A Girl named Gay

RAINBOW

2012-03-16T14:42:00.000-07:00

I love color. What do you think of these $22 Target jeans? {The outside twinners, fraternal of course} My only hold back is they do take a good 3-4 minutes to get on. Sister jeans to these, of course. But a bigger size. It's refreshing to see myself in colorful clothes, rather than colorful workout gear....especially since making the last-minute trek to Disneyland last week..... In my freshly used running clothes. Black leggings, neon yellow tank-top, bright blue Nike Frees, and 4 1/2 miles worth of sweat. You all, I need some shame. Please, I'm begging for it.

That might also solve my problem of walking into the gas station to get my $1 same day re-fill....before 10 am.

Serious, does anyone have some shame I can borrow?

PS. I'm about to pee my pants. Not because I just drank 70 o.z.'s of Diet Coke. Because I'm so excited....Make sure you stop back by on Monday for some *AWESOME* news!!!!

New Edition

2012-03-15T12:14:00.001-07:00

I've been collecting a few things over the last 6 months to add a little color and pop to the kitchen.

I like the life this spinny thing gives. Where do you is the best place to out it?

I think I it on the table but the truth is, I kinda want it to stay in EACH place. That's right...three of the exact same thing. But seriously, I really like simple, so I'm also trying to decide if I want some centerpiece on the island or just leave it open? I feel like the hanging lights almost act as a focal.....? Maybe?

And I need a third piece to hang here but haven't come across anything I love. Any suggestions?

After Hailey was in town a couple of weekends ago, she helped me nail down the color to paint out old side table and figure out exactly how to execute the frame for the chalkboard paint (molding from Home Depot.....about $10 for 4 foot frame!) This is the first time I remember Yosh REALLY liking one of my decorating decisions!

Would love to hear suggestions....I know there's a lot of creativity out there!

Indian Wells

2012-03-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

After 6 years, I can finally check the Indian Wells tennis tournament off my bucket list. Or at least move it from my bucket list to my 'annual trips' list. Because it was awesome just like I suspected.

It was good times {with the Matsumori's}, great eats {Okura Robata Grill and Sushi}, and a little bit of outlet shopping {all you mamas having your summer babies cuz there's like 10 of you...I'm ready!}

It was just a quick 36 hour get-away, but that's long enough when no kids are in tow. {Even though I'm sure they wished we would've stayed away longer....their baby-sitters were a lot more fun than mom and dad...}

Who's in for next year?!!

Unsolicited Advice

2012-03-12T16:36:00.001-07:00

I was looking at how nice and neat and hotelesque my towels looked, all folded nice and neat in their perfect place.

And this little thought hit me…I wonder if people think I'm one of those that does it all- clean house, kids in school, fed everyday..... Wow that's a short list. Whatever. But even with this short list, I don't do it all. I hire out another wife. A very capable one that kicks my butt in the home-keeping department. And I probably get credit for her work.

Bigger than my concern that you think I'm a do-it-all when there's not a chance in my wildest fantasies that's the case.....is this fear:

That there are mamas out there that are afraid to take the reigns and do whatever it is that you know would work for your family. Whatever makes your family run smoother, whatever makes you happier and your life/job more manageable, whatever is worth it to you…is worth the fight.

Is another wife worth more than clothes to me: absolutely.
Is another wife worth more than home decorating to me: absolutely.
Is another wife worth not going out to eat to me: that's a tough one.....

Know your needs, own them, and fight for them. You are the one that knows your family and it's needs better than anyone. Don't let the fact that standing up for yourself is hard and uncomfortable stop you- you're your only advocate.

Be willing to try change- not committing to it forever, just try it. Whether that means someone helping you around the house, or eating frozen dinners 2x a week, or pushing for 5 hours of babysitting a week, or going out one night a week ALONE while your man is on duty....whatever your needs are.

Here's one last secret: I still love myself. Like a lot. Even though I don't do it all. Relinquishing some of the reigns doesn't detract from our worth a single bit. And relinquishing reigns doesn't make you any less capable.We're just becoming more efficient delegaters- yea baby! Growing families need to be open to change.

Love yourself, follow your heart and....just stand up for yourself?!! Alright we got this, mamas!!

{speaking of help, my kids wouldn't have had any of even their basic needs met today if Virginia weren't here- I feel like giving her a big ole kiss on the lips. Is that too forward? I'm feeling border-line on my death bed. She also took care of me- orange juice and homemade chicken soup. Great runner-up to my own mama.}

THE #1 RULE

2012-03-09T12:07:00.001-08:00

Speaking of Diet Coke and popcorn with Reeses Pieces....

I remembered from the day before that the movie was showing at both 1:30 and 3:45 and made my plans accordingly, opting for the 3:45 showing. After having 3 of the 4 movie-goers in the car, and on the way to pick up the last, I thought I better double check. Even though I totally trusted that I knew. But I'm really working on trusting the fact that I can't trust myself. Which is why I was completely appalled that this theory once again proved itself true when I looked in route to see that, NO, there was no 3:45 showing at the theater I was going to. Disheveled, I picked up our last passenger, forming plan B on the fly. There was another theater farther away with a 3:50 show. Totally doable. Until we hit traffic and the clock was still ticking. Ticking in sync with my thoughts as I was trying to retract my steps and see where I went wrong, cussing myself out a few more times for disrespecting my need to trust that I can't be trusted. Yet I was still holding on to the notion that I KNEW, that there was a 3:45 showing at Santa Monica. Which is when a light bulb went on......LORAX 3D vs LORAX. Yes!!!! Two different show times for- essentially- two different movies. Even though the two could very easily be confused. And YES there was the 3:45 showing. See, this was just a test. And what is the number 1 rule for test-taking??? GO WITH YOUR FIRST GUESS. Which is why I continue to trust myself instead of trusting to not trust. IT'S MESSY. Anyway, I then found myself in a frenzy trying to get off the traffic-infested freeway at 3:49 to do a turn-around. And the only way to possibly slide in and catch the beginning was to arrange valet service. "Yosh, I have a huge favor. It just happens that I've had a huge miscommunication with myself. Any way you can walk over and meet us at the theater and park my car for me?" Valet parking is always more expensive, but usually worth the price. Especially when it's my husband who's the valet guy. And his services allowed us to sit down- with my Diet Coke and popcorn with Reeses Pieces- right at the opening line.

Happy Friday, It's the freakin weekend baby I'm bout to have me some fun!

Stars align

2012-03-08T11:48:00.001-08:00

Ya'lls I'm a bit skeptical to put this in the public forum, mainly bc I'm afraid of losing a friend or two (not saying any names anneli and laura) but......I barely watch TV. Like maybe 2 shows a week. And am a new convert to movies only because I REALLY like fountain Diet Coke and popcorn with Reeses Pieces in it. And I only do trashy magazines every couple months when I get a mani/pedi. So I really struggle in the star department.

Like when I walked into Vida eyeing the visual menu/everyone else's plates. I sat down, content on ordering what the girl next to me had. Only problem being I didn't know what it was. But when my friend came in, sat down with me, and said hi to her, I thought that trumped all weirdness in asking her what she was eating. I then ordered the carbon copy, the dish I have now coined...."the Swank." No introduction necessary? But apparently so. I would have never known. Nor would I ever had the cajones to say a single word to her had I known. (FYI, Hilary doesn't like me. No chemistry. Sad, right? But she likes my friend so that's gotta count for something!)

Not much different than the time, some man- a bit older- came and commented to me on our little ones, obviously praising their good looks and even better behavior! before going to his own table. Yosh asked me if I knew who he was. Hadn't thought about it in the moment, but now that he had mentioned it, maybe he did look familiar. "Oh yeah, isn't he funny or something?" "Well, yea. It's Martin Short."

So I was feeling all proud when I was sitting in some parenting class and my eye stopped on this man in jeans and a polo, looking all normal. BUT...something looked familiar. Something looked famous. I mean, I thought. Didn't really know for sure. But I knew. Well, not like his name or anything. My suspicions were confirmed when he stood up to leave and I caught a glimpse of his name tag. So I was all excited to call Yosh and tell him not only that I saw a famous person but that I RECOGNIZED him. And even...knew his name. That would be impressive. So I called and built up my story all nice and strong and suspenseful and was like, "So don't you wanna know who it is?" "It's Kevin Neely." Yosh was like, "Who? Who's that?" I'm all, "You know, like...he's real funny. He's on those funny shows......" Crap, I was totally wrong? Not famous? "Oh you mean, Kevin Nealon. Cool. Gotta go." Another botched punch line. I can't even cheat and get people right.

My saving grace is that I recognize Julia Roberts. Every time. I think.

2 LEGIT

2012-03-07T11:53:00.002-08:00

You know the moments of parenting when you feel your heart fracturing? Not breaking, just a slight fracture, but you feel it as it is happening. In real time. These moments aren't isolated to parenting- I think it happens when dealing with anyone you love.

Saturday on the way home from B's football game, he sat in the front seat with his little chin just a quivering as he was releasing his frustrations to me, trying to bravely hold back the tears. "Mom, I didn't get the ball even once. I'm the littlest guy on the team. I think that's why I never got it. They didn't even give me a chance." My first instinct was to jump in and remind him of all the good plays he's ever had, how he usually is involved in almost every play. My second instinct was to tell him that we should talk to the coach and ask for more interaction. But my heart knew I needed to listen and validate his frustrations. And that there weren't any real answers. No solutions. Nothing mom should do to make it better.

These are growing pains for the B man. He was born with not only natural athleticism, but also an innate focus on technique, which has catapulted his growth at anything he tries. We've known this since he was 18 months old and throwing perfect spirals dead on to his target, all the while concentrating on his footwork. Yes, at 18 months. At 6 years old, he finally started realizing he was better than average at most things. Which meant it was time for humble pie. For this reason, we moved him up a level to play football with the 7-8 year olds. That. and of course because you don't get better if you're always the best. It was time for him to stretch. Reach. Push.

So we threw him into the lion's den. And he's feeling the pressure and the disappointment, and all the downsides that other's have been experiencing while he's been running touchdowns and getting home runs. He said, "Mom, I even sat out when there was an extra guy, trying to be nice for the team, thinking that might get me the ball." He's catching on to teamwork, to compromising, to sacrificing. It's interesting that a result of his character being stretched, is that ours as parents are simultaneously experiencing the same burn. When we don't jump in. When we don't solve the problems. When we let the kids hurt a bit. And experience vulnerability. When we give them the opportunity to step up. When we concede to the need to step down. We're growing together. He's gonna figure his part out while I work on mine.

Today in the shower, I was laughing when this song popped into my head. Maybe this will pump him up for his next game. Or become his theme song for the season. What do ya think?!!

J Crew

2012-03-06T10:55:00.001-08:00

I've said it before, I'm no fashionista. And also, I'm no Pinterestista, but after being asked if my outfit was a Pinterest inspired one, I held my head a little higher, and felt my ego multiplying in size.

And like any shallow girl would do, I put on a version of the same outfit the next day.

SILENCE

2012-03-05T16:29:00.000-08:00

When Yosh and I met, he lived in Utah and I lived in St Louis. Our first "dates" took place in St Louis, but pretty quick in, the opportunity to go to Utah for a weekend conveniently surfaced. I was obviously all types of nervous preparing for the weekend, over-analyzing every supposed scenario like only a girl in love can do. I was talking with one of my friends about this, and among the list of what I was looking for, was how we would handle silence. I love to chit-chat but heaven knows we all need some silence in our lives. And while I can stand silence, there's not many things that make me more antsy than uncomfortable silence.

So here we are 8ish years later. Obviously Yosh passed the silence test. We did quite well finding a balance between chatting and ~~making out~~ comfortable silence that weekend.

But...we still haven't mastered the timing of silence in our relationship.When I talk to Yosh while he's at work, more than half the time I'm thinking the call got disconnected. There's a guaranteed 20 second break before he responds to a question. And that is IF he responds to the question. The worst is when he calls me and then just sits there. I'm all, "Uhhhh, you know you called me, right? What do you want?" I wish he would talk more.

And then there's when we're laying in bed at night. The lights go off and I'm already giddy anticipating what I'm gonna dream about that night. The lights go off and Yosh.......is ready to talk my ear off. Huh uh. My ears don't operate in the dark. I'm tired. I wish he would talk less.

Please, don't judge our relationships off our phone calls and pillow talk (or lack thereof.) You'd think we were hurtin love birds if you did.

And maybe don't judge our relationship on our weekend dates either.

We were out to a quick dinner this weekend before a party. Now I'll have you know we chatted the whole 40 minutes or so to dinner. We were coming off a long week and both wanted some down time. So at dinner.......we were that couple. Both with phones out, concentrating on nothing other than that rectangular screen, next to oblivious that the other one was present. Truth be told, it only appeared to outsiders we were oblivious. We were very aware of the other's presence. We were playing Scramble. Against each other. On our phones. At the same table. We were both very comfortable- and even enjoying- the silence. Until Yosh started ~~talking~~ distracting to me while I was playing. I was all, "DO NOT TALK TO ME. STOP. SERIOUSLY. LEAVE ME ALONE." Yosh may be able to chat, spell and chew gum all at the same time but I need complete concentration while I get my a double s kicked. SILENCE. That is what I was needin from him. {And maybe a bit of mercy. Can a girl not win every now and then? I got one game....}

By the time we made our way over to the party, I was ready to get my chat on, you know, saying hi to acquaintances we haven't seen in awhile and doing the whole social thing. And that's when the conversation arose. Best one of the night. It was a guy (Paul) I hadn't seen in awhile and really barely knew. We were catching up on another mutual acquaintance (Ty), who is getting married. Now times like these always call for reminiscing, right? So that's exactly what I started doing. I was all, "Remember when Ty lived out here and there was that one girl he was crushing on. You know we would always catch them chatting with each other. Real cute girl. You guys know who I'm talking about, right?" Yosh and Paul were looking at me with blank faces. "You guys don't remember? They worked together and were always talking." Still nothing on the boys' faces. Now I know with every pregnancy and birth, it's been like a jail break for my brain cells and they took full advantage and escaped like maddened convicts, never to be retrieved. And while this mind isn't what it used to be, I still have a knack for hanging onto absolutely unimportant, unnecessary details. I knew I wasn't crazy and I wasn't going to let this drop without one last shot. "I can't believe you guys don't remember. He'd get all shy, they worked together.........Well, anyway. It was funny. And she was cute. And he liked her." End of ~~conversation~~ talking to myself.

Paul walked away and that's all I saw/heard from him the rest of the night. Once alone I looked at Yosh and was all, "I can't believe you don't remember her."

Yosh got a little smile and said, "I do remember her. And so did he..........She's now Paul's wife."

Silence is sometimes golden. And necessary. And annoying. And desperately wanted.

But you don't always get it when you want it!

Today....

2012-03-02T14:05:00.001-08:00

If I were a cat, this is where I'd nap. I found my sun spot today.

If I were a gambler, I'd place a huge bet. I barely evaded a parking ticket today (or maybe just out-ran the parking attendant....)

If Kaia were of age, she'd already have claimed her prince. She loves her dad and nearly jumped out of my arms to show him when we did a sneak attack at his work today.

If Dallin were a young working bachelor, he'd already have the routine down. He woke up at 6:30 am to catch up on his ESPN today.

If Deeter were a king, we'd all be looking for a new country of residence. He bossed me around with illogical precision today.

If I lived in the olden days, I think I'd be without a tongue. I didn't obey King Deeter today.

If Porter were a grandpa, he'd be looking for more Depends. He "thinks" he pooped his pants today.

Conspiracy

2012-03-01T14:54:00.000-08:00

I drove my Honda Pilot for 5 years with no accidents, popping tires, breaking...pipes? or whatever is underneath the car (that I can remember at least.......). Then Yosh dropped this minivan in my driveway and I'll tell you what it wasn't three days old before I had already next-to-ripped the side panel off. I pulled into Harrison's driveway, loaded him up, and backed out- which I'd been doing for the past year WITHOUT INCIDENT- but sure enough as I backed out this time, I heard a desperate scraping sound, bending metal, and a thud. You have got to be kidding me. There'd always been the uprooted part of the driveway that the Pilot handled like a champ. In fact, I don't think I even noticed it was there until it stole half my van. So I hopped out, assessed the damage- it was hanging by a couple screws but surely driveable?, assessed my situation- who else was gonna get these boys to practice, lifted the panel back up into place and gave it a few kicks to secure position. For the next three days I had to pull over about every mile and a half, kick the panel into place, and then drive another mile and a half. Thank goodness some traveling handyman passed me during one of my MacGuyver-ing sessions and pulled over to offer his services. He took pity on me, setting the mood to take advantage of my desperation. 30 minutes and $200 later he had that van looking like new. This was in the first week of owning the van. A year later, there's many a dents and dings and scratches that have no explanation to vouch for them.

That first week of being a minivan owner, I felt like years of scattered puzzle pieces were placed together and I felt the need to defend my poor gender from all this completely undeserved trash talk. I was just a whining. "You take me out of my Pilot and put me into some low riding minivan that can't even handle going over a bump. I DARE YOU to call me a bad driver. Now I KNOW why women get a bad rap about driving. IT'S ALL A CONSPIRACY. Buy us REAL cars and we won't drive like idiots." He was getting an earful and knew better than to even joke about that mishap.

I've stewed over that thought from time to time but usually only when I'm dreamily looking at some hot mama in her big Escalade, effortlessly taking the speed bumps at 40 mph while. And don't you worry, I'm still taking them at 40 mph. Difference being I literally catch air before I bottom out {whoops.}

But yesterday the conspiracy resurfaced.

The mini crew and I hit the grocery store. As we were pulling up, I was drumming up excitement, making sure I had Deeter on board for the event. "Alright, Deetz, are you gonna push the little cart and I'll put all the food in it?"

"Ummmmm.........." He wasn't committing quickly (which I found strange. What little kid doesn't want to push the little kid cart?) And in his apprehension, he found a better resolve. "No, Mom, I'm gonna ride in that car," he stated while pointing to the massive car attached to a cart. Really? I hate those.

"No, Deetz, think about it. You're gonna push the cart ALL BY YOURSELF. And, AND...we're gonna put the food in your cart."

No indecision, no second thought, no room for arguing. "Nope, I'm gonna drive that car."

So I huffed and puffed all the way to the 18-wheeler, buckled Kaia in up front, defiantly rejecting Deeter's request to have her ride in the driver's seat beside him, and waited for him to climb in before we approached the start of the obstacle course. Before even making it to the first aisle, I had to let out 5 excuse me's and this was all in the wide open common area. And of course, as I rounded the corner...SLOWLY...I about took out the end cap and slightly bumped some other innocent shopper. The 'excuse me's' quickly turned into a series of "Sorry." And THIS is why I wanted Deeter driving the play shopping cart. Don't get me wrong, We would have still looked like a circus act. We always do. Would the end cap and other shoppers still have been at risk? Absolutely. If me and the entourage are in the store, you better assume responsibility and "shop at your own risk." We're either hitting or inconveniencing every shopper we come in contact with. Regardless. But there's something much more endearing, and thus forgivable, when it's done by a 2 year-old. Not a 31-year-old. I passed my 20 minutes in the store, wearing an apologetic smile the whole time, having the car kiss every shelf, shopper, and cart in course. Deeter turned his steering wheel like a pro and didn't think twice when 'his' driving caused a little fender bender. Today he's still talking about how fun it was to drive that thing. He better have loved it for all the dirty looks and impatient huffs it cost me. Not to mention I'm sure all who saw me now think I'm a horrible driver. As if I were the one who brought my own impractical cart to the store in an attempt to publicly demonstrate my terrible maneuvering skills.

Now who did come up with that idea? I mean, obviously anyone can see a child would LOVE to drive that car, but it's a no brainer to also see IT DOESN'T FIT in the store. The person who introduced the mini cart to the store, they got it right- idea, proportions, etc. The brilliance of this car-cart idea would have been maintained if proposed in a mini Cooper version.

I'm sure the master mind behind this was the same male chauvinist that thought the minivan was the perfect car to turn moms into terrible drivers. Don't have enough evidence to support my thinking, but as soon as I see Moms driving their minivans and running things over in their over-sized car-carts, all while wearing nothing but a bikini, then I'll be sure of the conspiracy theory.

Eggs

2012-02-28T20:57:00.000-08:00

I don't know how my plan to both shower AND wash my hair got busted, but midshower I abandoned the hair-washing part of the routine and opted for a bright pink head wrap and a little extra mascara, you know just a little something to keep the fateful strangers I was going to run into today from noticing my greasy hair. I don't know, but I think I made this move bc I felt like I had a million things on my to-do list. Just my imaginary one, bc not a single thing had made it to paper. And my imaginary mile-long list usually actually means.....2 things. How does that happen?

How could I have ever known that my to-do list was really going to turn to materialize into many Scramble games. I shouldn't have bothered with the head wrap and mascara bc my competitors can't see my face and that was the only kind of interacting I was doing. Why did I download that App again? Oh yeah, because it's awesome. My first ever phone game. And can I tell you I'm hooked. Boggle has been my favorite game forever. Forever. So I've been finding myself madly playing this game every free 2 minutes I've had this afternoon. Like, couldn't even look up at the girl delivering my Girl Scout cookies bc I was in a round. 2 minutes lasts a long time when you are completely, rudely ignoring someone. Oh and PS- this would not fly if Yosh were the one all addicted to this game. I'd be demanding to put that phone away like the meanest principal you ever dreampt of. Now, confession: I s-u-c-k at Scramble. But in my head I know there's awesome just waiting, knocking at my door. So I'm in a mad frenzy to transform my s-u-c-k-i-n-e-s-s into awesomeness. Any tips?

And PPS, good thing I did put mascara on....turns out I live with my biggest competitor thus far. Yoshimatu.

Chess Piece

2012-02-27T12:04:00.001-08:00

Ever since January 20, 2011 I've been losing my #1 spot to a little miss in our house one boy at a time. A couple months ago, Porter came up to me and nonchalantly was all, "Mom, you're not my favorite girl. Kaia is." This wasn't mid fight, this wasn't in response to a question. It was simply an FYI he was throwing out.

Maybe it's Kaia's cuteness that throws me out of contending or maybe it's my slacking on things like taking the kids to the park and library. Unfortunately it's just not my thing. But I'll be trying to show off every now and then, win a point or two, and such was the case last week when I decided to take the big boys to the library. Desperation was what really landed me there. We had so much dang homework to catch up on that I thought the library- known for studying and productivity, right?- was the place to make it happen without distraction.

This isn't the original reason I avoided the library, but I'll remember it for next time it sounds like a good idea. Dallin B went all rebellious on me at the library. He didn't want to have anything to do with writing, reading, or anything else that resembled homework. And he wasn't using the recommended hushed voice to tell me so. Nor was I using the hushed voice to let him know that his booty wasn't moving from that library chair until he accomplished a little reading and writing.

The scolding interchanged with the forced, fake, over-the-top smile to the mom at the next table was hypocrisy at it's best. It could all be summed up with embarrassing. It was nothing less than.

We left our problem hour and the library- all miraculously wearing smiles- only to return to both. Porter refused to listen and was playing hard ball on whatever the issue was {such an important one and somehow I can't even recall what is was, shockingly.} I jumped on the hard ball band wagon and told him if he didn't pull it together, I was going to march my booty back to the library and return his book and movie he had picked out. Well, three strikes later, that's exactly what I found myself doing- the dreaded walk to the return box.

That move about sent Porter over the top. He was seated on the grass, in a pile of boogers and tears, devastated, refusing to move any further until we went back and got his book and movie. I was boiling and told him FINE, I'm walking home, that he could sit there for as long as he wanted. Now internally I was having a major battle. I was trying to figure out if I was overreacting or not and trying to tell myself to simmer and PARENT UP. But you know, when you're at boiling point, telling yourself to simmer is like trying to tell yourself to stop peeing midstream. It is completely counter intuitive, your whole body is against you, and it is painful to even attempt. It's not meant to be. And simmering wasn't meant to be in this stand-off.

So Porter was planted firmly on his ground and I was walking with Dallin by my side, faking commitment to this plan to walk home... AFTER getting a snack. From a place that I could conveniently still see Porter. Dallin asked to play liaison and go see if he could get Porter to come with us. I shrugged my shoulders and was all, "Well you can try," while I really had every crossable thing crossed and double crossed that Dallin would find a way to PLEASE get Porter to walk home with us. Dallin took off to do his negotiating while I was inside delightfully discovering- and simultaneously horrified- that they had fountain Coke Zero. How long had this been here without me knowing? With my fountain CZ and two donuts- just in case sheer luck had it that I had two boys I needed snacks for- I walked out the door just in time to meet Dallin running up to me.

"Ok, he said he'd walk home with us. BUT....he's going to plug his ears and say 'You're the worst mom ever' the whole way home. Is that ok?"

Beggars can't be choosers, right? And he was compromising so I had to give a little too, right? "Fine. Just tell him to come on."

Dallin darted off to deliver the accepted negotiation and made it back to me before Porter. I asked him how he got him to come.

"Oh, I told him he'd never see Kaia again if he sat there forever."

That simple. Kaia owns the #1 spot. Guess I'll accept being sloppy second. And meanwhile I'm gonna get to practicing my stop-peeing-midstream skills.

Tainted Reality

2012-02-23T11:50:00.001-08:00

I often go back to this one scene.

I'm 19 years old, laying in my bed with the covers tightly pulled around me, tears slowly falling down my face, curled up in the fetal position, wishing my parents would stop arguing.

This summer, the fam trekked it out to Utah for vacation. Part of the vacay was shacking it up with my sister and her four kids for a few days. There's something so appealing about putting two families under a roof that was meant for just one and getting all cozy- kids battling for territory, friendship, spotlight, food, respect, and to top it all off, babies battling for silence to get their naps in. Cozy was always on the brink of chaos. As long as we could hold chaos off, I was quite content, although I felt that lurking chaos itching right under my skin.

One night after we had gotten all the kids to bed, we went to put the house back in order and attack the kitchen, as had been our routine. This night, the kitchen was unarguably, absolutely trashed. I'm talking it looked like my college apartment when I lived with a girl who had an uncanny ability to fill every square inch of counter space- solo- with dishes while no one was looking. Uncanny. This was the state of the kitchen. Pure disaster. 10 people's dishes from 3 meals spread across, and then layered, on all the counters. My sister's dishwasher had broken that day, our manpower couldn't keep up with the demand by hand, and this was the result.

I looked at it, and didn't deny for one second that chaos had broke out and we were in full fledged emergency state. I wanted to run and hide. Period.

My sister was right on my heels. I turn around in horror, completely defeated. She's standing there, her feet in a wide stance, hands on her hips, and...............the biggest smile on her face. "Isn't this great?" Giddy. She was giddy?

I looked at that girl, sure she was insane and said, "Are you serious? No this isn't great. This makes me want to slit my wrist. I feel like I'm in a black hole."

"Ahhh, no this is great. The cousins are all together, we've been hammering out food left and right, and this is proof of a good day."

I'm a preventionist. It's one of my strengths. I strategize efficiently to avoid melt-downs, disaster......black holes! Chaos had broken skin and I don't do well with chaos. Which is why I work so hard and am pretty meticulous to avoid it. Chaos melts me. That night, with sis's big ole smile and me looking for the front door, one of my weaknesses stared me down, but not without showing me that there was a different way to handle things.

Today while I was running, something conjured up that memory, and once again there I was. I'm 19 years old, laying in my bed with the covers tightly pulled around me, tears slowly falling down my face, curled up in the fetal position, wishing my parents would stop arguing.

But today, this memory was accompanied with a thought that resonated with truth.

That memory.....is it a reflection of my parents' "bad" marriage?

Or...is it a reflection of my inability to deal with chaos and imperfection?

Control has once again been handed back to me. This is my problem, not theirs.

Responsibility is liberating.

12 years later, I can finally surrender the fetal position.

PS Thanks for being my therapist, feel free to send me a bill!

Create your Crazy

2012-02-21T20:38:00.001-08:00

When I walked in for a mani/pedi this morning, I picked out my color and immediately sat down and consciously got lost in my magazine- I needed my intense reading to shy my girl away from talking to me, foregoing the opportunity to tell me how absolutely nasty my feet were. It's been done before- where I've been told I don't take care of my feet. And that's been the state of things the last couple weeks and I couldn't bear to hear the truth I already knew. In my hiding out, I read about Demi Moore's demise, her falling apart, her loss of self. And to thicken the moral, Whitney Houston's album was playing through the speakers.

A lot of times I really like myself. Truth be told, I consider myself good company. I laugh with myself, I run ideas by my self. I like being with me. But I can also be very tortured by myself. By my inability to make sense of life. By my ability to relate to the thought processes that end in bad decisions. By my jumbled attempt to separate good and bad, wrong and right. By my failure to be able to reconcile one's action with their heart. These things all drive me crazy.

And this morning, I felt myself being tortured.

Thinking about these two stars, burning with talent, who struggled to keep their heads above water. And I don't look at their situations (actual facts not really important to my oh-so-deep analysis) and ask the question, "Why?" Rather, I look at their situations and nod my head thinking, "I get it. I can see how you ended up here." I don't say that condescendingly in the least. I say that feeling their pain, understanding their footsteps- that life is hard. And confusing. And full of traps. How do you not get lost? How do you positively deal with all the passion of life? I see why they went crazy. A lot of times I look at their predicaments and see that as the natural, highlighted path. And that's the part that tortures me- nailing down the path for a different ending, for the happy ending. I feel like I'm finding my own mechanisms to survive life and mostly enjoy it. But I don't understand it enough to feel adequate to teach it to my kids. And that's what scares me. And instead of relishing in a luxury treatment, I left that salon feeling like I just had my toe nails ripped off.

After I had Deeter, I started shaking that baby fat off with a personal trainer. It was something I'd always wanted to do and then seemed as good as time as any. I started the sessions and my ego was quickly put into check. I remember day #1 having to stop 3 times during the workout for fear of passing out. I was a little bit embarrassed. I shouldn't have been, instead I should have lapped the resting up because my trainer was only easy on me that first session. After that, there was no sympathy. My cute girly pushups were quickly demanded to be transformed into full-on for real ones. I looked up at TMitch with big ole eyes and a look that said nothing short of "You're crazy". Because he was. I had never done for real pushups and I wasn't magically going to be able to just cuz he told me I had to. And anyways, they hurt when I tried and I had no desire to be spending my precious dollar bills on pain. But he looked me dead in the eye with his arms folded and said, "Yes, real pushups." And guess what? I busted out 10 for reals. And the next time he made me do 15. I kept my head down, eyes glued to the ground, keeping the absolute look of shock between me and the brown rug that nothing but my toes and palms were on. I had no idea I was capable.

We did a few runs together and I confidently told him I was a 10-minute-mile runner. That all the years I had run, I somehow always did 10-minute-miles, whether running one mile or six. He cut the conversation short by saying, "Well, you won't be when I'm done with you." Now I should know that people look at my kind of statement as a challenge, but I'll tell you what, I could have cared less if he looked at it as a challenge or not because I was so convinced there was no hope for me........I've never run a 10-minute-mile since. Not even running on 2 broken toes. He was crazy. But he was right.

Do you know what these personal training sessions did for me? I kid you not when I say every time I walked away in awe. I walked away in awe at my abilities. I had no idea I was capable of so much. And was dumbfounded that I didn't know my own strength, that this raw strength had just waiting in reserve for me to tap into it. I've thought on that often, how someone's mere presence had the ability to bring out the best in me {physically.} A personal trainer simply believed in me enough so, that it made me reach deep inside and believe in myself. And that's when the results manifested themselves- when I believed I could and kept trying until I did. That's what personal training taught me.

Turns out, I have a lot of crazies looming around in my life. I have one friend that regardless of the idea I bring to her, she catches onto my dream and tells me I have to build it. I have another one who makes me feel like I'm the best mom in the world. And another one who tells me I'm so put together- obvious crazy, which is why I need her in my life. Because I sometimes need to believe her to make it through another week. I have a mom who acknowledges that life is hard and tells me I'm living it just wonderfully, that I'm doing great. I have sisters that soup my head up, telling me I'm just a good person. I started catching on to the fact that I actually have my own team of personal trainers and how important it is to identify our team of personal trainers. You know, the people you can always count on to help bring out the best in you. All these things, I need to hear. I need to hear them so that I believe them. Because then, I can be just a better "best" me. I'm learning, as important as it is having these people in our lives, it's equally important to identify the role they play for us. And make sure we are having regular interaction with our personal trainers so that they can do their magic!

So back to the salon. I left my mani/pedi all depressed and what not, to go meet some girlfriends for lunch---

Now let's just take a brief moment to pause and call me spoiled. And to that accusation.... I will nod and smile a sheepish smile and say......some days I am. And I LOVE IT!---

I met my girlfriends for lunch, and the mood and hopelessness quickly dispelled. Yes, life is hard and confusing and full of traps and sometimes seems impossible. But it's also beautiful and hopeful and bright. And there's a lot of people who view it as such. It was like an object lesson to the very problem torturing me at the time- surround yourself and your family by the crazies who see this positive definition of life. Who create this definition of life. Who infectiously pass it on. Have them be a constant. Give my kids the opportunity as often as possible to latch onto this mentality and adapt these defense mechanisms for reality. Help them create a personal training team that has them crossing the finish line with 2 arms raised in triumph. While this may not be the whole solution, I'm feeling like maybe it's a sliver.

Maybe there is no avoiding crazy, but there is a designation of crazy that has a happy ending. I'm going for that one!

Rough

2012-02-20T15:15:00.000-08:00

Come on, I need an even worse picture to do this scene justice. I know, for being a completely unphotogenic person, I can't believe I'm requesting an even worse picture either. But I need you to see better the black eyes, the half pony tail bc the other side fell out.

When you show up looking like this to a nicely primed bunch at a 2:00 birthday party, there are a lot of other things that can go assumed:

No, I haven't brushed my teeth yet.
No, I haven't put on deodorant either.
Yes, your son's gift bag is definitely regifted.
Unfortunately, the actual gift kinda is also. But only kinda. It was intended for another boy a few weeks ago but we were a no-show. Hopefully yours likes it too?!!
No, I will not be staying and hanging out with the other Moms.
Yes, I will try to be showered by 5:00 when I have to pick him up. Either that or send the 6 year old to pick him up?

Holidays are for relaxing right? I sure got the memo.

MAZE

2012-02-16T20:16:00.000-08:00

I've always loved vacation but if you were to ask me why, I wouldn’t have had a concrete answer. But now it's poured and dried. I love vacation because I love the lack of schedule. The absence of deadlines. The invitation of redefining. The liberation of going with the flow. That is why I love vacation. Yesterday I couldn't meet the one deadline on the agenda and I paid for it. I found myself on black rock, that overlooked powerful waves whose threatening bashes injected anxiety straight to the center of my heart, sending ripple effects through my blood, confusing my ability to decide if I was privileged to be witnessing something magnificent or stupid for not running away from death’s warnings. Anyways, in the midst of watching this, the deadline expired and I was forced into a compromising position- back against the black rock wall, booty squatted almost on the ground, two weakening arms holding me up until I emptied the full tank- and pants on the ground. I infected Queen’s Bath out of pure desperation and much to my kids and husband’s delight. I don’t do well with deadlines, even ones that have a consequence when you don’t meet it.

I also love thinking. It's probably one of my hobbies. But thinking is also like a maze to me- it's very hard to find the ending, the exit. I'm much better at staying lost in the maze, much to my insanity. Today I briefly gave into the temptation of seeking an exit to the issues I have to worry about when I get home and the deadlines are awaiting me. If I were to enumerate them, the issues wouldn’t sound that serious to you. One of the realities I’ve had to face as a mother, is not settling for default. It’s always been easy for me to dismiss deadlines and flip schedules the bird, often times with the result being I lose power of decision. Thankfully, having kids has made default decisions unacceptable to me, but I often feel my lack of experience in the decision-making field. So I welcome a vacation when I just don’t have to find the exit.

Here in Hawaii, the roosters are abundant and run wild. They've done a heck of a job picking up the kids scraps after eating breakfast and lunch on the outside patio. We often leave the doors open and have wondered aloud what would happen if one of them made their way inside. Well, of course when I was home alone and without back up, I found out. That little hen delicately crossed the threshold into our condo and cautiously walked along the sliding glass door. I followed her in mere moments after and had no idea what to do. I wished Virginia was around. I remember Dallin B and I watching a little bird walk it’s dainty self into our house before and giggling at the site. As you can imagine this poor little birdy was flapping around like a wild banshee, flying full-speed towards any escape he could find, only to be met with a head butt from thick glass. Our house at the time had a lot of glass, so this episode continued from one transparent surface to another. After the funny wore off- which didn’t take long- we didn’t know what the heck to do to get it out. I had absolutely no ideas and trying to “shew” it was making absolutely no progress in getting it back outside. After enough minutes of trying to deal with this birdy- really just mentally from the sidelines if we’re gonna be honest- in walked Virginia. My El Salvadorian warrior entered the house, dropped her purse grabbed a towel all in one swift motion and started whipping it around like a matador. She moved and whipped with graceful strategy. Advancing quickly from one spot to the next, jumping at just the right times, and ushered that little birdy right out the same door it came in. And just like that it was over. Dallin B and I returned to our boring morning, Virginia resumed work, and I imagine that bird delighted in freedom- for a few moments at least before being forced to address his growing headache.

So as this hen walked in, obviously my mind jetted back to the bird incident- the only similar incident I have to pull from my experience base. The hen stayed right by the door and made it’s way to the back corner where the sinking realization hit that she was stuck and this was a glass door. She wouldn’t be getting outside that way. I stood and watched, too afraid to help it to the door and too afraid to scare it out the door. The hen showed her discomfort as she tensed up on her feet and tightened her feathers. She looked similar to the way a cat does when it’s scared. I stood, waiting for her to flip out and start pecking at the door and get frustrated and aim that beak right at my legs until she could get to my eyes. I thought freaking out was the only way a bird knew to handle this situation. But instead…..she just sat. And waited. Surely in her little hen mind, she counted to 10 and took deep breaths. And after a bit, she tried again and calmly found her way outside.

It’s commitment to peace. It’s the learned lesson that running into glass doors hurt. It’s confidence that everything will work out. It’s knowledge that arbitrarily looking for any exit still leaves you lost. It’s staying still and listening. It’s mothering instinct. That’s how you face uncharted territory, how you find your way out of the maze.

It'll be okay when I have to face the deadlines again.

Circuit Work

2012-02-13T18:21:00.000-08:00

I’m doing a silent headcount, ensuring my responsibilities’ presence. “1.2.3.4.” All here. Wait….am I supposed to be watching anyone else’s kids? Panic momentarily sets in while I’m shuffling through my files…… No, just mine. Ok. Everyone is accounted for.

And then the tracking……..

I’m cautiously watching to the right while Dallin and Porter play with a newfound friend. She’s 5 and her name’s Emily. Dallin has already turned on the charisma and is gently passing her the football and consciously involving her in play. Porter is dually annoyed. First that someone- especially a girl- is interfering in his football time and slowing the pace of the game down. And secondly, although not so obvious, is the annoyance that his brother has stolen the attention and any chance he had of being this girl’s favorite. While only 5 and 6, I still maintain within my jurisdiction the need to enforce fair play and lip free interaction. Hence, the close eye………….

That now wanders right to my ankles. Where a little one-year-old is digging up treasures and testing authenticity and value the only way a new one-year-old knows how:…..orally. Only a few seconds ago I saw a purple berry clutched in her clenched fist. The clenching has now transferred to her mouth, revealing the treasure’s new venue. I instantly attempt entrance- my promptness surely inspired by the Hunger Games- knowing this struggle is going to be one determined mama vs a more determined baby. I’ll have to use my force to gain victory and ensure that she doesn’t swallow what will surely be her death pill if I don’t hurry up. I reach from one potential hiding place to the other, as she masterfully moves the berry just one step ahead of me, until there’s nowhere left to hide it. I pull out the prize. Not to find a purple berry…………….but a mouse terd. The berry is clenched in the opposite fist. Both get revoked and evicted, but not without a gut-wrenching sob letting me know I just ruined all her hard work, and her feelings are officially- not temporarily-………bruised. Black and blue. I must keep a close eye on her next attempt…..

In between watching Deeter re-confront yesterday’s enemy. Does he like torturing himself? Or is he determined to battle fear, disguised in the face of the white swan? Because this swan is willing to peck, already demonstrated on the unsuspecting victim- Deeter. Was it this swan or a different one? I can’t exactly remember but they all look alike to me, so that must be the case for Deeter also. Regardless, he is ready and going in. He approaches the growing crowd with a nervous gait. The swan has been joined with equally willing peckers- a rooster and a few chickens. Still, Deeter moves forward undeterred. He is within a mere few feet when I see him jump in surprise. My heart assumes the worse before my eyes have a chance to digest the scene…..The party has been crashed by an uninvited guest. The yellow cat sprung through the middle lightening quick, scattering the birds in all different directions and, indefinitely, postponing Deeter’s determination. And essentially granting me a brief reprieve of saving Deeter from the flippant yellow beak.

I continue to track my 3 stations. The mind of a mama never finds rest. Admittedly, our chores often fall under the warranted category of mundane. But the job is eased when done from a lounge chair with rays of sun hitting directly on my legs, encompassed by the 80 degree air, palm trees and ocean in the background, and a glass of ice cold Diet Coke in my hand. All night long, baby.

Helloooooooooooha......(per Deeter)

2012-02-12T14:40:00.000-08:00

Ya'll, please do forgive me for my lack of foresight. Bless Deeter's heart, turns out he was just going through some sort of growing pains, and I must have been too. After his two intense days, he pulled it together and notably advanced to the 2 1/2 zone. Love that sir. And the next time I start doing crazy talk about him, please feel free to give me a generous flick to the nose. It's kinda too soon to say. but....we're basically BFFs. Close rivalry to these two below.....

Can we talk about this angel? Like how she gets to belly laughing when we walk her out in the water and she finds her sweet spot where she can't stand anymore and is just treading water? Belly laughing, no exaggeration. And it's kinda eating away at my heart that I can't get it on video. I haven't had luck with the timing. Well. that and not being able to hold her and a camera at the same time. I want to remember this forever. And I already fear the toll of erosion on this memory. She's a natural beach bum and I couldn't be prouder.

This is an island of miracles. Can I tell you how many successful sit-down dinners we've had since we've been here?......2. And we've only attempted 2. We're talking no taking babies on walks while waiting for food. And no taking babies on walks while waiting for others to finish up. And no arguing. Although we still have the constant reminders of, "Come on, eat your food." But still, nothing short of a miracle.

This picture was taken at breakfast number 1, notoriously taking place at the crack of dawn. And that's after we'd already gone on a walk, awaiting the first peek of sun. These boys are in heaven with countless games of football, endless hours in the water, and NO SCHOOL.

I remember writing a paper about Hawaii either when I was in high school or college. I'll spare you the many words and sum it up with this.............it's one of the few experiences in my life where reality isn't a daunting shade of the dream. It always lives up to every expectation.

And as a gentle reminder of the effect this place has on us, I'm always telling Yosh, "See what Hawaii does for us..........."

I Hope You Dance

2012-02-08T22:59:00.000-08:00

I couldn't have been more pleased today as I made my way down the hill on the 405 in the same way my tears made their way down my cheeks. I love connecting.....connection. Connecting with my own life rarely happens in real time. It's usually a delayed response. That comes by watching a fictitious movie that brings more sense to my reality. Or reading someone else's words that seem stolen from my own soul. But stolen and then translated into a language I can better understand. And when that connection comes, it's just shy of sacred and I celebrate it. I love to feel deeply.

And I had just connected and was basking in feeling. In my non-showered state that I had tried to disguise with one loud statement piece over another, the end result looking something similar to a clown. In this get-up, I had on my hot pink head wrap to match some patches of hot pink in my loud shirt. And I had just finished reading about hot pink. I connected.

Have a read. I dare you not to connect. And if you don't want to read it all, skip down to "By God, there will be dancing."

And I connected at the thought of dismissing my worries into the lap of God and Him finding the twinkle in His eyes....because I excused myself, and told Him I was going to find Nappy Tabs {from "So you Think you Can Dance Dance Dance"} and tell them I'm finally ready to learn how to dance. After all these years of dreaming, I'm ready to put my fear, my shame, my worry aside. I'm ready to just dance. And my first request would be this little number right here:

Ok, so maybe I'm not ready for the dancing part of it- still in dreaming stage there- but I want to let go more. Trust more. Love more. And experience more.

Maybe I'll start with embracing more of the hot pink. Because like the author of that piece, I envision God's knitting of me to be laced with hot pink where it's not really expected. Maybe we all envision ourselves knitted like that, with an unexpected quirk we didn't know defined beautiful. And what we thought made us so different from everyone else, really makes us all the same- an unexpected variety of beautiful.

Tonight, instead of hiding the pink threads, I marched off to my church meeting, not in dress pants or a sweater. But pink Chucks and a pink belt.

Because if we're talking about God, dancing, and hot pink in the same mouthful....I'm in. I want to be part of it.

Leash

2012-02-07T14:56:00.000-08:00

A lot of times solely getting out of the house to run shifts my head into over drive. A million thoughts are running through this old brain at an equally impressive million miles an hour. I swear it's fueled by some crack head that takes residence in my head when it senses open roads ahead. Inclusive in these thoughts, accompanied by a serious adrenaline rush, is the screaming and cheerleading, "HERE WE GO. OOOOWWOOOOOWWWWWW. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. YOU GOT THIS, BABY GIRL." Seriously, those are the words I hear.

When I first started hearing these words, it would light a little fire under me and get my feet a movin. Welcome, morning run! We're off. And in that instance, I felt like I could run FOREVER. Literally. I couldn't imagine ever having the desire........to stop running. I would start envisioning this impressively, long run and how I'd have to apologetically call Yosh and ask him to come pick me up from the airport or Compton or Inglewood or some other crazy place I ended up at {instead of home}, because I was just feeling it. And you know how it goes, if you're feeling it, you just gotta go with it. I imagined how I'd have to reshuffle my kids' schedules that day because, "Sorry, mommy felt like running....forever. Must accommodate, no football game today. SORRY." I just can't quite explain the confidence that came from this cocktail of adrenaline and cheerleading.

Unfortunately......it was false confidence. It didn't take long before I'd be huffing and puffing and surrendering to the fact that "ALL. NIGHT. LONG." really meant 8 minutes. And instead of plotting my explanation to the family for running ALL day long, I was plotting my explanation for showing up only 10 minutes after I left. Because I had already used all my fuel. And just as an fyi, burning all your fuel in the first 8 minutes makes for a REALLY long 45 minute run. Or 30 minute run. Or 20 minute run. Running on fumes for any amount of time is exhausting and miserable. But.....that crack head was sooooo convincing. And contagious. Like a junky, I needed to follow it. And every time I did, I paid for it.

I was thinking about this yesterday as I had just hopped on the treadmill. As always, my thoughts exponentially increased in both quantity and speed. I felt the preliminary adrenaline that came with the impulse to take off, fueled by that crack head screaming, "HERE WE GO. OOOOWWOOOOOWWWWWW. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. YOU GOT THIS, BABY GIRL." I soaked that excitement up for a minute before reminding myself, "Gay, you've been running for a total of 1minute. You have a long run ahead of you. SIMMER and BREATHE." I inhaled deep, and rather than focusing on anything about running, I first concentrated on slowing my mind down, finding my real all night long pace. First mentally. And then physically. I've learned to control that urge with a simple......."Not yet."

This urge shows up at pretty predictable times in my life. Like when we go on a tropical vacation. I step off the plane and within 10 minutes I've deemed one of two things: that we should move there or that we should commit {in writing and all} to come back every year. Just like that.

Or when I see a shirt or shoes or necklace or purse....and I must have it right here right now no matter the cost and no matter that I have 10 more just like it. {Of course THIS isn't a result of listening to that voice or anything......}

This voice isn't a bad thing. To the contrary, it's welcomed and anticipated and celebrated. I think the art is mastering when to merely listen to it versus when to act on it.

I'm learning to just listen when I'm in a situation where I don't have my grounding {ie: very beginning of a run, visitor to a new place, newly in love with someone/something}; I'm learning to detach the drunken words from the exhilarated feeling. And instead of acting on the words, I'm simply trying to celebrate the feeling, live in the moment that I'm feeling and experiencing life at such a heightened level. I can feel the "HERE WE GO. OOOOWWOOOOOWWWWWW. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. YOU GOT THIS, BABY GIRL" without taking off in a dead sprint. I often get confused thinking I can only good if I act on those words. But that's not true.

I'm learning to act on that excitement after I've done the foot work and have planted myself in a pretty stable position; I'm learning to give time for nerves to relax, feelings to plateau, and emotions to settle so that my sharp mind can have a chance for input. And after I've done that and practiced a little self-control, when that voice comes....BOOM TIME, I lap it up! {ie: when we found "the" apartment in LA, when I decided to marry Yosh, when I put Porter in kindergarten} That voice is amazing.

And almost without fail on my runs, you know what happens?........"HERE WE GO. OOOOWWOOOOOWWWWWW. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. YOU GOT THIS, BABY GIRL." It's back. {Usually at the 30 minute mark!} And I've been waiting for it. And I welcome it because now the timing is right and the words accompanying the adrenaline/excitement are legit. I'm warmed up and physically ready to take part of it's contagious energy- the legit energy that now has permission to leave my head and go to my heart and flow through my blood, inducing the runner's high. Ahhhh, the moments I live for when running!

All this- this is where my million thoughts were directed on my run yesterday. How in running and life it's all the same, learning to most effectively use the tools we've all been given- our heads, hearts, and bodies; to find the balance to gain optimal performance and achieve optimal happiness. Life is good. Just keep running ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Hahaha!

{and just because a pic of the lady is always appropriate....}

Struggle

2012-02-06T10:55:00.000-08:00

I like swimming. Has always been a favorite of mine. Not like swimming laps, just swimming. I might even love it.

For being an activity I love so much, I find it ironic that swimming can also trigger a rapid, intense panic in me like no other. It happens when someone dunks me and holds me under the water. I hate that. Immediate panic. It also happens when falling off a raft before I could swim. The temporary fear from when I was 4 years old is still real. The threat of no air defines maximum anxiety in my book.

The way I feel about swimming, I feel pretty similar about being a mom.

Yesterday I feel like I spent my whole day being held under water. And I felt that panic, that desperation for air. Where love gets lost in desperation for survival.Where drowning is only a single, tempting breath away, threatening with every passing heart beat.

I know it will be ok. Somehow it always is.

In fact, I'm swimming again today. The oxygen filling my lungs is crisp and present.

But that doesn't erase the realness of drowning I felt yesterday. Or the fact that Deeter is still screaming a whole lot today. In a couple hours, air might be a fading mirage.

You get what you get.........

2012-02-03T11:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Yosh and I hastily got in his car with 4 minutes to spare. I was feeling like crap, always a valid excuse for snide remarks.

"Seriously? You didn't even brush your hair?"

His retort should have been, "You're worried about my hair? Well, you shouldn't be. With this bright purple mark on the center of my neck, no one's going to be looking at my slightly ruffled hair."

Which would have shut me up in no time flat. Instead he said, "Sorry, Gay, I was shaving and I guess I forgot." Which still shut me up.

My Ibuprofen started kicking in by the time we arrived to the school. We had a 1:30 interview with admissions- a whole new world to us. I finally succumbed to that incessant, persistent voice that's been running it's yapper for the past three years.....I applied to a private school. Part of that process, apparently, is putting Yosh and I on the hot seat and seeing what we're made of, if we're "a fit". I had thought minimally about this interview because, well, ignorance is bliss. I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know what they wanted to hear, and all in all....I've been a complete failure at putting up a facade so I denied unnecessary analyzing any face time.

We entered the office of the director of admissions and nervously took a seat in the two appointed chairs. We did our best at hellos and introductions and sank comfortably into conversation. The questions were fairly easy and invited natural gushings about our child, our family, and our visions of the future- which we handled like pros. And somehow, it included talk about mine and Yosh's Mormon missions, merged with the director's run-ins with Mormon missionaries all through-out his upbringing in Hawaii. He told us how his dad was always so nice, opened the door to them, fed them, and chit-chatted about God. He said at this time, his dad had recently left his church because of a disagreement and while he fervently believed in God, he didn't believe that church was the right one. So he was "searching". Yosh and I laughed as we put ourselves in the shoes of those missionaries. In their eyes, this guy had "GOLDEN" written all over him and was surely on their investigators list month after month. We put an end to his curiosity as to why the missionaries kept showing up!

The convo kept going but the temperature in the room was high and the 2:00 hour did it's magic and had us all fighting the urge to become unabashedly disengaged. The director was admittedly on his fourth cup of coffee and second soda of the day. His responses started to take longer with a lot more meandering than necessary. I was tracking back and forth between the director's droopy eyes and Yosh's, staying mentally alert by noting the comedy in the situation. The conditions were such that the director was struggling to pour his heart into this presentation, and Yosh was struggling to feign whole interest in it. I continued my tracking and noticed that Yosh's eyes were getting heavier and heavier. My breathing picked up a little bit as I realized that even more obvious and embarrassing than his purple neck mark, was the fact that his blinks were lengthening, each one longer than the previous. Surely, this wasn't happening. We were in a room with 3 of us present, not 30. There was no way his "drifting" would go unnoticed. There was no way that exaggerated head nod that shook him back to reality would ever be overlooked. I shot him piercing warnings, warnings that only serve as such to someone whose eyes are OPEN. And sadly..........his weren't. What the heck was I to do now? Yosh was asleep, I was fully emerged in the drama on hand, and the director was left talking to himself. I had to do something to cushion the face plant that was about to take place. Because in a couple of seconds, Yosh's half-way open mouth would relax into complete open mouth sleep mode, snoring would be no more than a couple seconds behind, and I'd be knee-deep in doo doo cuz once you reach that point......well, there's no covering up. Or cushioning. Or explaining. Just full-fledged embarrassment, bordering traumatization. So I was forced to pull out the only trick I know.......gracefully {?} confront the truth. "Yosh, are you falling asleep? I think you're falling asleep." My smile was as big as Miss South Carolina in the Q & A round, confidently giving a response that has nothing to do with the question.

Yosh looked at me like I was crazy, "Nope, I wasn't asleep." Well, whatever the state of consciousness was 10 seconds ago, we were ALL now wide awake and ready to wrap this dang thing up. We laughed out the expected excuse, "Oh well, Yosh gets up real early. Has to be to work at 5, you know." The director politely posed a follow-up question and to be honest I think he was equally thankful that someone put his ramblings to an end.

Just like that...it was all over. We shook hands, thanked him for the opportunity, and showed ourselves to the front door. Barely outside, we gave the double fist pump........"Nailed it."

Some say you can't judge a book by its cover............I disagree.

All of the Above

2012-02-02T15:13:00.000-08:00

impulsive: {acting on the influence of a particular feeling, mental state, etc.}

eccentric: {deviating from the recognized or customary character,practice, etc.; irregular; erratic; peculiar; odd}

impeccable: {faultless; flawless; irreproachable}

Meet my new bag........

{Do I look like I'm going to throw up or only feel that way? Going to look for the couch.....}

Tailor-Made

2012-02-01T11:14:00.000-08:00

The school director stood on the stage, preparing to introduce the 2012 Wizard of Oz cast. Before allowing them to take the stage, she put this reminder out there {this is paraphrased}:

"We are here to celebrate your children's best in this moment, right here, right now. Sometimes 'best' means whispering their lines, sometimes it's singing perfectly on pitch. We're here to appreciate whatever 'best' they give us in this moment."

I thought that was so simple, yet profound all at the same time. It was an "of course", yet "ah ha" moment. With this being Dallin's 4th play and Porter's 2nd, we've seen the wide range of what 'best' can entail. It has come out in a rapid-fire monotone ramble while staring at the ground, and subconscious crotch grabs, and impeccable posing, and on-key singing, and nervous insults alongside nervous randoms, and word for word reciting. We've seen the wide array of what 'best' has to offer. Saturday's performance- with Dallin as the tin man and Porter as the lion- constituted their 'best' to date, in the most conventional use of the word. They've both done so well at becoming just a little bit better than the time before!

Now I liked this introduction so well and really appreciated the expanded use of 'best' that I think I want to have it cued to play throughout the house on an as-needed basis. Most importantly.......when I'm starting to lose it. As my heart rate is rising, threatening to shoot through the roof, and my eyes are becoming bigger my the mili-second, and my voice is finding strength with each pointed word. I think then would be a perfect time to have that ominous voice in the background as a reminder for my boys...... "We are here to celebrate your ~~children's~~ mom's best in this moment, right here, right now. Sometimes 'best' means laughing and talking, sometimes it means screaming like a mad-woman. We're here to appreciate whatever 'best' she gives us." I really think that could help the tone around here is those HEATED moments. Maybe instead of Dallin looking at me with equally big eyes and matching decibels while chastising, "YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL, MOM." Maybe he would plaster a smile on his face and say, "Good job, Mom. I know more than anything right now you were debating between BEATING ME raw or running out the front door and never coming back. I am SO glad you found the best in yourself and just went with yelling. I appreciate that. And couldn't be prouder. Now come here and give me a hug, Mama." Imagine this scene. With tears pouring over in an indulgent moment to even the playing grounds, I'd remind him I honored his best with the same respect and pride that play {The Lion King} where he sang his heart out and mastered eye contact....while grabbing his crotch all the while. I couldn't have been prouder. And together.......we'd share a moment.

In addition to the house, it wouldn't be a bad idea for that voice to take a permanent position right inside my head and hit "play" when it senses the need. Like when I'm driving my kids to school in my pj's, crossing my fingers that all 5 of us are in the car, and maybe even buckled in, and hopefully 2 of them have a filled lunch box or $1 for "the caf", and I'm looking around at all these well-groomed kids hand-in-hand with their well-groomed mamas---- And that's when I remember, "Crap, isn't it picture day today?" No wonder everyone's looking so good. The boys, who haven't even taken a brush to their hair, nod in unison, "Oh yeah, it is." I look at Dallin and stop for a second before I say, "Hey, isn't that what you wore least year for picture day?" A smile spreads across both of our faces as we appreciate the coincidence. For the record, all 5 of us were in the car and the boys had their lunches. That was my best right then, right there.

And I need that voice when we're on show #5 for the day, sitting on the couch with a huge bowl of cereal, and I'm evenly distributing bites to 4 mouths which will constitute our dinner and leave Papi fending for himself. And I need that voice when I say no to another sports commitment for the boys even though other moms seem to be balancing all the extra-curriculars without a hitch. And I need that voice when I'm sitting in a room of Louis Vuitton and Hermes and Chloe purses as I clutch on to my own generic bag. And I need this voice when the alarm goes off at 6:30 and I finally find myself rolling out of bed at 7:15. I need this voice a lot to remind me that I'm doing just fine. And that my best is always gonna be just enough- even if that means my middle finger finds itself all alone in the air for just a second or two!

So go on ahead and be proud of your best- whatever that means. I can guarantee......your best is a lot more satisfying than trying to achieve what you perceive someone else's best to be. And accepting and embracing and celebrating your best....it's going to make you want to be even better.

{And if a kid yelling, "This is stupid, I already said that, didn't you hear?" on stage can be termed 'best'......the definition has room for whatever you got to throw at it!}

Pseudo Sumo

2012-01-30T14:46:00.000-08:00

Yosh and I were freshly graduated from the BYU and ready to make our entrance into the real world. Yosh had accepted a job in Beverly Hills and we had found ourselves a killer apartment in Studio City. One with an attached garage and washer/dryer hook-ups. Can you say dumb luck? For those of you that don't know the LA housing market, let me tell you.....DUMB LUCK. And all this for only $1425/mo. I almost feel like we robbed the poor landlord blind. He was a somewhat vulnerable target. After all, he saw my maiden name- Pope- and made me swear up and down I wasn't related to the Pope. How could I have known he was posing a serious question?!

Anyways, I digress. So we were all types of jazzed up as we were making our road trip down to Southern California a couple days after graduation. A moving truck on it's way to meet us there, a car fully loaded, and a belly over loaded. I was T- 3 weeks on the due date for baby numero 1. And that whole ride down he jammed his little toes up just as high as they would go until he had one of my ribs wedged between each toesie wosie, much to my discomfort. I would physically push that little baby down, battling for position the whole 11 hour drive. We made it to the Courtyard Marriott, you know the one in Encino, giddily awaiting the warm welcome into our new apartment.

So it goes without saying that I was a big girl during this trek. There is no way to disguise, manipulate, or bargain with 9 months pregnant. It takes over. It takes over your body, it takes over corners, it takes over conversations, it takes over tablecloths, it takes over gravity. A force not to be reckoned with. Just put your head down and accept it. But..........I'm always a little slow to pay the deserved respect to the 9 month body. And this time, it was not slow to enforce respect and put me in my place.

I was laying on the hotel bed and went to make that seamless move I'd practiced a thousand times before- the roll where you get that belly moving from left to right with enough momentum to roll you all the way over, simultaneously rotating the hips where it brings your feet to the ground and leaves you standing up all in one swift motion. Ya'll, this moves loves GOOD. And I had it down pat. But.........something went wrong that day. I got my belly rocking from left to right until I'd built up the necessary momentum to initiate the roll. I went for it, assuming my hips were following suit. Which they were. The hips put the lower extremities into motion, swinging my legs off the bed, ready for my feet to catch them and execute another successful descent. But the legs were slow on the draw. They were not there to catch me. Was it the leverage? Was I so top heavy that a few extra seconds were needed to complete the range of motion to have my feet soundly planted on the ground? I don't know you guys, I just don't know exactly what happened. All I know is the end predicament.........

There I lay on my back on a pile of pillows, belly in the air, legs just a floundering still searching for that sound ground, not willing to accept the recent betrayal that had left us all in this awkward predicament. I was pinned between the bed and the wall, in a fit of laughter that threatened to water the whole scene without permission.

I might as well have been alone in this struggle as my husband was rendered useless on the sidelines. I was yelling out desperate pleas of help- desperate pleas of help that weren't heeded because he is paralyzed with laughter. I was like that poor helpless bug that has bellied up and can't carry on til someone takes mercy on him and flips him back over. I looked no less entertaining than a fallen soul in one of those sumo suits, helpless on their back as onlookers just stare and laugh and watch and point fingers and sing praises that they were lucky enough to stumble upon this impromptu comedy. Take your pick of which picture to paint in your mind, but paint it clear so that you understand I was in desperate straights- struggling for air, flailing my legs frantically, completely unable to free myself.

And all the while shocked at the manner in which my pregnant body had demanded respect. I said it before- not a force to be reckoned with. And now I knew. Yosh finally responded to his fallen wife and introduced my feet to that steady ground they'd spent the last 3 minutes looking for.

FYI: this story will NEVER die, it's part of the family.

{when I sat down to write today, I was drawing a blank so I referred to an email Yosh sent a while back about posts he'd like me to do. I read down to the last suggestion that I had somehow overlooked originally............."being pregnant, the time you fell between the bed and the wall and couldn't move." Now truth be told it made me LOL. Now what makes me laugh even more is the fact that Yosh refuses to let me write about his funny stories on the blog {sorry, kids, I swear your dad is a real funny guy with lots of interesting story....he just refuses to share them}, yet suggests MY embarrassing stories without apology.}

And as if the story alone wasn't enough, the humiliation comes in the fact that this all happened while I was not only pregnant but........NAKED.

{Don't you think we should start ganging up on Yosh and pressuring him into letting me share a little something about him??!! I have this one particular story I'm DYING to share.......! You all need to help me out!}

Two Things Only

2012-01-27T15:01:00.000-08:00

"Love yourself---"

"....Follow your heart. We already know, Mom," the boys yell as they hop out of the car to begin their school day.

I know they don't really know, but maybe I'm planting seeds. And growing to really know, well that's one of those gold mines I'm hoping my kids discover while they're young.

Do you remember your merry-go-round days? "Faster, faster, faster!" I always wanted to go faster. I was starting to lose my grip, stability being lost in that mounding blur, yet there I was yelling, "Faster, faster, faster." And when I finally did want to get off, I just had to sit and wait until it completely stopped because I had no grounding. I had no focus. I was subject to the merry-go-round.

I came from a home with two parents who loved me and provided for my needs and supported me in a lot of my interests. And I always liked jumping from one interest to another, ready for the next best thing, slow to let any one thing capture my attention for too long. When I turned 13 {did I even make it to 13!}, I stepped foot on that merry-go-round; a ride that started out with a smile from ear-to-ear, nervously gripping the bars in anticipation for the speed to pick up. I looked for excitement. I looked for new friends. I pushed perimeters to way outside my parents' comfort zone and then felt my blood fill with adrenaline as I chose to still cross them. It was a rush. As the rush filled my head, inducing a fog, I always found myself yelling, "Faster. Faster. Faster." With the increasing speed and the blurred scenery, I searched for some stability at this new-found pace. I found my focal point in one thing....having fun. I disregarded rules, boundaries, expectations. Fun was the core factor for making decisions. And I was willing to achieve it at whatever cost. Even if the cost was me. The ride picked up, and I could see nothing in front of me. I had no gauge of where I was going, I was insanely lost in the repetitive circles and yet continued yelling, "Faster, faster, faster." But the intensity was unsustainable and there were times when I wanted to get off, when nausea consumed me and I was sick of the ride. I was sick of the speed. I was sick of it all. But there was no stopping point, it just kept going in infinite circles. As time went on, my voice lost strength, and what escaped out of my mouth- "faster, faster, faster", was barely audible. Until it was silence. The merry-go-round was finally stopping. I could finally get off.

But what inevitably happens after the dismount of a crazy merry-go-round ride? To parents delight, kids stumble around, reaching for something to grab on, searching for stability, and often times are only met with failure in those attempts as they fall to the ground in a dizzy mess. And my dismount looked no different. I clumsily stepped off and was thrown to the ground.

The irony in these rides, is the pain. When it sets in. The ride itself that takes place at whirlwind speeds, and steals your vision and your stomach and your head..... somehow it's bearable. It's as if it's going sooooo fast that it defies reality, puts you out of its reach, shelters your vulnerability under a million band-aids. But when you dismount, when the ride is all over- that's when the pain finds every nerve ending, where the loneliness fills every unoccupied molecule, where the band-aids are ripped off without apology, and the hurt pierces. It's the stillness that is by far the most painful.

I desired more than anything to be a trusted, dependable, caring, nice, GOOD person. That is why I chose to stop the merry-go-round. I had higher aims, I had dreams, I had intentions. I was sick to my stomach as I lay on the ground and groped for someone, something to cling onto, to hold me up. But I had put all my value in 'having fun', and when I reached out, there was nothing sustainable there. I had to start over, completely over. From square 1.

And I felt myself laying on the ground for a long time, grasping my stomach not knowing whether or not I was going to throw-up. Because starting over is a lot like that. Feeling like a stranger in your own body, strange emotions pushing and pulling from every angle- but feeling that at a stationary position where there's no speed to mask it all. I was just left to deal. And I was committed to do that, to not give into the temptation to get back on the ride and avoid the pain. I was clawing my way forward, building my stability one lesson at a time. I was clawing my way forward, even when I slipped down a little bit. I was clawing my way forward, even when I couldn't quite remember why. Yes, I felt myself laying on the ground for a long time. Of course I was. Because what I hadn't known when I decided to go on the merry-go-round was the admission price- I sold my self worth and my heart for entry. A steep price for a ride. I didn't know the price. I couldn't have known the price.

But now I know intimately the value of what I so cheaply gave away. Because I have earned it back. After years of soul-searching, through trial and error, through failing and persisting, I found a break though. At a time in my life when it was least expected- when I was once again knocked down to the ground when I tried to stand up-..... it all came together and made sense. I felt something I had never recognized before......I loved myself. A lot. The good, the bad, the ugly. But mostly the GOOD. I felt the weight lifted of worrying what other's thought of me. It didn't matter.........because I loved myself. That was the key. The realization of which led me to my map for so many life decisions........my heart. That little voice I pushed away as a young teenager, it held so many answers. It was my fiercest defender, my most intimate friend, my most passionate supporter. And here at 30 years old, I was ready to listen. Those two principles- loving myself and listening to my heart- were the final healing pieces that gave me the strength I'd been looking for to get up off the ground and walk again.

And when these truths were mine- the treasures that had evaded me on my search for happiness-the symbolic parting of clouds happened, and the sun pushed its way through, and the angels stood on either sides. Cheesy? Absolutely. But after years of battling inner-turmoil, I don't shy away from cheesy at all. Because I had found the ending treasure. After all these years of searching, and clawing, and battling.......I won. And sun feels much better than clouds any day of the week. I LOVED MYSELF!

My mission as a mom is to prepare these kids for life, to help them be aware of what will really bring them happiness and stability and answers in an absolutely chaotic journey. We're all reaching out to latch on to something that will help us survive. I subconsciously latched onto fun. But I want my kids to consciously latch on to something more dependable. These principles- these timeless, definite, appropriate- for -every -circumstance principles whether you're 5, 15, or 50- well, they hold a lot of weight to me, hence the desire to remind them- and each person reading this- til I'm blue in the face.

"Love yourself--"

"....Follow your heart. We already know, Mom."

Fighting with Eyes Closed Shut

2012-01-26T12:41:00.000-08:00

Over Thanksgiving break, Dallin B caught the tummy bug. He sat up calmly in the middle of the night in the room we were all sharing and said, "Mom, I don't feel good." So him and I quickly and quietly made our way to the bathroom where he emptied his insides into the toilet with perfect aim. He wanted to cuddle up with his mama and, besides, he wasn't sure if he was feeling better or not. I placed a plastic bowl on the nightstand and then we closed our eyes. Pretty soon, Dallin was whispering, "Mom, I need to throw-up." I reached over, grabbed the bowl, he puked, I set it down. Dallin suggested a plan, "Hey mom, if I think I'm going to throw-up, I'll tap your shoulder like this {he modeled the signal} and then you can grab the bowl." And that's how we spent the rest of the night- him tapping my shoulder, me grabbing the bowl, him throwing up, me setting it back down. Without uttering a single word. Round after round after round.

Porter was a couple days behind his brother. The night I was on duty, he woke up screaming before his eyes even opened. You know what, screaming is generous- shrilling more explains it. He favors the super soprano range. So he's shrilling like a bear was attacking him, which jolted me into an upright position with my eyes wide open before I even had time to guess what was going on. When I breached reality, I grabbed him the bowl, trying to rub his back as he's fighting his demons from the outside in. It was impossible to sync up with his erratic jerking movements so one out-stretched hand to the back was the only kind of comfort I had to offer. Finally the gagging cut off his vocal chords, bringing the brief moment of silence where I questioned if he was still alive..... before the throw-up came, landing mostly inside the bowl, but always splattering out since his head wasn't capable of finding one stable position. And then it was over. The screaming had ceased, the convulsions halted, and his tummy was temporarily settled. He-....WE- had survived a bout. One, single bout. Now.....put that on repeat for the rest of the night.

Last night, I was laying asleep in bed when the screams and shrills commenced. Sadly, they didn't jolt me upright. Instead I closed my eyes tighter hoping things would work themselves out. Because sometimes they do. Sometimes all a child needs is just a bit of time to pull it together. And sometimes all I need is a bit of time- usually accompanied by some screaming- to accept reality. LAst night, that was the case. Like it or not, I had to get up out of bed to address the shrills. I entered the boys' room to find my convulsing, hacking, screaming son, once again fighting his demons from the outside in. "Porter, Porter," I whispered. No response. At least no change of behavior which I would have then interpreted as a response. He was sticking with the convulsing, hacking, screaming. After a few subtle attempts, I finally grab his face and start doing a LOUD, intense whisper. "PORTER, JUST LISTEN TO MY VOICE AND I'LL GET YOU THROUGH THIS. DO YOU HEAR ME??" He showed some sort of acknowledgment so I kept going. "NOW WHAT I NEED YOU TO DO IS SIT UP AND BREATHE. DEEP BREATHS, BABY. TILT YOUR HEAD BACK AND OPEN YOUR MOUTH WIDE. I'M LOADING YOU UP WITH TYLENOL. JUST KEEP LOOKING AT MY EYES." He finally seemed to be breathing in a normal fashion and open to the possibility of being coached through this. I filled his little mouth with Tylenol straight from the bottle as he stared into my eyes. With him cooperating I switched from 9-1-1 operator mode back to just being Mom. I grabbed him a drink of water and then, loathing the 8 am sheet washing session, asked, "Do you need to go potty?" Without fighting, that little sir jumped right out of bed, did his business, and was lights out. Done and done. We had survived a coughing fit.

I fell back into my bed, exhausted from my 10 minute exorcism. Too exhausted to dream. But if I could have picked, I would've been dreaming about a child that silently taps of my shoulder when they're not feeling good.

You Can't Win Em All

2012-01-25T11:03:00.000-08:00

Does it go without saying that living with children is equivalent to living in bipolar moments?

Is this not the most precious candid shot? I walked into the bedroom to see the crew gathered around the Ipad wrapping the night up with You Tube funnies, a new favorite activity at the Hansen home. Doesn't Yosh do well with 4 kids? I'm convinced- especially after this weekend- that he'd be a better stay-at-home Mom that me. Unfortunately, I don't think Welfare would maintain our lifestyle and surely that would be our source of income if I won the title of "bread-winner."

In a matter of mere minutes, our home went from the above-pictured peace to ravenous anger. We're talking bulging blood-shot eyes, high pitched yelling, accusations of hate, etc etc. How does it happen? How does serenity unravel so quickly? I do not know. But here's my personal opinion......I much rather events transpiring in the reverse order before bedtime. I prefer hatred turned love and then lights out rather than the other way around. Because it always feels pretty crappy putting kids to bed in fired-up mode. Now it could be argued that we should abide by the infamous marriage advice......"Never go to bed angry." Fortunately, that advice was long ago replaced with............"Always fight naked," and I just don't find that appropriate for child/parent fighting.

And surely by no mistake, living with children is also like living with dementia- they woke up and didn't remember a thing. Except that they were hoping they would still have a cough and wouldn't be able to go to school. So this is where I found them bright and early, hacking up a lung of course:

But don't worry I'm sure they were only hacking up a lung for good measure. They're not really sick; they just sound sick enough that if I took them to school, mamas would be putting me on their hit list and I got 4 babies to take care of. I can't be getting killed off for a bitty cough and slight stuffy nose. And if you ask me, that's the perfect kind of sick anyway.

Here's the angel modeling a new outfit to get prepped for the beach next month. But when the forecast shows this:

.....it invites a premature debut of this little number. And it invites me to gladly let the kids stay home from school for a cough. Except for The Sir- his booty got shipped off to school and he didn't argue a bit. The novelty of school is still running thick in his veins. Crossing my fingers it stays that way for............forever.

Yesterday on the way home from school, I asked Dallin how school went and he went on to brag that at the library........."I got a book that shows a woman's privacy............." Now come on, what in the world am I to do with that kind of information? Obviously ask for a follow-up, to which he replied something about an animal book. So was he talking about an animal woman's privacy or a woman woman's privacy? TBD, ya'll.......TBD. And in an effort to move on, I asked what else went on. But he was still stuck on the book..........."It showed this giant picture of a gun." What in the h-e-double hockey sticks is this book he's talking about? But I opted for silence. And he apparently had no more details to share.

Maybe today we all needed a day off from school................!

I Can't Work No 9 to 5

2012-01-23T12:57:00.000-08:00

Rewind back to two weeks ago when I was texting with my cousin. He wrote, "You know what song reminds me of the summer you were here?............Gone til November." Right then and there I jumped into the time machine that transported to me the summer of '98. That was the summer. That I left my parents' house the day after graduation and headed off to the wide open spaces of New Mexico. Where I spent endless days and nights hanging out with "the cousins". Driving around in the jeep, causing trouble, having way too much fun, and listening to some Wyclef. That was the summer where I was on my own, where I made my own decisions, as scary as that was and as scary as those decisions were! That was the summer where everyday Reggie and I swore we were going to wake up and go running together. Midway through, we finally got up to that 6 am alarm, ran our two miles, and never once did it again the rest of the summer. That was the summer I drove around in the beat-up Acura Legend that looked like crap but ran like a smooth ride- with a broken odometer. Which resulted in getting pulled over 5 times, but only 1 ticket- on my 18th birthday. That was the summer where I vowed I would always have this close-knit relationship with the cousins. A vow that never had a chance of lasting. Just as the memories of the summer never have a chance of dying. And just the way that those memories refuse to die, so does the longing to have my cousins in my life more.

Come back to speed to this weekend. I was in Vegas for the first time without a husband on my hip. He was replaced by 3 beautiful baby mamas. One of which wore red lipstick. And that red lipstick acted as a magnet that attracted all the club reps to our little group, inviting us to get on guest lists for various clubs. We got good at graciously declining. Until Fabian walked into our lives and said one word that would change our weekend. We had already dismissed his invitation but I have to assume he kept talking, although we quit listening. Until he said that one word that stopped me dead in my tracks, "...blah blah blah............Wyclef." Wait, what? Wyclef? At the club? Performing? The girls saw my reaction and stepped in and said we would be going. They were going to make sure this happened for me. That's what friends do. With our names on the list, we were in. Us 4 crazy moms, clothed head to toe, 2 of them pregnant, none of us drinking......but somehow we were on the VIP list.

And to top that, we somehow were awake at 12:30 am and ready to hit the club, show off our finest dance moves {ha!},and hang out til 2. That's right- he finally took the microphone at 2 in the morning. Mamas gone wild in Vegas! Hahahaha, pathetic but it made us feel like we were young and fresh again!

And when Wyclef grabbed his guitar and replaced the bikini dancer 5 feet in front of us, and started strumming Gone til November, the nostalgia intensified and I was living the summer again, wishing I had my side-kick right there with me. So that together we could reach out and almost touch those days gone by; to momentarily taste teenage freedom again; to once again make that wasted vow that we weren't going to let our relationship slip away.

That's what Wyclef did for me. At least one thing he did for me, among making me all giddy, making me love music all over again, making me wish I was Lauryn Hill, making me remember that I too can't work no 9-5. Which is why I'm a Baby Mama. Which is why I need to get my booty home bc it's 3 am and that's not how I roll.

FYI, Wyclef's still got it. And apparently us Baby Mamas do too.

Even Better

2012-01-19T11:38:00.000-08:00

A year ago today I lay in an office, anxiously awaiting pins and needles. I was a complete stranger to the office and felt every bit of that strangeness. I didn't know if I should be clothed, or naked like a massage. Should I sit up or lay down? Does the process take place in silence or do we make small talk? In my typical reserved manner, I blabbered all these concerns, questions, and unknowns in the first 60 seconds of meeting my acupuncturist. She told me to get comfortable- whatever my definition of that was {....CLOTHED}, to lay down, and she started chit-chatting while inconspicuously inserting needles into my feet, shoulders, and hands. The procedure, accompanied by minimal massaging, was far from invasive, leaving me with the decisive conclusion....I'd just been ripped off. My friends swore it was more than a wife's tale, that pointed acupuncture would initiate the birthing process. Their children were proof that it worked. And I wanted to be another statistic. On a whim I got Yosh to agree to this ludicrous plan {that I was sure probably wouldn't work anyway.} After that uneventful 2:00 hour in Heidi's room, I was convinced I had just thrown away $100. Either way, it was a valiant effort to cross promoted wife's tales off the "to-try" list.

My conservative attitude didn't scare off the contractions. They started slow and steady and persisted through the night. Still groping to believe the success of that 60 minute session, I cautiously drove myself to the hospital- 'cautiously' as in I still wasn't admitting I was actually in labor and that acupuncture actually worked. And therefore there was no reason to actually call my husband and disturb his work day to come chauffeur me to the hospital. But a nurse's probing at 8:30 am left no question. Yy subconscious reverse-psychology had worked like a charm and reality was I had achieved the long-desired result...I truly was in labor. That 2:00 pm appointment turned into an 11:55 am birth the next morning. Arguably the best $100 I've spent up to this point. I finally had my Kaia Marie to touch, and smell, and admire, and kiss.

I already knew I loved her. But there were many things I was yet to learn.

I didn't know that my rugged boys knew to treat a princess with such tenderness. From their initial meeting, their ability to interact with love needed no coaching and instinctively found new depth.

I didn't know this one baby would change our family dynamic more than any of the previous. Her effect has been beyond fascinating to me- as I witness the softness she has brought to our tones, the smiles she effortlessly yields, a presence that invites acknowledgment. Fascination is a mild description of my wonderment.

I didn't know that a daddy/daughter bond was soft, subtle, yet wired with live current.

I didn't know that I would crave her company, that I would NEED her with me the first few months of her life; that I would selfishly provide her nurture the first 5 months.

I didn't know what it was like to look at a baby and see a reflection of myself. I had seen my husband imprinted in a sweet baby's face before, but never myself. It was a feeling of awe, a swelling of pride, a moment of full circle.

I didn't know that my greeting to Yosh when he walks in the door would pale a million shades compared to the greeting he receives from his daughter.

I didn't know her simple femininity would crusade a respect for women in her mama's heart. Her mere presence has led a mental march to discover my own worth as a woman so that I can pass it on to her. I love the newly added weight.

I didn't know that anyone other than Tom Cruise possessed a million dollar smile.

I didn't know that she would be the perfect harmony to compliment our solid melody. 3 boys and 1 girl sounds like imbalance, but mysteriously it plays perfection in our home.

I didn't know she would have the ability as baby #4 to provide me with so many "firsts". I did know she would be the source of so many "lasts", and I treasured a lot of simple moments.

I didn't know that more than wanting, our little family needed this baby girl to complete it.

She's been the most precious reminder of what family is. As we've all been pulled together by her tender influence, she's silently preached the basics. That family is love. And time. And laughing. And caring. And enjoying. And seeking. And relishing. But most of all....that family is love. A profound lesson for a sweet baby to carry.

Our 1 day short of 1 year-old, Kai Kai Marie

Braving

2012-01-18T12:47:00.000-08:00

I've always said I can handle cold as long as the sun in shining. I remember my days as a student at BYU-I where the sun next to never made it's way to Rexburg, ID. Or so it felt that way. Those spring days- where it would make sneak appearances- were pure ecstasy. Not at all important that the readings on the thermometer still had us marked at a low 35 degrees. The sun was shining and we always found a way to celebrate it's presence.

The kids all had warmy oatmeal for breakfast this morning. As we were preparing to get out the door, I insisted on jackets for all. I had already started the van a few minutes earlier to get a nice, warm air stream blowing for the ride to school. Which is the role my mom always played for us. After waking us up for early morning seminary in those winter months, she would get the car running to temper the shock of the freezing air to our newly-awakened faces. A very kind gesture, especially coming from the same mom whose response to our whining about it being freezing cold in the house was, "....BUNDLE UP." That's right, major heat regulations at the Pope house. Either turn the oven on for heat and hover, or go find layers. But at 5:45 am, she knew a warm car might have been the only way to coax us out of bed. Or possibly she knew that was the only way to get her car home safely. Because those mornings when she didn't start the car ahead of time...well, those were always TREACHEROUS rides to seminary. Us girls were too lazy to scrape the frost off and the result was a completely iced-over windshield, 3 windows that offered no transparency, 2 hidden mirrors, and one window rolled down with the driver's head completely hung out, those 2 eyes {that had maybe been open for 3 minutes} being the only perspective available. And that is how we made the 5 mile trek to church. The good thing about early morning seminary is we were usually the only ones on the road, negating the need to share lanes. Without fail, the driver always commandeered all road available, those yellow lines next to invisible to 2 naked eyes that should have had contacts in place or been shielded by glasses. But they never were. Not at 5:45. Somehow, we always arrived. There and back. Safely. Winter is brutal.

With the kids in the car, a little warm air breaking the coldness, I had to turn on the windshield wipers to erase the dew. The big boys were hugging themselves for more warmth. I looked down and read aloud the temperature, "48 degrees. It's a cold one today." We are in the depths of winter over here. But I won't complain, because the sun is shining and that's all I ask for, right?

Food Coma

2012-01-17T21:29:00.000-08:00

A true bluesy day includes lots of good food.

My top three for the day:

Bui Sushi's Malibu Sunset Roll.
{Tuna, Mango, and Mixed Greens wrapped in Soy Paper; Salmon and Avocado OUtside; Topped with Ginger Honey Dressing}
Allie Steele, I thought of you all the while. And as I'm typing this, I'm remembering their spicy edamame....

Mini Oreos

Eaten like cereal of course. I will say there are definite proportions and methods to perfecting this treat. I won't bore you with the details unless you want them.

Oatmeal Cream Pies

An oldy but goody from my brown bag lunch days. Unfortunately these have yet to make it to the lunch box....

I picked the kids up from school today and we just drove..... A nice drive along the coast is good for the soul. With indulgences for all. Dallin wanted Taco Bell, Porter and Deeter wanted McD's and I said yes to all of them- didn't even make them compromise and agree on one. After that, I kept right on going to Bui Sushi for myself.

And while it's tempting to think I haven't accomplished much today, I look at this picture and know that's not true....

And to think this is just day 1 of the new diet- excited to see tomorrow's results!

Whining

2012-01-16T10:41:00.000-08:00

If you're not in the mood for a downer post, then go to a different page.

Hormones are part of life. Let's just all admit it and agree on that one fact. If you're a woman, it's learning to deal with the swings and imbalance and learning to recognize hormones versus stable emotion. If you're a man, it's learning to deal with the woman and taking into account that she goes through a lot of things that are out of her control.

That's where I'm at these last couple of days. Coupled with a head cold. And the end result is I kinda just feel like crap.

Today I was reading this blog. The line that jumped out was this, "Yet sadly, "marriage" gets blamed for a lot of unhappiness that people feel." I learned this lesson about individual happiness along time ago and have reflected on this single moment multiple times throughout my own marriage.

The spring before I got married, I was driving in my good ole Mazda Protege to a job, bearing my bad mood alone. My thoughts were on no kind of a leash, wandering free, indulging in all kinds of self-pity. Until I started to think........"If only I were married....." And right then and there, I distinctly remember stopping myself, not allowing any advancement in the thought. The leash was instantly put on and this asinine assumption was nipped in the bud. I reprimanded myself because I knew better than that. I knew that no matter my circumstances in life, I was always going to have rough days. Period. And I wasn't going to allow myself for even one second to blame my temporary unhappiness on some outside factor. 2 things are truth in my book: 1) If we want to be happy, we'll make that happen regardless of circumstance and 2) bad days are part of life. So buck up and roll with it.

Like I said, that single moment has been a teaching lesson on multiple occasions since it happened. Before I was married and now that I am married. And these blue days that are bound to come, I'm learning to not even look to my marriage and question if it is the source. I am the source. I know if I keep my self healthy, a lot of other factors fall into place. That being said, now that I am married and with kids, I find a couple of stumbling blocks to "keep myself healthy".

First of all, it's hard to admit when I'm feeling bad. I look around and go through this mental checklist of how awesome everything in my life is: I have a husband that absolutely loves me, 4 healthy kids, I live in a place where there is TONS of sunshine, my husband has a steady job to support our family, etc etc. I evaluate and ask myself, "So why in the world do you feel like crap?" Well, it's more than possible those outside factors have nothing to do with it. It goes back to we're just all bound to have bad days, and sometimes weeks. I have a hard time coming to terms with and accepting my feelings instead of trying to talk myself out of them, which gets me absolutely nowhere. I've gotten a lot better at this.

But where I'm just learning to really take care of myself, put happiness in my own hands, etc is the next part. For me when I'm feeling like this, I just need to get out. Alone. Ok, or at least without my kids. Which means deserting the fam and dumping four kids on Yosh. Can I tell you what a selfish move this feels like? And that feeling stopped me from taking care of myself for a long time. I thought I had to be really mad, or like get in a fight, or something dramatic like that to be able to take off and have a couple hours to myself. I'm now getting a lot better at saying, "I need some time to myself. Sorry! Have fun with the kids." And he never complains. No, I'm not doing it all the time so there's not much to complain about anyway but I think we both know as the saying goes...if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. It's just learning how to make mama happy!

Anyways, that's enough of my wah-wahing for one day. And it it doesn't make a lot of sense, chalk it up as crazy talk. Hoping tomorrow's a great day and that this cold goes away asap. And that the hormones have made their rounds and are ready to move onto the next victim!

Random + Dreams

2012-01-13T12:59:00.000-08:00

Oh let's chat about this week:
*What happened to my throat? Why is it scratchy? And how come I can't still sound female-ish? I sound like a man.
*The iphone. I don't think it's made to be carried in the bra while running. Sweat may or may not be considered "water damage." Gross.
*Can bed-time be at 5:00? I don't care about for the kids, I'm talking about for me.
*I signed up for a half-marathon. I've never signed up for a race this far in advance- it's kinda playing mind games with me.
*PS I'm out of shape. I ran 4 miles, with hills and possibly that's why I was ready for bed at 5:00. And why I sound like a man. 13.1 is a lot more than 4.
*Is Diet Coke necessary at 9 pm? And 9 am? I don't know, I cannot answer that. It's a very personal question.
*Deeter started preschool this week. Loves it. Does add an extra drop-off and pick-up to the mix. Possibly another reason for 5:00 bed-time? Who knows.
*Why do I have a cold sore right on the left crease of the lips? It's making it hard for me to yell at my kids and shovel food in my mouth at the pace I prefer.

Best thing about this week: I made someone's dream come true.

My housekeeper was beaming a giddy smile. "Gabby, Gabby," {yes, she calls me Gabby, the nickname my sister tortured me with for a small period of time. No we weren't little kids- I was 20 and she was 24. Big sisters will always abuse....} "You know how I always tell you my dreams happen in real life?" {she has told me this before- in relation to a MURDER.} "Yes, Virginia, you have told me that. What happened?" Her smile only widened and she said, "I dreamed about pants full of poop." Weird dream if you ask me- and weirder to be so happy about it- and I didn't know what she was talking about. "Oh...did Kaia have a poopy diaper when she woke up?" "No, Gabby, the pants. The pants in the sink." And then it clicked.

I got home from "The Desert" last week, and while unloading the kids, I smelt something rancid. Like equivalent to a ten day old dead mouse festering in the heat. But wet. Yes, it had a wet, fresh smell to it. Deeter never poops while sitting so it couldn't be a dirty diaper. But he had puked mid-sentence three times earlier that morning and that was the only place I could put the missing puzzle piece. He must have done a sneak-attack puke. But nothing was turning up, except the toxin levels.

He made his way inside and so did the smell. It had to have been a d-u-m-p. A quick whiff took away any other possibilities. I have no idea when he managed to do his business without me noticing. I laid him down to change the stench and I'll tell you what, this wasn't even confined to the diaper. He had poops squirting out, lining his pants, slowly fumigating the whole first story of the house. I deal with poop on a daily basis and see no need to be dramatic and tangle gagging into the fiasco. But this time was close. It was nasty. I peeled him naked and threw those doo-doo soiled pants in the laundry room sink, added some "soaking" water and ran searching for fresh air. And that's where they stayed.

Yosh himself is a "soaker", just dishes though. I'm always nagging, "Why are you leaving that dish in the sink?" "Oh it's soaking." Classic reply. Babe...........a grilled chicken pan doesn't require soaking. Or a cereal bowl. He soaks out of laziness. He loves letting his woman wait on him. Except I'm equally lazy and I don't. Dang it. But anyways, he soaks out of laziness.

I, my friends, soak with a purpose. "Gabby, Deeter's pants were in the sink, just full of poop. And I found them. Just like I dreamed." Those pants that deemed a face of disgust from me, lightened up Virginia's as if it were Christmas morning. I'm in the business of making dreams come true. And that is why I soak.

I'm starting to get on my Own Nerves

2012-01-11T13:29:00.000-08:00

....with all these preachy posts of "Words to Live By". Thankfully, today is the last of them and it's a 2 for 1 kind of day.

1) Don't prematurely brace myself for the fall.
I've been working on this completely illogical habit of not fully enjoying the up cycle of life. While on the up-swing, I would pepper myself with questions and advice such as, "What did I do to deserve this? I better keep my guard up so I can predict the fall. When is something bad going to happen? If I don't completely let my hair down, it won't be as shocking when the hard times come." Incorrect. Lived like a true risk-aversionist (is that a word? Should be if it isn't.) Not anymore. Guard is down. I'm willing to be caught totally off guard, face-plant it with my hands tied behind my back and deal with it when it actually happens.

2) No More Band-Aids
I didn't grow up in a house with fancy band-aids. No Toy Story, or Princesses, or Go Diego Go band-aids. Just the classic nude color. Who knows if it was conscious strategy or not. But we weren't whining to mom for every scratch to come band-aid us up. Now had Snow White been on those band-aids, I think I would've found more reason to be needing one. Or imagine Zack Morris band-aids. I would have skinned my knee on purpose to wear him around all day back then. But the boring nudey...it wasn't a hot commodity and got it's ugly self ripped off right as soon as it's purpose was served.

Do you know what I've been doing for about the last year at my house? I'm on the computer, need something printed, and instantly click compose on my gmail and start drafting, "Dear Secretary, I have another chore for you. Please print out attached document and bring it home from work with you. Love, your wizzie" Why don't I just print it out myself? I've been out of black ink for awhile and it's on my list of things I HATE to buy {along with laundry detergent and razors}, so I find a way to not only inconvenience my life {as there are many times that not being able to print something right away foils my to-do list} but....also inconvenience someone else's.

Dallin B's attitude has definitely taken a turn for the worse. I would love to say it came out of nowhere, but it hasn't. At the beginning stages, I was all, "Oh, he's a good kid, he can't be perfect. Let it slide." Then it worsened and my attitude was more along the lines of, "I don't know what the heck to do with a snotty 6-year-old." And now I'm at the point of going into full-blown, boot camp mode where any snotty comment is deserving of just shy of a beating. I identified this problem along time ago but just didn't want to deal with it. So I put a band-aid on. And shockingly....it didn't go away.

I use band-aids more often than I'd like to in different aspects of my life. I'm converting to a nude only band-aid mentality this year. Instead of inviting problems to stay and linger for as long as they would like by camoflauging them in some rosy cover up, I'm going to work harder on solving problems at the root and getting them taken care of the first time. And those times when band-aids are necessary, I'm going to have it be top priority to rip them off asap- hairs and all.

And to sum up the rest of 2012 "Words to Live By":

3) Engaging in Happiness as a journey

4) Laugh Daily, Seize Moments, Create Memories

5) Pull It Together {which I'm sure will remain on my list for the rest of my life}

I need to hang this list in various places around the house as reminders.
YOSH, can you print 5 copies off and bring them home for me? Love, your wizzie

Bag Lady

2012-01-10T14:45:00.000-08:00

Have you ran into those "green" people at the grocery store? You know, the ones who bring their own reusable bags? The bags would be a lifesaver for me. Wanna know something that really stresses me out? What to do with all the grocery bags at home. Don't make fun. I neatly fold the paper ones and put them in their place under the sink. The plastic bags all get shoved inside one of their own and get placed somewhere else. But the problem- it doesn't take long before they're taking over and spilling into their neighbor's space. They multiply like nobody's business and I find myself in this anxious predicament of what to do with them. I feel guilty for just throwing them away but I have absolutely no chance of keeping up with them and using them. Supply and demand, baby. They're supplying a lot more than I'm demanding. The reusables would solve that small slice of anxiety. I actually have a few of those cute bags. In Santa Monica, some stores don't even have paper or plastic bags as an option; others have them to buy. But everywhere has the reusables for sale. (Sounds like an "inside job" if you ask me.) I've been in a predicament or two where my hand's been forced and I've bought one. Like the one time I was at JoAnn's with Deeter and Kaia, no stroller, and about 10 loose items. My pride was shoved in my back pocket and I shelled out my $1.99 so I wouldn't look like a circus act- a failing one at that- walking out the door, through the parking lot trying to hold my two kids and balance 10 random, odd-shaped craft items. The good news- the bag was adorable. And I think I would feel like a "designer shopper" if I took that thing to the grocery store with me. I'm sure it would be the talk of the store. But do you know what I think every time I see the reusable-bag shoppers? It's always the same question.........."How in the world do they remember to bring those dang bags with them?" The amazement never tires and I've yet to interview one of these kind to satisfy my curiosity.

Last night I was planning out today. On my mental agenda- necessary for my very busy social calendar- I had mentally jotted down my 11:00 appointment with my girlfriends and our toddlers at Mickey Dee's Play House. That's right nothing but the best for our kids- McDonald's here we come. Now McD's is conveniently located near Target and those royal winter blue pants have been on my return list since the night I squeezed into them. This was perfect timing to take them back before lunch and while there I might as well pick up the produce that the fridge is lacking. Ooohhh, scratch that plan- the produce would be sitting in the car for way too long and the freshness would be sucked out of it. And that is when my heart skipped a beat and I was EXCITED. I had a cooler-type reusable bag that I picked up from Costco a good year ago and had yet to use at the grocery store. This was an impeccable debut opportunity. So I mentally noted to bring that produce-preserver with me.

Well this morning I was gathering, gathering, gathering, trying to get the crew out the door. I was ready to go and scrolling through my mental grocery list for the fifteenth time, making sure I still remembered the, oh 3 items on it. And I don't know what kicked into gear, but I finally stopped fighting that logical, responsible, organized voice inside of me, and I physically jotted down my list. And the last scribble was....fruits/veggies. Which triggered the plan from last night that surely wouldn't have been remembered til in the produce aisle, when there was no possibility of salvaging my missteps. That nagging voice......it might just be worth something. It saved my booty and got that bag into my car, which allowed me one-stop shopping for my health/beauty needs and produce, and then peace of mind while we frolicked away at McDonald's.

I'm convinced that the "green" people have reminders EVERYWHERE they look to make sure those bags get into the car. And then from the car to the store. And from the store to the bagger's hands. There are multiple opportunities for failure in this process. They must write down at the bottom of their grocery list- because surely these people are grocery list makers{which admittedly I usually am too}-, "BRING REUSABLE BAGS." And then on their front door a post-it, "BRING REUSABLE BAGS." And then another post-it on their steering wheel, "BRING REUSABLE BAGS." And for good measure, they bring one to post on the grocery cart handle...."GIVE REUSABLE BAGS TO BAGGER."

That must be how they remember.

More words to live by for 2012.....PULL IT TOGETHER. Why do I refuse to write things down? Why do I insist on trusting my Alzheimer's to remember details that have the potential of making my life run smoother? I'm gonna take full responsibility for this one- I got no one to blame. And I'm not talking about just remembering to bring the reusable bags to the market. I long ago threw out the notion being that put together, as appealing as it is. I'm talking about all the other floating lists I have in my head that need to make it to paper. {you know doctor appointments, dinners, meetings, volunteer days at school, etc} Although I still hold strong....I would be the best bag in the store if I ever were able to....pull it together.

Relationships

2012-01-09T12:11:00.000-08:00

....that will last a lifetime. That is the goal I have for my kids and I.

Take a look at the pic and marvel at the masterpiece of this saying imposed right on top. Yes, I did it myself and am feeling like quite the artist. Thanks, Picassa!

But the words.... So I wrote this thinking more along the lines of a family motto or something like that. Until I talked to a friend and realized this wasn't a family motto at all. Or even what I had in mind when picking the words. What I was really thinking about was how to build and bond this relationship between parents and kids. Everyone wants it but we don't all achieve it. I mean, who has kids thinking, "Yea, it would be nice to kinda get along with them for like the first 5 or 10 years." Um...no one. But I'm a checklist kind of girl. I need bullet points to tell me how to achieve something. So with my limited knowledge and experience base, this is what I came up with.

Laugh Daily
It's something we can do together every. single. day. If we learn how to laugh together, we got a good start to something lasting.
Seize Moments
So I really wanted it to say aprovechar moments. But the whole bilingual thing even rubbed me the wrong way- couldn't settle with it. Direct translation would be "take advantage of moments", but.....I wanted a one-word replacement. So I settled on 'seize'. These moments usually come when the kids ask me to do something and I'm tempted to say no out of pure laziness but....pull it together and say yes. I am always 'present' when these moments occur- not texting, or FBing, or watching TV or anything else. I am all theirs. And when I give myself FULLY to them, it opens the door for something magical to happen. This doesn't occur on a daily basis, and you can't plan them, but opportunities arise somewhat frequently.
Create Memories
These are the more planned, bigger events. Whether a family vacation, an outing to the Dodgers game, getting dressed up and going to "The Lion King" together. These events take place on a much less frequent basis but play an important role as well. The role of experiencing new things as a family together, being outside the normal home environment, passing more than 30 minutes of QT together. These memories will be the subject of those conversations that start with, "Remember when......" Easy to pinpoint and isolate from everyday life.

Oh I want those kids {and my Yoshie} in my life forever. And I want "history"- positive history- that goes back as far as their sharp little minds remember.

This is my plan for 2012 on how to build and nurture those relationships most important to me.

What are your ideas for building lasting family relationships?

Happiness is a choice: I disagree

2012-01-08T20:44:00.000-08:00

So I lied. By stating I would NOT be doing resolutions, it only increased the desire for change. Imagine that. This week, I'm going to put down some of my "words to live by" for 2012.

For years, I endured running without being a runner. I mastered mind games to finish the task at hand while avoiding engagement in the actual activity.
Two years ago, something changed inside. I was ready to learn. I was ready to improve. I was ready to engage. I wanted to be a runner. I chose to become one.
I had a lot to learn about running and, more importantly, a lot to learn about myself. Some of what I learned:

*The first couple of miles are always hard. It takes time to warm the body up.
*Long runs surpass the "warm up" time and therefore bring more enjoyment than a 3-miler.
*Heavy breathing makes me panic and lose confidence.
*Concentrating on/controlling breathing keeps my heart from jumping out of my chest.
*Lean forward and use my arms and core to get up a hill.
*Hills are hard but they don't constitute the whole run. Push through.
*Don't ever decide to end a run while on a hill.
*Hills make me strong.
*Running hills strongly is the perfect opportunity to get ahead in a race.
*Transitions are a weakness. Whether just turning a corner or going from incline to flat, I lose my rhythm. Hold tight til I regain it- it never takes as long as I think it will.
*Don't be afraid when I feel a burst of energy- I don't have to maintain that speed for the whole run. Go for it and enjoy it while you're feeling it.
*Some days I feel strong physically. Some days I feel strong mentally. Optimal performance comes when I have strength from both, but as long as I have one resource, I can do it.
*My body is a lot more capable than I give it credit for. So is my mind.
*Finish the run. At the end of the end day, I'll never remember why I wanted to quit; I'll just remember the victory of finishing.

Today, I am a runner. By listening to my own body and then customizing my formula accordingly, I have gained the tools that work for me. I know my weaknesses, I know my strengths, I know where to go mentally when I want to give up, I know where to go physically when it hurts. I know to be open to growth, change, learning, and improving. Most importantly, I know- succeed or fail- to get out there again tomorrow and TRY. I am a runner because through discipline, persistence, and dedication, I became one. Going on a run is a choice; becoming a runner is a series of choices.

And so it is with happiness- it is not a choice. Rather, it is a series of choices, fueled by discipline, persistence, and dedication. Inclusive are highs and lows, moments of enjoying and moments of enduring, experiences of overcoming countered with those of being humbled. But with perseverance, we learn our formula, which is custom to each individual, disclosed little by little as we go through the journey to obtain it.

I love happiness. I want more of it. In 2012....I want to continue in that journey; today, I want to continue in that journey.

Mama Got Brave

2012-01-06T13:15:00.000-08:00

In my head, I had a very clear vision. I would walk into the office building, intimidating like the white, female version of Johnny Cochran. I'd have high heels on with my Southern charm in my back pocket, ready to pull out a smile as big as Texas itself with a drawl that couldn't be resisted. My legs would be crossed, back straight, with that smile plastered on all the while. Then and there, I'd confidently request a refund. All members that sat in on the meeting would be completely mesmerized, scared, and blinded. Without a second thought, they would write me a check, insisting that I take a 150% refund for the inconvenience they had caused me. I would graciously refuse and settle on 100% and let us both keep our dignity.

This is the vision I had when plotting how in the heck I was going to get my money back. If ONLY I could execute my great plan...they wouldn't be able to resist my wishes. In reality, there were a few problemos with this plan. I don't do high heels and I doubt my Chuck Taylor's were going to intimidate anyone. I'm not from the south and unfortunately charm didn't make the cut in my DNA. And this drawl I have, well it attracted Yosh but I think that's about the most it's ever done for me. Far from sophisticated or charismatic. So this plan was a bust and nothing more than a dream. But I still swear it's a good plan. A screenwriter could make their millions if they brought this scene to the big screen.

So anyway, I needed another idea.There were a couple things on the line here. I got to dreaming all big and crazy {with LOTS of help from my husband souping my head up about how awesome I was gong to be} and decided I was going to open a franchise. We invested some money and I got on my way to work. The long and short of it is, the dream crumbled and I wanted to walk away. But I wanted to walk with dignity. And in my head the only way for that to happen was to walk away with money in my pocket- some sort of a refund. Yosh told me this was absolutely impossible, there was no way they would give me a dime back. Imagine him to be the little devil dressed in red standing on one of my shoulders. Thankfully, AJ was perched on the other shoulder with her stern voice saying, "Gabey, you don't know unless you ask..... AND stick up for yourself, dangit!" And she's right because if I don't stick up for myself, ain't nobody gonna stick up for me.

That's when I started listening to angel AJ and formulating a plan. I sought out those people in my life that make me believe I can do ANYTHING I want {for better or worse!}, and I got their advice. Christy Desai went into strategy mode and that's when the negotiating began. I first agreed to a call with the COO. I smothered him with compliments, regurgitated the same conceptual business plan that was sold to me and got him just as excited as I was when I first heard it. I then outlined the discrepancies of the sell versus reality, once again complimented the concept and his team members, and when he was least expecting it but still had a smile on his face........I told him I wanted out. With a refund. He sat speechless before admitting this was far from the direction he expected the call to take.

Soon I was in touch with a "team", and then the lawyer. While I dreamt of being the white Johnny Cochran, she was the Jewish version and she wasn't just dreaming. Real deal. No, this was no murder case but I have a feeling she could have me feel like I was on trial for just that. So good thing we didn't meet up in person....I would have run away as quick as my Chuck Taylor's could carry me. That is after I apologized for my asinine request, and surrendered my wallet for good measure. But on the phone, I could channel my nervous tendencies into endless games of Minesweeper or chewing my tongue til it almost fell off. Which would have not been a bad scenario as I was needing all the help I could get to NOT say I'm sorry, to NOT give them ammunition against me, essentially to NOT throw my case away. I could have been my own worst enemy so I made sure to ZIP MY LIPS when those temptations came. And I served compliments til I was blue in the face. By the end, I had that lawyer on MY team after I pointed out that she had been victimized by the same salesman. And once that happened, it was a game changer. Negotiations were closed and the check was cut before either one of us could back out.

Mama got brave. And stood up for myself. And didn't back down when a REAL lawyer made me feel like I should. I was persistent, consistent, and confident. Even if it was faked. A small price to pay for a clear conscience and dignity.

"The Desert"

2012-01-05T16:55:00.000-08:00

We went to the desert and got our sun fix and pool fix and ~~kid fix~~. Whoops, that slipped out! I must admit, I can now say I no longer feel on the outs. I moved to this side of town and I'm hearing about 'the desert' this, 'the desert' that. I won't make you go through this torturous conversation- like the many I've endured- without telling you what 'the desert' is....it's Palm Desert, the new Palm Springs. That is the desert. And it lived up to it's reputation.

While there Dallin found summer love. My whole life I thought summer love referred to June-August. But I've redefined it...summer love occurs during any time period that is 80 degrees and sunny. There is nothing more seducing than that combo. We watched him and Avani flirt their way through a full day before their first lovers' quarrel took place....Avani was asking Dallin too many questions about marriage. Who he was going to marry, who he thought she should marry, etc. Came on much too strong for this new, tender relationship. {Lesson to learn, ladies......}

Deeter got yelled at by crabby grandpa at the pool for his unnecessary screaming- no surprise there. I thanked him for shutting that kid up. Felt a bit bad when I saw gramps take the bottle of Jack Daniels out of the backpack and pour it into his cup. I was teaming up with the ~~crabby~~ drunk grandpa to get my child to behave.

Porter's good temperament brought good luck and teamed him up with the other grandpa who played catch with the football in the pool for a good hour. La Gay Gay got a good hour of relaxing thanks to happy grandpa.

Kaia splashed like the best of them and kept her smile on while in the water.

Deeter, Deeter, Deeter. That kid......... I hate putting myself in a pickle like this BUT if I were forced to describe him in one word- one word only without any ifs, ands, buts- I unfortunately would have to settle on... demanding. A close second would be charming, but a strict one-word, honest answer wouldn't deem that. Demanding hopefully implies bossy, detailed oriented, and pointed. I mean, we're sitting in the hot tub with the bubbles on and in waltzes Mr. Deets talking about, "I want the bubbles." "No, I want you to bring me the bubbles." And right there, in the comfort of his hot tub, I find myself persuading bubbles to his reach for his entertainment. I know what you're thinking...why don't I just not give in to him. Why don't I show him who's the parent and who's the child. Why don't I break him of these completely unsustainable standards. Which are all very valid suggestions. I find myself in this vicious cycle of obedience, huffing and puffing, and rebellion with him all the time. But somehow I always find myself right back at the beginning....obedience- at his beck and call. And so it is.

But this child has skills, like he's ready to run an empire. I really think he could handle it. He knows what he's good at and he's opportunistic. With us all being in one hotel room, he knew I had no where to run and hide so he took advantage. His usual operating hours of 8 am-8 pm were generously extended to 5:30 am-9:30 pm to do what he's best at- bossing mama around.

With young kids, I always struggle with what to do with money they receive for birthdays, holidays, etc. But this week, the answer came. All funds {no matter what kid they're intended for} will now go towards an account that pays for Deeter's own hotel room when we travel.

When Life Throws you Lemons....

2012-01-03T09:30:00.000-08:00

Hopefully someone can make an ice-cold glass of lemonade.

LEMON:I went to make pancakes only to find the Bisquick box....empty.
LEMONADE:Which forced me on this here from-scratch recipe. It brags to be impossible to resist. I tried calling the bluff, but....ate my words. And lots of those pancakes. Conclusion: they're impossible to resist.

LEMON: Dinners have once again been slacking. But let's be honest- during the break there are a lot more meals to be cooking and neighborhood kids to be feeding.
LEMONADE: Ralph's has the good cereal on sale for $1.99. Ain't nobody complaining about "dinner."

LEMON: Baby girl is growing like a weed and refuses to stop.
LEMONADE: Mama gets to shop!

LEMON: I have 4 kids at ages that leave me a bit handicapped. I can't go too far or too long without my husband in tow.
LEMONADE: He's got a little sister that hooks me up with an extra pair of hands and eyes whenever I need it, and lots of laughs and chit-chats to boot. Word of wisdom to spouse-seekers: find someone that has a cool, much younger little sister. You'll be benefiting for years and thanking me for just as long.

LEMON: The 3rd week out of school turns into boredom and fighting.
LEMONADE: A get-away is on the agenda {thanks to the sister-in-law and Christy.} We're ready to hit the road. And I hope the door hits me on my way out, giving my booty a push in the right direction. Ready or not, sun and poolside beverages.....here we come.

LEMON: About every 3rd run, I'm in the search of a bathroom and have to stop til I find one. FYI, runners don't stop for #1.
LEMONADE: The diapers made just for that have become my saving grace.....
Ok, just kidding just kidding. I'm still on the hunt for that one, so if you have a glass to offer your parched friend, I'm in desperate need of lemonade.

Beginning of the End

2012-01-02T09:28:00.000-08:00

With the start of the New Year, I am feeling like a new girl. But this year I am a smarter girl and will not be setting my own death trap- there will be no making a list of goals that I will never live up to. I'm intimidated the second my "goals" find their way to paper and at that exact moment....I start moving away slowly with my hands raised in the air. It's a real self-esteem buster so this year I'm steering clear of it. I'm thinking about coming up with a sort of "bucket list" with the kids for 2012. And I'm sure, masked in there will be things that sound veerrryyy much like...goals. But we would NEVER call them that.

There IS one resolve that I'm willing and ready to take a stance on for 2012. And I might go as far to deem it a goal, only because I know without a doubt that I can live up to it. It's probably like the equivalent of putting something on your to-do list AFTER you've already done it just so you cross it off and pat yourself on the back all in one swift motion.

Word on the street is my kids should be sitting in a booster seat. Let me tell you what I think about this:

Growing up, my mom taxied us 10 kids around (ok, only 7 but almost 10) in a big ole full-sized van. I think it had like 3 benches plus a HUGE "trunk" area. And that trunk area didn't go to waste. Because with 7 conspiring minds, there's no way wide open space- such as that- wasn't going to eventually be turned into a playing field. And this happened when at some point we discovered 4 folded up lawn chairs were being stored there, probably after going to the park or something like that. And with a prop as inviting as that, the wide open space had created it's own game. We popped those chairs open, 2 in each row, with the rows facing each other and there we took our seats.... WHILE THE VEHICLE WAS MOVING. We had no time to worry about safety and getting in a real car accident because every bump my mom hit felt like we just rear-ended someone, which brought on the challenge of bracing yourself, finding your inner balance and not letting your chair tip over. Thus...creating the game. We mastered a few of those small bumps and we were begging my mom to find bigger ones, to go faster. Every town has the known jumps- where you drive at just the right speed, hit the bump, and it'll send you flying, causing your head to kiss the ceiling, resulting in just a few stars if you've reached optimal speed. As an adult I'm sure these bumps are AKA potholes or ditches or....curbs. Usually they're found by accident, but if you're young and dumb, you're going to keep going back for more. Now I'm not by any means calling my mom young and dumb. BUT...she had kids that were young and dumb and wanted excitement and had our fingers crossed that she would accidentally find one on the way home. Because it was one thing to hit one of these bumps when we were sitting on the bench seats, but to hit one of these bumps while we were on the lawn chairs was nothing short of a 2 second version of those rocket rides you find at amusement parks- it ejected you to space while your stomach stayed put right there on your seat. Those were good times.

Please note how many times you read the words 'seat belt' in this account. No need to re-read- you didn't hear it even once.

As absurd as an idea as this might be for now-a-days (I mean imagine your little 6 and 7 year olds bouncing around in the back in some flimsy old lawn chairs, secured down by....nothing), well.....that's how I feel about all these booster and car seat laws. I think it's absurd. I'm not going to disagree with the safety part of it. It most likely is safer than just a seat belt to have our kids in booster seats (although I really don't see how 4 inches of height makes that much of a difference). I also think it would be safer for all of us to walk around in bubble wrap and kinda bounce back up when we fall, or do a clumsy side step when we run into something. A lot less scratches, bruises, and broken bones and a lot more laughs. Society would benefit from both of those. But that's never going to happen- we aren't going to turn into a bubble-wrapped community. It is safer... but not necessary. And I- as the mom- like to be the one to make decisions like that for my crew, where it may be better or safer or more politically correct but not exactly necessary. I feel myself competent enough to decide when my child has outgrown a booster seat and I don't need a guilty conscience- induced by an overprotective law- to make me feel like a rebel for letting my 6-year-old (let's be honest, 5 year-old) out of a booster. I have enough unnecessary worries on my mind and I don't need help adding to the ever-growing list.

So I'm committed in 2012...I will not be moving any children back to boosters. And I will maintain that 12{...ish} months is when babies go to forward-facing car seats......

With that resolve for 2012, I can confidently already call this year a success.

Shocker

2011-12-30T08:51:00.000-08:00

Yosh has had a growing desire. If you want to go back to the real birth of this notion, he's been talking about this purchase for years. It started off in a sing-songy, dreaming type of way. The musing was always accompanied by hesitation and hiccups, which would quickly kill the dream and move it to the back burner. But then it would resurface, with that comfortable dreamy feeling, before reality squashed it again. And so the cycle continued. Until recently. The dreamy tone started to dissipate, hesitation started to disappear and he approached the topic with a rational, realistic mentality. I could tell.....he had made a decision. He was just waiting for the cajones to pull the trigger.

And this is when the plan for Christmas 2011 took root.

When giving a Christmas gift, I think there is one goal we're all trying to achieve. That, I would say, is the goal of creating some sort of feeling in the receiver.

Being married can throw a little wrench in the whole gift exchange between spouses. It's almost like a 4-step scientific process:

1) You know what each other needs {....nothing}, you know what the wants are {...ain't happenin}, and you can't think of anything in the realm of realistic that would satisfy both parties expectations. It's a struggle to find a gift you're excited about giving. And then comes the next hurdle.....

2) How are you going to buy this without being discovered? You share bank accounts, credit cards, cash, check books. You name a way to spend it....you share it. "Accordingly to the credit card bill, it looks like I'm getting a $200 gift from Nordstrom.........." Anti-climatic, no bueno. So you find a way to stash money, or conceal unexpected income, or temporarily borrow from an unsuspected someone. You have found a way to successfully pay in the dark.

3) Now... where to hide it. Because in addition to money, you also share bedrooms, closets, garages, under-the-bed space, attic space. So from the second that gift enters the house, you are a nervous wreck, sweating bullets that he doesn't look under the bed- which he hasn't done even once since the time you moved in- but surely in the next 3 days he is going to find reason to do just that and completely BUST your game. And that.......equals no surprise. And no surprise equals....lame delivery. Been there, done that. No fun.

4) The ONLY problem you're left with.... is you. You can't bust your own game. That means keeping a straight face when compromising topics of convo arise. That means resisting the urge to prematurely present the gift. In my case, that means essentially not talking about Christmas from the time I could up with something until the reveal. No game face over here, so silence is the only option. Zipped, sealed, nothing, nada.

Back to Christmas 2011.

Like a thief in the night, I came and stole Yosh's years of preparation right from under his nose, went and made the purchase as I jumped through all the other gift-giving loop holes, and used it as a prop for my gift to him. Check it out:

{ignore the nervous chatter and sultry tone}

Did you see that? No, not the big, red bow- he might as well have bought that himself. I'm talking about that 7 seconds when his heart was on free-fall, as if he'd just jumped out of an airplane. THAT was my gift to him.

When giving this Christmas gift, I absolutely had to create a feeling. Because that feeling was the gift. I think we achieved that.

POST EDIT:
How I pulled it off, good question. I must say i'm pretty proud bc I never pull anything off.
1) Yosh was going to get a new car soon and he knew exactly what he wanted, and I too, knew exactly what he wanted. So that part was easy.
2) I got a check in the mail that Yosh didn't know we were getting (due to my HARD work but that's a whole different story!) I didn't tell him about it and the Thursday before Xmas, we called a truce on looking at any bank accounts or credit card accounts. So he didn't see that I deposited a check and withdrew money.
3) Friday I parked it at a friend's house that we never pass. While we were at church on Sunday, my neighbor went and picked it up and had it parked in our driveway when we came home.
4) Before church, we had already opened all of our Xmas presents. I told him his theme was "I'm dreaming of a white Xmas." He got Lacoste cologne (which comes in an all-white bottle), white Chuck Taylors (already returned them), and a ski weekend (fake. Had to throw him off.) So he was completely shocked when he saw the "white" car!
It was fun!

Denim Wars

2011-12-29T08:09:00.000-08:00

I was walking through Target last week, allegedly finishing up my Christmas shopping, when I spotted these blue pants. Some might call them 'electric blue', but I termed them 'royal winter blue'. For 22 bucks and a name like that, they instantly became a must-have. I took a mid-range size and was eye-balling it for fit. You know, holding them up to my waist, kinda laying them flat against my hips, trying to gauge if they hit a halfway mark. Why didn't I just try them on you ask? Oh NEWSFLASH: Moms with 4 kids don't try clothes on. No, I didn't have the kids with me but that's besides the point. I gave them a once over, shrugged my shoulders, and called it good.

Until I was in my closet getting dressed.... And then I was in my closet dancing. No no no, there was no music. I couldn't step into my jeans...so I was gonna dance my way into them. And in that very second I found myself in my high school days.......

It's a typical Saturday night, Taneal and I are at my house getting ready to go out. We're trying on one outfit and then the next and then the next.... because surely there's bound to be one that's going to make us shine. There's one last hope.
"Here, try on these jeans. They'd look good."
"There's no way these will fit me."
"Ahhhhhh, come on, just trrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy."
And so it begins.
One leg first. And then the other. They slide right on.......until we reach the thigh.
"Well....just start jumping."
It starts off with little baby hops until it progresses to full-on kangaroo jumps.....with little budge.
"OK, .........lay on the bed. Get all stretched out and then pull them up."
We're going for pancake flatness. "Just suck in as far as you can."
Breathing is halted, cheeks are puffed out, belly's in......and they're moving. THEY'RE MOVING!
"OKAY, OKAY....we got this!"
The adrenaline's pumping, blood's back to flowing, we've just got one more teeny hill to climb.........they need to be zipped. And buttoned......
"So..........let's see....I got it. Start doing squats......... Nope, that's not gonna cut it. We need deeeeeeeeeeeep squats..... There you go, there you go, like that."
We're counting these babies out and when we think we've gained just enough stretch....we go for it. We're gonna button them.
"No, you need to pull a little more. Suck in....... SUCK IN MORE.......Well at least try to zip them... OK BREATHE, my gosh you're turning purple."
But not in vain......the zipper gives a little. But not a lot. And that's when we know.....it's time to call for reinforcement. We're not going to be able to do this alone. This is the last-ditch effort.
"Get the squirt bottle."
We scramble around til we find it. We fill that baby up with water, and hold our breath. More so than before. Because this is our last chance.
"Ok.... I'm ready."
We start with a few spritzes, easing into the process. Then we add some gentle stretching. Mixed with more spritzing. Gearing up to move towards.........the deep squats. With simultaneous sprays. The denim's giving. That strong, stubborn material is loosening it's grip....on the thighs....and then the booty. And then it's time.........
"Ready for magic?" One big breath in, one lightening-quick fastening motion..... finds the button securely- SECURELY- in the button hole.
"You good?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
With that, we grab our purses and are out the door without a glance backwards.

I'll tell you what....they just don't make jeans like they used to. They're not built for the moving and shaking they used to endure and all this movement was necessary just to get them over my.....ankles. Must be the 'ultra-deluxe-skinny jeans' or something like that. But I had no time to mess around. After we got passed the ankles, I gave those royal winter blues the yank of a lifetime and had them securely- SECURELY- around my waist in no time flat. Only to discover an inconspicuous hole right by the zipper. The perfect excuse to send these dang things back where they came from..............{after I got a good couple of wears out of them.....}

A Girl Named Gay

2011-12-28T09:15:00.000-08:00

There was a little girl who wrote. She didn't know why or even give much thought to why. In 5th grade she put the words together that would serve as the speech at the D.R.U.G ceremony. In 6th grade she wrote a story and at the request of the Reading teacher presented it to every classroom in the school.

Then came middle school and the introduction of love and trouble. Whether for entertainment or as an emotional outlet, poems started to fill blank sheets of paper. Feelings that were either dreamed or possessed were concreted in words. High school found those words to be darker and deeper. And all the while, they were carried around in a red folder.

The red folder that found it's way into a memory box. Meanwhile, this girl continued to write. But mainly for others, trying to please college professors with words that would earn an A. What she loved to do got lost in the search for a career. When she decided her career was to be a mom, she forgot about her other love.

But that memory box that traveled from St. Louis to New Mexico, to Idaho, to Utah, finally made it to California. And somehow the girl remembered that red folder. The red folder that represented her drive to express herself, to let feelings meet paper. She took it out, and touched it, and then she remembered.....that's what she loves to do.

Welcome to "A girl named Gay." So let's be honest, the content is the same as my other blog, but the merge allows me one thing....to have a blog named after me. I know, it's completely self-indulgent. I confess. But somehow taking the family heading off gives me some mental liberation- like it's ok that a large portion of the content is about my musings and thoughts and what happens in my life, not just my kids. In addition, with the liberty the internet allows, I get to live out my childhood dreams and have writing that bares my name!

So take a minute and look around. I've added a couple additional pages up top and linked to some previously written favorite posts on the side. If you really want to flatter me, become a follower. If not, just keep coming back- I stalk too!

xoxo gay

Dec 26

2011-12-26T19:45:00.000-08:00

.......no more counting down. Unless we start all the way at 365.....

As expected:

Dallin and Porter loved Christmas. (skateboard, shoes, jacket, umbrella)
Deeter took one look at the present Santa left him (a train track already set up) and never looked back, not even to come open more presents.
Kaia slept through it all. (cabbage patch doll)

Not expected:

I learned this year to throw perceived notions out the window: I'll take sunny and 75 over a white Christmas. Every year.

I conceded to go to church on Christmas- should be an obvious, unfortunately it wasn't. Guess what? Loved it. Wish every Christmas would fall on Sunday. Felt good to eat my words.

Santa pulled through and brought magic.... magic eight balls. Magic worked in my favor. Dallin ended Christmas night very tired and......in tears. He had asked for an Ipod and headphones (???) and didn't get any. We sat cuddled on the couch and I was just letting him cry it out. He suddenly popped up. He grabbed his magic. "I'm going to ask my eight ball if I can have an Ipod and headphones." I let out a long breath, feeling pretty defeated, preparing for the next round of sobs. He gave a shake shake as he asked the question. An answer popped up: outlook is not good. "Well...I'm asking again. " So....he gave a shake shake as he asked the question. And an answer popped up: Definitely not. We both sat there bewildered, Dallin tensing up, me slowly relaxing. "I'm asking ONE MORE TIME." Shake shake. Question. Reply: I doubt it.
And just like that the problem was resolved. Without me saying A SINGLE WORD.

And now.....the real vacation begins. No obligations, no mile-long to-do list, no school. Fingers crossed for no rain, no snotty attitudes, no sickness, and no whining. Oh yeah, and lots of eating out, and going out with friends, and laughing, and........stairs.

Strong Arm

2011-12-23T15:53:00.000-08:00

I hear all kinds of unfair bargaining going on in my house. Most of the time I bite my tongue and let them develop their negotiating skills without any tutorial. But sometimes I just can't help myself. And this usually occurs by butting in and helping Porter 'know his rights' against the power of his older brother.

I don't know whose been mentoring Porter, nor do I know if he knows he walked away with a killer deal but today I became aware of one of the most recent barters. Porter walked into my room wearing Dallin's shorts, asking me to help him. I said, "Oooohhh, did you ask Dallin if you could wear those?" Yes, boys have this issue as a point of conflict also believe it or not, and recently it's been more present in our home. It seems, though, the boys have next to squash it already. "Oh yea, we made a deal," Porter said. "I get to wear any of his clothes I want whenever I want. Except for his Colorado jersey {which conveniently Porter has a twinner one} and his Colorado bracelets. And he gets to play my guitar everyday." Ummmmm, yes. The guitar he received when he was ONE year old. And in the past year has only been of interest to him for ONE day. Must have been the same ONE day Dallin took interest in it as well. And in exchange, Porter got a new wardrobe. It looks like we have a negotiator on our hands- he knows the secret....timing, timing, timing.

We're getting excited for this weekend...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I put it in the predictions folder last Friday {thanks for the concept, Jono} that I think Yosh has done well this year. He's real hit and miss. One year an all-edge brownie pan, the next year a trip to Paris. So you never know. Now I wish I could remember exactly what happened for me to add this note to the folder, but I can't remember anything specific. That might be for the better. Because then based on whether or not I'm right, I would be looking for clues next year to make a judgment call, but Yosh would know what I was or wasn't looking for, and then try to act or not act accordingly. Which would totally throw off the authenticity of my judgment. You get what I'm saying, right?

The kids are going to be in Christmas heaven {and completely self-entertained for hours, inducing mama heaven!} and I'm so ready to see their cute faces with looks of glee glued on!

Merry Christmas!

Where's the Magic?

2011-12-22T11:12:00.000-08:00

Does the magic of Christmas really lie in your heart or lie to your heart?

If the magic of Christmas lies in your heart, then "The List" I received:

Christmas List

the Force

magic

crystals

(Which I of course instantly translated to read:)

Christmas List

skateboard

shoes

jacket

......then the list I received will be accepted with absolutely no question. I am sure there is some connection between list 1 and 2 and since I believe, the kids will, too. And we'll all be happy and satisfied. They won't pout like spoiled children because the requested list wasn't fulfilled to the tee. And I won't have to tell them that no there's really NO SUCH THING as the Force, magic, OR crystals (the magic kind at least.) And- heaven forbid- I have to tell them there's no such thing as....that one guy.

But if the magic of Christmas lies to the heart, well then by golly, we are in full Christmas spirit over here at my house. Because it has turned me into a lying machine and I AM NOT A LIAR {except when door-to-door salesmen stop by, then one or two might slip out.} I have a real problem with this. I hate feeling like I'm feeding my kids a load of crap every time anything on the subject comes up. I'm avoiding eye contact, mumbling off unfinished sentences and doing everything short of running out of the house- screaming- with my arms raised in surrender. If they had just an ounce of innate lie detection, I would of been a goner a long time ago. Now don't go "Bah hum-buggin" me for all this. I have NOT let the cat out of the bag and I don't intend to. I'm all about the real meaning of Christmas, the idea of increased giving but my gosh there's gotta be some way to remedy my poor conscience and let her enjoy the Holiday too instead of being trodden down with guilt. In an attempt to relieve pressure, I've already reduced Santa down to the man who brings ONE gift. Shoot, I can't remember if he fills the stockings or not. I have about 3 days to figure out if that's him or us........ ONE gift from Santa. The rest from mom and dad.

And that doesn't take away from the magic of Christmas at all. When else in the year do you have brownies and cookies and treats every time you turn around? And twinkling lights dancing to your Christmas playlist as you drive around the town admiring the adorably decorated houses? And gifts LOADED under the tree just for you? There's no way to disguise the magic of Christmas season. And just in case Santa is the underlying thread that ties all this together for the kids, I'm gonna keep my lips zipped, deal with a guilty conscience, and just dream of singing "The Magic of Christmas......lies in MOM and DAD."

8 years ago today, I married.......

2011-12-19T09:48:00.000-08:00

..........a stranger. I remember calling my older brother to tell him I was getting married and his exasperated response was, "To who? Cesar?" {the guy I was dating before}. It'll remain a mystery if he really didn't know who my current boyfriend was or if he was making a point. But after 3 1/2 months of dating, 2 months of engagement...he was all mine. Thank goodness that the both of us apparently have a knack for picking strangers.... who would end up being an impeccable companion? I'll take it.

I was thinking back to "the beginning" and felt myself getting a little embarrassed at the immaturity of the relationship, our shallow understanding of the inclusive definition of marriage at the time. I recognized the progress we've made since then. I think in doing that, it sparked an 'ah-ha!' moment...it wasn't immaturity per se all those years ago, it was simply the starting line. If I looked back and didn't feel a comparative sense of immaturity and shallowness, THAT would be a problem. Because it would hint at a lack of growth. And that's really my goal in all of this...growth, slowly pressing forward toward a better me, a better us. So there's absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about! It's not so important our current stationary point on the graph, but rather the direction we're headed. I think the path we're on has us moving upward and- with no comparison necessary- that leaves me satisfied. That, and the fact...that he's definitely no longer a stranger.

{PS Doesn't it kinda look like Yosh is coming at me with a windpipe or something?!!}

{PSS You're not getting sick of this sweater yet, are you?}

FORWARD MOVEMENT, PEOPLE...THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!
Of course we'll be celebrating. At home. With 4 kids. And cereal and milk. Unless one of us has a baby-sitter and surprise up their sleeve. I don't. But Yosh, you still got time...!
OH YEAH, AND HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO US!

I'm no Fashionista....

2011-12-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

...and I'm sure not a model. But a girl's got to get dressed and might as well enjoy doing it.

Christmas season = parties = getting out of a t-shirt and jeans.
Ok, busted. Maybe not the jeans part but I ditched the t-shirt and tried cleaning up the look to more than everyday casual. Wanna know another one of my unique talents? I can casualize anything. An outfit, an event, a situation. You name it, I'll casualize it. Look that word up. You'll find it's not there. Created, incorporated, and coined...by a girl named Gay.

On to the parties. Numero uno. A church dinner party.

Perhaps the animal print scarf makes it look somewhat sophisticated? {and hides the jeggings?}

Party numero dos. Work party at the bowling alley.

Well let me tell you something....if I was feeling good wearing it Wednesday night, there's no reason to not wear it Thursday night also. With different accessories of course. Whole different outfit if you ask me {and hopefully anyone who saw me both nights would completely agree...}

And can we not forget to comment on the cheerleader-like smile? You all, I never made it to that place in high school and perhaps a little glimpse of living that out comes from time to time through the smile.

Party numero tres. The after party.

A friend's 40th birthday celebration. I figured it was a little more dressy so I got out of my jeans and into my workout leggings. Are you sensing a pattern here? Must wear one piece that's already been worn at a previous party.

And after the party it's the hotel lobby....

Just kidding just kidding. A little R Kelley from back in the days just took over for a small second.

But we're back.

Hope everyone's enjoying their parties, finding something fun to wear, and feeling H-O-T in whatever it is you choose. And just remember...casual can be hot too!

Post-edit note: I've added a little box in the sidebar to ease my conscience about "not finishing conversations"! Ashley, there's the answer to where I got the stockings.

Santa Monica 4th st stairs

2011-12-15T10:49:00.000-08:00

I've only been hearing about them for next to forever.

I pulled up to the spot all fresh and peppy. I found myself in the midst of other pansies all huffing and puffing, drenched in sweat. Have these people never worked out before? We're just running a few stairs here. So, I took my place in line-
Wait wait wait. Stop right there. In line? Really? To climb stairs? For fun? This doesn't make sense.
Anyway, there I was ready to make my debut on the infamous Santa Monica 4th st stairs. And I take off, conquering those stairs one at a time. Only slowing to wait for a gap to pass the slow pokes and wishing I had some type of a horn to warn them out of my way. I went for the pass and made sure they knew they were getting passed- wishing I had a way to advertise the fact that I'm also a first timer none-the-less. I felt like yelling, "All night long baby...all night long" just to rub it in even deeper. Instead I just breathed steady and swung my arms like a sprinter. Which was probably defeating the desire to have them know I was a first-timer. Because I'm sure I looked real professional.
I made it to the top, winded but proud. Whoa whoa whoa....this wasn't the top? Follow the curve, Gay Gay. There's another set. But I'm young and fresh and peppy. Another set can't defeat me. So I regrouped as I walked to the first step and took off, admittedly as a slower pace. I reach in my bag of tricks for a survival tactic. And start counting the stairs, "1.2.3.4......" This would usually be distracting...but I reach somewhere in the 30's,- panting like a dog in heat- look up to find the finish line. Which proved to be a huge mistake. I was met with a view of stairs....that had no ending. So I slow even more but am holding on to that inkling of determination. And to the fact that I'm a first-timer. "I mean, how was I to know? This is only my first time. This is pretty good for a beginner, right?"
I shouldn't have wasted an ounce of energy hoping people knew I was a first-timer- that cocky sprint up the first half-set had first-timer written all over it.
By the time I reached the real top, jello thighs had already been achieved. Which proved to be a bit of a hiccup on getting this body back down the stairs. Walking down a steep set of stairs with NUMB legs feels anything but natural. Ripped that security blanket right out of my hands.
And to think that I had committed to doing this 3x. I'm sure it comes as no surprise to hear that by round #3 I was strategically taking my place behind the 65-year-old with heavy metal blaring from his head phones, praying I'd be able to keep up. And then if these legs gave out on me- as was a real possibility- and I fell face first that I puh-lease wouldn't bring him down with me. Prayers were answered and we all survived.

{On the way home I for real felt like I was going to throw up. I don't remember ever feeling like that after working out. Combine it with the crazy, turn-y canyon roads I was passenger on for a whole 2 minutes, and I was done in. This is us pulled over, jacket stripped bc I'm hot as a meno-pausing mama, and needing nothing less than fresh air. I heard Christy shuffling around as I was hanging my head out the window. I assumed she was checking her emails or maybe freeing her hands to kindly hold my hair back when the vomiting started. Huh uh. Shout out to a girl always looking for the next story. She thought I was getting ready to puke and ....pulled out the camera to document. Sorry to disappoint...we evaded the vomiting. And she didn't catch me w my head out the window}

The Santa Monica 4th St stairs. I finally did them.

Truth be told, they did me. And did me in.

Tell me you've found yourself in a similar predicament before........
That I'm not the only one whose blood is drenched with pride and ignorance running through the same vein...

Puppy Love

2011-12-14T12:55:00.000-08:00

Yosh: "Oh I love this girl."

Me: "A lot or a little?"

Yosh: "A lot," all sultry like.

Me: "More or less than Kaia?"

Yosh: ..................................

...........................................

...............*silence*................

I'm in a losing battle, folks.

Does the puppy love ever wear off or is it here to stay?

Tis the Season...

2011-12-13T09:00:00.000-08:00

...to start receiving the old owner's Christmas cards. Year number 3. We still have some stragglers that refuse to accept the fact that they moved. Thankfully only less than a mile away. So maybe we'll spread the Christmas spirit and once again deliver the cards to them instead of the trash. Don't judge me for being honest.

So guess what baby #4 brought? Permission to get personalized stockings to keep for the rest of our lives. For whatever reason, I wouldn't even consider getting matching monogrammed anything til the fam was complete. Please be complete. And if it's not, baby #5 don't hate me for having a mismatched stocking.

Don't you love coming up with fun little gifts for Xmas? When an idea naturally comes to me, I love it. If one doesn't... well then no one gets a fun little gift. We're hit and miss in this house. That's one thing you can depend on us for.

This year I did s'more kits. Obviously inspired by the addition of our fire pit out back. Is that a little weird? We get a fire pit, I buy you gear. Any get-togethers will come with the reminder "BYOS...bring your own s'mores stuff." {Yosh I know what you were just thinking right there...no cussin on my blog!}

And ps....If you don't get a Christmas card from us, it's probably cuz we sent it to your old address. Hope your new residents are as nice as us!

tid-bits

2011-12-12T10:55:00.000-08:00

Does 10 1/2 months qualify for 12ish months? Because I'm sure I read something very professional that said "Babies should start drinking cow's milk at 12ish months". I know, very loose language. But I went with it and am hoping I'm not jumping the gun. I wish you could have seen Kaia with her first bottle of whole milk. She took a few swigs, pulled the bottle out of her mouth, looked at it, and..... literally giggled. Capture that on film and you have a commercial that sells itself. But...I think it gave her the Diarrhea word so we're gonna hold off a bit longer.

Why is Deeter's talking so much fun right now? Well he's a great talker with a great vocabulary but....he's only 2 1/2. Which means context is usually off...which means we do a lot of laughing at/with him. Love that lately when I say, "deeeeter, I love you," he says, "Yea you do."

Porter's teacher told me that the other day he was drawing a stick figure on their discussion board. Porter got all excited and said, "I know what that is. That's a missionary......" No one knew what he was talking about...except the teacher. So he went ahead and drew on a name tag and let that little stick figure be a missionary.

So, I don't know if it is just me, but I am getting the hugest kick out of Dallin's upcoming winter performance. Take a sneak peek:

A proud day in the life of Adam Sandler. I can't imagine that when he was recording his spoof that he thought it would find it's way into mainstream public school music performances. But here it is- 2011- being sung by the masses {ok, well at least in my little town}, representing the Jewish nation. I would of never guessed that in a million years! So tell me I'm not alone....this is hi-larious, right?!!

why i blog

2011-12-09T12:14:00.000-08:00

It's a relevant question being as I've decided to move it up on the totem pole of priorities. As I read my list, I wonder why it wasn't at the top sooner.....

1)Truth be told, every since I started blogging........I subconsciously think in blog posts. Weirdest thing ever.

2) It's cheap therapy. These last couple months of consistent blogging have rid me of weight I didn't know I carried around everyday and has also infused happiness into my veins.

3) I remember a couple years ago realizing this was what I had to offer my kids and family. I don't scrapbook, I don't do great with taking candid pictures, I barely decorate for the Holidays, etc. There's a lot of things I'm not good at it. But through these notes, they'll know and understand their Mom's life better, which will in turn help them to know their childhood. Because right now, they ARE my life. Recording life is what I can offer them.

4) This is my medium for touching life; life that is all-consuming and constant and passionate and enveloping. So much so that I have trouble taking it in. And appreciating it. And remembering why it is so amazing. But I want to remember it and appreciate it and soak it up....so I write. It's the tool that allows me to reach out and touch moments... and thoughts... and insights that are whizzing past me in the blink of an eye. It provides the clarity for me to search out these moments that capture the life I'm trying to create- to hold my focus on what I choose to. To remember those brewing thoughts in this mind of mine. To make sense of problems I'm trying to solve. Writing becomes my net, to catch the beauty of life in my hand and admire it for as long as I want. And then go back a week later, a month later....and admire it again. It gifts me this time and time again.

5) I didn't get the draw for my number 1 pick... to come to Earth as a hip-hop dancer. Fortunately, choice #2 is working out alright....a writing Mom.

DO WHAT YOU LOVE. LOVE WHAT YOU DO.

APRON UP

2011-12-07T22:48:00.000-08:00

Can I just tell you it is a frozen food kind of week. I say that as if the rest of my weeks aren't like this, but truth be told, we're probably not far off from par. Maybe the difference is by Monday I already had thrown in the towel. Now don't you for one second think frozen dinner sacrifices deliciousness. Huh uh. Not necessary. I take any of these frozen dinners, add a fresh something or the other to it, and you would have thought Applebee's just delivered to your house.

First up, we got TJ's (Trader Joe's) gnocchi. They also have a cheese variety that we prefer. These things are SO good. I'm talking so good that one night when we had people over for dinner, I had made these for the kids instead of our "adult" food. Well, before the night was over all the parents were oooohhhing and aaahhhhing about how amazing these gnocchi were. Now I don't know if that has more to say about the quality {or lack of!} of the adult food or the quality of this frozen dinner...but it's a keeper. For sure.

Not to be outdone by TJ's gourmet flatbread pizza. Wild mushroom & truffle? No, I am not kidding. Luxury at your table in 6-8 minutes.

Every time alcohol starts calling my name, I reach for Jack Daniel's beef brisket, generously distributed by Costco. Microwave this for 5 minutes, throw it on a fresh hamburger bun or eat it as an open-faced sandwich on a piece of toast....either way you won't be disappointed.

Some other must-haves I'm discovering for the house. So I'll have you know that I always thought I wasn't a fan of Ranch dressing. GASP. I finally found the nerve to mention this to my avid Ranch-loving friend a couple years ago and she handled the situation very maturely. Instead of cutting off our friendship right then and there, she breathed deeply and calmly informed me that I wasn't a fan of store-bought Ranch, but that I did like restaurant Ranch. Well by golly, she was right. Don't know how she knew that about me. But in the last couple months I stumbled on a Ranch that has passed the test and become a house staple. The same friend was at my house partaking of my veggie tray and stopped dead in her tracks to get more info on this Ranch. She approved. And yes, it was store bought. And side bonus- super low calories and fat. Yea baby, drench those veggies!

This next item will become a staple....these pistachio nutmeats {really? do we have to call them nutmeats? a little unappetizing...}. Turn a salad from mediocre to out-of-this-world with just a shakey-shake from this bag. Amazing. I kid you not.

Now you would think with eating out of my freezer all week that my grocery bill was next to nothing. Incorrect. This bag FULL of chocolate did not pay for itself. And you're just looking at the top layer. Take your pick of this goodness....and BAKE. You all, I don't know what has happened to me but I feel like Betty Crocker herself has come back from the dead {is she dead?} and taken residence in MY BODY. I am doing nothing but baking this week. By choice. Which is probably why we need to eat all these frozen dinners. No time to cook, I'm baking like a mad woman.

You need 10 dozen cookies? I'm your girl. A thousand pretzel hugs? Done and done. Brownies? Reeses? More cookies? Move over and let me get my apron on. I got work to do.

{all my frozen cookie dough balls waiting to get thrown in the oven on Saturday}

Wow, all this talking about food and baking got me a little too excited. I'm going to go on ahead and calm myself down. But if you're looking for more baking and less cooking, take some of these suggestions and you'll be happy as a clam that barely cooked at all.

Birthday BUST

2011-12-07T11:15:00.000-08:00

How would I describe myself in most situations? Calm, cool, collected. One place I am NEVER those three things...the Sprint store. What is it about dealing with cell phone companies that comPLEtely sends me over the edge. Every. Single. Time. It's embarrassing. And hopeless. Please tell me you kind of feel the same?

Yesterday, I threw Yosh's iphone 4S at him. "Happy Birthday. You better like it." Why the lack of enthusiasm? Oh don't worry, Sprint had already told him what he was getting for his birthday... 5 days early. Totally busted the surprise. And all my hard work. I wasn't shocked at how it ended after everything I've been through with them these past couple weeks. Including the day before erasing a message off Yosh's voice-mail that would have ruined the surprise 6 days early instead of 5.

I racked my brain and came up with a great gift for Yosh's birthday- trade in his crappy barely working Blackberry for the Iphone. I called Sprint to see if he was eligible for an upgrade- which I knew he wasn't- but hey, it never hurts to check. Somewhere in that conversation, the lady tells me he's eligible for $150 off. Oh really? Great. I double check, and triple check, and ask her if it's noted so that when I go into the store they'll know. She says it's all in the account. See, it never hurts to ask. {Thank you, AJ, for that life lesson.}

A week and a half later I go to the store. With two babies in tow. But I've already done all the footwork so this is going to be a piece of cake. Right? A salesperson helps me right away, we go through the story, and.......he says he sees nothing like that in the account. That I will have to call. So I sit myself on the ground- still calm, with a smile on my face- go into mom mode, entertaining 2 kids while making a 20 minute phone call. In the Sprint store. To Sprint. We go through, once again, the same conversation. The guy does in fact see in the notes where the lady told me we had $150 towards a phone. Which is weird because that policy is gone but of course they will honor what she said. My sales guy is listening to this conversation. He hears what they've told me. My sales guy just needs to call account services from the store finish things off.
My guy calls and.........tells me there's nothing he can do. No, in store he cannot get me that $150 off. Can I tell you I was about to blow a gasket? Like, that quick. Cool, calm, collected to ready to EXPLODE in 2 seconds flat. What kind of a hold does Sprint have on me? OH it's going to make me CRAZY.

He literally will do nothing to remedy the situation. Doesn't even try. Doesn't suggest another avenue to make things right. He won't even look me in the eye. Just stares off and kinda says sorry. So I leave FIRED UP. And I'm kinda shocked. I thought I had taken all the necessary steps to avoid this disaster. {Yes it was a disaster and don't try to tell me otherwise even tho we're only talking about a phone}. Pretty quick, I'm on the phone with customer service demanding a manager. And that's when Brad enters my life. Sweet Brad who knows how to calm a completely erratic, enraged, WRONGED woman. We went through the same conversation AGAIN, he asked a couple more questions and before I knew it, this sanity-saver was telling me for $45 I could buy out the rest of my contract and get my upgrade. Bottom line, my $650 iphone was now only going to cost me $250. What would you do to save $400? Apparently, a near-heart attack is valued at a low $400 to me. PULL IT TOGETHER, GAY. Although I really want to say PULL IT TOGETHER, SPRINT. And maybe I did tell them they needed to do that....more than once...

Welcome back, Saturdays

2011-12-06T14:38:00.000-08:00

For fear of messing with any Elf voodoo, this is where Henry spent the rest of his day. The boys found him this morning on our doorknob, which I thought was absolutely brilliant. Apparently, his gymnastic skills weren't quite up to par and pretty fast he found himself face first on the ground. Man up, Henry....we need a STRONG elf in our house!

Great news...starting this week we have our Saturdays back! And Thursday nights! And Friday nights!!! Yes, football and basketball season have come to an end.

It was sweet- the coaches handed out the trophies individually and said something about that player.

Basketball:

Porter- to our strong player who was making shots from way back out by the end of the season.

Dallin- to our player who did it all- dribbled, shot, rebounded.

Football:

Porter- this young man was not even on the team at the start of the year. He started coming to practice, even if his brother couldn't make it, and turned into a good player and someone that was important to the team.

Dallin- this was someone that I've been with for three seasons {right then Dallin stood up to take the stage!}. He's always been a critical player and someone I've been able to depend on to get plays done for me.

One thing about getting older...I love seeing and really grasping the details and sacrifice and recognizing all the little work that goes into making this world go around. Love these adults that take a few hours out of their week to make my kids feel like a million bucks. They've been right all along...it really takes a village.

Before our school gets fired!

2011-12-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

So this here incident... I want to give more details of what happened, what I did, and why.

Kindergarten dismisses the students to go to their after-school STAR class and they literally walk 20 ft to some tables where a STAR teacher is waiting. Simultaneously, parents are picking up their kindergartners and walking out a gate. Porter got dismissed to his class. He did STAR all last trimester, so he knows the drill. It was the first day of the new trimester for his skateboarding class. He saw that most all the other kids had skateboards and he didn't. He was embarrassed, and rather than talk to a teacher, he hit the road to avoid the confrontation.

After he came home and the shock wore off and the actuality of the situation sunk in, I asked more questions to make sure I was prepped with the full story. Due to the nature of it all, for better or worse his one-sided story was going to be the bulk of information. So after that, I came up with my plan.

Which obviously started at home. This was a huge indication of Porter's lack of confidence, which I've always been worried about, but this solidified that I had reason to worry. Imagine never having walked home alone and knowing that you shouldn't but still choosing to do that rather than talking to an adult because you feel out of place. That's a problem. And that's the main problem. He consciously made a decision to go against the rules and I really feel like the fault fell on him. He didn't 'get in trouble', but we helped him understand why he shouldn't do that and what he can do in the future. We're going to take a more pro-active approach is giving him opportunities to gain confidence and use his bravery to do HARD CRAZY things for good. Instead of just for running away. We made sure he knew our phone numbers and obviously he already knew our address and how to get home!

I called and talked to the STAR director who was obviously mortified. They had him marked absent and didn't follow up on absences that day which is protocol. I then talked to Porter's teacher. Before telling him what Porter had done, I asked him about the previous day's dismissal. He said he released him to STAR and even specified the class, which meant- according to my detective skills- he clearly remembered. I then told the teacher what happened and he about passed out as he saw his family, his living, and welfare flash before him. At that point, the STAR director joined me and I addressed my issues with the hole in the transition process. I talked strongly and confidently {without addressing Porter's responsibility} but without completely blaming them for the situation. I didn't 'let them have it' or fly off the handle.

So why did I take this approach? A couple of key reasons. While the school does not hold the kids' hands every step of the way, they had a program that was functioning rather well. All the years in operation, I'm guessing this is the first run-away case. Porter is in kindergarten, not pre-school. I think expectations along with shown actions indicate most Kindergartners are capable of navigating that 20 feet alone. And if they don't have the ability {which is different from choosing not to}, then I personally don't think they're ready for Kinder. Secondly, I was not going to wring the school's neck in front of my child for HIS poor decision. I think that sends a terrible message. Like I said, I firmly made them aware of their fault in the system but I'm a big believer in ownership and responsibility. I think it would have been a horrible precedence to show Porter that he can make decisions on his own but his parents will act as a buffer and blame someone else when it turns out to be a poor decision. The flip side of both points- expecting the school to hold my child's hand every step of the way and blaming the school for Porter not doing something that he's proven capable of doing the previous 3 months- are evidence of a growing problem...youth gaining independence. I have a saying in regards to this issue- "The older they are, the harder they fall." I'm hoping to help my kids avoid some of those bigger pitfalls by learning at a young age to be independent and responsible and take ownership for THEIR actions. I will help them along the way and provide them with all the love and support in the world but I have no intention of carrying them when they can walk on their own and acting as a crutch. This was as good as time as any to teach that lesson.

The school also needed to take responsibility for THEIR part. Within 2 days an email was sent out remedying the problem. It was taken care of that quickly and efficiently without making a huge deal of it.

And, just on an ending note, after all was said and done, I was super proud that little Porter Pistol Pope knew how to navigate his way home. These past three years of stopping at the same driveways, having the kids look both ways, pushing the buttons, learning to follow the traffic signals....it all paid off. I didn't think he was capable to be honest. I would have never administered the test this early and this doesn't grant him permission to EVER do this again in the near future but in case of an emergency, he's equipped and that makes me confident and proud. And as parents, isn't our ultimate goal to prepare them for productive, positive, independent adulthood? That's definitely my goal and shows we're making forward progress in that area.

Ok, I'm stepping down from my soap box. But I would genuinely love your opinion/perspective on all this!

And so it begins

2011-12-04T20:20:00.000-08:00

We officially rang in the Holidays this weekend. For year #1 of treat deliveries, we took a careful two-part strategy:

1) Preemptive delivery. We got round 1 of the goodies out while palettes were fresh, before people were inundated with Christmas treats and ready to throw-up rather than happily ingest. Hopefully round 2 follows suit.

2) 'Mini' means more. When was the last time you ate a King size Snickers by yourself? When was the last time you ate 5....6.....7....mini Snickers in one sitting? Case and point.

Our plate contained some of our favorites to make combined with favorites we've received:

*Homemade Reese's

*Rolo brownies

*Andes mint brownies

*Cake batter cookies with Holiday chip frosting

*Pretzel Hugs

The Christmas lights are hung with a new addition this year. The new addition reminds me of the first person I spooned with in the Hansen family. This is the same person I texted about Dr. Pepper 10 only to learn that she, too, was drinking one in that very moment. {Yes, we actually text about beverages from time to time. Nerdy but oh so true.} But what takes the cake that we were meant to be happened a few years back. Our little fam was visiting in Utah. It was late at night and we were on the phone. She was driving down I-15, I was in the Heber Canyon. We both abruptly stopped our conversation with an outburst...."I JUST SAW A SHOOTING STAR!" We were too stunned to even jinx each other. On two different sides of the mountain, during one small conversation, we shared the same shooting star that sealed the deal.

This one's for you, Miss Chelsi J. Love ya!

Summation

2011-12-02T06:55:00.000-08:00

Oh I think I survived. You know, sometimes nothing feels as good as alone. And tonight's one of those nights. We've been very much hour by hour here at the Hansen home today. Which implies that things could be a lot worse. So I'm not complaining. But I would like to thank Pandora's Christmas station and some beautifully decorated Christmas homes for giving us a peaceful and muy memorable 25 minutes. Deeter's commentaries added to the night, "Oh MOM, this is an adorable Christmas house." "Oh MOM, I lub the red balls." Thankfully Yosh already got ours up this year and they look awesome as pictured below.

Totally kidding. We're still holding on to our one strand of pumpkin and ghost lights that never got plugged in and look absolutely ridiculous. But I would love if our house looked like this.

Dallin B was saying his prayers tonight and was going on and on about our friend- whose name I didn't catch- who came to visit and we're so happy bc we haven't seen him in so long and we've missed him etc etc. I finally had to stop him mid-prayer and ask him who the heck he was talking about. "Henry." Oh yea, by some miracle our elf on the shelf arrived this morning at 6:45 just as I heard the kids stretching. Yes, Henry we have missed you. In that same prayer, Dallin prayed that "mom can have help dealing with the kids". That he knows it's hard even though he's not a mom. And he prayed about Dad being strict. Even though moments before him and Porter both said they love me but they love daddy more. And then somehow came back with the consensus that they loved us the same. The charity tie didn't do much for me. But it's kind of funny being a mom and how protective we are of others' relationships- I was almost relieved to hear them say they loved their daddy more. Part of me hopes that's true. Is it because I have no control over that relationship? I don't know.

Anyways, my final thoughts on the funeral that I wanted to get down. At the beginning of last week, as it became apparent my aunt was in her final days and her family was literally gathered around her 24:7 waiting for the final good-bye, my mind kept drifting to a poem that I fell in love with as a young freshman at Ricks College. For the first time though, I felt the words of this poem as I was doing my normal day-to-day chores- making breakfast, shipping kids to school, giving baths, laughing with my husband, etc- and my close family was experiencing heartbreak and anguish deeper than they ever had before. I'm intrigued with the way life jigsaws together.

I was also aware of the heightened feelings of love and togetherness and closeness at the funeral. How those things that mattered most in life were at the forefront. I was thinking how these were feelings that already existed; they weren't newly created because of the situation. How would it be if we could keep those feelings and thoughts and priorities at the top of the pile instead of letting them sit at the bottom of the stack collecting dust, being expedited to the front only in extreme situations? We'd probably all tweak quite a few decisions and be happier people.

Gretchen was never part of a one-time-world-changing event. So it was very satisfying to look at her life as a whole and see what 59 years of slow, steady, quiet work had produced. And very inspiring. I summed up the overriding message that I walked away with because of her example: DO GOOD. BE GOOD. INFUSE GOOD.

Have a fabulous weekend...I'm sure we all need it!

{Kaia Marie and her namesake. Taken 5/6/11 at Brandon and Kristen's wedding dinner.}

Holy Heart Attack

2011-12-01T09:36:00.000-08:00

Imagine my shock yesterday when Porter came walking through the front door at 2:00 in the afternoon....ALONE.
All I could do was look at him. And look at him again to make sure it was REALLY him. "Porter," I said, almost questioningly.
He kinda did a giggle and said, "What?" with his cute little smile. Crystal clear...he was nervous.
"How did you get home?"
"I walked."
"You WHAT? With who? Why?" I was confused, shocked, and about every other discombobulated emotion. This wasn't making sense at all.
Come to find out, Porter had left after school, before his enrichment class and WALKED HOME ALONE. Which means crossing a major major street. ALONE. We're talking about the boy that when we say, "Porter, look for cars," he looks at the brick wall and declares, "Nope, none are coming." This is the child that gets lost when he's standing right next to me. And somehow this same child managed to get himself home, and home safely. Thank goodness.

Scary day for me. I think some angels were walking him home. Or he's more mature than I give him credit for. Either way, you can imagine that many chit-chats ensued. And many hugs and kisses.

In no Particular Order....

2011-11-30T12:39:00.000-08:00

Word searches are competing with sports and the Wii for the boys' free time lately. Restaurant etiquette is being transferred to our own dining room table...they are wanting to do the word searches while they're waiting on their food and eating. {No kids, you actually have to help set the table and talk to your dang family during the meal...SORRY!}

Have you ever read "The Glass Castle"? I bought a rotisserie chicken for dinner last night and once again found myself wishing I had her mad chicken picking skills. I feel like I leave way too much meat on the bird. PS If you haven't read that book, do it. I think you'll like it.
So lately we've just been having a raw veggie plate sitting around. You know, for snacks, dinner, just whenever. Now we don't force them on the kids- we just have the plate conveniently present. And guess what? They're eating them. And loving them. And so are we... Shoot. Maybe I am "one of those moms." Whatever that means. {But let's be honest...more veggies=more room for Oreos.}

Loved yesterday that Yosh gave into my incessant begging for the past 6 1/2 years and finally called in sick to work ~~to unpack our 7 suitcases and just hang out with his sweet wife~~ ~~all day~~ because he was throwing up. Oh I could get used to having that man around all the time. Even if he's sick. Even if he's not unpacking. Isn't it nice just having another human being around?

I am not saying anything. I am not insinuating anything. I am simply stating facts. And in case KARMA is in a bad mood today, I am knocking on wood just in case. Yosh, Dallin, Porter, Deeter, and Kaia have all fallen victim to the stomach bug. I have not.

Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero. ~Marc Brown

2011-11-29T10:58:00.000-08:00

After having two kids, somehow I formed an automated response to the much-asked question..."Are you done?" And the answer was something like this: "If it were just for me, I'd be done. BUT...I feel like there's something siblings have to offer each other that I just can't, so I'm going to keep going." To be honest, I almost looked at it as a gift I was giving them. The opportunity of built-in support, advice, love, and friendship.

Thursday afternoon, Dallin came running to the door- screaming- with blood dripping from his face. His brother was right on his heels. We brought him in and doctored him up. Porter sat quietly by his side the whole while, observing but not willing to leave. After all was said and done and they were both still just sitting, I was looking at this the scene from a different room. In real time- right then and there, not later in reflection- I was in awe of the bond these two boys share. In awe, because although it's something we can encourage, it's not something Yosh and I can give to them or force on them. It is their relationship to decide what to do with. A transparent moment showed thus far they've decided to develop, nurture, and protect it.

Throughout the last few years, my mom has made trips to NM on a more than regular basis to check in on her little sister. The last six weeks, she just stayed. Despite the sadness and heaviness of the situation, there was no other place my mom was willing to be. The young summers of driving a million miles to visit each other, the thousands of phone calls, the hours of chit-chatting....it was all coming to an end. AJ's life paused to solidify the depth of this relationship. The uniqueness was reciprocated as Gretchen was surrounded my many who loved and cared for her, but for the more personal care-taking, she was only willing to let my mom be the care-taker. The end truly represented the culmination of what they had become to each other.

My sweet grandma sat at the rosary in Gretchen's honor, graciously accepting the comfort so many were trying to offer. As Uncle Kip would say in the eulogy...."No parent should have to bury their daughter." And she felt the weight of this unfortunate circumstance, even at 90 years old, loathing the loss. In the side door, located right by where she was sitting, her sister unexpectedly came walking in. As Alby caught sight of her, her raw reaction- back all of a sudden straight, dropped jaw, eyes big- confirmed that real comfort had arrived. As she sat down right next to Alby, and their heads naturally tilted in until they touched, and their hands locked, Alby was now truly able to let someone else share her burden.

"Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister?" ~Alice Walker

Those words I've said so many times- how siblings have something only they can offer each other- were spoken with an innocent shallowness. This week has shed some of that innocence and carved depth in that theory.

We need each other.

Road trippin

2011-11-28T17:59:00.000-08:00

Hello 75 degree weather. Yes yes, I missed you too. And thanks for waiting for me. I thought our paths might not cross, but I was pleasantly surprised.

We're home from our whirlwind 6 days away and it was an amazing 6 days. Conventional? By no stretch of the imagination. Amazing? In a lot of ways, it really was. We saw almost all our families and watched life come full circle by attending both a baby blessing and a funeral.

Before I get to the meat of this post, I need to start with a quick aside. Because I thought this only happened in movies. You know where the man leaves on a whim and chases his lover 6 hours by car, stops at a random pay phone an hour outside of town to pinpoint her exact location, finds her, wraps his arms around her and manifests his love, as if his actions hadn't already done just that. But this was my life Friday night. At 11 pm I got a phone call from someone, answered it and didn't recognize the voice on the other end. Must of just been context. Because it was my husband. I had left at 10 am to drive down to New Mexico. After he got our sick kids settled with his mom, he picked up and got on the road- phoneless.

Did you know pay phone's still exist? And more so, did you know people still use them? It was romantic.

But let's talk about road trips. Beverages beverages beverages. Drink as much as you want on a road trip. I found the mother of all beverage stations. Let's analyze this picture. Mind you I only took a picture of half the sodie selections. But please draw your attention to the left of the beverage dispenser. We have what I would like to term the "lid release". Each release is clearly labeled by size. You open it up and it nearly hands you ONE lid. Not ten that you have to fumble with and try to pull apart. Just one. Because you only need one. Logical. And to the left of the lid release is the straw slots. Once again, clearly sorted and placed with the correlating cup/lid size. Maverick- I love you. And I need more of you in my life. You made my road trip memorable.

What road trip is complete without getting pulled over at least once? I'm flying through this small town and out loud, I say, "I better slow down. This is the town-" {rudely insert sirens}{insert ticket for going 51 in a 40}{insert mercy- I was going 68 in a 40}"Mom, let me finish my story. I better slow down. This is the town where my MTC roommate lived. She always said, "Wellington, UT- you know, the town everyone gets a ticket in on their way to Lake Powell." Well, I wasn't on my way to Powell, but I KNOW Wellington, UT.

This is where things get AWESOME. Yosh and I drove back to UT in separate cars. At our first pit stop, I was all excited. "Yosh, guess what I've been doing in the car?" He didn't skip a beat..."Talking to yourself." {Which FYI, he would only snap that off so fast because HE always talks to himself.} "No, Yosh. Even better. Voice memo. I was talking to myself AND recording it." I have found a new BFF. Many chit-chats ahead for us. I need to figure out how to rig this thing to go on runs with me...

Got to love a good road trip. And the thinking that goes on. And I'll have you know I voice memo'd many a thoughts that I'm looking forward to getting down on the bloggy. I can't wait til I have the time to write, write, write this week. Stay tuned....

Remembering

2011-11-24T15:36:00.000-08:00

Spontaneity always seems to be the secret ingredient that elevates normalacy to the higher level. The addition of this guest was definitely a sponataneous decision.

It's been a long time since I've spent Thanksgiving with Grandma Alby. Circumstances were such this year that last minute, she rode up from New Mexico with my mom to pass this Holiday with our family- such a special gift for all her grandchildren. And I don't think she quite realizes that.

Last night as I went to help Alby inside the house, I looked at her face, trying to read her thoughts. But as I opened her door, she eased any worry with what has become her signature greeting..."Well, gabey, this old gray mare isn't what it used to be." She followed that with her classic head-shaking laugh before she embraced me with a hug. She has just come off a super hard week- maybe one of the most emotionally-draining ones to date- and has been consumed with sadness. Yet once again, my grandma reminded me of an important principle of life- happiness is a choice. Something I've always admired in her as I've watched her face the lemons life has thrown at her. She has chosen happiness.

I want to be like her.

I'm so thankful for the relationships I have in my life and the examples they serve to me.

Yosh, at some point your boys are going to not only want to be like you, but want to know how to become like you. And your little baby girl- she's going to wonder who this man was as her young dad and want to know why she needed to steal your heart and keep it clutched in the palm of her hand. And I don't want to deprive these kids of those treasures. So today I'm going to write about you. Because recently YOU are who I have really been thankful for.

I've been thankful:
~As you have stopped at the grocery store to pick up 'a few things' because you noticed we were running low.
~As you've pro-actively jumped in to help get the kids ready to go out the door or go down for bed.
~As you've made a concerted effort to tell me how beautiful I am- and then told me again until I listened.
~As you've turned everything with an on/off button to off, to spend time with me- whether playing Boggle {and getting your booty kicked. Well at least sometimes!}, helping on a project, or- probably a personal favorite- just talking. You're showing me I'm more interesting than anything else for a few minutes.
~As you've wrapped your arms around me more and paused- really paused- to give me a genuine kiss. Making me realize that I more often push away than let that little extra love in my life. You're teaching me to slow down for moments that count.

Boys, here's a secret about us ladies...it's the small things that make us happy. Why? Well, because you can gift us these small things every single day. The big things are great, too. But those only come every now and then. We want to remember to fall in love with you more often than just every now and then. And your dad is giving you more and more of an example of what the small things are.

And baby girl, I owe you a lot. Your dad is without question the main male influence in your life. And not just because he is your dad- it's because you have appointed him as such. Every time he walks in the room, you twist your sweet little head with a smile in place until your eyes connect with his. And if needs be, you scoot your little self over to him until you find his feet and can force that same smile on him. He is your role model because you want him- and no one else- to fill that role. And you know what? Because you have stretched his heart more than he thought possible, he in turn is loving me more, so that you have the example of what it means to really be loved. He loves you that much. And I love being loved!
Thankful for the man in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving.

another first

2011-11-23T10:32:00.000-08:00

view full image

"First time skiers. Good luck, boys. "

Does Porter look happy or what? We're throwing him and Dallin to the dogs. Or just sending them to ski school. Hopefully their warm blood adjusts to cold temps and they get lost in the world of flying down the mountains.

My goal is- in 5 years- to be able to do this as a fam. There's a lot of things that need to come together to make that happen, but.... this is step 1. And until it's my turn, I'll be in this nice, warm house making cookies and sipping on hot chocalate.

more food, less cold

2011-11-21T13:00:00.000-08:00

Well somehow posting about returns was all I needed to kick me in gear, make a list and check it off. I got two big boxes out of the house on Friday, one out the door this morning, and am almost on my way to Gap and Nordstrom for the last of them. {Well except one from like 2 months ago...} Done and almost done. Welcome home, clear conscience.

Glad that's off my list because Thanksgiving week has begun. And don't for a second discount how important this Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are in getting prepared for the big day. It's time to start steadily increasing your food intake, stretching that tummy little by little so that by Thursday... it is ready to be filled to capacity- a new and improved MAX capacity.

Now as a side note I'd suggest also upping your cardio during these days. If for nothing else, do it to help your bowel system out, making sure it stays nice and regular. There could be nothing worse than a bloated stomach to frustrate your Thanksgiving indulging. A friendly piece of advice.

This fattening up comes at a perfect time anyway. I'm feeling like I'm going to need a couple extra pounds for winter insulation. Can I confess I'm a bit nervous for our upcoming travels to confront my 5 days of REAL winter for the year? I've called my sister with questions about how to dress a baby in cold weather, I'm stressing out on packing all this winter clothing {the little we have} into suitcases, I'm wondering if I'll venture out of the house at all or simply hibernate. I am a wuss and still haven't detailed my plan of attack about overcoming cold weather. But it will be good times. Family and food always pull through as the compensating factor.

{our last get together. Port Orchard 2010. photo by cassi pope}

It really should be Easy....

2011-11-18T12:16:00.000-08:00

My life coach- aka my friend who can organize my life much better than me- whipped my time effectiveness into shape and forced Amazon on me as a more consistent part of my life. She said I must start ordering diapers, toilet paper, deodorant, gifts, etc...everything I would go to Target for must now come from Amazon. So in addition to my other Amazon staples, I added her must-to's to the list. Throw on top of that our recent home projects, plus the Holidays, plus 4 growing kids and I swear our front room sometimes looks like UPS. As is the case now.

This can clutter things up a bit as somehow the shipping time takes away from the excitement and urgency of these must-have-now items,and I tend to get to opening boxes and putting stuff away much slower than if I had just gone to the store. That being said, I think it's definitely the more efficient choice. At least in theory. But there's one factor that throws the theory for a loop, the thing that drives me absolutely crazy and makes me NEVER want to do online shopping. You guessed it. The returns. I have major major aversion to confronting the return process. Call me lazy, which I won't deny for one second, but I'll tell you what there is some part of my brain that turns off at the mention of "return" and does not know how to function. It seems more than overwhelming to repackage odd-shaped objects into the box that even the professionals barely had fitting in, get the correct return labels, find out which delivery place to get them to, and then somehow trying to balance the big old boxes and the babies as I finally walk into the store. There's got to be an easier way. And I'm sure there is but somehow I'm still trapped in 'filling the ink to use a typewriter instead of using a computer' when it comes to this. So this is where I'm at. I have a pile of returns and- let's be honest- a pile of 'needed-to-be-returned-but-missed-the-deadline'. And it sometimes keeps me up at night. Please don't remind me these are small problems compared to others. I know this, but these are my problems.

My goal this weekend it to attack each and every last one of these boxes, get my piled-up returns out the door {poor Yosh thinks he doesn't have anything going on this weekend...SURPRISE!}, get our Christmas decor up minus the tree and outside lights, get all Christmas shopping for out-of-towners done, and maybe even cook a meal. And drink a lot of Diet Coke. With lime from my very own lime tree. We'll see which one of these things rolls over to next weeks to-do list as it has done week after week after week....

Vida, you are my...Vida

2011-11-17T12:47:00.000-08:00

The place where my whole paycheck goes every week.......

OH WAIT.....I don't get a paycheck.

SORRY, YOSH!

Gym Woes

2011-11-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

I did two things differently at the gym yesterday than i normally do. 1) I ran with music. 2) I wore a t-shirt instead of a tank top. Who knew these two small, insignificant changes to my routine could cause so much inner turmoil.

1) I recently indulged and got an iPhone (just the 4, people. No Siri in my life.) So I'm loving having Pandora at my fingertips and that was reason enough to invite music on my little treadmill run. Believe it or not, I usually run with nothing but my breathing to keep me company. Well, I cued up my Fugee radio station and got to running. And I was loving it. Enough so that I was getting these urges to break out in song and harmonize with my girl, Lauryn Hill. And let's not act like I can sing. Not that it matters- you just can't be doing that at the gym. Leave the grunting, moaning, and singing at home bc no one wants to hear it. And then that one song comes on...."You, you got what I need, but you say he's just a friend, but you say he's just a friend. OH BABY you...." You know the one. And how can you not sing along to this? I'm trying to just mouth the words but every now and then my vocal chords get hold of one those words and lets it escape. Before I know it, I'm exerting as much energy to stifle my singing as I am to running. A lot of work running with music.

2) So I'm a little embarrassed to share this confession but here it goes. So I HATE having my armpits covered when I work out. Drives me crazy. I can FEEL the heat increasing, the sweat gathering, and it's trapped, has no where to go. Which is why I have a strict 'tank-top only' policy for working out. How in the world did I talk myself out of it yesterday? I don't know but I threw on a super light V-neck tee and was out the door. Well I get a mile or so into my run and I'm starting to feel border-line schizophrenic. I'm having the urge to rip my clothing off, only to be compared to the one time I was tricked into natural child birth and had the same urge. I was just a yanking at the hospital garb trying to get NAKED. I was that hot and desperate. You know your mind's not quite in the right place when you reach that level. So that's where I found myself yesterday. Remember last post about not taking a stance? Well I'm about to take a stance- I don't like girls wearing just their sports bra at the gym. I think it's unnecessary. Keep it classy. On with the story. I find myself in a predicament. I'm about to lose my dang mind with this t-shirt yet it goes against "me" to take my shirt off. But I'm desperate and can focus literally on nothing else other than FREEING MY ARMPITS. So the shirt had to go. I at least left it draped around my neck, hanging over my bra and some of the tum-tum. But no doubt I was bare backing it, sides exposed, and let's be honest...a good part of the stomach. I was essentially one of "those" girls for a good 15 minutes. But drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. Do forgive me. I was out of my mind. I am more recommitted than ever to my tank tops.

Lesson learned. I must still be traumatized by the whole situation...couldn't get myself to my favorite class this morning. Think I must still be hiding my face....and my back....and my tummy.

Who are you?

2011-11-15T10:56:00.000-08:00

I was out for dinner the other night with my friend and was dying laughing when she described herself in her own words........"Often wrong. Never uncertain." Why is this so funny? Like with most humor, it's derived from truth and this is a girl who sees life in black and white and presents everything she says as FACT. Which is why I'm often hammering her for an ~~opinion~~ fact on any and every subject I have a question on.

Now how would I describe my own self? It would probably go a little something like this, ............"Always uncertain. Next to never wrong. Why? Because I take a stance on....well, almost nothing." Oh yeah and probably finish that up with, "Peace. Love. Do your thing." Coming from a girl who undoubtedly sees the world in ...gray. How did this happen? Aren't you supposed to be more sure of more things the older you get? Well somehow the opposite is happening to me. The older I get the more I think that life is summed up- rather than in right and wrong, black and white- that different decisions yield different outcomes and these outcomes fill different niches in life, ya know? So maybe take a look at the path you're decision making is taking you and decide if you want to continue on that ride or change the route. That's how I look at things.

How do you view it all? Are you a black and white, all or nothing kind of person? Are you nothing but shades of gray? Is there an exception for everything? How would you describe yourself? Just try, it's kinda fun/funny.

Now the other thing I love about this friend was her follow up comment. She was all, "I'll be the first to say 'scratch that idea I had before. I've changed my mind." Meaning, don't hold her to any of her ~~opinions~~ facts because she is an ever-evolving thinker. And you know what? I think that is what holds me back from taking a side on issues- I feel like I'm making a forever decision that has to hold up...well, for forever.

You know that saying "YOU HAVE TO STAND FOR SOMETHING OR ELSE YOU'LL FALL FOR ANYTHING"? At this point in my life, consider me on the ground crumbled to next to nothing. BUT in thinking about all of this, I'm considering taking more stands. At the risk of being wrong. Or at the risk of allowing myself just a momentary stance. ALWAYS open to changing my opinion next month, next week, or more likely....tomorrow. We'll see how it goes. But always keep at the forefront......"PEACE. LOVE. DO YOUR THING." That's me.

DeeDee Lukey

2011-11-14T13:07:00.000-08:00

Wow someone hook me up with some professional grade earplugs because Deeter is L.O.U.D. loud. Now I'll admit that there are many times that I find this characteristic charming, endearing, and down-right funny, but 7 am is not one of those times. "Moooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmm where did my uh-oh {binki} go?" "Mooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmm I can't find my uh-oh. You come help me?" And put this on repeat until I finally take the pillow off my head, surrender to the yells, and get my big booty out of bed and moving. Gone are the days when he hung out in his crib for a good hour after he woke up, allowing me to get many a things done. No, not just extra sleep. I'm talking dressed, breakfast made, lunches made, and then haul him out of the crib {unless Dallin had already beat me to it}. He has learned that loudness gets results. Which is why he's employed this tactic both in the mornings and after naps.

I must confess this isn't a foreign yell at all. It has an all-too familiar ring to it. I remember laying in my bed at a young 19-years-old just a hollering, "MOOOOOMMMMMMM." When AJ finally responded to my incessant calls, she was usually met with a, "Can you puh-lease bring me a glass of water?" It was endearing, ya'll. Worked like a charm every time as she gave me that smile and the exasperated, "GAbey." But every time she reappeared with some coldy water for me. Now admittedly 19 might be a bit old to be causing that kind of ruckus but I'd argue that 2 years old is too young.

SIMMER DOWN, DEETZ. POR FAVOR. YOU HAVE THE REST OF YOUR LIFE TO BOSS ME AROUND.