I have to admit it was hard not to laugh. I mean he was so serious, and he still hadn't let go of my hand...which was getting sweaty. I told him that I wasn't going to go to prom. I couldn't afford a dress, but I really appreciated him asking me.

I did not lie about this. Quite frankly, senior prom was not that big of a deal to me. So, there on the spot I decided that it would be simpler not to go at all, then to go with Steve. (Yes, I'm a creep.)

A couple of weeks later, Mr. Wills, a vice-principal, called me into his office. He was the advisor for the student body officers, of which I belonged. I happened to be the Student Body Manager and was over all of the dances and assemblies. He had somehow learned that I was not going to prom and gave me a huge guilt trip on why this was NOT OKAY. I eventually decided that I would ask someone that I had a very mild crush on, to attend prom with me. I had heard that Steve had asked a freshman, so I figured there would be no hard feelings....I was wrong.

When Jon and I arrived at the dance Steve and his date came over to us. Steve said, "Jon, may I have permission to dance with Michelle?" Jon looked a little dumbfounded. "Um, okay." Steve and I stepped out on the dance floor where he informed me that he had been deeply wounded when he discovered that Jon and I were attending prom together. He had spent a great deal of time thinking about it and decided that we could move past it and still be friends. He also mentioned that his date was a better choice after all, since, even in heels, he was taller then she was. Had I known what an issue height was I would have worn heels to school everyday that spring. So there you have my non-heroic, "whew I dodged a bullet" prom story.

Story #11 My first attempts at cooking

2009-12-08T08:31:00.004-07:00

I am in a bad luck cycle right now. My laptop is still being repaired (I can pick it up later today....for $150.00), I threw my back out at work yesterday - but have no one to cover for me - spotting gymnastics when you can't even put on your own shoes will be interesting, Kristen may have a broken arm, Bob is still sick and I STILL DON'T HAVE MY CAR BACK!!!! Okay, done whining.

When I was around 7 or 8 my Mom decided that she needed more help from us kids. Who can blame her, she was a full-time working single Mom. I think she thought it would also teach us some necessary life skills. Her idea was that each child would have one night for cooking dinner. I was very excited. My mom had this big, yellow box full of recipes. Each month a few more came in the mail. They had a picture of the finished dish on the front and the recipe on the back. I loved looking through that box!

After my Mom finished her inspirational speech of how these cooking nights will be great for the whole family, I was elated! I happily signed up for the first turn and grabbed the big yellow box. I don't remember the exact menu, but I do know that there were many courses and the first course was some kind of fruit or prune soup. Mmmmm. I lost Marc and Lisa at that point. There was no way they were going to eat soup made out of fruit with prunes floating on top....even though I had placed a generous dollop of cool-whip on top. (Insert sarcastic yum here.) I'm pretty sure that the ingredients for the meal cost more than we usually spent for 5 meals, and I am positive that this was one of those great parental sacrifice moments, as my Mom managed to swallow something from every course.

With one elaborate meal I managed to both start and end my Mom's shared cooking nights - so really I think that Marc and Lisa should have thanked me. After that I settled down I learned some basic baking. I recall Marc and I making popcorn over the stove and forgetting to put the lid on the pot....popcorn everywhere....I also remember trying to concoct some sort of fabulous drink out of the 4000 bottles of condiments in our fridge. (There may have been vomiting afterwards.) But I knew one thing for sure, I wanted to be a good cook.

Ironically, one of the best cooks I know was Joanie. It is ironic because when I was young and she tended me, all I ever wanted to eat at her house was (brace yourself....it was her son's idea) noodles with ketchup and cottage cheese. What would you call that? Poor man's lasagna? I don't know, but we LOVED it!

I got married right as Martha Stewart's popularity was on the rise.....grey prison shawls not even a thought at that point...and I wanted to cook as well as she did. After I had Nicole and was no longer working, I would spend 2 to 3 hours preparing dinner - even though Bob and I were the only ones to enjoy it. Even when Nicole was old enough she was frequently not interested in what I was making.

But now as a working Mom I seem to have lost some of my cooking momentum, and unfortunately hit Subway for dinner on a fairly regular basis. Someone pointed out that almost all of my cookbooks say "quick" or "15 minutes" or "fast and easy." So, I hope Bob has a few memories of those three hour meals....and I will have to send my mom a thank you for eating the prune soup.

Story #10 Why I am grammar impaired.

2009-12-05T09:50:00.002-07:00

Before my next story I have to mention something that cracked me up. I was driving Kristen to dance, she was sitting up front and started moving her foot in all different directions. I thought maybe she was "warming up" for dance when she said, "Look, when I move my foot like this it looks like I have cankles." Who would get excited about having cankles? (For the uninformed, a cankle is when a woman's ankle is about the same size as her calf muscle...not a desired look.)

On to story #10 - there will be some major doubling up on stories - I am behind!

While I was attending BYU I worked as a receptionist for Stephen Covey. I had to be at work a little before 7 every morning, which is painful for a co-ed with a fun social life. I would rush home around noon, eat lunch and head to my first class of the day....Grammar, with Professor Skousen at 1:00pm. Professor Skousen, although brilliant, never felt it necessary to change the tone or speed of his voice at anytime - EVER. That on top of not enough sleep, just having eaten lunch, and...hello...the topic is grammar...woo hoo let's diagram sentences.....led to me falling asleep in class.......every class.

This also happened to be a class where the grade was based on only 2 things: the midterm and the final exam. You may be shocked to hear that I received a D on the midterm. There was no text book for this class - only the information we received from his scintillating lectures and our fabulous notes. My notes consisted of about two lines per class and drool - not helpful.

Although not the best student in college - a D was pretty shocking. I was determined to do better. I decided that I needed to sit in the front row for every class and take furious notes. So my first class after the midterm I arrived a few minutes earlier and sat right up front. I had my freshly sharpened pencil ready to go, but then he started talking and...well, I'm an auditory learner, for whom vocal inflections are important...I started feeling my head droop. It was some kind of hypnotic effect that I could not resist - his mouth opened and my eyes closed. I decided if I folded my arms instead of resting my chin in my hand, I would be unable to fall asleep. Just so you know for your own use...this is not effective. I discovered this when I suddenly awoke falling out of my chair onto the floor. I WAS MORTIFIED. Not just because I was wearing a skirt and I had just fallen out of my chair in the front row of a class of 100+ students - but because the professor actually knew who I was. "Am I a little boring today, Miss Olivier?" I scrambled into my chair and had enough adrenaline coursing through my veins to keep me awake for days. Ironically, when he asked if he was boring he used more vocal inflections then I had ever heard him use before. Maybe he was a very interesting person, but grammar bored him, too.

A side note to this story. When my parents were visiting my Mom wanted to come to class with me. I told her that grammar was really boring and to skip that one. "Oh no," she said, "I love grammar." Within minutes of class starting, I could hear her gentle snore.

Story #9 The Reluctant Business Owner

2009-12-01T21:28:00.002-07:00

For as long as I can remember there was one thing I wanted to be when I grew up...A Mom. Not just any Mom, a stay-at-home Mom. When Bob and I began dating seriously I really made it clear that this was a huge priority for me. And for the first several years of our girls' lives it happened- But at the end of 2001 things changed.

Bob had always dreamed of owning his own business. We had an opportunity to purchase The Little Gym in Salt Lake, where our girls attended classes. At the time, Bob was in a job that was supposed to be ending within the next 6 months, so it seemed to him like good timing. We were under the impression that the place basically ran itself and the owner was really an "off-site" owner. This seemed ideal. Bob told me that he couldn't start this without my help. I had been teaching piano at the time to help pay for preschool and dance classes. He said I would be able to stop teaching piano and only have to work 15 hours a week - I could pick the hours when the girls were already at school - so I could be home with them as much as possible. He was going to work his job and then go to the gym in the evenings.

Now let me briefly interrupt this story. I made a huge error. I had always said that being a stay-at-home Mom was my number 1 priority, but when push came to shove I didn't stand up for that and say "NO!" For that I will always feel badly.

After returning from an intensive training at the corporate office, it became quickly apparent that as capable as the managers at the gym were, the previous owner had never really allowed them the opportunity to run things. I think he liked the idea of them taking care of things - but couldn't seem to let go of his control and trust them to get things taken care of. My 15 hour a week job quickly turned into a full-time job as I needed to learn the business, make a lot of changes in the business practices at the time, and to build relationships with both the staff and the customers. To say I was overwhelmed is a huge understatement. My bachelor's degree in English had not prepared me for business ownership....particularly when it came to budgets, finance and marketing. There was a lot of trial and error in the early days!

Although Bob set up and kept track of the finances from our home, he was unable to have a strong presence in the gym itself. We did work many Friday nights together, however, running our "Parent Survival Night," basically a 3.5 hour party for the kids. Business ownership is a lot of work and if things fall apart there is no one else to fix them but the owner! I now have a business that has bumps in the road - but allows me only have to work about 30 hours a week...sometimes less. I have an incredible manager who is always begging for more responsibility - which I happily turn over - for that I am blessed!

I have learned a lot through this experience. I have learned how many really amazing parents there are out there! No matter what someone looks like, or believes in, people generally want the best for their children. I have learned that a high income, or a lot of education does not mean a child is better off. I have had to be the voice for a child who's mother was abusing him. I have learned that there are a lot of people who believe they are the exception to every rule. I have learned that - judging from my past and current employees - the next generation is a lot smarter than we give them credit for - And I have learned to be a better parent. I may not have wanted to be a business owner, but I can tell you that I 100% believe that what we do is making a positive difference in the lives of the children and parents we teach.

I love having the opportunity to learn and study child development and the best practices for raising all different types of children. I have read A LOT of books on both subjects and I know that working with kids will always be a part of my life in some form or another.

I have been blessed to work with amazing, talented, loving and supportive team members whom I adore! I love that I am able to keep in touch with so many of them...and I have learned so much about becoming a better person through their examples.

In closing, let me share a few bits of unsolicited advice on parenting:

1. All of the primary caregivers in a child's life need to have the same expectations and consequences for a child's behavior. If one parent is overly strict and the other overly permissive the child will grow up feeling insecure, nervous and more apt to be manipulative...since there are no clear boundaries. Mr. Rogers puts it best: "Every child needs LOVING limits." They may be loving - but if they are never enforced they don't exist.
2. Teaching your child basic social skills and acceptable manners is not crushing their spirit, but allowing other people the opportunity to enjoy your child as much as you do.
3. Every time you add a new child to your family you have to learn how to parent all over again - no child is the same. Step back and watch what makes your child tick...and go from there.
4. Give your children A LOT of opportunities to do things for themselves. We are not raising children, we are raising adults. Think of the kind of adult you want your child to be and lay the foundation for it now. Keep in mind that a 2 year old is often full of tantrums because they are ready to start helping take care of themselves.
5. Let your child make simple choices every day. A favorite of mine is letting them pick out their own clothes. They may end looking crazy - but people won't think that you did that to them. They can see that you can match your clothes - they will admire your ability to relax about unimportant decisions that can allow your child the opportunity to feel fantastic!
6. Your child may look like you and talk like you - but he or she is not you! They will have interests and talents and quirks that will baffle you...but because you love them you give them as many chances as possible to become who THEY really want to be.
7. People are more important than things...ALWAYS!
8. Practice what you preach.
9. Read and sing to your children as much as you can - because someday they will think they're too old and that you are off key.
10. If you are ever losing control, take a deep breath, turn up some music and have a dance party...I promise everyone will feel better after that!

Story #8 The First Date

2009-11-30T13:08:00.006-07:00

My laptop is ill with a virus and it has fouled up my posting efforts! I will need to double up on my stories to get them all in before the deadline. Feel free to send my computer get well cards...it's in intensive care as I write.

My first date with Bob was actually Bob, 3 of his friends and me. I guess Bob needed moral support. Actually, his friends were supposed to have dates, but they all struck out. Wait - let me back up a little...I first met Bob through a mutual friend, Steve. My first date with Steve was a double date, Bob was the other guy and his date (a blind date for him) was a girl named Candy who was a senior in high school. (Bob was 23 at the time - cradle robber.) Bob and Steve had been mission companions in Spain and both shared the same corrupt and bizarre sense of humor. After that first meeting, Bob asked Steve if he was going to ask me out again - or if Bob could ask me out. Steve told him that he was going to ask me out again. Months later Steve and I decided we were better friends than anything else and we stopped dating. That summer I received a phone call from Bob asking me if I wanted to go water skiing. He said his name was Bob Denney, but he never mentioned Steve and to be honest, I couldn't remember who he was. I had always wanted to learn to water ski, so I said yes, got his address and told him I would meet him at his house.

As soon as I arrived I remembered who he was, but decided to go anyway. I AM JUST KIDDING! The 5 of us headed off to Echo Reservoir for same late afternoon and evening skiing. All of the guys were unbelievable patient with my uncoordinated attempts at skiing. I was so impressed with how at ease I felt with all of them and that was in a swimsuit! (Of course I was a much smaller size back then...but still.) Believe it or not, because of Bob's patient instruction I was actually able to get up on two skis - there were moments when I thought I needed more :)! I was happily skiing when suddenly Bob pulled the boat around and the other guys lifted me into the boat. "What's going on?" I asked. They told me that a couple of the other boats on the lake and crashed and we needed to see if we could go and help.

Since it was a Monday evening there were only a few other boats on the lake. One of them was an older, wooden ski boat holding a Mom, Dad, their older married daughter and her husband, their 12 year old boy, 2 younger girls and a yappy little dog. They were driving across the lake at a pretty good clip when a large fiberglass boat cut in front of them. The wooden boat crashed into the side of the fiberglass boat, went under and came up on the other side. When we arrived there was debris and screams were everywhere. The first person we saw was the older married daughter. Her scalp had been partially severed and was flapped open. Bob's friend Jeff jumped into the water, grabbed a towel and wrapped her head. Her husband was clearly in shock, but uninjured. Another boat pulled him in and wrapped him up. A third boat jetted to shore to call for help. The mother of the family was screaming hysterically, no one could understand her and she would thrash about if anyone tried to pull her out of the water. Finally a prayer was said and the woman calmed right down. She then told us that her son and husband were missing.

Seeing the upturned boat, Bob and his other two friends assumed that the father and son must have been trapped under the boat. At first they tried to turn the boat over, but it was so heavy they could not lift it at all. Bob and his friends assumed that there would be a pocket of air inside the upturned boat, so Bob swam underneath, only to discover that the pocket was so small there was no way to catch a breath. Each taking turns, Bob and his friends dove deep into the murky water to try and find the bodies of the father and son.

It wasn't long before life flight, the sheriff and specialty divers arrived. The had us drive over to the far side of the lake to clear the area while they searched for the bodies. Life Flight took the older daughter and her husband and rushed off to the nearest hospital. The mom, daughters and little dog left with the sheriff so that the divers could do their work. We were out on the lake until 2 a.m. when they finally called off the search for the night. At that point we were able to dock and head back to Salt Lake.

Unfortunately, the bodies of the son and father were not found for another 2 weeks. I don't know how the older daughter fared - or the rest of the family. I hope she survived. I was so impressed by Bob and his friends. Their courage and willingness to help in this desperate situation was amazing. I decided I should go out with Bob again - and 18 years later - here we are!

Story #7 Pumpkin Pie

2009-11-26T11:16:00.002-07:00

Happy Thanksgiving! I thought a Thanksgiving story was appropriate.

Most every year my family would be invited to the Cutler's for Thanksgiving dinner. This was heavenly for many reasons. One, I felt like I grew up there, so it was very homey; Two, Joanie is an amazing cook. Cook isn't the right word...Chef is better. Three, there was always a crackling fire going and great conversation.

One year, Joanie had invited another couple to the dinner as well. She had asked both my Mom and Sandra, the other lady, to bring dessert. She requested a trifle from my Mom and asked Sandra to bring a pie. After dinner, as we were all sitting around the fireplace, Joanie began to take dessert orders. I started to feel very sad for Sandra when person after person kept asking for trifle - and no one wanted her pumpkin pie. I really wanted trifle but asked for pie so at least someone ate some of Sandra's dessert. My Dad (step-dad) was sitting next to me and he also asked for pie.

I looked longingly as each person received their bowl of trifle. Soon Joanie handed us our pumpkin pie. I took a bite and had to use all my will power to not spit it out or make a face. Something was seriously wrong with this pie. Ironically, Sandra and her husband were also having trifle, so she had no idea that she had baked the worst pumpkin pie ever in the history of Thanksgiving. I looked over at my Dad and we exchanged knowing glances. I sat in awe as I watched him actually take another bite. He gave me a small nod, as if saying, "Come on...we have to make an effort." I managed to take two more bites. If I ate anymore I was sure I would begin spewing pumpkin pie all over the coffee table.

It was clear that Sandra did not put sugar in filling and she seemed to be lacking in the finer art of crust making. The crust was very, very hard and salty - that combined with unsweetened pumpkin custard is not a great way to finish a beautiful meal.

I couldn't wait to get in the car with my parents so that my Dad and I could discuss the trauma we had both experienced. I needed to have some group therapy time ... and was nervous that Joanie would ask if we wanted more. I have been very careful about pumpkin pie ever since that experience. Every time I see a pumpkin pie I have a flash of post traumatic stress disorder. So, before you dive into your pie today, pick someone to taste test it for you.....does anyone know Sandra?

Story #6 Colliding with cars

2009-11-24T15:24:00.003-07:00

I developed the bad habit of getting hit by moving cars when I was young. I have been hit a total of 3 times in my life. The first time I was hit I was in 2nd grade. I was walking home from school and came to a 4 way stop. There was a car coming, but she had her blinker on to turn right, so I started to cross the street. Apparently, she was just going around the world to the right and had no intention of either turning, slowing down or stopping so she hit me instead. I flew through the air, but was fortunate enough to land on some one's front lawn, rather than the sidewalk or street. I must have gone unconscious because when I opened my eyes I remember seeing the woman who hit me screaming hysterically and the police running over to me. A lot of that portion is hazy, I know an ambulance came, they took me to the hospital, my brother was there, my Mom quickly arrived - and miraculously I hadn't broken a bone. I was very bruised up and had a lot of cuts and scrapes, as well as a big bump on the head - but I was okay.

I stayed home for a couple of weeks recuperating. I do remember that it felt like Christmas. One of the guys my Mom was dating kept bringing me Archie comics (my favorite) and M&Ms. My class all made me cards, and neighbors kept bringing in goodies as well. I remember thinking this wasn't so bad - watch TV all day, no school, get presents - all for letting someone drive their car into me. Okay, maybe it sounds kind of bad when I put it that way - but I was 8 - Archie comics were the ultimate.

A few weeks after I was pronounced healed and ready to return to school I encountered the same problem - but with a twist. My Mom had Delia (I can't believe I remember her name), her accountant over to help her with taxes. For some reason Delia didn't have her car and so she needed to drive her home. My Mom and Delia were in the front of the beautiful Pinto wagon, Marc and his friend Andy had climbed into the back and I was in the process of climbing in when my Mom said, "Everyone in?" Someone must have said yes because she started to drive away. The problem was I was only halfway in when she took off - so I fell out of the car, smacked my head on the sidewalk and screamed while she managed to run over my leg. I remember that for some reason I was mad at Marc, so when my Mom asked who should sit in the back with me while we drove to the hospital I said Andy. I bet Marc was really upset about that! I also remember being really worried about my shoes. I had just received, thanks to the previous collision gift extravaganza, a pair of navy blue shoes. These weren't just any shoes - they were the cool shoe for any 2nd grade girl in Eugene. They had this fabulous 2 inch thick wavy sole. I felt fabulous in them and I was worried that the blood was going to ruin them. (A girl has her priorities, after all.)

I distinctly remember two things from the Emergency Room. First, I remember the doctors asking me what happened. I said, "My Mom ran over me." I remember seeing my Mom cover her face with her hands while the doctors and nurses turned and looked at her. Second, I remember the doctor asking me how I felt. I asked, "Are my shoes okay?" He told me that wasn't important. WHATEVER! These were totally cool shoes - I didn't like the doctor after that.

My third brush with the automobile industry happened not too long ago. Bob and I were loading groceries into our car when a woman backed into me - knocking me down. It scared me more than anything, but I felt very annoyed when the woman said "This is so scary for me." I am sure that it was scary for her - but she shouldn't be complaining to the woman she just hit with her car. I had a sore hip and a bad attitude for the rest of the night - but no other damage.

I feel that I have maxed out my lifetime supply of car "strike-ability" and hope that this is not some weird DNA thing that I may have passed on to my girls.

Story #5 Rebellious Reading

2009-11-22T15:22:00.003-07:00

Many years ago, while finishing up my Bachelors degree, I was working on a project regarding how television negatively effects children's reading abilities. The irony of this is that I am a HUGE fan of all things literary, but was also a latchkey child - therefore carefully tended by Bewitched, The Brady Bunch, The Flintstones and sometimes even Phil Donahue. The sad thing is I didn't even make the correlation until I was thinking about this post.

As long as I can remember I have loved reading. Joan Cutler, who cared for me when I was younger, would read to me and her son Nathan all of the time. She had impeccable taste in children's books and still does. My favorite by far, maybe because it touched on the little rebel within me, was Gone is Gone by Wanda Gag. It introduced me to the age old debate of who works harder, the husband or the wife. I loved this book. I still remember my 5 year old self thinking, "The husband is so silly to think he can do anything as well as the wife." I loved the whimsical pictures and hearing Joanie's different voices for each character. I have since searched for the book, but have yet to be able to find a copy!

But the real trigger moment for me happened when I was turning 10 years old. My Aunt Rose gave me a copy of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens for my birthday. I remember overhearing my Mom tell someone that I was too young for the book - and wasn't it a shame. So my inner rebellious streak flared up and I became determined to read Great Expectations and prove her wrong! Thank heavens for rebellion. Any of you who have read Dickens know that some of the text can be challenging, or at least a bit wordy, but never the less I did it. I read Great Expectations at the age of 10. It was a tough go, but I quickly got the gist of the story and actually found myself getting into the rhythm of the language and connecting to some of the characters.

It lit some kind of fire in me. I would ride my bike to the library and check out a dozen books at a time. I loved to discover a great author and then read everything they had ever written. I saved up my money and would buy paperbacks at the local book shop, many of which I still have today. There was something so exhilarating about entering a book store! Oh the possibilities for escape....adventure, romance, sadness, laughter, mystery...I was interested in all of it. The librarian at my elementary school saw a budding bibliophile and began suggesting different authors with various writing styles to me. I read Agatha Christie, Lois Lowry, Madeleine L'Engle, John Steinbeck, and even the Bronte sisters. She asked me if I would be her special library assistant. Every time she would receive a new shipment of books she asked me to read them first and let her know what I thought. I loved knowing I was the first to crack the spine of each new acquisition.

I remember in 4th and 5th grade reading something of Judy Blume's and then consuming every book she had ever written. Eventually, I came upon one of her more controversial young adult novels, Forever - which is quite a sex education, for those of you who aren't familiar with the book. Bypassing all need for parental consent and debate, my friend Tonja and I passed this book around our entire class - giving away all the nitty gritty details of some one's "first time." By the time I got the book back the book had been appropriately (or inappropriately) highlighted - with even a few reactions jotted in the margins. I sold the book to a boy in the 6th grade for $5. (We just didn't let Mrs. Anderson, our 5th/6th grade teacher, know she was off the hook for the whole puberty and sex discussion.)

To this day I love to be the first to crack open a new book, the smell, the rustle of the paper, the possibilities. I will admit that Forever pretty much took care of any interest in Romance novels - the one genre that doesn't really interest me. (Although, a well written sex scene in a good novel is never a disappointment :)) Until she passed away, I used to fantasize about meeting Madeleine L'Engle. I read all of her young adult books when I was younger, and all of her other writings as an adult. I felt like she had always been a part of my life and that we would have had an amazing connection. I think the idea of learning and understanding different characters in a novel is one a the greatest benefits of being an avid reader. What better way to begin to understand how people of all different backgrounds think and live. Reading may have started out as a way to prove my Mom wrong - but has turned into a life long love affair.

Story #4 Why do a sense of humor and Depression go hand in hand?

2009-11-19T21:40:00.003-07:00

In my twenties I was diagnosed with Depression and have been fighting the battle ever since. (I have to capitalize the word to give the girl the respect she deserves.) The problem is, once I start feeling a little better I think..."This is it! I have fought the beast and won!" But then I turn my head and there she is...laughing...she was just taking her coffee break...getting ready for the next round. Never you fear, I do have my cache of weapons. I have fought the battle with Wellbutrin, Prozac, Paxil and now Lexapro. It's just that after awhile the weapons lose their sharp edges - and I am apt to become battle weary.

Now the title of this post was not meant to brag - I'm rarely funny on purpose - but haven't you noticed some of the most talented, funny, creative people in the world are also plagued with battling that beast Depression and her twin sister Anxiety? It's almost as if nature decided, "Alright we will let you have these gifts, but you must continually pay the price with mind-numbing bouts of fear, anxiety and wondering if you can go on....deal?"

Don't worry, I won't out any of you fellow depression-ites, but it seems to be everywhere. I remember sitting in church and hearing a Sunday School teacher state that if only people would pray more, they wouldn't have to turn to Prozac. I didn't know if I should walk out or clock him over the head with my Bible. Most people I know who suffer from depression spend more time on their knees than your average non-depressed individual. And with my lovely Olivier insomnia, I have spent hours on end on my knees. Don't get me wrong, I frequently think I would and could be worse off without the prayer. I do believe that when I hit my moments where I just can't go on, that the Lord reaches down his hand and helps me to stand again. And somehow, miraculously, I summon the energy and fortitude to keep up the fight.

Putting my uneducated diagnostic skills to work I would say I inherited a few of the Depression and Anxiety battle wounds from the family tree. My Mom is one of the most cheerful people you will ever come across...positive in such a way that Pollyana would be envious and yet she can worry at Pulitzer Prize levels. My Dad (not step dad) seems to deal with depression and bouts of Eeyorism, from what I can gather, and flashes of anger and brilliance. Okay, he's pretty brilliant on a regular basis, but you get the idea. You combine that DNA and Voila! here I am - stock full of both lovely traits. TA-DA!

There is no storyline here, or if there is it doesn't fit into a neat little package. It's messy, complicated, repetitive and requires a lot of reading between the lines. I just felt that this story is the subtext, if you will, for a lot of what happens in my life. So, if my 40 story project is going to paint some kind of picture of who I am - how could I do that without my arch-nemises?

I now know, from experience, that no medication will keep working without doing some talk therapy. So, if Depression is rearing her ugly head at you - find a therapist...it's worth the expense....whatever pharmaceutical weapons you posess, only the therapist can give you some armour. (Are you wondering how long I can keep up this battle metaphor? Just a little longer.) In spite of giant strides and a few excited blows to Depression's vital organs, she remains strong enough to make a showing...just when you least expect it.

Story #3 Guardian Angels

2009-11-16T20:18:00.003-07:00

Just remember - there is no pattern whatsoever to my story topics!

Another story from college. My freshman year at BYU I lived in the dorms - Deseret Towers to be precise (which have since been torn down!). I was lucky enough to have an Aunt and Uncle living close by who would frequently invite me to their house for Sunday dinner. When I arrived at their house my Aunt Brenda asked me how I was, in such a way that I felt that I should be feeling worse than I was. "I'm fine. Is there something I don't know?" "I just thought your Mom would have called you about your stepfather. He is in the hospital. It's his heart, and things don't look good."

Now for those of you that don't know, my step dad....forget the step part...my Dad is one of my heroes. I am so grateful that he is a part of my life! He has had heart problems to the point that many years ago one doctor gave him only 6 months to live! Considering his history you can imagine how stressed out I felt. I tried calling my Mom from my Aunt and Uncle's house but couldn't get a hold of her.

I returned to the dorm feeling extremely worried and sad. One of my girlfriends, Andrea, came in and wanted me to come play a game with several of the girls. I told her what I had just found out and that I wasn't in the mood. She said she understood, gave me a hug and left. About 30 minutes later she came back to my room and asked me to come with her. I told her I didn't want to, but she insisted. I followed her to the common area bedroom (for visitors and such) and there kneeling on the floor was every girl from our floor and most of the girls from the floor below ours. (It was a pretty big room.) "We all wanted to say a prayer with you," Andrea told me. "to pray for your Dads' recovery." She then gave a beautiful prayer, followed by each girl coming by and giving me a hug and well wishes.

I had never been so touched. Seeing all of those girls kneeling on the floor ready to pray for me and my family was an incredibly powerful experience. It only took a few minutes of their time, but the effect it had on me will last forever.

Now, almost (gulp) 22 years later...(is it really that long?) my Dad still has more energy than I do. He always amazes us with his recoveries. Isn't it amazing how the Lord uses other people to strengthen us?

Story #2 A bad date or Never assume the odds are in your favor

2009-11-13T17:18:00.002-07:00

I came up with this 40 story idea, but it is tricky to decide what to write about - so don't assume they will all be profound. They may be small, funny, strange or meaningful - who knows what kind of picture they will paint! So on to story #2...

I had a lot of guy friends in high school but didn't date a lot. Some of my dates were truly just friend dates and nothing more. When I got to BYU, however, the dating scene changed - which was very refreshing. Quantity does not equal quality, however, which led to some interesting scenarios.

One date that stands out was with a guy whose name...I think...was Steve. The fact that I can't remember his name is actually part of the problem. In our student ward there was one apartment that had 4 young men, cousins and brothers, living in it. 3 of them were exceedingly cute and fun...and...one...well he was different. So, when the phone rang one afternoon and one of them called to ask me out, I had no idea which one it was that was calling. I figured that the odds were in my favor, I mean 3 out of 4 chance it was a fun one, so I said yes. When he came to pick me up I was a little disappointed to discover that it was the humorless brother who I was going out with.

He was a chemistry major, not that there's anything wrong with that, who enjoyed talking chemistry all the time. This would have been okay - but I was an English major. The collegiate version of oil and water. As I got in the rusty old car, what a lovely surprise to see two more chemistry majors sitting in the back of the car. Yippee a double date where the periodic table is great fodder for conversation....I knew I was in trouble. But I soon discovered that we weren't just heading out to dinner...no we were driving (45 minutes each way) to Salt Lake to walk around Temple Square and see the Christmas lights. If any young men are reading this post - do not take a first date to anything that requires more than 15 minutes travel...'cause if it isn't going well, it makes for a very long night!

One of the first things I noticed about the couple in the back was that the girl, bedecked with coke bottle lenses, had both of her sweater's shoulder pads sticking out around her neck. Do you remember in the late 80s and early 90s how everything you bought had either sewn in or velcroed shoulder pads? Well, I don't know what was going on with hers...but it wasn't pretty. At first I thought maybe she had brought ear muffs that she had placed around her neck, or that she was injured in some kind of freak chemistry accident. It was quite the puzzle - and I was thrilled when I figured out what they were. Every time I looked at her it was as if some white mittened creature was trying to emerge from her sweater. I know this is mean, but it did provide me with the ONLY entertainment for the evening, so I thought it was worth mentioning.

As we started down the freeway I noticed a cafeteria lunch tray on the floor in front of me. I bent to move it out of my way, only to have Steve shout, "Don't move that!!" It turns out the tray was covering a rusted out hole in the bottom of the car. That's right, I could have pulled a Fred Flintstone, because this hole was big enough to put both my feet through. Did I mention it was winter....and that his heater didn't work?

I foolishly kept trying to be a part of the conversation, but every time I would make a little joke, all three of them would stare at me as though I had shoulder pads sticking out of my shirt...I would have to explain every little, tiny joke I made - which as you know, pretty much ruins the joke. By the time we got to Temple Square I was dying to go home.

Although the lights on Temple Square are spectacular - there is a coldness factor that can determine how much you are able to enjoy them. It was about 10 degrees that night. Need I say more? I was already cold from the drive to Salt Lake - and was apparently with a human being who was impervious to cold. At several points I said, "Aren't you cold?" To which he replied, "Oh no, I could stay out here for hours." He then went on to explain to me how you could attempt to figure out the energy required to light each tree. He went on and on about estimating the number of bulbs, wattage and all kinds of other factors that were no where near interesting. Did I mention the temperature? He then pontificated on the invention of electricity, which in turn led to a fascinating conversation about how certain metals, chemicals and various liquids conduct electrical currents. Oh, the laughs we were having. Did I mention that I was an English major? There were points where I wanted to grab him and shout, "Just get it over with, kill me now! I can't take the torture! I'll tell you whatever you want to know!!!!"

We froze out there for 90 minutes!!!! At one point I felt like just walking away and trying to find a bus. At least I would be warm. The other couple had disappeared into the visitor center to - so I didn't even have the shoulder pads to look at. I stopped talking, because quite frankly, my mouth was frozen shut. He kept telling me what a great listener I was and how so many other people seem to find his stories boring. Hmmm, weird.

We finally went to a coffee shop to get some hot chocolate. He was thoughtful enough to ask if I wanted separate checks. I actually told him no, that I was okay with him paying for my hot chocolate. I mean I deserved some kind of compensation for the glorious evening. Who asks the girl if she wants separate checks?!!!!

I won't keep the suspense going - you are all wondering how the date ended, right? We drove home in his little rusty igloo, and as we turned on to my street I almost shouted in joy "HOORAY! I made it!" I walked quickly up to my door hoping to slip in without any further conversation, but he was quick for a chemist. "I had a great time with you tonight." He said. WHAT? What date was he on? "I would love to give you a kiss good night." "Oh," I replied, "I don't kiss on the first date." (Or any other with you, you frozen cretin.) I then slipped in as fast as I could and took a hot steamy 30 minute shower.

Don't you just love dating? Aren't you glad your done?

Story #1 - Grandpa Millard and Zucchini Bread

2009-11-12T15:53:00.003-07:00

(I am sitting in my Grandpa Millard's lap, Lisa is...well I don't know what she's doing, but even from her back you can tell she's laughing!)

When I was little we would spend several weeks every August and December with my Grandma & Grandpa Millard here in Salt Lake City. Although the drive seemed eternal, even in the finery of our Ford Pinto Station wagon - equipped with faux wood paneling, it was always exciting to arrive. Grandma and Grandpa had a few things we did not seem to enjoy in Oregon. The first was thunderstorms. I loved sitting in the chaise lounges (which were metal, by the way, seems like an odd choice for watching a storm) on my grandparents back porch and watch the lightening. I'm sure there are all kinds of fascinating meteorological reasons as to why we didn't have lightening and thunder in Oregon, but I have no clue what those might be. We did manage to have plenty of rain.

The second source of enjoyment was a freezer full of Hostess bakery delights. (Delightful to children, anyway.) Grandma always had loads of Ding Dongs, Twinkies, Cupcakes and occasionally SnoBalls, neatly stacked in her upright freezer. We would all be excited to devour the treats - so excited that waiting for them to thaw was not an option. I have vivid memories of Marc and I gnawing on the sides of our Ding Dongs trying to get to the rock hard creamy center. As you can imagine, the Ding Dong would soon become a mushy, slimy mess, and we would throw it away out of disgust and frustration.

One week in August my Mom, Marc and Lisa would drive down to Provo and participate in Education Week at BYU and leave me with my Grandparents. I always felt a little abandoned and left out as I watched them drive away, and wonder why I couldn't join in.

One year my Grandpa noticed me sitting sadly on the front porch. He came out the screen door and handed me a large hat and a pair of garden gloves. "We are going to harvest some zucchini today!" He happily announced and began walking toward the backyard. I put on the floppy hat and attempted to put on the large gloves and trotted after him to his vegetable garden. We carefully examined his gigantic zucchini plants for the perfect zucchinis. "We need just the right zucchini's, because today is a very important day." he told me. "Why is today important?" I asked. "Because today you are going to be my assistant chef - We are making zucchini bread."

This peaked my interest. I liked to help in the kitchen. Grandpa and I picked out several dark green specimen that met his exacting zucchini bread standards. I lugged the zucchini through the back door and up the steps to the kitchen. Grandma was setting out all of the necessary equipment as I proudly displayed our bounty. You would have thought it was a pile of jewels, the way she oohed and ahhed over our perfect choices.

"The first step," Grandpa announced, "is to wash and grate the zucchini."

Looking back I don't know how my Grandparents had the patience to watch me grate the zucchini. I was determined to grate it all by myself. There was no food processor involved - this was pure muscle and time. Have you ever watched a small child attempt to grate cheese? Somehow the cheese gets all squished and crumbly once it enters little hands - now picture that with zucchini. I am quite certain that I must have grated for two straight hours, curls falling in my eyes, tongue poking out to the side in deep concentration. My grandparents just smiled and chatted with me, as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Once the zucchini was finally prepared we began to assemble the other ingredients: eggs, flour, sugar, oil. I begged my Grandfather to allow me to sift the flour. It is not that the recipe called for sifted flour, but merely that I was fascinated with the sifter.

After another long delay, with a vast flour distribution over every surface, we mixed the batter and placed the loaves in the oven. This is when Grandpa pulled out the games. I loved to play a game with them called "Help Your Neighbor." I can't remember if they invented this game, but I know that they made the pieces to the game. We had a series of cards with numbers, there may have been dice, all I really remember was how I would giggle as I beat them in game after game. They were always so astonished, "Bert, can you believe she won again?" my grandma would say.

Soon the smell of the zucchini bread would send our stomaches to growling. Grandma would take out the loaves and make us promise to let them cool. The wait was interminable. Grandma placed 3 large glasses filled with cold milk on the round, oil-clothed table. She cut thick slices of the warm bread and generously spread butter across the tops while Grandpa and I would lick our lips. She passed out the plates with the fragrant bread and then she and Grandpa would toast the assistant chef before we devoured our creation.

After that summer, each year I would stay we would always bake zucchini bread. I would like to think my cooking skills improved, but no improvement was needed on the company. To this day, those warm summer days baking bread with my Grandpa make me smile.

40 is creeping closer, can you hear it?

2009-11-11T20:19:00.002-07:00

I can't believe I turn 40 next month. When I turned 30 I couldn't even say the word. I would have a violent physical reaction - but for 40 I am excited. There have been huge changes in my mind this year, most of which I can't write about out of respect for others. I have been through some painful reckoning (that word seems particularly relevant), and allowed myself to mourn mistakes I have made, difficulties I have gone through and feel this great sense of liberty. Realizing that I have a lot more control in my life than I previously thought has opened up this new sense of freedom. Because of this, 40 feels like a whole new chapter in designing a life I love - one with limitless options!! I am no longer feeling quite as unbalanced as I did when I first started this blog - even though the balance on the scale has only changed 15 pounds. When you remove all of that emotional baggage we all carry around - you gain a sense of energy that makes you feel 50 pounds lighter.

I have been trying to think of ways to celebrate "blog style" for my upcoming birthday and have come up with one self-indulgent idea. (It is my birthday, after all.) I am going to write about 40 different occasions in my life that have had some significant meaning. I figure this will be a great way to journal since my journals growing up seem to be mostly about boys and fights with my sister.

So tune in tomorrow - I'm excited about the first story!

P.S. I love hitting spell check and seeing blogger say "No misspellings found." It's like a pat on the back.

Notice any similarities?

2009-11-05T18:33:00.005-07:00

Have you seen the ads for those bumpit hair "raisers"? Or the Progressive lady? I just find it odd that we are heading toward the alien look.

Crinkled Cars

2009-11-03T16:26:00.005-07:00

I mentioned, a few posts ago, that I was in a little car crash. It was the fault of my invisibility super power gone awry. I was driving up a busy road when another car pulled out from a side street right into the passenger side of my car. She told me she just didn't see me. Apparently, my powers affect automobiles as well. It is not like it was night time - or a stormy day. It was the middle of the afternoon on one of those infrequent, beautiful fall days. There was not a cloud in the sky...and did I mention that I was on a busy street? My car, while black, is usually very visible in the daytime.

The other driver's insurance is paying for everything, which is a plus, but I still don't have my car back and I am truly missing it.

In a misguided "Bailey Building and Loan" decision, I told the adjuster that I didn't need a rental car, since we already have an extra car at home. (Please tell me you understood the "It's a Wonderful Life" reference. I just thought that if we all only took what we need, then every one's insurance would go down. Quit laughing - I have good intentions.)

For the past couple of weeks I have been driving our 11 year old mini-van, lovingly named the Loser Cruiser, which has been exciting for all the wrong reasons. First, I can no longer surprise someone with my arrival since the squeal of my brakes can be heard for miles. I am trying to pump the brakes now and create some sort of rhythmic, musical experience. Second, you can only drive with one hand. You need the other hand to catch the nuts and bolts that seem to mysteriously fall from the car once you hit the freeway. Third, it is haunted. At random intervals, so random that it does not happen daily, the driver's side window will roll down. Now this sounds exciting, but on the rare occasion that I am having a good hair day, the unexpected wind can be very upsetting.

I am trying to just be grateful that I have a car to drive, but once you get used to a little bit of luxury, like non-squeaking brakes, it's hard to go back to....well an 11 year old mini-van. I miss my heated seats, my CDs (which I left in the car), my in car blue tooth magic, windows that I can control and the great headlights. I know headlight seems like a weird one, but these headlights have made all the difference in driving at night. (Gosh, that makes me sound old.) When I drive the van at night I keep checking to see if the lights are actually on - it seems like they do nothing for illumination.

I thought I would have the car back last Friday, but the body shop guy has had the Swine Flu and that morphed into pneumonia. I feel very badly for him....but I am worried that I will be driving down the freeway and chunks of the van will start falling off leaving me skidding down I-215 in my captains chair holding a detached steering wheel. I just don't have the feet power to pull off the Fred Flintstone kind of transportation. Come back to me TSX!

Life stories

2009-11-01T20:02:00.005-07:00

Last Sunday we went to my parent's house for dinner. Everything tastes better when you don't have to cook! Plus my parents always serve a main dish and about 14 side dishes. I am not exaggerating....Michelle back me up on this one!

My nephew, James is serving a family history mission here in Salt Lake City. It is a pilot program for young men and women with either physical or mental disabilities that otherwise would not have an opportunity to go on a mission. James is PPDNOS, but to make it simple, it falls under the umbrella of autism. He was at the dinner with one of his roommates. The young man, whom I will call Elder Smith, spent quite a long time telling me about his life. He struggles with facial tics and a stutter, but communicates quite well. I mean no disrespect by repeating his story, but I found it quite impressive and was touched that he would just volunteer this information. (People just tell me stuff.)

He was born at 28 weeks in Kentucky. He weighed only 2 pound 4 oz. It is a miracle that he lived - but amazingly that fact has not been his biggest trial. His mother soon discovered that his father was beating him. She thought the bumps and bruises were from normal baby/toddler activity, until she caught him at it one day. She divorced him, but unfortunately became involved in drugs and alcohol addiction. After several years of neglect the state placed him in a series of foster homes. His grandparents had lost touch with their daughter and when the state removed Elder Smith from his mother's lack of care they were on a mission in Africa and were never contacted. When they returned from their mission, they decided to try and contact their daughter again and discovered that Elder Smith had been in foster care.

Through the assistance of LDS social services, they were able to gain guardianship and eventually full custody of Elder Smith and bring him to Salt Lake. He was a pretty angry person by that time. His grandparents tried to encourage him to come to church, but he was too mad about all he had been through and felt like he already had life figured out. Soon he discovered that his father lived in West Valley and he tried to contact him. His father said that when he was 16 he could come and live with him. His grandparents were wary but decided to pursue setting up a supervised visitation schedule for Elder Smith and his father. The father rarely showed up for any of the visits - with each visit re-opening issues of abandonment and pain for Elder Smith.

As time went by, Elder Smith could see that the anger he had inside of him, although justified, was destroying the possibility of him becoming the type of person he really wanted to be. He prayed that he would be able to forgive and let go of all of the hurt he had inside. He said it was the first time he felt the Holy Ghost in his life. He went to his Grandmother and told her that she needed to forgive his parents, too. He told her that God wanted them to be able to move on with their lives, and the only way that would happen was to release the bitterness that he and his grandparents had been holding on to. His grandparents were impressed with his example and promised they would do their best.

After that life altering moment he decided he wanted to start attending church. He realized maybe he had a few things to learn and began to open up to the people around him. It was still very hurtful that his father would never follow through with any of his promises. His mother is off of drugs and living in Utah as well. He hopes that for his 21st birthday she will stop smoking, because he worries about her health. He said he has loved being on his mission because he made a great friend. One of his former roommates, who has since finished his mission, became a best friend to him. He said this was the first time someone his age looked at him without seeing what was wrong with him and loved learning all that the two of them had in common.

I was touched to learn that my parents had never seen him talk as much as he did to me, to anyone. I was amazed with all the challenges this young man has he has still found room in his life for forgiveness and hope.

So much to do, finally ready to start

2009-10-30T10:39:00.003-06:00

Once I let a little time go by it is hard to catch up on things I want to blog about. So in the tradition of Tara, who was blogging about June in October, I will try to get it all in over the next few days. Sadly, one of the things that throws me off is not getting my photos downloaded. I know this is a lame excuse, since it merely requires me plugging my camera in, but there you go.

A couple of weeks ago I had a therapy session that left me feeling rather excited. He said to me that several years ago, he and his wife were on vacation, enjoying an evening stroll when they had the following conversation (my words, of course):

Wife: Will you play an imagination game with me? (She happens to be a therapist, also. Can you imagine what their conversations or arguments must be like?)

Steve: Sure

Wife: Imagine that you had a distant relative that you didn't even know about. He died and left you so much money - it was basically limitless. So first you bought all the toys and homes, etc. that you ever wanted. You shared with charity, bought your family whatever they wanted, fulfilled every wish. After a couple of years you become bored with this so you travel all over the world. After a few years you want to settle down back at home. What would you do with your time? What interests would you want to explore?

Steve went on to tell me about some of the interests he ended up pursuing. He said that he had used his family as excuses to prevent himself from doing the things he wanted to do. He said that he found he could still be a great father and husband and pursue target shooting, welding (for art), and sports. All things he had been interested in, but convinced himself that he couldn't develop these interests since he was a father and husband.

Based on this he gave me a homework assignment: create my list - sort of a mid-life bucket list - what have I been putting off? As I mentioned a few things to him there on the spot, he said "those are all things you can do right now! It won't interfere with you being a wife and mother." I realized he was right!

So my initial list includes:

Writing classes
Voice over acting workshops (I have always been interested)
Travel
Yoga

I reserve the right to expand the list at any moment! I have looking into numbers 1 and 2 and hopefully will start pursuing those next month. What have you wanted to do - but keep finding excuses to stop yourself?

Is anyone there?

2009-10-19T19:34:00.002-06:00

Test...test...Is this thing on? Anyone? Hello? Where are my friends comments?

A spooky tale...oooo!

2009-10-18T22:22:00.003-06:00

In honor of the upcoming holiday I want to share a very scary and true story that happened to me several years ago.

Bob was working a swing shift at the production facility he was managing. He was gone from about 3 in the afternoon to 2 or 3 at night every night. One Thursday in late summer I had made arrangements to have a babysitter come and watch my girls so I could attend my book group. Bob arranged his "lunch" so that he could take the babysitter home and then return to work once I had finished book group around 10.

At the time I was completely engrossed by a book entitled These Is My Words, and was thrilled to be able to return to its pages. After a few minutes of reading I could hear a small shuffling noise on the stairs and discovered 3 year old Kristen sneaking out of bed. After a story, a hug and kiss I returned her to bed and excitedly got back to my book. But once again a noise interrupted my reading. As I walked to the stairs I said "Kristen, you little turkey? What are you doing out of bed?" But as I looked on the stairs I couldn't see Kristen there. I went down to her room and saw she was fast asleep. I tiptoed into Nicole's room and discovered that she, too was sleeping peacefully. Although nervous I was certain that I had heard something and decided to investigate.

I went into the toy room and discovered the sliding glass door was wide open. I began to feel very nervous. I quickly checked the girls closets and under their beds and then closed their bedroom doors. Not feeling brave enough to go through the house alone I decided to call my neighbor, Robert, to see if he would make sure the house was safe. Although it was midnight I knew he would just be returning home from the restaurant he managed and would still be awake. He answered the phone on the first ring (no one calls with good news at midnight) and said he would be right down. At this point I began to feel a little embarrassed, but grateful that he was willing to investigate with me.

We both nervously giggled that he had come armed with a steak knife, in case he needed to fend off any burglars. We started downstairs, checking each room and every possible hiding place and fortunately found nothing out of order. We went upstairs and began looking through the room off the kitchen and the back hall that provided an additional entrance to the master bedroom. Unfortunately, there was no light switch by this back entrance, so the room was dark as we looked through the walk in closet and headed toward the master bath. I was chatting mindlessly as Robert headed toward the bathroom door. He peered into the bathroom and began to close the door while mouthing to me, "There's someone in there." He immediately wedged himself up against the door, with steak knife at the ready, while I tremblingly dialed 9-1-1.

The 911 operator tried to calm my frantic nerves as we waited the few minutes for the sheriff to arrive. I couldn't believe that someone had come into my house and was hiding there as I sat reading and the girls were sleeping in their rooms! The sheriff came to the door and told Robert and I to leave the room as they needed to draw their weapons.

"This is the Sheriff's department! Come out with your hands up!" (Yes, TV gets that line right.) There was no response from the bathroom. The deputy repeated the command, again with no result. "We're coming in!" he shouted. I held my breath while I heard them open the bathroom door. There was a long pause...no noise or commotion. "Ma'am, could you come in here please?" I walked toward the bathroom and saw that there in the shower stall were Bob's jeans and t-shirt hanging on the shower door and faucet handle - Robert's perpetrator was merely dirty yard clothes!

Robert turned to me, "Bye" he said and quickly crept back to his house. I was mortified!!! The sheriff then lectured me on the number of windows that I had open, considering I was a woman alone with children, and that I needed to take safety more seriously. I apologized to the deputy and tried to explain that I had never seen anything, I was going on what Robert had said and that was why I had called 911. He was unimpressed, but kind enough to make sure that the whole house was intruder free.

After the deputies left I called Robert and told him he had to come sit with me until Bob got home. My adrenaline was coursing through my veins, and in spite of the fact that my intruder was merely an outfit too dirty for the hamper, I couldn't seem to calm down.

The next day when Robert's wife Kathy found out about our midnight adventure she could not stop teasing the two of us about it! The next night when Robert came home from work he discovered his family had hung jeans from the ceiling of their entry with signs that read "Help us! Help us! Don't let the levi's kill the family!" HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Grrr...

2009-10-17T17:24:00.003-06:00

Just got in a car accident. My car is not drivable and now I am super grumpy! (I'm not hurt - just a bump on the head.)

One hour later: Just got a call from Katie (work) and she just got in an accident too! What are the chances? We both had the passenger sides of our cars smashed in. How lucky that neither one of us was hurt! Can you imagine? We would have had to shut down the gym!!

Another new phone and getting to know my team!

2009-10-16T22:50:00.005-06:00

I must start by telling you that I returned the dreaded blackberry and got a G1. Much better, although to be honest I haven't spent much time to try and learn that yet either!

Today in my staff meeting we did a little get to know you exercise and I learned some fun, quirky and disturbing things about my staff. I have been so blessed these past 8 years with wonderful women (and occasionally men) to work along side. I had always hoped to be a stay at home mom, but since I have to work I have been lucky to have mostly perfect people to work with. The not so perfect ones have been so incredibly strange that I wonder how I didn't pick up on it when I interviewed them!

Today we just needed to have some fun in staff meeting, so after a few announcements we had people answer the following questions and then guess who it was. The question were:

1. If you could have a super power what would it be and why?
2. If you could add a face to Mt. Rushmore, who would you add?
3. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go and why?
4. Tell us one unique and quirky habit you have.
5. Write a thought or prediction for a fortune cookie.
6. If you could be any comic strip character who would you be and why?

I think the answers that were most enjoyable were the ones for number 4. One employee said that she can't leave a grocery store (she shops at the big mega ones) without buying a new pair of underwear - she has a lot of underwear. One said that she likes to sing loudly in an operatic voice when she feels angry or frustrated. Another one can't go to sleep without vacuuming her whole house first. One likes to wear socks with her sandals. Another has to go through and check all the windows and doors at night to make sure they are locked, even if someone else already has checked.

The fortune cookies were pretty funny! "You are being watched!" "You have herpes." "You can eat all the chocolate you want and never get fat." "You will eat another fortune cookie."

It was really nice for me to just be able to have some fun. Therapy was super intense and has left me feeling drained ever since - so I thoroughly enjoyed being able to laugh for awhile.

Do you have one (or more) quirky or unique habit? Care to share? By the way, the only one I could think of for me was the spelling thing - switching out letters and such...not so interesting when compared to compulsive underwear purchasing.

Old dog, new phone

2009-10-12T21:36:00.005-06:00

I really want to be able to like this phone, but all of its functions seem way too complicated for me. There are so many options and menus and functions and apps that I am overwhelmed. Maybe this is the first sign that 40 is around the corner - I am losing my ability to understand electronic devices. (Although, it did take me about 2 years to figure out how to turn off my flash on my camera....maybe I have never had electronic device i.q.)

Today, during Kristen's harp lesson I attempted to learn more about working the phone - and ended up in a very crunchy mood.

This has been my phone for the past several years.

It has been a wonderful phone. It is hot pink - so that alone is fabulous - and I figured out how to use it...including the calendar/date book, and all sorts of little convenient features, without having to devote hours of time studying. Plus, I have a rather cute polka dot wall paper. Now this may not seem like a technical deal breaker - but the lack of cuteness is not helping me enjoy the blackberry.

I know this seems like a trivial post, but it is clearly affecting my mood! Apparently, I am much closer to being a complete nut job then previously believed. I mean if my cell phone is determining my state of mind - how stable can I be? So, tomorrow I am returning the phone and getting something I can actually use and understand. A couple of days ago I mentioned I might return the phone - Nicole told me I shouldn't because my phone (the razr) is so lame. It was a sad moment for me. The problem is I thought I was a little fancier and more technically savvy than the average middle aged (gulp) person - but apparently not. Maybe I should buy one of those Jitterbug phones. Thoughts?

A few things I don't understand....and a girl power weekend.

2009-10-11T14:15:00.006-06:00

I don't understand why people put these vinyl stickers on their vehicles. Are people bragging that they can breed and care for animals? Judging from the number of these that I see everywhere, I have started to wonder if there is some new regulation requiring an ingredient list for every SUV and mini-van. Although I can appreciate the cuteness factor, I don't understand, in this world of identity theft, why you would advertise the number and gender of your children, as well as their extracurricular activities. I guess the one that really makes sense to me is the dog. This way if someone is tempted to find out where you live in an attempt to rob you - they would be forewarned that you have a dog.

Along that line, as I was driving home yesterday I saw a license plate holder that said "I love where I live." I have to admit I wanted to follow the guy home. I wanted to know what was so great about his place because he was driving a rusted out, dented sad little pick up truck. Is he putting all of his funds into his home? I truly hope he doesn't live in his truck - it looked a little too loved. Of course he could be referring to Salt Lake or Utah or America - but I still want to know if he has some incredible, don't be fooled by my truck, estate.

I also don't understand my new phone. It is far smarter than I am. I read about all of the wonderful apps it has but am completely stumped by it. There is absolutely nothing intuitive about it's function. I will actually be forced to read the manual and spend days learning how to use it....if I don't return it first.

Now these shallow minded meanderings may be because of my crazy weekend. Kristen had 11 girls over for a hot dog roast up the canyon and a slumber-less party. The girls were actually great, in spite of the fact that they wouldn't go to sleep. The shocking part was that mild-mannered Nicole unleashed her wild hysterical side and was louder than all the party-goers. Nicole and her friend laughed hysterically for approximately 2+ hours. I think even the 11 and 12 year old girls knew they had been one-upped.

Late last night Cathy and I took the girls to the Haunted Village at This is the Place Park. It is incredibly scary. The whole thing takes place outside through a farm and a village comprised of refurbished pioneer buildings. I was concerned when Kristen wanted to come this year because I thought she would end up with nightmares - but it only left her feeling like she wanted to vomit. Cathy's daughter, Sadie, is definitely a "flight" kind of stress responder. She would plow down any one or thing that stood in her way when a creepy zombie came along. The girls had paired up with Sadie hanging out with Kristen. The comical thing was anytime Sadie got scared and she went sprinting down the trail, you would see Kristen holding on for dear life practically flying behind her.

I would like to say that I am fairly fearless, but it is simply not the case. My vocal cords are still tired today from all the screaming.

Photos will be added to this post soon!

Random Thoughts for the middle of the week

2009-10-07T16:07:00.002-06:00

I love that Katie, my coworker, was hit on by a 77year old man while we were eating lunch yesterday. (She's 27!) I don't know if I am delighted by his moxie or disgusted.

Yesterday, while in line at Subway, a Dad was waiting with his 2 and 4 year olds (guesstimate). A rather loud dance party song came on and both kids started dancing like crazy. The 2 year old girl said, "Dance, Daddy!" and the 4 year old said, "Yeah, Dad - what's wrong with you? Dance!" I so wished he would have started dancing! It would have brought great joy to me and you know he must have crazy dance parties with his kids at home - no matter how uptight he seemed at Subway!

A mom in my 2 year old parent child class told me yesterday was her birthday and today she had a huge hangover. I felt very badly for her when I realized one of our activities was a tapping rhythm stick song! You should have seen her twitch each time the 15 2 year olds banged their sticks together! (Just another reason not to drink.)

A cheesy compliment and more Paris

2009-10-05T20:25:00.006-06:00

Today a salesman called me to try and get me to purchase advertising from him. At the end of the conversation he said - "I bet you are as beautiful as your voice sounds." It was so comically cheesy I almost agreed to an appointment.

I still haven't downloaded Nicole and Kristen's pictures. Frequently, I didn't take pictures because they were taking so many I figured I could enjoy the sights in person and not through a 2 inch screen. When I did take pictures I tried to include someone in them because in the long run the people will be more interesting than the sights! Here are a few more sights (unedited) of things I enjoyed!

Rodin Museum
department store ceiling

Stairs in the Arch de Triomphe

I can't remember which Jardin...Michelle?

Gorgeous scarves

Gorgeous girls at Versailles

Gardens at Versailles

Just a cute street

Statue at Les Invalides

Topiaries at Versailles

Versailles

Local Florist

Window in an apartment building

Notre Dame

Safari Bob in Paris

2009-10-02T22:27:00.006-06:00

"Comfort has its place, but it seems rude to visit another country dressed as if you've come to mow its lawns."- - Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris, 2000

The birth of Safari Bob occurred months before our actual trip. Initially, Bob grumbled a bit about going merely because he felt that a week wasn't long enough - so why go with only a week? Eventually, he came around and got excited. Actually, the most excited I have seen him about something other than cars, shoes or watches, in a long time....maybe ever. Marc and Michelle were even concerned that Paris would not live up to his expectations. Bob read up so much on Paris, that when Michelle and I were working on a Paris puzzle at Snowbird he knew what was missing or in the wrong place on the puzzle.

As his excitement began so did his quest for his "Paris Wardrobe." Now many of you may think that a "Paris Wardrobe" would be the height of fashion and take place at Nordstrom or the like...You would be wrong. Bob's "Paris Wardrobe" search included REI, Kirkhams and Sierra Trading Post catalogs. I began to wonder if Bob thought of Paris as one giant mountain topped with the Eiffel Tower.

One day a very large box arrived from Sierra Trading Post. Inside were approximately 10 - 12 pairs of shoes. Bob requested my presence so he could show me all of his potential Paris shoes. Some were regular men's casual loafer type shoes, but the majority were hiking boots. "You do realize that we are going to a city, right?" I asked. "I don't believe we will be on any hiking trails....." He looked at me blankly. I stopped talking. Eventually the perfect shoe was discovered...he was so excited that when my parents came by he had to show them, too.

(Safari Bob's shoes - apparently deserving a spot on Marc and Michelle's dining room table. Sorry Michelle!)

These shoes, dark wash jeans, 3 red shirts, 2 navy blue shirts, and the world's largest fanny pack made up the Safari Bob "Paris Wardrobe." He apparently was not a tourist but a man on Safari across the wild city of Paris. And trekking he was. We quickly discovered that Bob and I have very different touring styles. He likes to wake up at the crack of dawn and check off as many sites as he possibly can in one day. I like to wander the city, watch the people, leisurely explore the museums and see where the day takes me. I am pretty sure Bob walked about 200 miles while trekking across Paris.

Safari Bob always had his trusty fanny pack, (yes, I will be making a song like Dora has for her backpack....I will let you know when I am done.) 2 water bottles, maps (Dora had the right idea with this one, too) and who knows what other treasures. The strap is detachable - so when needed you can go in full fanny pack mode, although I don't know when there would be a need for this.

Unfortunately, no shoe, no matter how great, could live up to Safari Bob's unending need to explore. Eventually, his shoes gave out and his legs could take no more....at least for 10 minutes. I am pretty sure I could come up with some sort of children's series about the adventures of Safari Bob. "Safari Bob...Protecting sleepy children from annoying picture taking mothers...coming soon!"

With all of his shopping I decided I needed some cute Paris shoes, too. Marc has said that you can always tell who the tourists are just by looking at their feet. I new I couldn't go just on looks, I needed something comfy, as well.

These cute shoes from J41 fit the bill - extremely comfortable, cute green and a spot for the toes to peek out from. Unfortunately - not so great with gravel. I only had to cave to the cross trainers once or twice....but there was no question that I was a tourist. The french women walk all over Paris - gravel, cobblestone - in shoes like this:

I am not kidding. I have decided that all french women must be numb from the ankles down. Even Safari Bob couldn't cope with those. (Maybe french women will be his nemesis in my children's series...)

PARIS!!!

2009-09-27T15:17:00.007-06:00

(the view from the Trocadero overlooking the Eiffel Tower)

I absolutely loved our trip to Paris! We had an amazing time. The only downfall was my feet giving out before my brain. (FYI - I set aside my upset feelings about missing our plane - although Bob and I will have to work through that one.)

The Olivier's were wonderful hosts. Not only did we get to crash there, Michelle made us gourmet dinners and brought us wonderful breakfasts from the neighborhood patisserie. Marc

took a day out of his busy schedule to speed walk us around the Latin Quarter (I've never seen him move so quickly!) and Max and Lucas joined us for several adventures.

(A breakfast of almond croissants, chocolate almond croissants and pain aux chocolat.)

Max, Lucas, Nicole and Kristen were troopers - especially for the stuff that wasn't as interesting to them. I did my best to add interest - thus the following story from the cathedral at Les Invalides, where Napoleon is entombed.

Inside this beautiful cathedral are several tombs/caskets - but the most notable is of Napoleon Bonaparte. As you can tell (picture below) from comparing the size of the people to the casket - the thing is immense. It is surrounded by gorgeous inlaid marble and stunning statues all around. There are a set of stairs to take you down next to the casket, or you can look at it from the main level. I had gone down and seen it up close and thought the kids, who were getting bored, would enjoy the close up view. By the time I had gone back up to the main level - they had gone down the stairs with Bob. As I looked down onto the casket - I spied the kids and thought the angle would make a cool picture. I leaned over the marble railing to take the picture, forgetting that my sunglasses were hanging from the front of my shirt. In horror I watched my glasses fall down and shatter next to Napoleon's tomb! The noise was surprisingly loud, and mine was not the only gasp to be heard. I felt like I would be kicked out of France. I raced down the stairs to discover that I could not retrieve the glasses, as there is a marble wall all the way around. Bob and Kristen had seen the glasses fall - only with the loud noise thought it was my camera.

This whole incident brought the kids to life. Of all the cool things we had shown them, nothing was as fascinating as my shattered glasses.

I know the picture is dark - but you can see from their expressions the sheer enjoyment of my clumsiness. They documented the event with extensive photos and talked about it for some time afterwards. I'm here to entertain.

Super Powers and to do lists!

2009-09-16T23:52:00.003-06:00

My super power of invisibility returned today! I had to run to the store before going to work. I walked up to the automatic grocery store door and it failed to open. I tried the exit - same experience. I then went back to the entrance - still no luck. As I started to walk to the entrance at the other end of the store I saw another woman approaching the unreceptive door. I turned to let her know that the door wasn't working - when I saw it swing open and allow her to enter. I decided to give it another try. I confidently walked up to the door, expecting a welcoming door swing - and was again denied entrance. Finally, using my brute strength, I allowed myself into the store. What is up with that? What does it mean when the "magic eye" cannot see you?

I have ridiculous amounts of things to accomplish before we head off to Paris tomorrow. That's right, Paris, Baby! I had all of these wonderful intentions of being organized and ready to go on Monday, so that Tuesday and Wednesday would be relaxing. (as travel guru Rick Steves recommends. He also recommends not getting sick before a trip...hmmm interesting advice.) Unfortunately, one of my employees has been out sick all week and I have been teaching extra classes. When I do that I have absolutely no energy left at the end of the day. Just enough for making dinner, helping with homework, and playing chauffeur. So, here I am at the end of Wednesday - actually Thursday - spending my time blogging. The amusing thing is I spent the first 5 years in the work force working for time management companies - see how effective I am?!

I have felt hyped up today with excitement...the best part is that we are bringing the girls AND we get to camp out at Marc and Michelle's in Paris. Pretty much the best of all worlds!

I figure my invisibility will have all kinds of advantages in Paris. First, I won't stand out as some obnoxious American tourist; second, all of the museums will be less expensive; and third, no one will see me lie down in the middle of the sidewalk when I simply can't take one more step. Have you ever been to Paris?

Prepare to be shocked!

2009-09-02T20:00:00.003-06:00

For the past 2 weeks I have only had Diet coke 3 times. That's right people 14 days - 3 cokes....who would have thought it was possible? Last week I was terribly sick with a sinus infection and happen to read that the caffeine would dehydrate me. Since I was convinced I would have a speedy, somewhat miraculous recovery, I was drinking gallons of water and did not want anything to impede its cleansing power and therefore stopped the diet coke.

Now, I am not going to go all nuts and say I won't be drinking it anymore, (Sorry, Mom!) but I am amazed that I have been able to get by without more - even since I have returned to full health (thanks to the miraculous healing powers of a z-pack). The weird thing is - today at work one of my employees had a 32 oz. diet coke sitting on the desk and my mouth began to water! What is wrong with me?!

Also, for the past two weeks I have radically changed what I have been eating. I figured, I was already feeling yucky, what better time to change. I am mostly eating vegetables (loads of them), fruit, and some protein and grains. I will tell you one thing....I am hungry. But I am determined! I have lost some weight, but with the amount I have to go it is not noticeable yet, so don't pretend you can tell! I have figured out a couple of things. You cannot lose weight and eat all your favorite foods (no matter what the commercials say), unless you change your favorite foods. You do have to exercise. You will have to deal with all of those emotions that you have been stuffing down your throat - or whatever change you make won't last. There you go..the weight loss truth...and without the aid of caffeine.

Pennies & Paper Clips

2009-09-01T17:21:00.005-06:00

Sorry no photos...Blogger wouldn't let me add any...grrr.

A few weeks ago, Bob let me know that his work had a desk that they were going to get rid of and asked if I wanted it for free! I was definitely interested. Now my desk was workable...solid surface top, on which to clutter random papers and messages, four drawers, that stayed nicely closed with duct tape, and a credenza attached to one end, duct tape played a role there, as well. As nice as that has been, the idea of duct tape not being an essential part of my desk was appealing.

So, one Friday night he arrived home with an enormous 3'x6' desk cleverly crammed into the mini-van, ready for transport. The following Saturday night we disassembled (un-taped) my desk and somehow managed to bring in the behemoth new desk into my office - let's just say the elevator ride was interesting.

As we began moving the old desk drawers and random pieces to the van Bob notice several pennies and paper clips wedged into corners or being tossed from side to side. "Do you want these?" Bob asked. "No - I don't need them." I replied - as I then opened my new tape-less drawer and discovered a few pennies and paper clips wedged into the corners.

Which led me to thinking, as any over-thinker would, how many things are wedged into the corners of our lives, just taking up space? How many things or habits in our lives are just there, getting in the way of who we are meant to be? Why, for example, did I put up with a desk for 7 years that had to be taped closed? I consider myself to have good taste and yet I seem to continually surround myself with objects I don't like, don't want, or in some cases truly hate!

(I was going to say "as I continue to clean out my drawers...but that just sounds WRONG.") As I make changes I hope I won't fool myself into leaving behind a few things here and there - that in the end will just clutter up my life - or worse yet, wedge me into a corner. What are the pennies & paper clips in your life?

Frozen at Snowbird

2009-08-11T22:10:00.005-06:00

On Saturday we went to Snowbird for Bob's company family party....it was freezing! Utah had this painful cold snap - don't believe me? It was 48 Degrees in AUGUST!!! (It was a little warmer in the valley.) We still wanted to take advantage of free rides, so braved the cold chair lift and had some fun.

Occasionally, we would run into the Snowbird center to warm up....Kristen was, as always sporting fabulous fashion. She once told me, "Mom, face it...I will always be the girl who is okay with buying a $50 tank top." Which I guess is fine - as long as it's her money.

I tried to take a self-portrait of me and Bob - but my fingers were so numb that I didn't even feel that I was pressing the zoom. Bob and I both agreed it was the best picture we've ever taken....Look for it in your Christmas card this year!

Nicole on the alpine slide....the look on her face speaks for itself.

Bob and Nicole flying down the zip line! I just love the body language...

Bob on the alpine slide - I was so glad he didn't fall off this year!

A few job applicant updates:

A woman I interviewed went on and on about how annoying she found the customers at her other job. Gee, can I please hire her?

A cover letter from another job candidate mentioned that she had "a killer somersault." I love that!

I just received an email from a woman looking for a summer job? What?! It's August 11th...She is available until the 31st. Anyone else hiring?

Job Applicant

2009-08-06T22:31:00.003-06:00

I am currently trying to hire a part-time morning person for the gym. It never ceases to amaze me what people send (via email) to apply for a job - I guess a lot of people aren't worried about first impressions. In the ad I specifically stated that it was for a morning position (8:30am - 12:30 pm) and that I wanted them to email me a cover letter, as well as their resume. A few favorite quotes thus far:

"I am available everyday after 2:00pm."

"I seen your job and want employee with you." (employee with you...yikes! It sounds indecent!)

"You'll find that children stick to me like glue because I am young and vibrant." (I almost want to see how vibrant she is...)

On resume: "OBJECTIVE: Seeking an innovative position with a challenge." (What?! You only want one challenge?)

"i have lots of experience. parents really trust me with there children." (Okay - the no cap thing is annoying and "there children" not "here children"?)

So, a few bits of unsolicited advice, all of which have been inspired by actual applications:

1. Portraits of yourself are unnecessary and easy to make fun of when attached to a resume. Particularly senior pictures (lying in the lawn, on stomach, head resting in hands), bodybuilding pictures of you in a speedo, a series of thumbnail shots of your "guns" (arms).

2. Please, please, please have several people read both your resume and your cover letter - at the very least consider spell check.

3. When interviewing for a job working with young children, keep in mind that push ups is not an effective form of discipline.

4. Don't tell the interviewer that you're really hoping to get a different - job but came to this interview... just in case.

5. Don't tell the interviewer that you think all the girls that work for her are "hot."

6. Don't list your elementary and junior high schools. I assume if you graduated from high school you probably attended those as well.

7. If your GPA is 2.5 don't list it on your resume.

8. If you only type 30 words per minute don't go bragging it up.

9. Don't list someone who fired you as a reference. Listing the job is one thing...but having it as a referral for potential employers to call?

10. And the following is just creepy (from a few years ago):

Me: Tell me about your experience teaching grade school dance at BYU?

Man: (Rapidly rubbing thighs while answering) I loved it. I could tell the little girls really liked me. I mean kids that age are just so expressive. (awkward giggle)

Me: (completely creeped out) Did you have much opportunity to build a relationship with the parents?

Man: (Still rubbing thighs, but no leaning towards me on the edge of his chair) It was weird. The parents would never leave...they aren't supposed to stay in the class, but they insisted.)

By the time he left, I felt like I should call the police...I just wasn't sure why. So, don't be creepy! Anyone want to apply?

Everything is bigger in Texas

2009-07-31T11:40:00.002-06:00

I just returned from a work trip to Austin - Texas. The theme for Austin is "Keep Austin Weird" and they are doing a very good job of upholding their motto. I wish I had a camera but I forgot mine and Katie, who went with me, forgot hers, too! We stayed at the beautiful "Barton Creek Resort." It was surrounded by rolling hills lots of trees and beautiful golf courses. To keep with the "everything is bigger in Texas" stereotype - everything in our room was over sized. (This is where I desperately wish I had a camera) The head board was a good 7 feet tall, all of the light switches hit around my shoulder or above, the vanity counter and sink hit at chest level and the TV was enormous. The odd thing was the toilet was VERY low to the ground - with the TP holder about 12 inches from the ground - very strange.

Katie and I arrived early and had plenty of time to explore Austin. It was during this time that I discovered my super power of being invisible. Almost every shop and restaurant we went into Katie was being hit on. Now I didn't need to be hit on - but what was shocking was that they didn't even see me standing there with her. So not only do I have the wedding "deflector" ring, but I am also invisible - but for Katie it was fabulous. She didn't even care if the guys were on the creepy side - she claims that no one in Salt Lake hits on her...which I know isn't true since both the mailman and a waiter at a nearby restaurant have asked her out.

The great thing about conferences for work is that it gets you all motivated and excited about what you are doing - so for that I am very grateful.

The thing I was most grateful for? I came home to a clean house...YIPPEE! Now - Off to work!

A few highlights...

2009-07-24T00:26:00.004-06:00

Summer is moving far too quickly but there have been some wonderful highlights. One that occurred this month was seeing my good friend Anne and her daughter Hannah. Anne and I worked together and had our first babies a few months apart.

We got together frequently and the girls really enjoyed playing together. A few of my favorite things about Anne:

1. She has a husband who's career has been spent in the cosmetic and skin care industry and yet she rarely wears make-up - she is just naturally gorgeous.

2. When Hannah was around 2, Anne convinced her that Martha Stewart Living was a children's show - so that she would sit quietly and watch.

3. She is dedicated and insane enough to willingly teach 6:00am seminary to the kids in her ward.

4. Her children filled out a "getting to know you" sheet for church..all with ridiculous answers and Anne was mortified that no one at church blinked an eye when it was read.

I miss having her around!

I am jetting off to Texas soon for work, because July seems like a great month to visit Texas. (If only I loved the heat more.) The downside (I'm sorry Katie - it's a downside) is that the gala event for the convention requires you to dress up as your favorite rock and roll star. Now there are moments when I could think of this as fun, but they are very few and fleeting. Who on earth am I supposed to dress up as? The problem is this - out of the 400 people at the function there is a VERY good chance that I will be the only one not drinking. I think costume parties like this become more fun if you are drunk. One person did make this suggestions to me, "Hey you could get a blond wig and be Dolly Parton - you know - when she used to be big." So as tempting as that is, I unfortunately am not a triple F cup, nor do I own cowboy clothing of any kind. Any ideas on what I should dress up as?

the plumbing gene mutated

2009-07-13T23:53:00.004-06:00

Recently, both my brother and sister had major plumbing disasters, which led my daughter to proclaim "I guess we're next!"; as if plumbing problems were genetic! I told her no - we had our plumbing nightmares at our other house. So this evening while opening the freezer to get some dinner ingredients I thought, "Hmm, the wood floor seems awfully wavy...I'm pretty sure that's new." I immediately went downstairs, stood on a chair and felt the heavy, wet drywall of the ceiling below the freezer...that's new. I called the plumber and then attempted to move the freezer (we have ridiculously sized side by side freezer and fridge units). The freezer was far to heavy for me; since I couldn't do anything I decided to continue with dinner prep. I reached to the back of one of the pull out trays in the pantry, not actually pulling the tray out, removed a bottle of hoisin sauce - and BAM! it collapsed to the tray below, irreparably bending the hardware that held it in place.

My mess is no where near the level of my siblings, but I am starting to wonder if someone placed a plumbing curse on the Olivier clan - or if there is some gene that is now mutating to include pantries....Marc and Lisa BEWARE!

Graffitti Toes

2009-07-09T17:49:00.006-06:00

Today Cathy and I went to have pedicures, as we try to do once month, and things went awry. When the pedicurist asked if I wanted a flower and I said yes, she quickly went to work. The problem is she didn't seem to know when to stop. First there was a flower, very cute, then the little polka dots, also very cute. But then things took a scary direction. I think she became so involved in her work that she forgot her canvas was attached to my body. Next the neon orange came out - not necessarily a bad color - for a hunter - but it didn't quite go with my purplish pink polish. But the fun didn't stop there, because lo and behold she found silver and a star quickly emerged on each toe...but wait at the bottom of the basket is a small bottle of gold glitter - we have to include gold...but where to put it? Why, everywhere, of course. Oh my goodness is that more glitter? And rainbow colored to boot?! I have so much paint on each toe, that I may only be able to wear sandals, for fear my big toes won't fit in my other shoes.

Now, I know I should have stopped her, said something, had her start over...but I just didn't have it in me. It would be along the lines of breaking up with your hairstylist. Besides, I can hardly understand any of her broken English, which makes me feel badly, I mean she tries so hard....so not being thrilled with the results I had to do something...so I tipped her 20%. That'll show her! (And it makes me giggle that I have a label of toes on my blog.)

Words of wisdom

2009-07-08T15:09:00.002-06:00

My sister-in-law had the following quote on her blog recently:

"I know Heavenly Father loves me by the people He puts into my life."

I found this simple statement beautiful and thought provoking, but it also made me realize something: When I am really struggling I suddenly come upon magazine articles, emails, books that seem to speak to my soul. I guess Heavenly Father knows the best way to reach each of us. In an earlier post I told about discovering the book The Self Esteem Trap, this moment led to deciding I had a right to happiness, and explained some of the reasons I was struggling. So after my global admission of being assaulted and wondering "Now what?" a few words of wisdom fell into my lap.

The first came from an "O" magazine. I never read this particular magazine - in fact I have been letting all my magazine subscriptions end because I never have time to read them, but on my lunch break yesterday I felt very drawn to purchasing this magazine. Inside is an article entitled "When Your Biggest Problem Is...You" (which you can tell is a great article since it quotes the Princess Bride) which discusses an issue called "counter phobic mechanism, a tendency to slide toward, not away from, something you fear. Those of us who use plain English might call it self-sabotage - and it can ruin your life." In a very "anti-law of attraction" suggestion - it says that if we don't allow ourselves the opportunity to go straight to the heart of our fears and figure out how we would, in reality handle them we would unconsciously end up sabotaging ourselves.

I had a conversation with Kristen one time about anxiety. The poor girl is obsessed with them, as am I (wonder where she got that from?), when I went to respond to one of her fears, she said "I know you are going to tell me not to worry because that will never happen." I replied, "No, that is not what I was going to say. Bad things happen to everyone, but I know that you are strong enough to deal with whatever comes your way." I realized I have never given myself that same kind of encouragement.

Things I used to, and still stress about, have happened. I am overweight, marriage has definitely had some bumps in the road, I am a working Mom whose business is barely squeaking by, but I am still here. Worrying that it would happen didn't stop it from happening. In spite of what happened to me years ago, I have survived, now I just want to be able to be free of some of that anxiety and self-loathing.

I might like gardening....

2009-06-29T16:25:00.005-06:00

Okay I do like gardening - but I liked it more when I didn't work because to get things how I want them requires a lot of time. Thursday last week I had a master gardener come to my house and give me some ideas. My front beds are rather unruly, while by back flower bed are empty and I needed some help. I have quite a few beds in my backyard - but they are pretty much all shade - so I was at a loss. Now I have a plan (I think) and I am going to do a little everyday. Saturday was my first day really working at cleaning up my front flower beds. Don't get the wrong idea, they are not full of weeds, rather out of control perennials. There are real estate phrases that we learn to avoid, such as, "handyman's dream", "Park like", "just needs a little tlc"; but no one talks about what to watch out for on those little plant labels. Seeds freely, great for naturalizing, self sowing, etc. What these really mean is: this cute little green plant will seek out every square inch of soil available and take over at such a speed that your yard will never be the same. I didn't know that when I planted and now I am attempting to rid my flower beds of not one, not two but three such plants!

While pulling out all of said plants I made a great discovery. The small saucers of beer I have been putting in my beds to organically kill the snails has merely been an invitation to hold one rave after another. Wondering why you don't have many snails in your yard? They are all here mating like rabbits. It was not just one snail here and there, it was the snail version of Manhattan. Millions of snails on one small piece of land. I even found them in one of my rose bushes - which I find very odd. So I broke down and purchased chemical snail bait - and (here is how disturbingly co-dependent I am) actually felt sorry for them when I saw a couple of them cross the dreaded black like and foam up and die. The idea of drowning in beer seemed not so bad - since how much alcohol would it take for a snail to be completely drunk? Then they won't notice they are dying - right?

The other problem I was having was equipment failure. My gardening shears and my large shovel both seemed to have disappeared - so I was pruning my bushes and perennials with loppers about three feet long and trying to dig up rose bush roots with a small little trowel. I felt as comical as I am sure I looked- and will just have to break down and purchase some new tools. I think in the past few years I have purchased 4 or 5 sets of gardening shears. Where do they go? Are they with all the missing socks? And the rate at which I lose them seems to directly correlate to the amount of money I spent on the shears. More expensive? They will disappear by weeks end. But possibly, come fall my yard will be looking spectacular...unless the snails stage a revolt.

Wow - I can't believe it's been a month!

2009-06-26T18:36:00.003-06:00

I have been awful about posting lately - so here I am a month since my last post. A few random moments from the last month:

1. At Smiths an elderly woman (late 70s at least) was doing little can-can kicks as she pushed her grocery cart. She then proceeded to plop down on a nearby bench and do scissor kicks. I should have joined in...

2. My friend Stephanie proclaimed her son was going through the ukulele phase; as if this were a typical child development phase such as "the terrible twos".

3. My friend Cathy and I pulled into a parking lot, looked over at the car parked next to us where a man in a business suit was playing the recorder. Have you ever seen anyone over the age of 10 playing the recorder? It was fabulous.

4. At the end of my 2 year old parent/child class all the children ran up and started kissing me on the lips! Bob should be so jealous...

I had taken a long break from therapy, but I am back at it. I realized, thanks to the book Healing the Child Within, I just reached the beginning phase of true change and stopped - that is not a great stopping place. I am learning to find things that I truly enjoy doing. I know that sounds strange - but Steve (my therapist) is always talking about "living an authentic life," being my "true self" (don't you wish I was telling you this in person? look at all the air quotes I could be making) and I realized I have no concept what that means. So, I am rediscovering and discovering for the first time what activities energize me, help me feel creative and fulfilled. At those times it is my authentic self coming through. What are some of your energizing, creative moments? You may be surprised what it is - I reorganized my pantry last week and I still get excited looking in there. I have started to sewing again - I enjoy some sewing projects more than others and find that having to follow a pattern makes me a little grumpy. I also love watching "The Closer," but somehow I don't think that is what Steve had in mind....

Pictureless but posted!

2009-05-26T18:43:00.005-06:00

Since I have been having a hard time posting regularly, I decided that even if I don't have my pictures downloaded I should still post! First things first - congrats to Nicole who made dance company at the dance studio she attends! And she received scads of awards at the school awards night. I'm not sure she's my kid since two of the awards were for math and science. Okay, science I really enjoyed...but math..come on!

Why I haven't been posting: mind-numbing depression. I think I have reached the point in therapy were you realize that ignorance is truly bliss. Or at least having hope is bliss. Once you realize that certain things will never change and understand why (things of course being other people) it is very discouraging. Never in my life have I been so depressed that I stopped reading, but that is where I have been the past couple of weeks. I haven't even rescheduled an appointment with my therapist - although I will. I am now starting to reach the end of this grieving period (I hope...oops that's what got me here to begin with) and believe that some healing will begin or there is at least a slight glimmer that something positive will become of this experience. The hard part is my normal coping mechanism of food no longer does the trick (damn therapy) but I have yet to replace that with something else - which has left me feeling very vulnerable. I am very glad that it is almost the end of the school year. The end of our normally chaotic schedule is on the horizon and that is a relief!

Working out has been inconsistent the past little while - but I am back at it. I need to keep that a priority. Jill asked what I have been doing - I have been alternating walking (at a fast clip) on the treadmill with either The Firm DVDs or a cardio weight combo that Denise Druce gave me. With the one Denise provided me you alternate 3 minutes of cardio with 3 minutes of weights. If you want it I will email it to you - just give me your email. The most effective thing, surprisingly, has been writing down what I eat. If weight loss is a goal of yours than this is a hugely helpful - and eye opening experience. I write it all down...even those little nibbles here and there. I do have one pic that cracked me up - thanks Cathy!

The correct way to weigh yourself...I can't believe I have been doing it wrong all these years!

20 questions...okay, just 13

2009-05-17T21:39:00.003-06:00

1. How can you understand something logically, but not emotionally?
2. At what point in life does 4:00pm seem like a good time for dinner? Do you wake up one day and your entire schedule has changed?
3. When a child is putting on their shoes, why are the odds 99 to 1 that they will put them on the incorrect feet?
4. Why is it so much harder for people to put a dish in the dishwasher versus the sink when they are only inches apart?
5. How can a drink be dry?
6. When changing into a gown at the doctors office, why do we hide our underwear?
7. How can my husband with the MBA still not understand how to run the dishwasher?
8. Why do I think I have lost things that I am holding in my hand?
9. Since I have a degree in english, why have I lost the ability to use correct grammar?
10. Why - with such extensive grocery lists - do I always forget to buy something?
11. Why is it so hard to do what is good for ourselves?
12. Why have I started to talk to myself when working on the computer?
13. Why am I having a hard time posting on my blog?

Plan update!

2009-05-06T12:01:00.003-06:00

It is amazing how writing everything down and the calories is working for me! Calorieking.com has had any info that I can't get on my own. I have to also say that getting up earlier hasn't been so bad. I love realizing part way through the day that I have already worked out!!! One thing checked off the list! Today, however, when I got up I realized I now have a 9:00am class to teach and didn't have enough time to work out. The morning just wasn't as good without that boost. (I read this back and it doesn't even sound like me!!)

“Commitment unlocks the doors of imagination, allows vision, and gives us the "right stuff" to turn our dreams into reality.” James Womack

Dance your heart out!

2009-05-05T20:35:00.003-06:00

On Saturday Nicole was part of a dance competition at Lagoon. It was a rather long and soggy day - but after a rough Friday - a surprisingly nice way to be unavailable. Nicole was rather fabulous, if I do say so myself, and I enjoyed spending the day with my good friend (and mother to Sadie, another dancer) Cathy. Unfortunately, part way through the day my camera batteries died and I was unable to take too many pictures.

One of my favorite things was watching the little 3 year old girls perform. On one of the dances there was only 3 girls - one was bawling hysterically, one looked like she was going to faint at any moment and the other was basking in the opportunity to dance around while everyone cheered her on. It was so cute!! It reminded me of taking ballet when I was little. My mom, or maybe one of her friends, had given me a very bright red and white polka-dotted leotard with tutu attached. I felt fabulous in it. So you can imagine my dismay when my ballet teacher explained that I could only wear black leotard and would not be allowed to wear that leotard to class again. Not only did I refuse to dance that day - I also refused to return. Fashion statements at the age of 4 and 5 are crucial.

Highlight of today - getting spontaneous hugs from someone else's 4 year old class -

Sad moment of the day - seeing Danny try to sing a rock song on American Idol...

Finally...A plan

2009-05-03T14:41:00.006-06:00

So here we are at May and I have had very spotty progressive towards my health goals. More of a 2 steps forward, 10 steps back sort of thing. My mental health goals are progressing nicely - which has led me to being ready to work on my physical health. Recently I read this poem:

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS

by Portia Nelson

CHAPTER I

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk

I fall in.

I am lost … I am helpless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes me forever to find a way out.

CHAPTER II

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I am in the same place

but, it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

CHAPTER III

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in … it’s a habit.

my eyes are open

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

CHAPTER IV

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

CHAPTER V

I walk down another street.

THE END

I realized that I have been stuck in Chapter 3 & sometimes even chapter 2 - but now I feel ready to move on to Chapters 4 & 5 - and I know what my deep holes are.

Deep Hole #1 - Choosing unrealistic goals. I come up with workout plans that are too ambitious too quickly - and therefore I don't stick with it. For instance - why do I have to immediately be running the 5Ks? Why not just walk them a little faster each time - and eventually be running.

Deep Hole #2 - Trying to cut too much out of my diet all at once. I have done low-carb, no sugar, no fat, etc. None of which is realistic.

Deep Hole #3 - Self sabotage and looking for excuses. "I would have exercised...but I was up really late. I'll exercise later. I have too far to go....I will never be able to do this...etc."

Deep Hole (crater, really) #4 - Choosing food as a way to comfort myself when I am sad, had a hard day, when I am alone....I could make this list really long.

So, I think I have finally come up with a plan. One that will work for me, one that will be long lasting, one I can do without spending a lot of money, and one that will help me feel healthier and in control.

Part 1

Put in enough of the good stuff, that there won't be room for the bad stuff. So 5 - 7 servings of fruits and vegetables. I also learned from Denise Druce that you need 10 calories for every pound you want to weigh. (sometimes more if you are exercising a lot.) Now that doesn't mean that I will plummet down to 1250 calories, but rather incrementally move down (same way Weight Watchers does with points) as I reach each weight loss goal. I realize I will be having to track calories and therefore portions - but there are all kinds of freebie sites to help me with this, as well as a 79 cent notepad for my purse.

Part 2

Exercise 5 -6 days a week. No nonsense. No excuses. Just do something almost every day- but not so much that I am incapable of movement the next day. (I tend to push myself so hard that I end up putting off other workouts because I am so incredibly sore.) Push myself enough to get good and sweaty, but still have the energy to keep going the rest of the day.

Part 3

Weigh myself every day. Ignorance in this category is not bliss. Members of the National Weight Loss Registry are most successful when they weigh themselves every day.

Part 4

Take time to engage in positive me time. Not as much TV watching, but rather doing things that make me feel good - not just like a blob. Creating, organizing, writing, being with friends - all things that will remove me from that crater of self-sabotage.

This seems doable and realistic. My results will be slower in coming - but who cares if they can last for life!

If you are interested, there is a really great article at http://www.cnn.com/2007/LIVING/personal/06/29/in.your.head/index.html that was helpful in some of my new thinking.

A new skill

2009-04-27T20:15:00.007-06:00

I recently put together this desk for Kristen - twice. Not until I got to the very end (literally the last step) did I discover that I put a piece in backwards. Yeesh! Of course in order to fix my error I had to take the desk completely apart and put it all back together - but it did go back together much quicker the second time. So now I feel like I should offer my services for putting together this one IKEA desk.

On Saturday night I went to the gym to clean the lobby carpet and loved watching Kristen and her friend Allie build this fort. They were so excited. It is nice that Kristen is still young enough to enjoy playing at the gym.

I also started to work on a stuffed dinosaur for my niece Eva - I forget how energizing a fun project can be - especially picking out the fabric!!

Mostly, I thoroughly enjoyed not having a crazy schedule this weekend. It seems like most Saturdays are packed!