Falling.

Did you all enjoy our week and a half of fall? I'm pretty sure that I woke up to winter this morning.

At least we knew that it was coming.

We drove up to the cabin on a whim on Monday night (thanks, KFC) to admire the leaves.

Before the snow.

What the heck?

How beautiful is this?


I decided that I need a new profile picture for facebook, as in my old one I am in a sleeveless bike jersey and it occurred to me that, as I often judge people I haven't seen for a while by what they are wearing, others might think I've gone to the Dark side from my current pic.

My sister, her husband and darling two girls came with us. They are so cute!

Here's my little brood.

I love this view, but unfortunately I had really crappy light. You get the picture.

This is looking out over Tibble Fork Reservoir. It looks like a patchwork quilt.

Yesterday, leaves fall.

Today, snow fall.

Tomorrow, sun, yes?

Wearing Hats

For many years, if anyone asked me what I did, my only answer would be that I was a wife and mother. I guess you could say that I was a specialist-- kind of like a dermatologist or a podiatrist or something. I did one thing and pretty much that was it.


Quite honestly, when your kids are tiny, you don't really have a choice. When they need you to meet every single need they have, you're lucky just to keep up, let alone to ever get ahead. It was sometimes frustrating, but there's something very fulfilling in being EVERYTHING to three little people.


However, in the past few years, my children have started to figure out how to meet some of their own pressing needs (i.e. I haven't had to wipe anyone's butt for a few years now) and I've found myself with more time. Funny thing, though-- just like they taught me in my high school physics class, nature abhors a vacuum-- meaning that as soon as "free time" is created, there are many things waiting to fill it.


Sometimes I wish that it was as easy to switch gears between all of the things I'm doing as it is to take off one hat and put on another.



On any given day, I could wear my mom hat until the kids go to school in the morning. (It would probably be my tie-dyed do-rag which I put on to keep my hair out of my face when I clean the bathrooms.)

Next, I'd put on my bike helmet (that's a hat, right?) for 45 minutes or so and get a little exercise.

Next, I'd put my work hat on and go into the office. (What hat would I wear at the office? I think that a firefighter helmet might be most appropriate, as I spend most of my time putting out small fires.)
In the afternoon, I'd usually have to put on my Relief Society hat or my PTA /District Community Council hat. The Relief Society hat probably is one of those giant purple things with flowers on it-- you know the ones you see women wearing in old movies when they went out to "make social calls"? The PTA/DCC hat would be one of those frat boy hats with cans on either side and straws coming down. Not beer, though. Just Diet Dr. Pepper.

Come 3:30, I'd switch for a chauffeur hat to take the kids to swimming, piano, sports practice, the dentist, etc.

Around 5:00, I quickly switch for a chef's hat.

At bedtime, I'd switch for the cowboy hat because it feels like herding cattle to get my little brood into their beds at night.

From 9:00 to 10:30, I try to wear all of the hats at once. I have two precious hours to get everything done that didn't get done during the rest of the day. It would be easier if I had more heads to wear the hats-- and more hands to do whatever the heads need done.

Maybe for that time, I ought to put on my awesome Trek cowboy hat that looks totally stupid but makes me happy to wear. It could be the Kim hat-- the one I wear to do whatever the heck I want to do. Read a book, write my blog, paint my toenails-- wouldn't it be cool to have an hour every day to yourself?

Or maybe I ought to order this one-- what do you think?

The Lost Symbol, by Mr. Predictable

I spent every spare second of last weekend reading Dan Brown's new book, The Lost Symbol. I can descibe it in one word:

Predictable.

It's just like the DaVinci Code. Here's how predictable it is:

Layne read the book the week before I did. I told him when I was about half way through it that I had it all figured out. He thought the same thing, but he said, "There is one pretty big twist at the end."

To which I replied,

"Oh. You mean that _________ is _____________?" (I won't give it away for those of you who still want to read it.)

He laughed and wouldn't confirm or deny, but when the end came, I was right. I was also right about what the lost symbol was and where it was hidden.

Seriously. I could have stopped reading the book with 100 pages left and told you exactly how it would end.

Dan Brown is just too formulaic for me.

The major theme in the book is the Masons (as opposed to his typical rant against the Catholics.) He actually treats them pretty fairly, I thought. Layne said that he heard an interview with Dan Brown where he said he was tempted to become a Mason after researching them, but didn't want to take a vow of secrecy because then he couldn't write his book. (Anyone else find that hypocritical?)

My problem is that Dan Brown is so liberal in his mixture of fact and fiction, that I don't trust a single thing that he listed in the book as fact-- not about the Masons, or about American history.

I don't think that you can even call his books "historical fiction"-- I think he's firmly placed himself in the category of "fantasy."

That being said, if you are going on a trip and need a good airplane/beach read, let me know-- you can borrow my copy. I won't even ask for it back. :-)

Superstar

Have you seen me on t.v.?

I'm famous.

About a month ago, the guy who did my kitchen called and asked if I'd be in a commercial for him. I didn't want to do it, but Layne reminded me that we ask our patients to give us testimonials all of the time. Reluctantly, I said yes.

These guys moved out all of my chairs and set up tons of lights and cameras. They stuffed a microphone up my shirt, posed me like a Barbie doll in front of my sink, then told me to "act natural."

I don't think you really want me to do that. "Natural" me is a total klutzy nerd.

I made some jokes about valium and beer and stuff-- then realized that I everything I said was being taped.

Man, I'm a brain surgeon.

At least my kitchen was clean.

I kind of forgot about it until Sunday when I was conducting Relief Society. I told all of the sisters that whoever went to the General Relief Society session at the Stake Center was invited to my house for my fantastic hot fudge sundaes after. That's when someone from the back piped up, "Is it a housewarming party for your new kitchen? We saw you on t.v.!"

Great. Conducting makes me nervous already, so bringing up that little fact really made me forget what I was doing.

Valium and beer anyone?

So today, I'm folding clothes, watching the 5:00 news, when Emalee pops up, "Hey, Mom! You're on t.v.!" (Apparently I forgot to tell my kids what I'd done.) The funniest part was that I think that I've seen that commercial before and just not noticed myself. I've developed the strange (but useful) talent of tuning out whatever is on the tube.

Even if it is myself, I guess.

When it comes down to it, I'm really ignorable. You've probably seen me too and just not paid attention.

I'm fairly certain that the camera really does add 10 pounds. Or 20. So, if you do happen to notice my 3.4 seconds of fame, try to take off a few pounds.

And don't mention to me that you saw it.

I'd like to pretend it never happened.

I Lost The Battle. Again.

Every spring, I get delusions of grandeur. Yard grandeur, that is. I envision beautiful flower gardens, a perfectly manicured lawn, and a garden that will fill my shelves with bottles of food for the winter.

Yeah, right.

I always start out with a bang. I planted the garden. I mowed, edged, trimmed, and weeded. Things looked fantastic.

Until July.

That's the point of the summer where I always just start to fizzle.

Take this year, for example.

My beautiful lawn definitely enjoyed the luxury of regular watering which came with the new sprinkling system. Enjoyed it so much that I had to mow it twice as much as usual. Enjoyed it so much, that it invited a whole bunch of thick, gross weed-friends to come live here too. (I'm not kidding-- these weeds are so thick that they stall out my lawn mower when I go over them.)

Speaking of my lawn mower, I think that dumb thing has had it with summer too.

After losing one of my children as he waded through the grass this morning on the way to school, I decided it was time to mow. When I start up the trusty Ranch King, he starts making a HORRIBLE racket. (Sorry to my neighbors. And to the residents of surrounding states.) Seriously-- this was BAD.

I open up the hood and find that the muffler has detached itself on one side. I get my pink tool set and get to work. Two burned fingers (Dang! That thing's hot!) and a FEW (ahem!) bad words later, I think I have it fixed. I mow the front and half of the back before I hear the bad sound again. This time, come hell or high water, I'm finishing the lawn.

I'm hoping to recover my hearing (and the goodwill of anyone who lives within a 5 mile radius) tomorrow.

I didn't edge.

I didn't blow.

(I did find a heck of a lot of dog poop that was much too small to be from my dog. If it belongs to you, PLEASE come get it.)

As for my garden, it's been disappointing too.

"Big Boy" tomatoes the size of small prunes. (Have to cut 4 of them to make a sandwich.) Earwigs in my corn. 4 tiny pumpkins. Cucumbers that look like feet.

Ahhh, but the good old zucchini. Is there a category for biggest zucchini at the state fair? I have one out there that I may carve into a canoe next week.

I don't like the cold, but I have to say, I am looking forward to a blanket of white to cover my pitiful excuse of a yard.

I surrender.

Again.

Until next April, that is...

Being Peculiar

I don't know if I've mentioned yet that I've gone back to work.

That could explain in part why my blog posts have been cut pretty drastically. (Probably no one has noticed but me.)

Luckily, my boss is pretty dang awesome and I can work whenever I feel like it. (He has to be nice or I will make him sleep on the couch.)

Anyway, this was a pretty good weekend to choose to go to work, as Layne took the whole office to Las Vegas for some staff training.

For the most part, we repeated what we did in Vegas a couple of months ago (without kids this time). Stayed at the Palazzo. Went to see Blue Man Group and Phantom of the Opera. Ate too much. Saw WAY too much on the Strip.

It was interesting this time because, as my mom works for Layne too, she and my dad (along with our other audiologist Jeana and our other front office tech Sharon) came with us. My mom had never been to Vegas before.

She was dumbfounded. On the night we got there, a drunk guy in the elevator used the "f" word and shocked my mom. She'd never heard that word used in real life before.

I like to think that I've been places. Really, though, when it comes right down to it, the whole Vegas thing dumbfounds me too.

Take last night, for example.

The closing dinner for this convention was at a nightclub called Tao in the Venetian. This is a pretty exclusive club-- people line up for hours to get in. The plan for the group was to have dinner from 7-9 and at 9, it switches over to a nightclub.

I got pretty gussied up for the evening. I wore a red and black dress that comes to my knees (as opposed to my mostly shin length skirts.) I wore black high heels and shaved my legs. I made my hair big and even wore eye shadow AND lipstick.

I asked Layne if I looked too slutty. He said no, but he also looked at me like he hadn't met me before. (Maybe I should wear makeup more often?)

So, we walk into the night club-- Layne and I along with my parents and two other 50+ women and I really had to laugh at myself.

You see, in spite of my best efforts to not stand out, we definitely did.

It could have been that no other woman in the room had sleeves.

It could have been that most skirts hit mid thigh. Maybe.

It could have been that everyone else was taking advantage of the open bar and doing their best to get sloshed before 9:00 pm.

The six of us sat in a corner eating our Kung Pao chicken and drinking our fruit punch (which the waiter brought with a noticable smirk on his face) and looking about as out of place as a rock star would look sitting in sacrament meeting.

This is the stamp they put the inside of my wrist as I walked in.

It looked like a tattoo.

I hated it.

It took me about 10 minutes to realize that:

a. No matter what I picked out of my closet, I would never fit into this crowd.

b. I had absolutely NO desire to fit into this crowd.

c. I would rather be back in my room watching football and enjoying this view from the 34th floor:

We said our thank yous and good-byes, then walked our country-bumpkin selves past the beautiful people who were drinking and gambling and laughing too loudly. We were out of there before 7:30.

Honestly, the whole experience made me thankful for standards and for a sheltered upbringing. When we went to leave this morning, all of those party people looked like death warmed over.

It was so great to fly into the peaceful Salt Lake airport and drive home to my family and kids.

I've decided that, if dressing modestly and not drinking, swearing, or gambling makes me not cool, then so be it.

I'm okay with that. Actually, I'm proud of it.

I've also decided that next time we go to Vegas, I'm not even going to try to blend. I'll just wear my Levi's and BYU sweatshirt and walk around in my Reeboks. If I'm going to be uncomfortable, I might as well be comfortable, right?

The No-Labor Day

I was born on Labor Day.

I thought for a long time that it was called that because my mom was "in labor" with me. (Kind of like when I was little I thought that the line in "We wish you a Merry Christmas" that says "Good tidings we bring to you and your kin" really said "good tidings we bring to you and your KIM". I know, I know. I was a very self-centered little kid.)

It was a while before I could see the irony of having a day off of work to, well, celebrate work.

I had a few projects that I thought about doing today, but true to Garrett fashion, we decided to play instead.

We went for a 30 mile bike ride.

We hit the REI Labor Day clearance sale. (can't beat $20 Keens!)

And then, we went to the last Salt Lake Bees game of the year.

Layne's dad had 3 tickets for our family to his company's suite. Layne, ever the gentleman, insisted that I stay in the suite and he and Michael got tickets in the seats below us. Here they are:

The suite was awesome. The Bee paid a personal visit to us. He danced with Emalee and they put it on the JumboTron. Here's Doug with the Bee:
We were in the best suite in the stadium-- right next to the announcers, right behind home plate:

This is what a suite looks like inside, in all of its air-conditioned, catered glory. There was a fridge full of drinks. There were gourmet hot dogs and hamburgers. There was a tray full of cookies and brownies. And, yes, there was even a big ole' bowl of peanut M&M's.

Here's the thing about the suite, though-- with my husband and my son sitting below me paying $6 for small drinks and sweating in the hot sun, I couldn't really enjoy my luxurious surroundings. It made me wonder, is this what it would be like if only half of my family made it to the Celestial Kingdom and the other half were somewhere below? How could I really enjoy an endless and eternal supply of M&Ms if I knew that the people I love had to settle for stale churros?

I know it's a silly comparison, but it was definitely a learning moment for me. One of those moments that made me re-commit myself to doing everything in my power to make sure that we ALL end up in the BEST place TOGETHER.

It was a lot of work to get that analogy all put together so nicely.

I guess I did some LABOR after all . . .

Be Here.

Today is my birthday.

I have now left that survey category for 25-34 year olds. I am now closer to 40 than to 30.

I'm okay with that.

I've been thinking a lot about how my life has changed-- how I thought I'd be so much less busy this year, but I've let myself get even more busy than I was. (I forgot "no" again, dang it!) I thought I was handling it pretty well, but I keep getting this message in my head that tells me that maybe I'm not.

The message is simply "Be Here."

You see, when I'm talking on the phone, I'm also doing laundry, paying bills, or peeing. (C'mon. You know you do it too.) When I'm talking to Layne or the kids, I'm also trying to figure out what to fix for dinner. When I'm blowing my hair, I'm also reading my email.

I guess it means that when it looks like I'm "here", I'm really "here, there, and everywhere."

The news had a story the other day about a study done on multi-taskers and how they were actually less efficient than people who focus exclusively on what they are doing. I think that there's something to that. Sometimes I get to the end of the day and I feel like all that I've done is check things off a list. It seems like I am always looking forward to something else-- even if I'm in the middle of doing one of the things that I was looking forward to!

I've never been a "joy in the journey" kind of person-- I'm always rushing to get wherever I'm going. (Just ask anyone who tries to keep up with me when I'm walking!) I don't know that I will necessarily stop doing that-- some things (like walking and driving slowly :-) still seem like a waste of time to me.

However, my goal for this next year is to really BE wherever it is that I am-- especially when I am with family and friends.

I guess that means I had better stop typing and pretending to listen to my son read.

Some habits die hard. . .

Big Fish and Little Fish

Sorry in advance.


Another Doug post.


One of Layne's patients is in charge of the fish tanks at Cabela's. He's told us a few times to bring the kids down at feeding time and he'd let them feed the fish. Last Wednesday, we took him up on it.


We were supposed to meet him at 5:45 for the 6:00 feeding, but somehow missed him the first time, so we decided to watch the feeding just like everyone else. It was really interesting to see how the fish knew the food was coming even before they started throwing it in the water.

At first it was just pellets. The kids were fascinated to see how quickly the fish would snap up the pellets as they floated down in the water. That was all fine and good.

Until it was time for the goldfish.


They threw in bunches of goldfish, which the huge trout snapped up even quicker than the pellets. They were so quick, that it took us a moment to even realized what the big fish were eating.

That's when tender-hearted little Dougie started crying his little eyes out and begging for me to make the big fish stop eating the poor little fish.

Mike feeding the fish.

Fish frenzy

Before I could run him out of the observation area, he witnessed one trout swimming around with half a goldfish hanging out of its mouth-- with many other large trout nearly attacking the gluttonous fish because they kept getting glimpses of orange.

It really was brutal.


Our friend came down and found us about then and offered to take the kids up to the tank to let them throw in a few more pellets. The other kids (who thought the fish feeding was awesome) were very excited to go up. Not Doug.


He wants NOTHING more to do with the fish. He burst into tears every time we even walked near the fish tanks from then on.


That right there is one of the reasons that it was so hard for me to send Doug to kindergarten last week.


My funny, crazy baby boy has a kind, tender heart and I'm afraid that school is going to beat that out of him. Dropping him off at school on Thursday-- then walking away without him might have been one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.


I absolutely understood his crying about big fish eating little fish. To me, he's the little fish entering a really big fish tank. I'd like to keep him in my own little bowl-- for only me to enjoy, but I know that he's destined for bigger oceans than that.


Sometimes it's really hard to be the mom. . .