Just Like Riding A Bike

When people talk about things that are easy-- things that you never forget, they often say, "it's just like riding a bike."


I think that my friends this week beg to differ.


This is my friend Joy. She started riding with me last year-- she was one of my affectionately-termed "Padawans." I say was because today, after training for months, Joy rode 75 miles in the MS 150 ride-- ALL BY HERSELF.


Way to go, Joy! You are a Jedi now.

This is our neighbor Clayton. He rides recumbent three-wheel bikes (and he doesn't even have a beard-- go figure!) Don't ask me how, but somehow he blew a tire and crashed.

This is what "road rash" looks like, if you've ever wanted to know.

Ouch.

This one of my other Padawan-turned-Jedi friends Calli. Calli has recruited Padawans of her own. She, however, is a hard Jedi Master. For her 2 newbies first ride, she took them 15 miles up to Alpine and UP THE MATTERHORN! To their credit, they both did awesome, but DANG!

In the true way of the Jedi, Calli showed her learners what NOT to do by her own example. She pulled into a parking lot, didn't get clipped out in time and...

Our new rider friends Julie and Ashley stood there somewhat dumb-founded as Layne and I ran over to her-- not to help her get her foot un-stuck from the pedal, but to make sure we got good pictures before she could get herself up.


Yep. We're that kind of friends.


Bet this makes you want to come ride with us next week, yes?

Why I'll Never Win the Megabucks

While I was in Vegas, I kept thinking about what it would be like to win the MegaBucks. It was at $11 million -- not "overdue" for a hit. Layne put in a few bucks anyway and, of course, didn't win.

I can't bring myself to play the slots since my unfortunate win a few years ago. When I was 19 (that's a few, yes?), a friend and I drove to Reno. We did some (not all) of the things that our mothers feared. We drove 120 mph on the freeway. We hung out with boys we didn't know. And, I started playing the nickel slots. I realized that I was underage and could get in trouble. I thought I looked older than 19, though, so I continued. Until I won.

The machine lit up, a siren went off and, unfortunately for me, the machine didn't have enough nickels in it for the pay out. A casino employee came toward me and I was sure I was in for it. I could just see how mad my parents would be when they had to come bail me out. Lucky for me, I really did look older than 19 and the employee just came and payed out the win.

That was the last time I have ever gambled. (For money, that is.)

Back to the MegaBucks. It got me thinking, what would I do with $11 million? Here's a bit of my list:

1. Buy the house through the block. It has an awesome master suite and built-in iPod docks and speakers in every room. Plus, it has an extra garage for all of our bikes!

2. I don't think that you can pay tithing on gambling winnings, but I bet the church wouldn't turn down a really big missionary donation! Wouldn't that be ironic-- using devil money to send out missionaries?

3. Buy more bikes. For everyone I know. Really cool carbon ones. Probably pink.

4. Buy me a car that doesn't have squeaky brakes. Heaven help me, I just had them replaced and they are still squeaking.

5. Randomly send out money to people that I know. How cool would it be to just open up an envelope and have $100 bills fall out of the envelope? I'd have to keep my winning a secret so that no one would know it was me-- that would ruin the fun.

6. Lyposuction. I'd just give up on this whole diet thing and suck out all of the fat. I know, that's vain and all that, but seriously-- I've been stuck at pretty much the same weight for 2 years, no matter what I do. If I'm going to be stuck at a certain weight, it might as well be 20 pounds lighter, yes?

7. Take some of my favorite people to Italy for a couple of weeks. I've been really missing their pizza and gelato.

What I realize as I make this list is how lucky I really am. I guess blessed is a better word than lucky. I can't think of one thing to put on this list that I really need-- in fact, I had to think pretty hard to come up with 7 silly things to even want.

Layne's right.

I am spoiled.

Done Playing Ball

Tonight was the end of the baseball/softball season for the Garrett family. I love the game, but I have to say, I'm not sad to see it end.

The end of Mike's season was considerably better than Emalee's. Mike's team has pretty well stunk all season. They were mostly first year players, just learning the game-- playing against kids who'd already played for a year and who were playing positions. I think they lost every game but one.

However, every team started the tournament. Of course we lost our first game, which put us in the consolation bracket. And then the miracle occurred-- our little Mets figured out how to play! They won the next game. And the next. And the next. That put them in the final round of the consolation bracket. Who'd have thunk?

We were supposed to miss that game because of our vacation, but it got rained out, so Mike got to play. The lucky streak ended there, though, and we lost. However, Mike didn't seem to care because he still got a trophy.

It's a pretty big deal for a 7 year old to win a trophy. Way to go, Bud!

Tonight was Emalee's last game. They haven't lost as many games as Mike's team, but almost. That's especially painful for me, as I was their coach. I'd like to say that they improved a lot over the season, but I think that tonight was the worst they've ever played.

I have a couple of girls on the team who have no business being on a softball field. Every time a ball came at them, they either ducked, or got hit in the head. For their own protection, I mostly kept them in the outfield. That's why it really ticked me off to overhear their mothers being upset at me because I always played my own daughter at first base, short stop or pitcher.

It's true-- for the most part I did. It kind of gave me a moral dilemma of sorts. Emalee was at every practice. She worked and improved a lot. Unlike many of the girls, she could actually catch a ball-- some of the time :-) There were 3 other girls in about that same position-- and I rotated through them at the major positions. When I didn't play them that way, we got our trash kicked.

I wasn't in it to win every game. However, when you play on a team, even if it is a rec league, you have to learn that effort is rewarded. Every girl played equal time-- but I don't feel bad about not letting the girl who is terrified of the ball play first base. (Her mom was the one who was bitching loudest, of course.) This particular girl also only showed up to 3 practices the whole season.

The whole game just stunk. The girls forgot everything we've worked on-- even Emalee, who has only struck out about 5 times out of the previous 7 games, struck out all 3 times she got up. It was not a good way to end the season. I don't think that anyone left that game feeling warm and fuzzy-- just hot and bothered. (and I don't mean the good way :-)

Remind me of this day next year when I start thinking that it's a good idea to coach anything again.

This time, I'm throwing my whistle away.

IN-XS

Nope.

Not talking about the band.


I'm talking about Las Vegas, Baby.


We left on Thursday and stopped at Cove Fort on the way down.

It took about an hour, but I'm glad that we did it, because showing the kids what it was like to live in pioneer days was the perfect juxtaposition for what they were about to experience.

(above) The pool at the Venetian.

(below) The Bellagio Fountain show.

(below) The kids at the fake Trevi Fountain at Caesar's Palace. Let me say, that this thing is so not cool after seeing the real one in Rome. Makes me wonder if that's the way Las Vegas is all together-- just imitations of the real wonders of the world.

(below) The "Suite" life of the Garrett family. Our kids have never stayed in a place like this-- and may not again. It was funny to see their faces when we checked into the much less swank hotel in St. George for night 3.

Here's Doug eating shrimp cocktail. What a strange choice for a 5 year old, but that's Doug!

A year ago or so, we told Emalee that if she learned to play "Phantom of the Opera" on the piano, that we'd take her to see it. She did, so we made good.
Can't tell she's excited, can you?

The Phantom theater in the Venetian is incredible. I've seen Phantom a few times and loved it every time, but this theater is awesome. Built just for this production, it pulls you right into the play.

Here's the boys at Circus Circus-- where they quickly flushed $40 down the drain playing skee-ball and balloon darts and for their labors won a bag full of stuffed-crap that I have hidden from them, as I think that it's made in China and is probably stuffed with lead.

Here's Doug in front of the Venetian where we stayed. He was really bummed that I wouldn't spend $16 a person to ride on the gondolas on the indoor canal.

One really awesome thing that we did that I didn't get any pictures of was in seeing the Blue Man Group. I had no idea what these guys did-- I just knew that it was one of the only clean shows we could take the kids to see. They were awesome! Doug laughed so hard, I thought he was going to fall out of his chair.

We had the option to stay in Vegas an extra night or go stay in St. George. Even though we had tons of fun, we chose to leave. After a while, that place is just too much.

Pizza With the Martians

Emalee is at Day Camp today, so I am sitting here outnumbered with Layne and my boys.

I just watched the three of them inhale 2 Little Caesar's pepperoni pizzas (minus the piece that I gagged down.) They are watching their favorite t.v. show "Wipe Out" on ABC. Have you seen this?

My boys (all three) love this show. It is a bunch of morons who try to cross obstacles with names like, "Banana Hammock", "Plank in the Face" and "Big Balls." Two guys are the moderators and they pretty much just make fun of the contestants. 24 people start-- one wins $50,000.

Not worth it.

What I'm wondering is why there is such a gap between what entertains me and what entertains them. As it equally entertains both father and sons, I can't pin it on age. I'm going to have to go with the Martian Men / Venetian Women theory.

If that is the case, every movie on Mars is probably made by Adam Sandler, the Farley Brothers or the guys who made Strange Brew. Cheap pizza and sugared soda are probably the standard fare. If my boys' room is any indication, it probably smells funky there too. (You know the smell I mean-- no matter how hard you look, you can't find the source and nothing seems to get rid of it!) Everyone there probably wears basketball shorts and t-shirts with sayings like "I'm with stupid" on them.

I'm sure they think that Venus is just as bad. Only chocolate, salad and diet coke to eat/drink. You'd get a headache from all of the perfume, candles, scented bath oil, etc... everywhere. All movies would be romantic in some way, and there would definitely be a lot of shoes.

Good think we've got Earth here for us to meet in the middle. And good thing that I have a laptop so I don't have to watch their dumb show...

The Deal Killer

Last year, for the first time, I planted a garden. Well, mostly I watched my dad plant my garden.

I put up a fence so our dumb dog couldn't get in.

I watered.

I weeded.

It grew and grew and I was proud.

And then I saw the snake.

And I couldn't enter the garden again.

I planted a garden again this year. My dad only planted the potatoes. And the onions.

I've watered.

I've weeded.

And apparently, I had forgotten the reason why I gave up on my garden last year.

Until the huge, ugly reason nearly slithered across my foot as I was happily weeding my corn tonight.

To say that I hate snakes is to be too nice to the snakes. If loathe is worse than hate, then I loathe them too. They make me want to vomit.

Remember yesterday when I said that hell was a really long hill on a bike? I've added to that vision. What keeps you pedaling up the long hill is that there are snakes on both sides of you that will slither up your legs if you stop.

If that's not enough to make anyone be good, I don't know what would be.

My poor garden. Sorry I can't take care of you anymore.

You now belong to the snake.

Tour de Cur(s)e

I didn't drive up to Brigham City on Friday intending to ride 100 miles.

The goal was 2 centuries this summer. I really wanted one of them to be the ULCER (around Utah Lake) in August. We rode a surprise century a few weeks ago. That combined with crappy weather (and thus crappy training) meant we'd probably just do an "easy" 67 miles.

I was even more convinced of this as the forecast went in the crapper. And, when we woke up in the morning to wind and rain, I was ready to drive home with my very expensive Tour de Cure t-shirt.

I didn't count on Layne being so ticked off. He was so mad that I decided that riding even 25 miles in the rain was worth working out some of his anger. I donned my WINTER gear, and off we went. Here's me in nearly the same gear that I wore in the SNOW in Yellowstone.

Welcome to Summer 2009.

Funny thing is that the rain only lasted a mile or two. In fact, it looked so good that when we got to the turn around for the 25 miles, we just kept going.

Then we came to The Hill. And just like that, I remembered this ride from last year and wondered "What the heck am I doing here again?" Kind of like labor, I guess. Here's the hill. Just in case you can't see where the road is going, I've highlighted it for you.

That's 3.5 miles of 4-5% grade, Baby. My original account of this ride (and the 10 lessons I learned about life and God) is way too long for a blog post (think 4 pages). You'll thank me for not posting that, I'm sure. Let's just say I pedaled, I sucked wind, and I finally got to the top-- only to be scared @#^%-less by a rainy, 38 mile per hour descent down. (I'll email you the full account, if you're bored.)

The rest of the ride was long, but fairly uneventful. The one funny thing that did happen was that 10 miles to the end, some guy pulled up to us and said, “Hey—I think that you were the one who pulled me in last year!”

You see, last year, Layne bonked with 13 miles to go. We were riding into the wind and so I told him to tuck in behind me and I pulled him in. The thing is, 5 or 6 other guys decided that was a good plan and they also joined on. Not one of them took a significant turn pulling (and taking the brunt of the wind) and they all (but Layne) sprinted off in front of me with 200 yards left, so as to not be seen being pulled by a girl on a pink bike.

This guy proceeded to tell us that last year was his first century (mine too, actually!) and he was totally cooked at the point that he joined on with us. He said that he wouldn’t have finished without me pulling him in and that he would be happy to pull me for a while this year, as he was stronger this time. I was doing fine and didn’t need a pull, but I let him anyway, just to give him a little of his dignity back.

You're welcome.

My victory shot. Sorry about the blinding white shoulders. I was nearly suffering from heat stroke by the end. Turns out we got about 45 minutes of sun after all.

Seems like something always happens on these rides. Layne bonks. I bonk. It rains. At the end, I can barely believe we've finished.

One last parting shot-- gotta love the helmet hair!
I wonder if this means that I will talk myself out of the ULCER in August? Maybe I should just book a trip to Disneyland that week so I won't even have to think about it again. . .

And The Winner Is....

My sister Caree.

My method for picking the winner was very scientific. I assigned everyone a number then told Layne to pick.

Lucky number 7 wins again. (Interestingly enough, Caree is the 7th child in our family as well.)

It's kind of good that she won.

Her doctor just put her on bedrest, as she went into labor this morning and she is only 32 1/2 weeks along. She could maybe use a good thing right now.

Don't worry, I'll just bring lunch to you, Bear.

I'm glad that Layne didn't win. He had big plans for his prize.

Sorry, Honey.

I think I should do more contests in the future. Keep watching!

Holy Crap, it's 200!

I realized yesterday that this post is my 200th blog post.

In celebration, I went back and read a few of my posts from the past year or so.

I wrote a lot of things that I don't remember writing.

Some stuff I'm kind of embarrassed about. (Pretty much anything that rhymes, but the part of me that comes from my Grandma Call just has to do it. Except for the Santa's Makeover poem-- that was good work. :-)

Most of it is trivial, and some of it should be censored-- especially since I know that my mom and my grandma read my blog. (Hi Mom and Grandma!)

I wish, though, that my mom had a blog from when she was in my stage of life so that maybe I could see that she wasn't as perfect as I remember her being and I could really compare apples to apples.

I'm sure that I'm in no danger of being thought perfect by my own children. However, maybe they will see a side of me that they don't remember seeing. (Hopefully, they won't remember the side that occasionally says bad words.)

By the way-- in celebration of my momentous occasion, (and I'm totally copying my Aunt Karla here), I will put everyone who comments on this post by Thursday night in a drawing for a prize of your choice. (You can choose from a Paradise Bakery gift card, or I will take you to lunch, or I will watch your kids while you do whatever you want for a couple of hours.)

Thanks for reading!

Pink

I have a sister with beautiful auburn hair. She was born with it. When we were little, my mom always used to dress her in blue and me in pink, because she thought the pink wouldn't look good with red hair. (I actually think that my sister looks gorgeous in pink-- kind of like a red and pink valentine :-)

Anyway, I wanted blue. Consequently, I grew up not liking pink. Pink also didn't fit into my Tomboy scheme. In the old days, (when I was young), there were no cute pink softball gloves, soccer balls, or basketballs like there are now. In fact, I remember my first year of Little League, I was the ONLY girl in the whole league.

No pink there.

When I was in college, I hit the "Grunge" stage where everything was forest green and navy blue plaid.

When I got married, everything turned neutral-- my closet was full of brown, tan, black and navy.

A couple of years ago, when I got into cycling, the bike that I found that best fit me and felt the best was, you got it, cotton candy pink.

This posed a little bit of a dilemma for me.

I haven't willingly had anything pink for a very long time. (You notice I say "willingly" and you'll also notice that the carpet in my living room is pink. I think you get my drift.)

I also loved the bike.

And just like that, pink became my favorite color.

Now, everything is pink. My flowers, my iPod, even my new blog look.

It's fun to have a favorite color, as I've never had one before. Makes it easy for my family to buy stuff.

Luckily, I look good in pink. (Good thing it wasn't yellow-- I look like death in yellow.)

And all because of a bike.

The Small Things

How do you like my new look? I can't figure out how to center the title, but I'm tired of playing with it tonight.

Today it was my turn to teach Relief Society. My topic was on "Loving Life and Learning" (one of the items in the Relief Society Declaration. As I prepared during the week, I began to see that one key to loving life is to see and acknowledge the simple, wonderful moments that happen every day. Here are a few of the beautiful, funny, poignant moments I've experienced over the last few days.

• Coming downstairs to see my two boys cuddled up on the couch under a blanket watching t.v. together.
• Watching my dad play with the grandkids.
• The two minutes where my house was actually all clean on Monday.
• The look on my daughter's face when she caught a tough throw and made the play on first base.
• Reading about King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon with my kids and realizing that they actually get it.
• Finding that my wonderful husband had set up my whole Relief Society lesson for me while I was busy talking to a friend in the hall. (Even though he thinks that putting a tablecloth and centerpiece on the table for a lesson is silly.)
• Riding down a hill at 35 miles per hour with U2's "Beautiful Day" on my iPod. (You had to know that at least one of my perfect moments had to be on a bike!)
• Finally getting all of the weeds out of my garden-- even for a day.
• Discovering that my wonderful friend Tina finally delivered a beautiful baby girl.
• Receiving a wonderful, unexpected and undeserved gift from my friend Jamie. She was worried (rightfully so) that I might lose my mind this summer, so she made my kids a "Summer Survival" kit complete with activities and supplies. Thank you, my friend!
• Seeing the guy in the motorized wheel chair go through the drive-thru at Burger King.
• Watching the funny jogging lady who actually stopped and smelled the roses and went away with a cooky grin on her face.

Funny as that lady was, I guess that's what I've been doing all week. I'm amazed at how many small, wonderful or funny things happen every day. I guess it's not about being happy every moment of your life-- it's about noticing how many moments of your life you truly are happy and letting them carry you through the rest of the journey. . .

Man, I'm waxing sentimental in my old age. . .

Mom's Chore Chart

I decided last week that this summer was going to require a plan. I signed the kids up for swimming lessons and classes at the library. I made cute little chore charts that tell the kids every day what they are expected to do.

Layne laughed at me. He says he would have hated that when he was little. I guess my kids must take after me because they love checking off their lists. At least for this week, anyway.

I decided that I need my own chore list to get through the summer too. Here's what I think I should include:

*Get my butt out of bed by 8. Or 9.

*Try not to yell at the kids when they miss Shep poop on the lawn and I hit it with the mower. Or when they leave their cereal bowls in the sink and the Fruity Pebbles dry and stick. Or when they leave their wet towels and swimsuits in a pile on the floor. Again.

*Get some exercise everyday. More than carrying the laundry upstairs and sweeping the floor. Although those items should probably be on the list too, as I tend to put them both off for too long.

*Feed the kids more than cereal and Otter Pops. Try to get them to eat at least one fruit or vegetable in a day. Ok. Maybe in a week?

*Shower and get dressed in real clothes everyday. Try not to wear a ponytail EVERY day. Sunday is a SPECIAL day, after all.

*Try not to kill all of the stuff I spent so much money and time planting in the flower and vegetable garden.

Yep.

I think it should be a good summer.

I Paid How Much For This? (10 Top Reasons I Hate Going to the Dentist)

I hate going to the dentist.

I know. We all do. It's cliche'.

We don't have dental insurance, which means that my efforts at preventative dental care are spotty at best. This makes my trips to the dentist-- like today's-- usually sparked by a broken tooth or something else equally painful and expensive.

Did you know that the United Nations Convention Against Torture defines torture as "...any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him, or a third person, information or a confession (or lots of money?). I think that they could have put a picture of a dentist here.

Here are my top ten reasons why I HATE going to the dentist:

10. 3-D posters on the ceiling. They all have them. I stare and stare at them trying to see the image and just when I think something is appearing, the dentist sticks his head in my way.

9. Horrible tastes. Everything they stick in your mouth (and they use LOTS of things) tastes bad. What's worse is that the taste sticks with you for hours-- and it's not like you can chew a piece of gum to get rid of it-- you'd turn your tongue into hamburger.

8. Horrible smells. Seriously, is there anything worse than that drilled tooth smell?

7. Yes, there is something worse-- horrible sounds. That high pitched "wheeeeeezzzzzzze" thing for an hour is good for 10 dB of hearing loss and a migraine. Not to mention the Inca chanting music in the background. What the heck was that?? Like I said. Bad Sounds.

6. Other peoples' hands in your mouth. I know they take all kinds of sterilization precautions and all that, but when push comes to shove, they're still sticking the same hands with which they wipe their booties in your mouth. Try getting past that thought at your next appointment.

5. Impression material. I HATE that feeling of biting down on squishy stuff and keeping it there until it hardens. Makes me want to vomit, but I'm afraid that the squishy stuff will keep my jaws together and I'll choke and die. Wouldn't that make a good obituary?

4. When the dentist talks to you while he has your mouth clamped open like you are supposed to respond somehow. My dentist furthered the mental torture today by telling me how he's looking to buy a road bike (my favorite subject), and then proceeded to tell me all of the ones he's looked at and asked what do I recommend? "AIREWMJSDAKFJLANEJRKSDLKM" was my answer. You're welcome.

3. Novacaine. I know, I don't want to try dentistry without it, but everything about it sucks. The shots? Suck. The epiniphrine in it? Sucks. The numb feeling that is causing me to dribble my Cherry Dr. Pepper down my chin as I type this 3 hours later? Sucks.

2. Two hours of sitting in the same chair, having to hold still. I'm never good at holding still-- let alone for that long. Another element of the grand torturous design.

1. BIG BUCKS. That is the most painful reason of all. The irony of paying $900 for this whole grand experience is too good to be true.

So, when was your last check up?