We've been playing with our new camera-- here's some of the stuff we did this week:
Doug at the park during some of the fantastic fall days last week.
Emalee decorating the tree in her room.
Mike decorating his tree.
One of the "Great Balls of Fire" that I found and hung in place of my flower baskets.
Our house all lit up. This is the first time we've hung lights outside for 10 years. Layne did it because he felt guilty for not carving pumpkins this year with the kids. The lights are his way of making it up. And because he needed to clean out the gutters anyway.
Mikey running the ball in our annual Thanksgiving Turkey Bowl. The Bearss kicked butt. Again.
Here's me going up for a pass from Layne. This is the play where the ball hit me in the nose and I tried not to cry. There's NO CRYING IN FOOTBALL, even two-hand touch.
Mike playing in the leaves. I love his expression here.
Em in the leaves.
Doug taking a rest from the 30 seconds of raking he managed.

Black (And Blue) Friday

The other night, I saw a pretty disturbing episode of some crime drama on t.v. I remember thinking as I watched it that it's a good thing this is just crazy fiction and that people aren't really depraved monsters. Unfortunately I changed my mind about that today. Why? It's called Black Friday.

My sisters love the mayhem of the biggest shopping day of the year. I have joined them once or twice at around 8:00 a.m., long after the carnage has ceased. They always try to get me to come and I always say that I will, if I feel like getting up at Oh-Dark-Thirty. Hadn't happened yet. Until today.

Due to my unfortunate eating of too much dinner and then playing too much football (did I mention that my sister and I are a little competitive?), I got very little sleep last night. I was awake at 4 am anyway, so I thought I'd see what it's all about.

The number of cars on the road shocked me. When I pulled into the rainy Wal-Mart parking lot, I knew I was in trouble. I parked somewhere in Indiana and ran into the store in the rain.

When I got through the door, it was like I had entered a war zone. Some guy was standing there handing out maps. Groups of women in battle-mom fatigues (track pants and hoodies-- at least I was dressed correctly) were standing around with grease pencils and walkie-talkies making attack plans. I felt like I'd just stepped into Faluja.

They knew where to go and what to do. I had no clue where to start. I knew that my sisters where somewhere in the "hot zone", but they could have been anywhere between the $4 pajamas and the $399 flat panel big screens. I started to sweat.

All of the war booty was wrapped in cellophane and guarded by an unfortunate Wal-Mart operative. Crazy people were standing around with their hands on the piles, waiting for the 5 o'clock bell. Every minute or so, an announcement came over the loud speaker counting down to lift off and stirring up the crowd to near frenzy level. I knew I was out-planned, out-manned and generally out of luck. I camped next to the $4 track suits and hunkered down.

I've never seen anything so crazy as the moment when the bell went off. People grabbed as many $2 DVDs as they could get their hands on. (Do you really need 18 copies of August Rush?) A group of 30 women fought over 10 Kitchen Aid Mixers and nearly smothered a 70 year old woman who had the nerve to grab two.

I grabbed some fleece lined slippers, a hoodie and some stuff for my boys and decided to bail-- most of the stuff I wanted was at Target anyway. I got in line and watched in amazement as the organized units of women ran their battle plans. One would stand in the line with two carts and the others would run back and forth hauling in the loot. My armful of crap was pitiful in comparison. When I heard them announce that anyone with less than 20 items could go to the service desk, I ran, but I didn't need to. I was the only one with such a lame load. I left quickly with my head hung in shame.

To make too long a post a little shorter, I'll just say that I did a little better at Target. I had to stand in line for 45 minutes in the cold, but it gave me time to make a plan. It also gave me time to gather my troops and get a strategy. We got most of the stuff we wanted, stood in the check out lines for about an hour, tried to fight off all of the hosers who were butting in line (lost some of those battles), and made some new standing-in-line-together comrades.

I was home before my family even woke up. I fought hard for my $200 worth of Christmas shiz. I saved about $100 all told I think. Next time I'm going to pay my sister the $100 to get my stuff for me and I'm staying in bed.

Think to Thank

Did you know that the words "think" and "thank" have the same etymology? Originally, they had the same root word which meant to feel. I've been thinking (haha) that it is significant that our ancient English anscestors associated thinking and thanking-- perhaps they knew something that we have forgotten. . .

The Red Zone

Before I decided to get healthy, I knew absolutely nothing about exercise or how my body worked. I figured if I was huffing and puffing, that was good enough.

Since then, I've done a lot of reading and research and I know the whole spiel about aerobic / anaerobic exercise. I have a heart monitor and I know how to use it. However, I've developed my own exertion scale which seems to be at least as effective as my heart monitor, and it doesn't make me sweat under my bra.

Level 1: (we're talking under 120 beats per minute) I call this the "You-need-to-kick-it-into-gear-here-you're-not-doing-much-good" zone. It's way too easy to spend time in this zone when I'm exercising with friends. It's slightly better than sitting on the couch. Slightly.

Level 2: (130-150) This is the Awesome zone. This is when it feels like I am flying and I could go for pretty much the whole day, barring crazy hills or a stiff booty. I can still talk at this stage, but have to catch my breath every once in a while.

Level 3: (150-165) No Woman's Land. At this point I'm riding a little too hard for comfort or sustainability, but we're not in danger yet. I can stay in this area long enough to kick Calli's butt up the golf course road. (I spend more time than I should in this zone when Layne's riding in front of me and I'm trying to keep up.) Silly Wabbit.

Level 4: (170+) This zone has no name, other than the RED ZONE. Not red because of danger or stop or any of the other things that the color often signifies, but because that's the color of the spots I see when I get to this point. A classic symptom of this zone is a slightly metallic taste in my mouth-- I think that might have something to do with parts of my lungs exploding from the exertion. Blood is full of iron and I'm pretty sure that's what I'm tasting.

I know, that sounds terrible, and it is. Nothing that gets you that close to vomitting can be good. However, there is this incredible feeling that comes about a minute after you get out of the Red Zone that makes it all worth it. The beauty is that you are usually descending by that point, so the anaerobic endorphins combined with the exhiliration of the descent-- well, if I wrote what it's most like, your internet filter would probably block this page.

If I would have known what a buzz I could get on a bike, I would have picked it up years ago. . .

All Good Things...

One of the changes I was referring to a couple of days ago happened on Sunday. The Relief Society Presidency I'd been serving in as secretary was released. It needed to happen (one of us is expecting a new baby and it's NOT me!)but it was still bittersweet.

This was one of those presidencies where everything just clicked. I will dearly miss serving with these wonderful women.

Well, two of them, anyway. The 1st counselor was called as the President, and she kept me in as the secretary. I am excited about the new presidency, but I have to admit I'm a little apprehensive as well. It's hard when you've had things so good, to move on to something unknown.

There are reasons for everything-- sometimes they are apparent and sometimes they are not, but I guess that's where faith comes in, huh? Looking back throughout my life, I can see now the purposes for every calling in which I've served-- lessons I've learned, or people I was able to help. My life has always been enriched by the people with whom I've served. I look forward to seeing where this new direction will take me!

M&M Follow Up

It's Saturday. Mike gave me my M&Ms back. I shared. We ate the whole bag in about 15 minutes. They were delicious.

Thank you, Sir. May I have another?

Where the @#%$! are the M&Ms?

I've finally done it. I've outsmarted myself. And now I'm ticked off.

My friend Jamie gave me a package of mint M&M's the other day for watching her kids. Totally unnecessary, but very sweet.

In the spirit of trying to do better, I thought I'd save them until Saturday-- my "free" day, if you will. I didn't trust myself, however, so I made a plan. I told Michael to hide them from me and not under any circumstances to give them up until Saturday.

He did his job well. Now I'm jonesing for chocolate and I CAN'T find it!!! He just laughs when I tell him to go get me the M&M's RIGHT NOW. He thinks it's a test. He doesn't know he's angering an addict. He's playing with fire.

Seriously, how good a hiding place could a six year old find? Kind of makes me wonder what else he has stashed around here. All I know is that if the kid doesn't give it up here soon, I'm going to take desperate measures and instigate some serious tickle torture.

Don't mess with the Chocolate Beast. . .

ER

I'm sitting here watching E.R. and realizing that I've been watching this show for like 14 years now. That's almost half of my life! :-) Granted, there've been years when I watched less-- the whole Kerri Weaver thing kind of turned me off for a while-- but quite honestly, this is still the only show that I will Tivo and watch later.

I have to admit though, I miss the days of Doug Ross and Dr. Green. I remember watching George Clooney and his sexy rebellious doctor ways in my apartment in college. Watching ER was about the only thing that all of my roommates could agree on. Good times.

I keep thinking that it's just not as good any more and I should stop watching it, but I never do. Now it's the last season, and I guess I'll have to. . .

At Season's End

I've lived in Utah for most of my life, so you'd think that I'd be used to seasonal change. I guess that I am used to it, but it doesn't mean that I have to like it.

I have an odd relationship with change, truth be told. I don't like change, but sometimes I crave it, kind of like a fish sandwich when I'm pregnant.

I find myself on the brink of a lot of change in my life, and I'm not terribly happy about any of it. I've been in such a good place during this summer and fall-- beautiful weather, lots of time on my bike, my husband and kids are great, and I've had different projects and reasons to spend more time than usual with good friends-- it's been about as perfect as a period of a few months can get. And I feel it ending.

We're living on borrowed time with the beautiful weather-- I know this. And, while I appreciate every perfect day I am given, it almost prolongs the agony of the coming winter. I don't like the cold. I don't like the short days and long, dark nights. Only the beauty of the Holiday Season makes it all bearable.

More than the weather, though, is the fact that things are changing in my life. Nothing major, just a bunch of things all at once. Funny how sometimes change comes in a chain reaction, sparked by some small thing that just keeps spinning.

I know that these changes are bringing new opportunities and challenges, and I guess this is that part that I simultaneously crave and dread. When you've had it so good for a while, it's hard to see how change could possibly make anything better. However, better is always a possibility, and change is ever the probability, so I guess it's up to me to buck up and roll with it.

I guess in the end, it's about hope and faith and ultimately acceptance. It's like risking the fish sandwich-- you might puke it up, but then again, it might just hit the spot!

Can You Do This?

I've heard that it is physiologically not possible to lick your own elbow. Don't even ask me how Doug discovered this new talent, but here he is, licking his elbow like a Tootsie Pop. Just another in Doug's long line of "talents" :-)

Giving Thanks

I just taught our family home evening lesson on the typical November lesson-- gratitude. We talked about the blessings of living with gratitude and how mad it makes Heavenly Father when we don't. We played Blessing Charades-- Mike was trying to act out how he was thankful for his mother, but it ended up looking like he was thankful for jackhammers.

As I sit here listening to my kids making their family night treat with Nilla wafers and Reddi-whip (they were both reduced fat-- it's not quite as bad as it sounds), I'm thinking that I need to be grateful for things beyond the home, family, and church answers. Here's what I've got (in random order):

I'm thankful for a husband who seems constantly attracted to me, no matter what size I am.

I'm thankful for a playroom with a door where my kids can play to their hearts' content and I rarely have to see the results.

I'm thankful that for tonight, I can sit and be proud that my house is clean and my laundry is done.

I'm thankful for friends who keep me on my toes, who share their lives with me, and who genuinely care about how my day is going.

I'm thankful for parents who taught me the value of work, of loyalty, of laughter, and most of all who taught me that the most important thing you can give a child is the good example of your own life.

I'm thankful for mint M&M's-- and for the fact that they are only around for a couple of months a year, lest I gain back all of the weight it took me so long to lose.

I'm thankful for my daughter's willingness to help me in the kitchen, for little boy hugs and sloppy kisses, and for the beautiful sound of them all snoring in their bedrooms at night.

I'm thankful that when I got married, I got a second set of parents who I love like my own. I'm thankful that I got the big sister I never had in the bargain.

I'm thankful for sisters who are more like friends than family, although being family is pretty dang good too.

Most of all, I'm thankful for a Heavenly Father who knows me well enough to give me a life that's easy enough to be fun and hard enough to make me grow. I'm going to spend more time telling Him thanks.

A Manageable Beast

Yesterday, Layne, Calli and I rode up the Matterhorn. Okay-- really it was Matterhorn Drive in Alpine, but there is a dang good reason why it's so named.

It was the perfect day for a fall ride, once the temperature topped about 40 degrees or so. It felt so good to be riding outside after too many days on the trainer.

We headed into Alpine, and our recently-turned-mountain-goat friend Calli said, "Let's ride up my parents' road." Up we went.

Layne hasn't really ridden in weeks. I've been putting in 40 minutes a couple of days a week inside (alternated with the self-imposed near-drowning excercise I jokingly call swimming.) Neither of us like to climb much to start.

I did all right. I stuck right by Calli's side and she actually got me to slow down and take the tortoise approach (vs. my typical hare). It was painful and I told Calli she was fired as the navigator for future rides.

Layne didn't fare as well. He swears his bike can't go slower than 10 mph. He made it to the top, but he was 90% ready to puke. I felt so bad for him (on account of the fact that the reason he hasn't had time to ride is that he is so busy working hard so that I can stay home). To my discredit, I was a little bit happy that he'd burned out-- he was a much more manageable beast for the rest of the ride. (Meaning Calli and I could almost keep up with him.)

Nice to see he's human.

Can't Buy Me Love-- Just Happiness

They say that you can't buy happiness. "They" never found the perfect boots. I've looked for two years for perfect brown boots. I bought two imperfect pair that just didn't work out for me. It wasn't them, it was me. Ok. Maybe it was them.

Today while shopping for others, I found THE ones. They were 50% off. I bought them. I'm happy. 'Nuf said.

No Chicken Soup for My Soul

Funny how you associate certain foods with certain events. Some things are cultural-- turkey and pumpkin pie of course remind us of Thanksgiving. Some things are familial-- our family always has a special punch that my dad concocts for Christmas and New Year's. And some things are personal-- and some aren't so good.

Take for instance Ramen noodles. I can't eat them because the first time I ever had to clean-up barf was unfortunately Ramen noodles. Yuck.

Corn pops cereal reminds me of the disasterous Easter when I had my appendix out. (Come to think of it, it was me barfing that time. Maybe my bad food memories have something to do with throwing up...)

Tonight I made homemade chicken egg noodle soup. That used to be one of my favorite meals, but unfortunately, it too now has a bad memory association.

A few months ago, I made this same soup. I was in a hurry and didn't cut up the chicken as small as I should have, especially as Michael has a tendency to wolf down food without chewing it well enough. You can guess what happened. He got a wad of chicken stuck in his throat.

He could breathe, barely, but he was convulsively gagging and slobbering everywhere. We took him to the insta-care and they sent us up to Primary Children's immediately. On the drive up, I was having every horrible thought a mother can have-- what if it slips a little further and he stops breathing? What do I do if my son dies here in the car in my arms? It was a long ride, even though Layne drove at least 90 mph the whole way.

We arrived, and after a rotten too-long wait in the waiting room (seriously, my kid is about dying here!) we were just about ready to take the kid in for endoscopic surgery when he gagged it out. All better. That quick.

Needless to say, I diced the chicken well today. Everyone else gobbled it up-- even Mike, who you'd think had reason to be wary. I ate a little, but I just can't quite get past it yet. Who says the chicken soup makes everything better? Not me. Think I'll stick to chili.

Flushed Away

I hate public restrooms. I have since I was a little kid. I was proud of myself for the fact that during my entire high school career, I only used the school bathroom twice. I made myself sick at girls' camp because I refused to use the porta-potty for 4 days. I think that some things should be done at home.

As I've gotten older, unfortunately I've had to spend more time in the restroom. Each of my kids has gone through the stage where they have to visit the bathroom of every store, restaurant, and theater we frequent. I've discovered that some are better than others.

For example, I appreciate the concept of toilets that flush themselves. The theory is that no one ever leaves nasties behind for all to see and I don't have to touch a germ-infested handle. The problem is that some of these toilets are too darn aggressive.

Take the toilets at Walmart (and the airport, the theater and about every other public building these days). Those things flush if you even re-adjust yourself on the seat and they are serious about flushing. Water (and whatever else) goes everywhere! I've taken to packing disinfecting wipes in my purse, just in case I'm attacked by one of these water belching behemoths.

We can build 100 story buildings, two story jet planes, supercomputers the size of buttons, and cars that practically drive themselves. Seriously, can't we come up with something better for the one thing that everyone has to do???

Happy Birthday, Emalee!

Today is Emalee's 9th birthday. She's growing up so fast! She asked if she could have a new bed and more grown-up looking room for her present. Where'd that come from? At least I was able to talk her out of the garrish High School Musical stuff.

She had a pretty good birthday weekend, actually. Saturday, we took her and a friend shopping and to a movie. Yesterday, we took her birthday cake to my mom's house. She's definitely my daughter. No fruity decorated cakes for her-- she wanted home-made chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. We call it a Chocolate Coma.


Today, she took donuts to her class. She also found out that she won the reflections contest in the film category. Way to go Em!


I asked her if she wanted to go to dinner somewhere or pick something for me to make. She picked pork roast, mashed potatoes, and homemade rolls. (Yes, Olive Garden would have been easier!) I seriously burned my finger in the process, but it was delicious.

Pretty good weekend, for a pretty wonderful little girl. Happy Birthday, Princess!

That's Our Boy

Today was the children's program in our church. Our family was asked to sing a kind of obscure song called "Home." It's a cute, simple song and all, but I'm not a fan of singing in front of people.

I don't get nervous to speak or teach in front of large groups-- it actually gives me a rush. Singing is another story-- I get that same fluttery feeling in my stomach that I have the first time I ride a new roller coaster-- you know that point where you're buckled in, moving slowly away from safety and it's too late to hop off? Yeah. I could barf.

My kids said their cute little parts first, then Layne and I went up. We were all dressed in white shirts. We had practiced over and over this week. Depending on how things went, I was even prepared to harmonize. We were going to be the awesomely put-together Garrett family.

We forgot about Doug. Doug means "unpredictable" in some foreign language, I'm sure. When we started singing, he grabbed the microphone and started belting out the first verse right into it. Everyone smiled, and I discreetly reached up and moved the mic down. He turned and glared at me with a most offended look like, "I'm singing here, Mom-- you're throwing off my groove!." Then he grabbed the mic back and put it right in front of his mouth again.

The whole congregation erupted in laughter. As I have a propensity to laugh when I'm nervous already, I broke up and couldn't sing anymore. Layne was laughing too, but still trying to carry the tune. The more I tried, the more I laughed and there was Doug, just standing there looking grumpy and making everyone else laugh even more.

It went like that for 2 more verses. Needless to say, there was no harmonizing, perfect Garrett family number today. Luckily Emalee and Mike did their jobs and sang their little hearts out and redeemed us somewhat. I must have looked fanstastic standing up there with my beet red face and teary eyes, not to mention the fact that I just can't sing. I was never so glad to take my seat.

It could have been worse. The last time Doug was in front of a microphone, he was giving a talk in Primary. He was kind of shy and quiet until the very end. After he said "Amen", he grabbed the mic, did a dance and sang, "Chicka-chicka-wah-wah" to the laughter of the crowd. At least we didn't have a repeat of that number...

All that Jazz...

Layne and I ended up with Jazz tickets for Wednesday night's game against Portland. His dad gave us his tickets, which were much better seats than we ever would get on our own. I had a good time, but it had nothing to do with the fact that the Jazz won.

Going to events with thousands of other people is always a people-watching feast for me. You see, I'm the weirdo that watches all of the strange things that people do in groups, then I laugh at them and then write about it.

There was the girl in front of me who spent a good chunk of the game texting her friend who was also at the game. (Yes, I'm also the person who reads other people's texts if they are right in front of me. I need therapy.) What I'm wondering is why bother? You pay $112 to be at a game, then sit and type on your crackberry all night?

The other thing occupying this girl's time was keeping her boyfriend's hand off her booty. Don't know why he'd think that a ballgame was the right place for that.

Then there are the 3 buddies two rows in front of us who found a way around the two drink limit. They kept standing up and staying up from the start of the 3rd quarter. They were downright belligerent when the folks behind asked them to sit down. Every time the Jazz scored, the three of them would do a group hug. It's like the drunker they got, the more they thought they were part of the team. It was especially funny when Moron #3 dumped his beer all over the lady in front of him during one of the celebratory hugs. (Ok. Probably not so funny for her.)

Behind us was a guy who brought 4 noisy 9-10 year olds to the game. They seemed to have a great time, but the whole time I'm thinking, that's $500 bucks worth of tickets wasted on munchkins there. Some people have so much money it's incomprehensible to me.

The Jazz dancers are another source of entertainment for me, but mostly because I can't understand why grown women dress up in very tight costumes and gyrate to horrible music. Really? High school is OVER-- and it was stupid even then. (Says the debate nerd.)

Some friends of our call people who act strangely "woodwork" as in they just crawled out of it. I have to say, I'm starting to think that most of world (at least in downtown Salt Lake City) is made of wood...

Political Limericks

Okay. So writing the limericks was harder than I expected. They stink, but here they are anyway.

There once was a man named Obama
Who had a penchant for drama.
In every exchange,
His mantra was CHANGE
And saving the country from trauma.

There once was a man named Barack
Who wanted us out of Iraq.
To great disbelief,
He's now Commander-In-Chief
And the Republican Party's in shock.

Sorry about the crappy poems. Blame it on my great-grandma who wrote much bad poetry and somehow figured out how to end every poem with the words "Love One Another." I can't help it.

I did find a cool website for the bad poet in all of us--http://www.rhymezone.com/ which is a rhyming dictionary for those times when you can't find that right sounding word. (I wouldn't have come up with Iraq on my own!)

I'll try to do better tomorrow...

The More Things Change...

So, it's 7:30 pm MST on Election night, and it appears that Obama's got it in the bag. I have to admit, I feel a little apprehension about this. Perhaps it stems from my overall dislike of CHANGE.

Depending on my mood, (glass half full and all that), I think that things are either good enough already, OR that change could make things much worse.

I'm not a big believer in change, truth be told. It's rare that "change" per se leads to a permanent good difference in the status quo. Call me pessimistic, but I think that people are basically the same and tend to stay that way. Rare but true change for the better tends to come from dramatic events-- and I just don't see the election of yet another politician as providing that motivation, no matter how many times he says the word "change."

Sorry to get so serious here, when really there are so many funny things that could be said about a President Obama. (Have you thought of how many funny words rhyme with his name? How about llama, comma, and my favorite yo' mama.) I'll work on a good poem for next time-- maybe a nice limerick. "There once was a man named Barack..."

Perhaps I'm being disrespectful-- see what I mean? I got in trouble for writing mean poems about my teachers in junior high too. Seems like I haven't CHANGED much either...

Voting to change voting

I'm tired of election stuff. I'm tired of the ads. I'm tired of the hype on the t.v., radio, internet and in the paper. It's to the point that I just don't care anymore either way, just please let it be done.


It's kind of getting to be like holiday commercialization-- one's not even over before the other one begins. I swear, I'm starting to want to vote just for the guy who's ticked me off the least...


Maybe we should try a new system. Nobody can mention anything about any elections until 1 month before the vote. They can do whatever they want to try and win our votes for 30 days-- that's it.

That's plenty of time for me to weigh the issues and measure-up the candidates, then make up my mind. Think of the money and time that could be saved this way.

I read that this year, the candidates are spending upwards of $10 per vote. Next time, they should just forget it and send me a $10 gift certificate to Chili's. That guy's got my vote for sure.