Travel, Griswold style

No trip in our family is complete without a few hiccups along the way.  Usually, those hiccups are caused by me, and relate directly to me, but sometimes other things happen that make us laugh, or panic, or both.

Here is a run down of the Arizona trip "highlights".

Leaving dinner on Friday night Quinn fell off of a very tall curb and skinned his knee up pretty bad.  He cried so hard that once Ross got him in the car, he was so worn out he fell asleep in about 30 seconds.  It was a pretty bad crash.

On Saturday morning, it was raining pretty hard.  We'd planned to go to the zoo, but the rain made us second guess ourselves and we decided to go to a small aquarium in the mall.  It opened at 10 am, we stood in a long line and once we got to the front, realized that the line was for people who had passes or who had already purchased tickets.  Doh!  Of course, there were no signs indicating differences in the lines, and, once we got to the back of the "need tickets" line we decided to give up and just go to the zoo in the rain.



Lucky for us, the 2 hours we were at the zoo, it didn't rain.  I still spent $12 on ponchos for the kids, but no rain.  We did however have a couple of adventures at the zoo.  Adventure 1: we were chased by a very fast, very vocal, very crazy road runner.  It was roaming free in it's enclosure and it gave us a run for our money, and plenty of giggles.  Adventure 2:  My blood sugar started to drop pretty rapidly when we were about finished - joy of diabetes - and just as I put a glucose table in my mouth, Wyatt came around the corner, excited to tell me there was a whole cage of Scarlet Ibis - my favorite bird.  Well, in my attempt to be excited about the birds, I inhaled my chalky tropical fruit glucose tablet and it got stuck in my throat.  I could not breath.  I was chocking.  For a good 30 seconds, I thought that I might suffocate and die.  Once I could breathe again, my throat was on fire and hurt for the rest of the day.





Saturday night we had tickets for the Arizona Coyotes NHL hockey game against the San Jose Sharks.  The game was supposed to start at 6 pm, but the first 10,000 people were going to get a FREE bobble head of a former player because the team was celebrating it's 20th anniversary.  We arrived one hour early, to get our FREE bobble heads and then had to sit there, with the five other people who came early for an hour before the game was going to start.  The big boys really liked the hockey game, but Quinn?  We were there so early that he fell asleep right after the National Anthem and slept almost through the first halftime.  By the way, hockey games take forever.  Ross said they were fast, they are not fast.  20 minutes of play, 20 minutes of half time, 20 minutes of play, 18 minutes of half time, 20 minutes of play.  We didn't make it for the last 20 minutes because, hello!  We arrived so early.  But, it was still fun.

On Sunday, we drove up north to the towns of Cottonwood and Prescott Valley.  Driving to Ross' parents house in PV, we were following a route outlined by google maps.  Well, that route came to a dirt road.  We paused momentarily to see if Google was serious.  She was. (can google be a girl?)  I told Ross that I thought it was a bad idea to drive on a very wet and very muddy dirt road.  He, being the man, told me we would be fine.  We maybe drove a quarter of a mile before it got really wet.  I began to plead for us to turn around.  We continued a bit more until - yes, you guessed it -we were halfway in a muddy ditch.  Yeah!  I felt justified in my "I told you so moment" but that didn't change the fact that we were stuck in the mud.

Ross got out of the rented mini van.  I climbed over to the driver's seat.  He pushed.  I floored it.  After a few intense minutes, and let's face it, many silent prayers on my part, we got out of the ditch.  But then, because I was driving, I had to do a u turn, on the slippery muddy road and drive us off that road.  Where was Ross you ask?  Well, his head, arms, and torso were inside the van.  His butt, legs and lower half were hanging out the window.  He was a wee bit muddy once we got back to the road and switched seats.  Sometimes, Google leads you astray.

The biggest screw up however was on my part.  Sunday night, while eating dinner with Ross' parents, I realized that I'd left ALL MY INSULIN in the fridge in our airbnb apartment in Phoenix.  Swear words!  I had 60 units left in my pump, enough to get me until the morning and I was panicking.  Everyone was calling or texting people who could either write me an emergency prescription or help me solve the problem.  Finally, Ross was able to talk to the small town PV Walgreens pharmacist and he was sure that they could get my prescription transferred in the morning so I could get enough insulin to get home.

It was.

I did.

The end.

Driving, Driving, Driving

Last night we returned from a whirlwind adventure to Arizona.  We went intending to spend all of our time in Phoenix and to visit as many members of Ross' family as we could.  But, plans changed, and we ended up, in 5 and a half days putting almost 2000 miles on a rented mini van, driving all over creation.

Ross' grandpa, Grandpa Ted, at 86 years old chose to get baptized as a member of the the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  He was baptized the first Saturday of the new year, January 7, 2017.  Because of Ross' work commitments, we were not able to get to Arizona for the event, but started planning a trip to Phoenix to visit Ted and Grandma Bea.



Well, on January 24th (or 23rd), Grandpa Ted fell during a trip to the library and broke his hip.   He was treated at a hospital in Phoenix and stabilized and then it was decided the best place for him to be for rehabilitation was in a town called Cottonwood, in Northern Arizona, where Ross' uncle and aunt (Ben and Joyce) live.  Cottonwood is about an hour away from where Ross' parents live in a town called Prescott Valley.



Knowing that visiting Bea and Ted was our number one goal, but not wanting to be in Northern Arizona for our entire trip (warmer and more things to do in Phoenix), we started planning.

Drive to Springdale, Utah on Thursday.
Drive through Zion's National Park, Kanab, Page, Cameron, Flagstaff and get to Phoenix.
Spend Friday in Phoenix - go to the zoo and a Coyotes NHL game.
Drive to Cottonwood then Prescott Valley on Sunday.
Drive back to Springdale on Monday.
Visit and do some easy hikes in Zion's National Park on Tuesday and drive home.



We had bad weather most of the trip, and pouring rain on Phoenix which was a super bummer.  The rain did stop long enough for us to go to the zoo, but we were soggy and cold for most of the day.  Our visit with Ross' grandparents was nice, and I'm very happy we were able to see them.  The boys were so well behaved and good - sometimes visiting old folks is hard for young folks, but they were champions.  Elliott even pushed Grandpa Ted around in his wheelchair which I think they both got a kick out of.

But, with every trip, I'm ready to come home about a day and a half before it's time and nothing beats being able to sleep in my own bed.

no time to make time

we don't have a song.  We've entered our 13th year of marriage and we don't have a song.  It's really been bothering me lately, which I realize is dumb because it doesn't really matter.  One Sunday night, driving home from my parents after dinner I brought it up in conversation...the fact that we don't have a song.  Ross of course doesn't think it matters at all, but I told him that it does.  I also told him that I was pretty sure my parents had a song.

He said that he would guess that they didn't.

I called my mom.

She and my dad have a song.

I'm probably not supposed to say what it is (cough - stairway to heaven - cough) but they have a song.

I had no idea.

The next day, I texted my sister to ask her if she and her husband have a song.  She said no.  I asked her if she knew that my parents had a song.  She said yes, that it is (cough - stairway to heaven - cough).

I had no idea.

My husband is at scout camp.  He is supposed to be relieved and come home today.  Well, sometime late tonight is probably more like it.  We haven't had a real conversation with each other for days and days and days.  We haven't been on a "date" since, I think January.  We haven't even managed to tell each other good night because either one of us is already asleep or we're just too tired.

I read a blog post today, of a writer who I like, and she said that she and her husband are always doing things to "keep the romance alive" and one night after their kids were asleep they jumped into their hot tub in a rain storm with a big umbrella and that they just hung out listening to the rain and talking to each other and it was "so romantic".  I thought that sounded super strange, but I liked the idea of the talking part.

Keeping our lives afloat these days feels extra challenging and that there just isn't any time to spend together.  Do other people sometimes feel like their spouse is their roomate, or is that just me?  It's hard to figure out how to keep things interesting and engaging and not just be annoying, and a nag.

Maybe, we just really need to sit down and figure out our song.  That might be the solution to everything.

why is it such a challenge?

I'm in a rut.  I'm sure most of you know the kind of rut I'm talking about.  The kind where, no matter what clothes you put on in the morning, even though it's your regular "uniform", you feel like you look like Captain Stupid.  The rut where even though you are wearing make-up, there is no covering up those dark circles under your eyes.  That rut where, even though you look at yourself every day and observe, where all your regular clothes fit just like they always have, the number on the scale keeps changing...in the wrong direction.  Sometimes jumping three pounds overnight.  How do I gain three pounds overnight?!

And then, even though he insists it's a compliment, your husband calls you curvy.

I'm sure it was, in his head, a compliment.

But.

It doesn't work that way.

Here's the part I cannot reconcile, and it's driving me completely mad.  I know that I am good at a lot of things.  I have talents, that are put to use regularly.  The entire dual immersion second grade things I'm the coolest PE mom in the world.  I can sew up a storm every day.  I never let the laundry pile up.  I am smart, educated, kind, thoughtful, considerate, funny, musically challenged and like most people, I just really wish that I was a good dancer.  I take really good care of my kids and am so proud that they are smart and kind and funny and special good kids.  I think that I am a good wife.  I know I'm a terrible housekeeper, but I'm okay with that and I am a really good cook to compensate for the messy bathrooms.

But.

Why can't I seem to make any of that matter?  Why instead, do I get in these ruts where, I feel like my self-worth and identity should be determined by my weight, how my clothes fit, whether my hair looks perfectly symmetrical and how much I exercise every day. Which, by the way, is almost never (but we don't need to talk about that).  Why do I become consumed with self-doubt, hesitation and reservation about all the things that I'm good at to the point that I don't think I'm good at them anymore...all because I weigh as much as an offensive linebacker.

Is it hard for you to get dressed for church on Sunday?  Sunday's are my most stressful and uptight days of the week.  I go through outfit after outfit trying to get ready for church.  My bedroom looks like a dressing room threw up.  Never, do I make it to church on the first outfit I try, it's usually the third or fourth outfit that I settle with and head out the door in a huff.

Why do I do that?

It really makes no sense, at all.  Does it?

That one time we were off track

Yesterday, Monday, the boys went back to school.  It's hard to believe, I know, but they were off track....again.  They are always off track.  Tomorrow, Wednesday is their 100th day of school.  I'm pretty sure that every other kid in the world had their 100th day of school ages ago.

Anyway, this off-track session wasn't too eventful.  The boys didn't want to sign-up for swimming lessons.  We didn't have too many plans.  It was cold and Wyatt had an ear infection/explosion.  So, basically, we laid pretty low for three weeks.

We did though, have a few highlights.  Off-track started with Elliott's baptism.  Ross' parents and brother's family came to town and we had a nice weekend, with his parents staying a few extra days to hang out with the boys.  We went to the Museum of Curiosity, ate pizza and hung out.





During off track we also went to see the SpongeBob movie, went to the Bean Museum and the Waffle Love restaurant in Provo with Haley and the chillins, and Ross took the boys to the zoo while I was home suffering from a brain melt.  And, with the boys neighbor friend Owen coming over nearly every day to "hang out" (note:  We don't "play" anymore.  We "hang out") the boys were pretty busy.





And, during off-track, it snowed.  Not a lot, but enough to break out the new boots that the boys got for Christmas and play in the slushy snowy goo long enough to get their fill and come in and have hot chocolate with "toppings" (marshmallows, cream and chocolate chips).  That was a pretty good morning.





What else happened?  We got a new desktop computer.  Ross got a new TV.  We went out to eat a lot.  I had a 6 day migraine.  Ross and I got to go out to dinner without kids twice.  We went to the temple to help Haley with some family history.  We went to a couple of Utah basketball games.  We went to IKEA and I didn't lose my mind.  It might be because they don't let customers self-scan at IKEA anymore.  I would so much rather stand in line than have to battle my kids over the scanner.

It was a good vacation.

Survival Mode

There are a lot of things I'm good at in this world.  People tell me that I'm crafty.  I try to be a good listener.  I'm organized and an over-planner.  My kids are always clean and kind and polite and I try to take the best care of them that I can.

But there is one thing, no matter the circumstances, that I am good at.  Single motherhood.  In fact, I completely suck at it and it overwhelms me to the point that instead of the kids having a melt down, I have one.  Or twenty.  And they are loud and insane.

Ross started a new J-O-B this week.  With a week of training and meet-and-greets in New Jersey and Atlanta.  This new job is really a blessing and a wonderful opportunity for him to showcase how good he is at what he does.  I'm really happy and excited for him.  It will be great to see where this job takes him and what additional doors open up for him.

But.  BUT - he's been gone since Sunday afternoon and I'm toast.  The boys are done with me.  We're running out of Cheetos.  It's getting serious.  We've had lots of activities and help from my parents to get everything done this week that we've needed to do and thank heavens! the boys are back in school this week and extra tired and worn out at night.

Anyway - this single motherhood stuff is so hard.  Kudos to those of you who do it often, or all the time because your husbands are gone for work - or you don't have one.  The level of exhaustion I feel when I finally get to bed around 11:30 is at least comparable to that of having a newborn at home.  And, my house is still a mess, and all the laundry isn't folded and there are Lego's all over the floor and I forgot to start the dishwasher.   I'm pretty much a giant ball of panicked disorganized goo when I don't have my "help meet" at home with me.  There is no balance - especially for the boys.  Let's face it, I am annoying and bossy and loud.

But, they've had a great week of fast food so hopefully they won't complain too much.  I did fix them dinner on Monday night.  Yeah, me.

We did have some good experiences this week though.
On Tuesday afternoon, we met Grandpa for lunch at his work because Waffle Love was in the parking lot.  Nailed it!  Made Wyatt the happiest, nutella lovin' five year old on the planet and it was warm enough that we ate outside on the patio.  Double brownie points.  And, on Tuesday night, to keep it even steven, Elliott got to pick where we went for dinner.  He chose Hires.

I must have looked pathetic enough walking in by myself with three crazy boys because I noticed immediately that an older woman and her husband were eyeing me.  We sat down, we ordered, and we began the frantic game "let's keep Quinn from screaming, throwing, climbing and breaking until the garlic bread comes" when this woman approached our table.  I thought she was going to yell at me, but she smiled a gentle smile and handed me a gift card.  She said, "I've written my remaining balance on the back.  That should help you pay for dinner for yourself and your cute boys.  Merry Christmas."  It was so great!  No one has ever done that for me before, and there was enough balance on the card that it payed for a good portion of our meal.





This week, it's also been warm enough to play outside without jackets (thank heavens we bought a trampoline....best purchase ever.)  We've had some good meals, some good company, attended Molly and Jack's Christmas program, and Grandpa and Elliott have basketball practice tonight.  As hard as it's been, the boys have mostly slept, mostly been good and happy, and we've mostly gotten along.  I'm a mental mess, but what else is new?  Our dad comes home tonight...not a moment too soon.

some other things that need to be posted....

The last couple of weeks I've kind of been a sewing maniac. I think it's not only because I like to do it and I'm getting a lot better at it, but because it helps me keep my sanity. I bought the pattern to make these big tote bags, and along with the pattern, comes the "license" to make/sell them on a small homebased business scale, which is something I'm thinking about doing. And the little zipper pouches. I have finally mastered the zippered pouch and don't have to watch the tutorial anymore to make them. Yeah!



All the rain we've had the last few weeks have really made my flower beds go Disneyland crazy. They will never really be worthy of the D-land title, but as I sit on my porch every afternoon and look at their beauty, that's what I think about. I pretty much have a seasonal addiction to flowers and this year, with the help of the cooler summer and so much rain fall, I really have so much beauty to look at.



After the rain finally stopped the other day and the boys and I ventured outside to look for worms, we found this little guy instead. He was the brightest blue I've ever seen, and not much bigger than my thumbnail. The big boys wanted to squish and salt him but I said no. He was too pretty to kill. Never in my life have I seen a blue snail before.



Preston and Katie welcomed their cute little baby, Beau, almost two weeks ago, a couple weeks early. Then Preston had to go out of town for work. Katie is a champ and has been handling things on her own beautifully, but Quinn and I offered to head to her house to help her out the other morning. We got to love us some sweet new heavenly scented baby while she showered and did all the things she needed to do before taking him for his 2 week check-up, without worrying (hopefully) about him and his needs. He peed on me, and Quinn and I had to change his whole outfit and man alive, new babies are tiny. And, though holding him may have been the best thing I did all week, I'm pretty happy that I don't have something that tiny and needy at my house. I'll take my three bruisers any day and am happy to be slowly moving away from baby land.



We definitely know that the seasons are changing when the breathing machine comes out from under the sink. Wyatt always has a cough, but things are getting worse and to hopefully avoid the doctor, we'll be spending our weekend here - on the chair, with the machine, sucking in medicine and watching cartoons of his choosing.

sort of really just only for me...

I've never been a fan of the word "fault'. 
Dictionary.com defines fault as:

1.  a defect or imperfection; flaw; failing: a fault in the brakes; a fault in one's character.

2.  responsibility for failure or a wrongful act: It is my fault that we have not finished

3.  an error or mistake: a fault in addition.

4.  a misdeed or transgression: to confess one's faults.

 

Looking at these definitions, fault generally implies that something has gone wrong, or someone has done something wrong.  But fault also looks for someone, or something to blame for a situation that has headed south, ended poorly, or hurt another person.

 

Like I said, I'm not a big believer in fault.  Because with fault, there is always blame.  And blame? Blame doesn't really get you anywhere very fast does it?  All blame gets you, generally speaking, is anger and resentment, and that icky taste in your mouth like you get after you've thrown-up but before you've had the chance to brush your teeth. 

 

Rather than think in terms of fault and blame, I like to think in terms of responsibility and ownership.  You see, in fault, you are always looking for someone to blame for what has happened to you, or for what you did to someone else.  With responsibility, you are accepting ownership of your actions and preparing to take the necessary steps to right a wrong, march on a new path, start a new day.

 

It's sort of like that poem by Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken"

 

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

 

I had to memorize this poem in junior high and the last stanza often makes it's way from the murky depths of my memory to the forefront of my mind.  I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference... There has to be something said for learning to leave fault and blame aside for responsibility and ownership, right?  As hard as those life lessons were (and are!), we take them, suck them in, and spit them out, better on the other side.  I can think of several experiences from when I was in school, when I was a teacher, and my life as an adult and parent, where those life lessons have chewed me up and I had two roads to travel on - two paths to take.  The path where I could blame someone else for my mistakes, or the path where I could take responsibility and fix the wrong.

Henry David Thoreau said, when he was living at Walden Pond, in Connecticut, that he wanted to live deep, and suck out all the marrow of life.  And not when he had come to die, discover that he had not lived.  How do we do that?  How do we live deep and suck out all that our lives have to offer?  For some of us, it's our family and maybe for others it's our work.  Whatever it is, we have to find it and do it to our best ability, because who wants to be that person on their death bed saying, "I wish I had spent more time with my kids and grandchildren!"  or "I wish I would have stayed by his bedside instead of going to work!"  Whatever it is, we don't want to be that person.  We don't want blame to follow us.  

Maybe that brings a new word to the table.  Opportunity.

We don't have opportunity if we have faulty and blame.  But we do have opportunity with responsibility and ownership.  It abounds with the latter.  Our lives are up to us, and the choices that we make.  Some of those choices bring us joy, others heartache.  Sometimes, we make dastardly choices and manage to get through by the skin of our teeth and other times, we make choices with a conscious that is so in tune, that miraculous things happen.  I'd like to be abounding with the latter on this one as well.

Our world, especially for those of us with faith, regardless of all the bad that exists, is full of justice and mercy and understanding.  Those were gifts to us from Christ, that we can have every day, even if we don't deserve them.  The kindness of strangers gives this to us, as do our families and friends, our communities, and even our legal system.  It's our job, to take these things, and do the best we can in our own lives with them, and in turn, try to better the lives of others.

I want to be one of those people who tries to see the good, to see the small miracles, the tender mercies, if you will, in my every day life and be thankful and grateful for those blessings and joys.  I want to know that good or bad, things happen for a reason and have the faith and understanding in mercy and justice to realize that there is a light and a goodness on the other side of heartache and sadness, but that it may take a long time to find it.  I hope to be one of those people that can always try to see the good in someone, even if it doesn't feel like there is any good to be seen.  

I want to always seek opportunity.

 

 

2002 caught up with me at the gym

 

Me, high school teacher, circa 2002

In 2002 I was a high school history teacher.  I was still pretty new and still figuring things out.  And, perhaps most importantly, I was still very young.  I was 23-24 and my students were 16-17...there wasn't much of an age gap there.  Every year that I taught high school, there were always one or two young men who, for whatever reason, be it the way I taught, the things I said, the music I played, or because I tended to wear tight sweaters,  took a fancy to me.  It was always easy to spot the kid with the crush.  He was always in my classroom before or after school.  He wasn't the best student, but did okay in my class.  He tried to hangout in my room while ditching other classes.  He figured out when my birthday was and gave me a small gift or note.  He tried to call me by my first name instead of my formal "Ms. Petersen".

Anyway, in 2002 there was one of these boys.  He fit the bill and was sort of a shadow.  He struggled a bit, was sort of a Gothic wanna be without much of a crowd of his own.  Nice kid though.  Never one to assume that I was high school boy crush worthy, it was obvious by the way he'd look at me, the occasional inability to finish a sentence when talking to me, and the hand written notes in a book about slavery that this kid liked me.  The truth came out though at spring parent teacher conferences when he came with his mom and she looked at me, looked at him and said, "Oh, this is the teacher you think is hot!"  He turned purple.  His mom smiled.  I pretended not to hear.

Anyway, fast forward ELEVEN YEARS!  Monday night I was at the gym, working my way through the circuit my trainer had given me for the week.  Yes, I have a "trainer" now, but that's another post.  Anyway, over by the free weights I saw this kid staring at me.  Really staring at me.  It took me about two minutes to realize that, though he was bulkier than in high school, it was this kid.  The kid with the mom.  Now, because I'm an awkward social weirdo, and because I don't like to talk to people, and because he was a former student, once I'd realized I knew him, I made a beeline for the other end of the gym.  Complete avoidance was my goal.  But, out of the corner of my eye, it was obvious that not only was he still staring, but he was sort of following me around the gym.

There was no way to escape.

As I finished on one my last machine and headed to a treadmill, headphones blaring looking at the floor, I walked past him.  He jumped up behind me and grabbed me by the arm.  I could tell that he knew who I was and that playing dumb wasn't an option.

We had a conversation.  It was awkward and a little uncomfortable.  He looked at me, even with me being sweaty and zitty and no make-up on, just like he had in high school.  He asked, "Are you married?"  "Yes, very happily for ten years with three boys!" I replied.  He asked if I still taught, if I lived near the gym, ("Do you come here often?  I've never seen you before.", he said) what my husband does for a living....you know, small talk trying to sound grown-up.  He told me about his life - he's a police officer at the jail, lives alone with his dog, but that he has a girlfriend....

Who is 34. (about my age.) Then he said the kicker....."If my girlfriend knew I was at the gym talking to my old high school history teacher, she might come find you and beat you up."  Um...huh?  That either means that his girlfriend is a man,  that she's very protective of her boyfriend or that he has talked about me and that she knows who I am.

After about 10 minutes of awkward I bowed my way out of the conversation and ran a mile on the treadmill to clear my head.

I'm not sure I want to go back to the gym.

a few things.

At the end of August, Quinn broke my DSLR camera.  It's been in the shop for weeks now.  I'd like to have it back soon.  Next week, early Friday morning after Thanksgiving, I am embarking on a sibling road trip to the ocean.  I am really looking forward to it and hope to be able to take my camera with me.

*****

Last week, I was driving home with the kids when my phone rang.  It wasn't someone I needed to talk to RIGHT THEN, so I picked up my phone to ignore the call.  As I was setting it down, some evil obnoxious people sped past me waving signs out the window and screaming at me and everyone else on the road to stop texting while driving.  They had a small child in the back of the car.  The male driving was also doing the same thing to cars driving past on his side.  I wasn't texting and had my phone in my hand for about 10 seconds.  When we approached the next stop light, and I had the opportunity to pass them, I flipped the woman off.  It just felt right.  I really dislike agenda people and I was on the way home from the dentist so I literally had a bad taste (and a little grainy dentist grade toothpaste) in my mouth.

Well, my response obviously angered the people in the car, and they hit the gas to catch up to me and scream obscenities and who knows what else at me with their windows rolled down and a small child in the back.  I just turned the music up a bit to ignore them.  Elliott caught them out of the corner of his eye and asked what those people were yelling about (he'd been playing on his kindle and they were so loud, he looked up.)  I told him not to look at them that they were crazy and rude people.  They were.

Because that's safe.  And their wild crazy driving to scream at me was really keeping the roads safe from all those texters.  When I got home I called Ross to tell him.  He said I should have gotten their license plate and turned them in as drunk drivers.

*****

About 6 weeks ago, in the pit of depression about life and weight and diabetes, I rejoined weight watchers for the fourth time in 6 years.  Depending on the scale I use, and the amount of clothing I'm wearing, I've lost anywhere from 10-12 pounds.  It's a good thing.  Slow and steady.

Two weeks ago, I was selected as part of a group in conjunction with Gold's Gym and Harmon's to be part of a three month Liv-a-betes challenge.  I'll write more about it later, but it's a 90 day lifestyle, health, weight challenge and I felt like, the night I walked into the gym and saw the poster, was an answer to some pretty serious praying.

This morning, before the sun was up I went to the gym.  Not to exercise, but to meet with my trainer.  As part of the challenge, I got a free consultation with a trainer and a workout designed specifically for me.  Well, that workout kicked my butt so much more than anything Jillian Michael's or I have ever done, that after some thinking, I decided to sign up for 12 weeks, the duration of my health challenge, with the trainer.  We met this morning to talk about my plan and set up a workout time.  Saturday morning at 6:30 am.  I must have finally found the motivation to get my health act together if I'm willing to get up that early on a Saturday morning to *gasp* exercise.

****

Last week, I made homemade lip balm.  I think I need to open my own etsy shop.  I've got some ideas.  Just not sure how to go about getting it all up and running.

****

I decided in August that I was going to hand make as many of the Christmas gifts I'm giving this year as possible.  I can finally see the light at the end of the sewing and crafting tunnel and only have a few projects left.  I hope my gifts are well received.  I've really put a lot of time and heart into everything I've been working on.

****

On Saturday, I helped my mom and sister clean the cobwebs out of my grandpas house.  I was assigned the office and the basement.  Minus making my sister come and kill a GIANT spider, I did pretty well exploring and cleaning and finding some neat stuff, like a college math book of my grandpa's with his notes in it, some cool church history stuff, and a book of my grandma's that I should have brought home to read called, "A Lusty Wind for Carolina".  I might need to go back and grab that one.

a few things...

Last Friday, Ross took the afternoon off of work.  He came home early, picked Elliott up from school, and we got ready to head out on a little adventure.  We were headed to the zoo and to get dinner and to shop for some new shoes for Elliott.

We got to the zoo at 3:30 and I was pretty shocked at how crowded it was for such a late afternoon.  The zoo is only open until 6:00 I think, but it was packed.  And, the zoo is under construction (always) and so the exhibits that are open feel extra crowded.  And, I don't think that I've ever been to the zoo in the late afternoon before because we always shoot to be the first ones there as soon as it opens in the morning.

That being said, it must have been scary day at the zoo.  I cannot remember the last time I was surrounded by such icky people.  Really, I hate to pass judgement and don't know anything about any of the people that were there, but it was gross.  Women covered head to toe in tattoos and baby doll dresses screaming at their children.  Toothless and stinky men and bra less tipsy women.  Lots of big families who didn't have control over a single child.  Lots of parents who were there to let the zoo babysit.  Lots of pregnant and nursing women.  Lots of yelling.  Lots of little girls barefoot and in swimsuits.

The zoo recently opened a little splash pad, and as with all splash pads and parks, I'm not a fan.  I'm a germ-a-phobe and I don't believe in letting my kids get soaking and sopping wet in their clothes, especially when they still have to walk the entire zoo and especially when we are doing stuff afterwards.  It's not judgement, it's just me.  I'm not a fan.  If you are, I'm cool with that...just watch your kids.  

When we got to the otters, there is a hollow log that the kids can walk through.  Wyatt decided to do it. On top of the log was the soaking wet, out of control, too big for the hollow log, probably 12 year old girl, jumping.  A stranger, not associated with the little girl, but who had seen Wyatt's casted arm, started yelling towards her, "Be careful.  Stop jumping.  Be careful, there is a little boy with a ...." and just as he was about to say "cast", spaz girl jumped off the top and smashed my little 4 year old with a full arm cast into the ground.  He of course, screamed bloody murder and tore some skin off his good arm and both his knees.  The little girl?  Stared at Wyatt as if it was his fault, and ran away to her parents.

Yeah, the zoo was awesome.

I mentioned a few weeks ago in a post that Grandma Judy has a quail sitting on a nest of 9 eggs in her front yard flower bed.  She is keeping a close eye on the mama to be, and when we were over for dinner on Sunday, got all the kids a good look at the quail sitting on top of her eggs.

On Sunday night, after putting the big boys to bed, Ross came into our bedroom and told me that he and Wyatt had an interesting conversation after Elliott fell asleep.  Out of nowhere, Wyatt asked, "Dad, does mom have eggs?"  Not sure where the kid was going, Ross said "No, why?"  Luckily, the conversation was derived from the mom quail sitting on her eggs and Ross and Wyatt had a great conversation about animals that lay eggs versus animals that have babies born alive.  And thank heavens, whatever the answers were, they made sense to his little brain and the questions subsided.  We are not prepared to have "that talk" with a four year old.

For almost a month now, I have had a cough.  Not just any cough but a dry, hacking, rip out your guts cough.  At least three times a day, usually more, I am rendered completely immobile from the coughing.  I cannot even describe what it sounds like, but I can tell you that last week, I coughed so hard that I had to run to the bathroom because I was inches from throwing up.

My ever supportive husband has been telling me to go to the doctor for my cough.  He tells me I have "The most unproductive cough ever" and that I am coughing because of "post nasal drip".  I snuff my nose at him and tell him that I do not have boogers, or dripping, or anything else.  No sinus infection.  No anything.  I just am coughing like there is no tomorrow.

It's the worst at night.  I sleep with cough drops in my mouth, and haven't had a nights sleep that has been uninterrupted by coughing for about two weeks.  It's crazy.  I cannot lay down, water doesn't help, it's just a big pain in the butt.

I finally broke down last week and told Ross if he made me an appointment that coordinated with when he could be home with the boys, I'd go to the doctor.  I have about a million other little things wrong with me anyway, so I could go with a laundry list.

The appointment hasn't been made yet, but it might not have to be.  Last night, I had to go and pick up two prescriptions from the pharmacy drive-through.  One of the prescriptions was my blood pressure medication that I've been on for two months.  As I was finalizing my transaction the pharmacist came over to talk to me through the microphone.  He asked me if the blood pressure medication was working.  I said, that yes, I thought it was.  He said, "good.  Have you had any side effects?"  and I replied with a no, that I didn't think I was having any side effects.

He then said to me, "Have you been coughing?  Like a real dry, hacking, "unproductive" cough?"  I looked him in the eye and said, "YES!  I HAVE BEEN COUGHING FOR WEEKS AND ITS KILLING ME!!!!"  We traded a list of symptoms and he told me that the cough I have is the main side effect of the blood pressure medication I am taking and that, if it is really bothering me, I should have my doctor prescribe me something different.

How crazy is that?

When I got home, I told Ross that I had learned something getting my prescription.  At first, he didn't believe me.  And then, it was nice to be a little bit vindicated....my "unproductive cough" isn't because I don't have good coughing skills at all.

Freudian Slip

Me:  I have the worst headache I've had in, like, 10 months.
Him:  I wonder why.  I wonder what triggered it.
Me:  I don't know.  I haven't had any orange juice. (side note:  orange juice is a migraine trigger for me)
Him:  I did.  I wonder if I put some sort of boobie doll curse on you by drinking it?
Me:  What?
Him:  You know, a boobie doll?
Me:  What?
Him:  Oh, I mean voodoo doll.  Maybe I put a voodoo curse on you.

Yes, there is a certain topic in our house these days that is apparently on everyones minds.

Deja Vu

The day Wyatt was born three years ago, Elliott started to get sick.  By the time we brought Wyatt home from the hospital four days later, Elliott was crazy sick and our first night at home, the Chick and I camped out and Ross spend the middle of the night with Elliott driving him around to different emergency rooms. 

So as we've been in limbo this week about when this kid is going to arrive, guess what.

The little chickadee is sick.  It started with a bad cough on Saturday afternoon.  Followed by sleepless nights and lots of puking up of giant globs of goo.  Not a good sign for my bad lung asthma boy.  Though his mood was more pleasant than it's been for a couple of weeks, we knew something was really wrong with him so on Monday, our dad took him to the doctor.

Diagnosis?

A touch of group and the beginning stages of bronchitis.  He actually hasn't been this sick since February which is a miracle in and of itself.  But, he's still sick and he has a mama who is too out of it to take good care of him and a dad who is super busy trying to pick up all the pieces.

So what does that mean?  It means he gets to watch a lot of TV.  And I get to spend a lot of time with my feet up on the couch.

I don't think he minds though.  Just look at the pictures as evidence.

35 weeks

35 weeks.  That's where the official ticker gets us today.  Up to right now, I haven't written much about this experience...probably because it's very similar to the other two.  But I thought, for the sake of documentation I'd share a few things.

The good:
*I'm 4 weeks away from meeting my third son.  This thrills me to no end.

*This whole process, minus being so slow (did you know that it only takes 60 days from start to finish for a baby polar bear to show his face?  Why can't I be a polar bear?), has really been very bearable for round three.  I feel super lucky.

*I'm still sleeping okay.  Not tonight of course because I'm writing this at 2:00 am with an absolutely insane and killer cold and I'm up because I cannot breathe.  But, honestly, I go to bed at night and except for some bathroom breaks, and said cold, I sleep right on through until morning.

*Even though I'm exhausted and feel so heavy that I might tip over, I can still do my regular stuff, albeit slowly.  My husband fired me from mowing the lawn a few weeks ago but I can still do laundry, dinner, make the beds, vacuum, plant flowers, pull weeds....you get the idea.

*I'm starting to panic a bit about this kiddo like I've done with the other two about how well he'll be breathing when he's born.  I pray that he'll be okay, won't have an extended NICU stay and that we'll actually get to hold him, introduce ourselves to him, and love his squishy squeakiness the day he's born.  So far, things are going in the direction of healthy and I've got confidence that the grandma's in heaven are looking out for him (and me) and that everything will be okay.

The Bad:
Oh, where to begin?  Not wanting to use this forum as a complete complain session (I mean, I do get to keep the baby after all) I'll keep it brief.

*swollen ankles, worse than with the other two I think
*swollen feet
*numb toes (I've almost completely lost feeling in the three smallest toes on my left foot, ick!)
*nerve pain in my right butt cheek
*fat, fat, fat!  Did I mention fat?
*back pain
*using the bathroom like it's going out of style
*no longer able to get up from sitting on the floor
*constantly out of breath

You get the idea, right?  It's funny with this whole process how you go from feeling super icky, to feeling so "normal" that you forget there is a space invader living inside of you to quite literally all of a sudden feeling like you are so heavy and bloated and slow that you might tip over or that said space invader might fall out, like a paper grocery bag that is too full and starts to rip at the bottom.  Every day when I get down and feel a bit sorry for myself (which, lets face it, is happening more than I'd like to admit), I just remind myself that I get a baby.  That I get to pick his birthday.  That I get to hold him and love him forever and ever.

The Ugly:
Like I said, this third round of baby boy feels like in a lot of ways, it's been "easier" (knock on wood) than with the other two, but it's been so much harder, too.  Harder because there are already two of these little boys here to take care of.  Harder because this summer has been so insanely hot that I've got my thermos stat set permanently at 71 degrees.  Harder because quite literally, I'm losing my ability to walk.

But, the really worst part is all the appointments.  Finding someone to watch my kids while I go to two NST's (Non-stress tests at the hospital), my OB appointment, my diabetes appointment each week  is just overwhelming.  The amount of insulin I'm injecting into my arms and hips every day is astounding.  Weighing more right  now than ever in my entire life (or I ever will again) just makes me want to cry.

And, the two kids I've got already in front of me are driving me crazy.  You can cut their nervous energy with a knife and I'm not sure how much more yelling, screaming, hitting, bathroom talk (no, Wyatt, we are not naming our new baby diarrhea or port-o-potty) and general, "I'm being crazy but I don't know why" - ness I can handle.  Just wait until the baby gets here - then their really going to lose their minds!

But, the end is in sight.  I'm actually looking forward to the whole process.

And, I cannot wait to hold a sweet, squishy little boy, part of our clone army, in my arms and kiss his head as much as I want.

Elliott, 5 days old

Wyatt, one day old

Fort Knox

 

(My husband shared this with me over the weekend.  I'm still laughing.)

Lately, everything in my life can be blamed on my hormones?

Or not.

I'm trying really hard to get all the things done in a day that I usually get done and still find a few minutes here and there to put swollen and sore ankles and feet up.  This week though, I've started my twice weekly NST's (Non-Stress Tests) (which are anything but non-stress).  This is where I go to the hospital, this time around to the Labor and Delivery department, get set-up in a triage room,  hooked to a billion monitors and then told to "relax" for 20 minutes to an hour while little twitchy does his thing  being tracked on a monitor.  It's actually a nice break, sort of, except for all the stress of doing it twice a week, finding someone to watch my kids, driving to and from the hospital and inevitably, even though I go right before, needing to use the bathroom right as everything gets hooked up and the nurse walks away.

Phew!  I'm tired just thinking about it.

But, I keep reminding myself...baby, baby, baby.......In a few short weeks I get a baby out of all this and that, in the end, keeps me from crying.  On most days, anyway.

But, I digress.  The boys and I had to run an errand this morning.  The place we needed to go, when we pulled up in front at 10:45 didn't open until 11:00 am.  Fifteen minutes to kill.  I had a brilliant idea.

Why don't we go to the library, just around the corner.

Even better?  Why don't I be a good mom and actually get a library card.

It was decided and I had two little boys very excited to venture to the biblioteque.

Me?  Not excited.  Library's literally make me sick to my stomach if I'm there for more than 10 minutes.  No joking.  I enter a library and I have to find a bathroom.  When I was a student at the "U" and had to crank out some massive study sessions at the Marriott Library my routine was always the same.  Enter library; find cubby; sit down, get out all my stuff; open Ritz crackers; sneak open coke; pack up most of my belongings and speed walk to the nearest bathroom, hoping the stuff I left in haste was still there when I returned.

It always was.  Thank you fellow Utah students.

Anyway, the public library.  We walked in confident.  I approached the librarian.  I should have known by the "I hate my job" look she was giving me that this was not going to be easy.  I told her that I needed a library card.  She asked me if I've ever had one before.  I said, "Yes, but not since I was probably 10 years old."  She looked me up by my maiden name and birthday and I was not in the system.  Obviously.  Because, like I said, maybe when I was 10 I had a library card...that was 24 years ago.

Ahhhh.

Next, she handed me a bright pink half sheet of paper and asked me for my drivers license with my current address.  I told her that I moved recently (a year is recently, right?) and that my DL did not have my new address.

She was not amused.

She told me that if my address was not current on my DL then I had to have another document with me to get a library card and referred me to the paper.

Some of the other documents included:
passport or government ID (with current address)
cell phone bill
medical bill
water/gas bill

You get the idea.  She then directed me to a computer to fill out an online application and told me that she could issue me a temporary card.

I did as I was told and then let the boys each select three books.

We went to check out.

She found my recently completed application, gave me a temporary card and then I stood there, thinking that she would help me check out the books.

Bitter librarian just stared at me.

I asked if she would help me.  She said no and pointed to the computer kiosk.  She told me it was easy to use and that I SHOULD be able to do it.  Apparently by this point, "I'm with stupid" was printed across my forehead with an arrow pointing down.

I did it.  Barely.  Apparently with a temporary card, I could only check out 2 books, not 6.  And since I didn't know this, I checked out two of Elliott's books and none of Wyatt's.  Dramarama in the car I tell you.  Drama!

So, here's the thing.  Apparently I am super naive about the library.  I didn't realize that they needed a vial of blood from my first born a lock of hair and a criminal background check with up to date finger prints to check out a book.  It's a library.  I wanted some books!  Just some books!  I figured that I'd go in, they would verify my address, match me up to my husband (I tried to use him as a reference....avid library user he is but alas, it didn't work) and I'd have a card.  Voila!

Like Forrest Gump said:

Stupid is as stupid does.

I may never go back.

And, my stomach still hurts.

Ouch!

Last Saturday I went with a friend to get a pedicure.  Two years ago on my birthday, my husband gave me a gift certificate for a pedicure.  A few months ago I gave it to my friend because I thought she would be more likely to use it.

She invited me to go.

I picked yellow.  My boys said the flowers on my toes look like spiders.



By the end of Saturday I'd already scuffed the polish up pretty bad and got a little wierded out by the yellow so I applied a thin layer of gold glitter to all 10 toes. It's better now.

When I got home from the pedicure it was time to get to business. First, I stopped at the gas station and got a coke. Then my husband and boys got home from the doctor and they brought me a coke. Score! One had lime and the other lemon so I was pretty happy. Second, it was time to make potatoes. A young girl with cerebral palsy passed away in my neighborhood/ward and I volunteered to fix some scalloped potatoes for the family luncheon.

To keep the potato slices uniform, I decided to use the mandolin slicer. On my second potato, I quite literally sliced off more than I was prepared for and took a huge chunk of my thumb off.

I swore.

It hurt.

Under the cold water, the blood was gushing. This kind of think normally doesn't phase me, but on this day, with this thumb, I was starting to lose it. The thumb got wrapped in a cold towel and elevated. It was throbbing and I was woozy.

I marched myself to the bathroom and sat on the toilet with my thumb under some more cold water. Seriously thought those delicious diet cokes were going to come back up for a visit.

Such a wimp.

In the end, my kind husband bandaged my thumb's missing parts (and a big chunk of finger nail, too), helped me off the floor to the couch and got me an ice pack. I settled into the couch in all my spastic glory and watched more house hunters than should be allowed.

Ross finished my potatoes. By the time they were done and needed to be to the church I had cowboyed up.

But only for the next 30 minutes or so. Thank heavens I was home alone and no one was looking.

I was only brave until Sunday morning when I had to take the bandaid off. Part of the adhesive was stuck to my wound. It was time for wimp round two....eventually, after about 15 minutes I was man enough to pull the bandaid off.

That made me a bit dizzy, too.

Cloak of invisibility

I'm sleepy.  We've been busy but no real interest in documenting any of it...at least through the written word.  Here are a few photos though to take you through your weekend.

Our super bowl party menu from last week. We hosted 20 people and had yummy food. For the record, I did not watch one second of the game or the half-time show. I am awesome. I did however set my smoke detector off in the house three times.

On February 25 I'm presenting at my mom's stake women's conference on living an abundant life and finding joy in the little things. Part of my presentation will be to talk about Louis Zemperini because he is awesome.

This is the junkiest most cluttered place in my house right now and it is all mine. I kind of like it. Not really. I think it will get an overhaul this weekend.

Both boys were grumpy and desperate for a change of scene (and a nap) the other day so we went on our usual knock out drive. It makes both boys sleep and I get to see beautiful scenery. Win, win for everyone.

Tough loss for the Wolverines on Tuesday night. The boys and I left early because I was too sad to watch them lose the region championship. But, second place for a team that last year only won 4 games is pretty awesome.

The grocery store had an over abundance of strawberries the other day two packs for $5. We love strawberries and haven't bought them for months because they are out of season and too expensive. The boys and I have nearly snarfed them all but this one took the cake, or the heart, so to speak. What an amazing strawberry - just in time for valentines day.

Are you an athlete or an athletic supporter?

When I first moved into the Truman Show seven years ago, I was invited to come and play church volleyball.  It had been years since I'd played, and I was actually thinking about making some friends so I agreed and showed up to play.  I was placed on a team, was stupidly asked what position I play (um, I'm 6 foot 3...I'm totally the team setter and don't know how to block at all!) and stood on the court ready to play.

I can dig if I have to.  I can set if I need to.  I can "spike" if that's what you want to call it.  I am generally good for a couple of blocks a game.

I stood on that court ready to receive service.  The ball came soaring over the net and a woman on my team, whom I later decided was the graveyard shift conductor of the crazy train, kicked the ball instead of trying to use her hands.  The volleyball purist in me was outraged and as soon as I rotated out I picked up my stuff and I left the gym, never to return.

Fast forward 7 years.  I live in a new house, new neighborhood, new ward.  I volunteered to play on the women's volleyball team because I really don't know anyone and was doing a little bit of reaching out - I stepped out of my comfort zone to be social and thought it would be good for me.  It was a frustrating experience, but I still had fun.

I realized that I am like my dad.  I am too competitive when I have something personally at stake.  If I am on a team, or cheering for a particular family member on a team, my blood will boil, I'll yell and rant and rave and I'll give it my all.  A vested interest gets me going and ready for action.  Now, if I have no vested interest, I could care less who wins or loses, but put me on the court and....

Fast forward to last Sunday at church.  I was asked to fill-in on the co-ed volleyball team in a region round robin tournament that was held last night.  At 7:00 pm I showed up at the church ready to play.  So did the five other people on my team - three men and three women in total.  We walked into the gym into a literal herd of people.  There were 40 men and women milling about, none of whom really seemed sure as to what was going on.

It was soon discovered however that the organizer of the round robin tournament wasn't as thorough as he should have been.  He had 4 teams show up when he thought there were only enough people for two teams.  After a lot of buffoonery and "um...um..um.." it was decided by this guy that one, it was our mistake in showing up, not his mistake in lack of planning; and two, that the teams could just easily combine because you know, it's really easy to work 15 people into a 6 person game.

So I played.  The opposing team had two very tall, very cocky young men, probably 19 who by the looks of them, thought that they should have been playing on a nationally ranked NCAA men's team, not standing in a church gym playing with their moms.  I am proud to say that on the first play of the game for me, one of these young men went up to spike the ball into my face and was hit by the shock of his church volleyball career when the tall, 30 pound overweight diabetic mother of two blocked his hit and returned the ball into his face.

Take that, church volleyball!

Throughout the next two matches, I blocked those two boys or dumped it right past their attempted block of me three more times.

Not bad!

Once the game was over I was asked to be a line judge for the next match.  I agreed.  While standing in position, I saw some scuttlebutt between some members of the team I came with and the team we had just played with.  A few minutes later I was told that the old men on the team, who went by the nicknames "Merlin" and "ponch" (because who doesn't want a cool nick name for CHURCH volleyball) had asked that the men on our team not play.  They would keep our women (me, the tall girl and our setter because we were better than the ladies they showed up with), but that they didn't think it was fair for our men (who were taller, younger, stronger and better looking) to play on their team because "they hadn't been to any practices".

So, in grand church ball fashion, people got offended and because I didn't want to stay anyway, I left in a huff with the lot.  Well, I wasn't in a huff, I just felt that I got jipped out of some exercise so I came home and did my Jillian Michaels video.  I do not recommend doing an aerobic exercise video at 8:30 at night.  I didn't sleep.  All night long.  And I messed up my blood sugar and at 2:30 this morning my number was 22 - that's like diabetic coma low and I thought i was going to DIE!  Seriously.  It was terrible.

Anyway - the whole point of all of this?
It's CHURCH BALL.  If you think you are so awesome at church ball that you cannot share the court with someone else then you are just dumb.

AWOL

Every once in a while life moves faster than the blog.  And the fact that I've been doing this for 6 years doesn't help much...sometimes there just really isn't a "story" and the thought of creating one just makes me tired.  And, life makes me tired, too.  There's been a lot of action the last week or so - physical activity, mental and emotional trauma and joy, arguments about bigots and morons, little kid magic shows, book reading about relationships, pumpkin patch picking, crafting, football game watching, and the list goes on and on and on.

Anyway - here are some pictures  - just so the few of you who read this know that we're alive and kicking.