Hard Stuff

I don't live on a farm.

Granted, sometimes it could pass for a zoo. And, according to my dad's old saying, my children obviously think that they live in a barn because they are always leaving open the doors.

Be that as it may, there aren't a lot of opportunities for my kids to learn to do hard things. Not like when I was young. :-)

I remember my parents put in the yard of our house. As they chose to live in the rock farm which is called Highland, I remember picking up TRUCKFULS of rocks before we could plant the grass.

My grandparents also owned a fruit farm, so we carried TONS AND TONS of peaches from the pickers to the sorters. We weeded flower and vegetable gardens. We planted and harvested acres of corn.

Now that I think about it, we were virtual slaves! :-)

But, we learned to work.

Like I said before, though, I don't have a farm. So, we've had to come up with other ways to teach our kids to do hard things. Coincidentally, we found a way that we could teach them this lesson AND ride our bikes at the same time.

It's a talent, I know.

Mike told us a while ago that he wanted to do a 20 mile ride this summer. We found one called the Jared Hess Cancer Foundation ride. They closed down the Legacy Highway for the morning for a 20 mile out and back ride-- perfect for kids.

This is us at the start of the ride-- in all of our Lycra-clad glory:
Here is Emalee. We expected her to struggle a little bit, but she surprised us and led us out nearly the entire race (once she warmed up up after a couple of miles!)
Here's Doug-- he rides on a tandem attached to the back of my bike. He and I ride together quite a bit. (Well, we did before I had to send him to kindergarten last Thursday. I'll have to post about that trauma (for me, not him) one of these days...)

Here's our little Michael with his chicken legs that are so scrawny that his spandex bike shorts are actually BAGGY on him:

Poor Michael-- he struggled. Before we were even 8 miles in, he was already having a hard time. At one point, he started crying and I asked him if he wanted to quit. He said no. I thought about trying to bribe him with a new video game or something, but that "be a good parent" voice in my head told me that he needed to push through this on his own, just for the satisfaction of finishing. I prayed for him, distracted him by talking with him for miles and miles about what Wii games he'd like for Christmas, and finally we got him to the end.

Here's Doug with his medal. I love riding with him-- he's such a cutie! They were running a half marathon at the same time, and Doug would yell to all of the runners we passed (who all looked miserable, by the way) "Good Job!" or "Way to go!" If he saw cyclists stopped on the side of the road, he'd yell and ask them if they were okay. He's such a good kid.

Here's Michael with his medal. When you figure in entry fees, gas, dinner and hotel for last night, etc..., this little goal of Mikes probably cost us $300 or so-- but every cent was worth it. I don't know how else you could give a 7 year old such a sense of accomplishment. I was so proud of him for sticking it out!

Here's my daughter-- who I decided rides just like me. She doesn't like to ride behind anyone. She will kill herself to keep her brother from passing her. She speeds up when she sees a "Wabbit" in front of her. I'm super-proud of her too.

You never know if the lessons you try to teach your kids really sink in. I know that our kids will have to do hard things in their lives-- probably much harder than the things that I've faced in mine. I can only hope that experiences like today will get them through.

And if not, at least we had fun, right?

You Know You're Done When...

My mother announced to me out of the blue the other day that she thought that I should have another baby.


I had no response to that.


Well, other than that word that I learned a few months ago-- remember? However, I didn't say, "Hell no!", I just said, "No, thank you."


She is my mother.

But it got me thinking again-- how can I be so sure that I'm finished? I've come up with a few good reasons:


1. I was late once this summer and, instead of feeling that little flutter of "could it be?" I felt what I can only describe as holy terror.

2. In a week or so, I MIGHT be turning 35. This is the age where you are considered "High Risk" and they have to do amniocentesis to make sure that your baby doesn't have two heads and stuff. I've heard that this "amnio" test thing hurts really bad. Hence, I must avoid it.

3. Speaking of pain... they say that you are ready to have another one when you forget the pain of the last one-- it's the body's natural way to encourage procreation. I haven't forgotten-- must not be ready.

4. In reference to the getting old thing, I must say that I need sleep more than I ever did before. If I had a baby, it would leave us with three options:

• I get up with the baby, live on very little sleep and one day snap and kill everyone around me.
  
• Layne gets up with the baby, hates me for it and eventually leaves me for some hot chick who refuses to have children all together.
  
• Emalee gets up with the baby, flunks school because she falls asleep all of the time, and grows up to work at McDonalds with all of the Mexicans, where she meets Jose' and all of my grandchildren end up speaking Spanish.

5. As we are self-employed and have no maternity insurance, having a baby would cost us like $15,000. We might as well adopt a two year old and save ourselves the baby stage. I saw these beautiful kids from Chile' the other day-- how do I get one of those?

6. I've gotten really used to carrying a purse and not a diaper bag-- I don't think that I could ever go back.

7. I turned the nursery into an exercise room.

8. Speaking of exercise, I worked REALLY hard to lose 3 babies worth of weight-- I CAN'T go there again!

So, in spite of the fact that, when Dennis Smith painted our picture, he mysteriously added a 4th child into it, I have to say I'm done.

This is me with the extra child. It's not mine. It's one of the neighbor kids that are always at my house. Or maybe it's my niece Olivia-- she could come live with me any day.

Either way, I'm sorry, Mom, but I'm afraid that you're only getting three out of me.

Unless I can figure out how to adopt one of those cute little Chileans...

What Goes On In Doug's Head?

I know, I'm always posting about Doug. If you lived with a five year old as interesting as this kid, you would too.

Two funny things he's said in the last few days:

First. Doug has been telling me thanks for everything lately. "Thanks for fixing me my favorite cereal, Mommy." "Thanks for letting me have zucchini casserole for dinner, Mom." (What? I know-- just one other way Doug is wonderful-- he LOVES vegetables.)

We're driving along and I tell him, "Thanks for noticing all of the things I do for you and telling me thanks, Doug. I like that."

Doug replies, "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice that I've improved."


Second. This will embarrass him if he ever reads this. He wet the bed last night. I was thinking that it was some deep psychological reaction to kindergarten or something. When I asked him in the morning what had happened, he told me that he'd had a dream that he was in a swimming pool and he really had to pee. (That was probably due to the huge drink he had before bed.) He got out and went to the bathroom-- and then woke up wet.

I laughed and told him that happens sometimes. He says,

"Dream-Doug is luckier than me."

Me: "Why is that, Doug?"
Doug: "Because he made it to the toilet."

I laughed so hard that I almost didn't make it there myself.

How in the world am I supposed to share this kid with school for half a day?

This Story May Be True

Once upon a time there was a queen who lived in a house on a quiet cul-de-sac. The queen was the mother of two princes and a princess.

While the king went to work every day ruling the kingdom and helping deaf and dizzy people and such, the queen spent her time battling her most fearsome foe-- Mess. Armed with a broom and a dust cloth, the Queen bravely fought day by day to overcome her mortal enemy.

Some days were better than others.

On one day, (we could call it last Monday), she planned a vicious attack in Mess's strongholds-- the children's rooms. It was an epic battle-- and the fate of the queen hung in the balance for a time, but finally she was victorious. At the end of the day, the rooms were clean and she was left with 6 bags of trash and 6 bags of items which she quickly took to Ye Olde Deseret Industries-- before Mess had the chance to reconquer the items and reclaim his territory.

She was tired, but proud of herself.

Until that night.

When it was time for Small Prince to go to bed, he suddenly noticed that something was missing from his bedroom. Out of all of the items that had fallen victim to the Great War, he noticed the absence of one red fury monster (we'll call it Elmo) that used to do the Hokey Pokey. This Elmo had belonged to his sister and had been in the Small Prince's room for a few years-- residing mostly under the bed. The queen had never seen her son play with the toy, and hence did not expect this reaction.

The small prince figured out quickly that his mother, the queen, had taken Elmo to the D.I. (Something similar MAY have happened before.) She tried to comfort him-- figuring that, if she could get him to go to sleep, he'd forget about it by morning.

She was wrong.

Throughout the next day, she often found the small prince with a sad look on his face. (Small Prince is very good at making sad faces.)

Small Prince missed Elmo terribly and began to experience what the queen could only assume was the stages of grief. Panicking and feeling guilty, as any mother would, she decided to mount a recovery operation.

She and the small prince went to the D.I. to search for the lost toy. She gave the expedition a snowflake's chance in hell, but as some say that hell may be made of ice, she thought they'd try.

Elmo was not to be found on any of the shelves. (Other very strange things were there, but we'll save that for another story.) The queen asked to see the manager of the store. She explained her predicament. He was not terribly helpful. In fact, he seemed to mock her for even thinking that perhaps she could recover the toy. He did, however, offer to take her name and number and "call if it turns up."

The queen tried to distract her son by taking him to a store to find another toy. Small Prince, being very wise for a five year old, saw through this ploy quickly. When they could not find another Hokey Pokey Elmo (apparently they stopped making those a while ago), Small Prince looked up at his mother and said,

"You see mom? Wouldn't it have been better if you would have listened to me and not taken my stuff to the D.I.? You would have saved yourself all of this trouble." Well, really it sounded more like "twubble", because Small Prince still can't say his "r"s and his mother thinks it's cute and doesn't really want him to learn yet.

She took his hand and told him how sorry she was and how everybody makes mistakes. Small Prince looked up at the queen and said, "Yeah, even moms. Sometimes they make wee-lly (really) big ones."

The queen thought this might be a teaching moment, so she tried to explain to Small Prince how when we are really sad, we can pray and Heavenly Father can help us to feel better in our hearts. Small Prince looked at his mother and said, "My heart is too torn up for that."

The queen didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. She took the small prince home and, as penance for her crimes, played video games with him for a very long hour and a half.

The queen formulated a plan. As there may be spies out to get her secrets, she will only mention that she is searching for Hokey Pokey Elmo on ebay. Wish her luck.

Meanwhile, Small Prince keeps hoping that the nice man at Ye Olde D.I. will call to say he found Elmo. He is trying to forgive his mother. In fact, Small Prince even let his mother rock him to sleep tonight-- something which he hasn't done for years.

Small Prince is growing up. He starts kindergarten this week. The queen knows that he is ready, but she thinks that she is not. She is not ready to be the Queen-Whose-Children-All-Go-To-School yet (even if it means that she can ride her bike more often.)

This could be a rough week for the queen...

My Better Half

Last Friday was Layne's birthday. For a few years now, Layne has let the kids decide what to do for his special day-- and some of their choices really have been "special". (I'm sure that every guy wants to spend his 35th birthday at the Children's Discovery Museum?)

This year was no different-- the kids helped us to plan a camping trip to Bryce. He got to eat PB&J for lunch and cook his own dinner on a camp stove. What a party.

We've been so busy all week, that I haven't had a chance to make a bigger deal of his birthday than that. He hasn't seemed to care, though-- Layne is that kind of guy.

Layne and I are the poster children for late 90's couples. We actually met on the internet in a chat room. I was goofing off at work and he was pretending to do homework for graduate school. We talked for a couple of weeks, then after much flirting on my part (seriously, was this guy ever going to ask me out?) we finally went on a date.

He picked me up driving his Infiniti G20 (that was impressive), wearing a pink shirt (not as impressive.) He took me to dinner and then to a haunted house. (How was he to know that I really hate those places?) This is the one scene I would most like to see replayed from my life when I get to heaven-- he swears I grabbed his hand, and I'm certain that he grabbed mine. Either way, we were holding hands when we came out.

He didn't want to take me home yet, so we drove up to Salt Lake and went on a carriage ride around the city. Who does that? We just talked and talked and by the time he took me home, I was fairly certain that I was going to marry this guy-- in spite of the fact that he admitted to watching rated R movies which offended my newly returned-missionary sensibilities.

When he took me to the door step, I figured (as he had already grabbed my hand and all:-) that he might kiss me goodnight. Instead he just said, "That was fun. We'll have to do it again sometime." And away he went.

Talk about a brush off! Every girl knows that really means "You'll never see me again."

However, two nights later, as I am sitting playing Rook with my family, the phone rings, my crazy brother-in-law Jared answers it, and a guy on the other end says, "Hi. Is Jill there?" Unfortunately for Layne, we had caller i.d. and I knew that it was him. He's taken a lot of crap over the years for forgetting my name.

However, he came over that night and played games with my family-- he stayed and even seemed to have fun in spite of my family's quirks and insanities. (Jared, did you really have to burp and blow in front of my new friend?)

And, in spite of continually discovering my own quirks and insanities, we were engaged 6 weeks later, married 10 weeks after that, and now we've been married for 11 and 1/2 years.

Layne is such an incredible husband and father. He's changed half of the diapers, cleaned up at least half of the barf and he even does the dishes on most nights. He's never surprised by anything I do-- he thinks that I can do anything (and how could you fail when someone believes in you like that?) He is freakishly smart, plays romantic songs for me on the piano, and have you seen his calves? Michaelangelo could have used him for a leg model.

One of my favorite things is to run into Layne's patients when we're at the movies or the store and for them to tell me what a wonderful doctor he is and how much he has helped them. I am so proud to be married to a man like that.

So, I'm sorry to you all for the mushy post-- I promise to wait a good long while before I do this again, but every once in a while, you have to break down and give the world a diabetic coma, you know?

Happy Late Birthday, Honey. I love your guts.

Is It Over Yet?

Getting ready to go back to school has not gone as smoothly (or as quickly) as I would have liked. Yesterday was not a good day. Everyone wanted to do something different and as a consequence, we didn't really do anything and everyone was grumpy. (Have you ever had that day where nothing you do makes anyone happy, so you might as well do whatever the heck you want? That was me.)

To top it off, Doug got bitten by a hornet at the school playground. Within an hour, his hand looked like this:

He called it "balloon hand" and thought it was funny. I was worried about it, as it actually got about twice as big as this photo at one point and I didn't sleep well thinking about it. When we got up in the morning, it was huge, so I took him to the doctor where we discovered that the bug bite had turned into cellulitis. (Which is NOT the same thing as cellulite, but both make you look fat. :-)

Doug is now on a course of steroids, Benedryl, and antibiotics with instructions that, if he's not better by Friday, I have to bring him back for I.V. antibiotics.

My bigger concern is that Doug may never play on the playground again. This could make for a rough 7 years of recess. Not to mention the fact that his hand is too swollen to hold a spoon, let alone a pencil and his kindergarten assessment is Friday. His teacher is going to think that either I've been a total slacker mom or that Doug is retarded.

No, Mrs. Hurst, Doug doesn't need resource. Just more Bendryl.

I tried to make today better, but with all of the doctor's appointments and running around to get prescriptions, my best laid plans were, well, laid aside. I totally skipped the PTA teacher's luncheon (good thing I wasn't in charge of it this year!) and my kids were seriously ticked off because they missed a good chunk of their slip-n-slide party.

I think they were lucky to get there at all. Here's Mike and Balloon Hand racing down the hill:

Here's Emalee sliding down in the swimsuit that's just about worn out it's welcome this summer:

Just to cement my "Mom of the Day" award, I took the kids to the pool for the afternoon. Have you noticed that the pool is NOT as much fun as it used to be since you became a mother?

I have.

Em and Mike had fun, but I think that Doug's Cellulitis Cocktail made him a little loopy. He was happy to sit and eat Doritos.

Yes, he is my son.

It is now 8:30 pm and my kids are in bed and I am experiencing peace for the first time in 3 months. Sure, I'm going to have to start getting up early, but I think it's worth the trade...

House of Order

Monday is my "scrub day". I think that it's the masochistic side of me that says, "it already sucks that the weekend is over-- let's make it even worse by scrubbing the house and doing laundry Monday morning!" Actually, it's not really a choice. Every Monday morning, my house has a hangover that must be addressed.

And so, when I woke up today, out came the Ajax.

The downstairs went pretty well and I was happy to have at least part of my house in order.

Until I went upstairs.

And I made my grand mistake.

I went into the kids' rooms to put away their new school clothes, but there was no room to put them. So I started to clean out their dressers. Which lead to cleaning their closets. Which lead to under their beds. Have you ever done that? Half way into the project you start to wonder if it wouldn't be better to just move.

Four hours later, I had 6 trashbags full of trash and 6 trashbags full of stuff to take to the D.I. (which I did quickly before anyone could whine about missing stuff.) I also have two perfectly clean kids' rooms.

I told the kids they will have to sleep somewhere else because those clean rooms are now art to me and you don't sleep in art, do you?

I did find some funny things in those rooms, I have to say. Things like:

*a molar with a filling in it (did the Toothfairy drop it on the way out?)
*water balloons-- fully inflated
*the missing pair of church socks for which I have been searching for months
*2,504 Nerf darts (okay, maybe not quite that many, but there were definitely more than there should have been!)
*petrified pizza crust (shouldn't that belong in a museum?)
*Hannah Montana everything. Which I am now going to have to confiscate because of her risque' performance last week.

I've already had to apologize to Doug for sending Hokey Pokey Elmo to the D.I.

Just wait until the little pack rat figures out what else is missing.

Coming Around Again...

Have you ever had the chance to take your children on a trip that you went on as a child?

My mom worked really hard to always make sure that we had some kind of family vacation in the summer. My favorite memories of my childhood are mostly from those trips. We've tried to do the same thing with our kids.

This weekend, we took our kids down to Bryce Canyon National Park. I remember going down to Southern Utah and hitting Zion's, Bryce, Grand Canyon, and Canyonlands one year as a child. We weren't that ambitious, though-- we only hit Bryce.

Confession time--Layne and I realized this summer that we have never taken our kids camping. Sure, we've gone on lots of trips, and we've even bought tents, sleeping bags, camp stoves, lanterns, etc., but we've never even gotten some of them out of their boxes.

Until this weekend.

Quite honestly, we had a great trip. I never realized how much work it was for my parents when I was a kid-- until I became the parent and my dad wasn't there to do the cooking and my mom wasn't there to buy the groceries and pack and keep things clean.

I do have to admit we cheated a little-- we stayed in a tipi that was already in place. There were flushing toilets and showers and even a pool. But, you've got to start somewhere, right?

Tipi, Sweet Tipi

Down into the Canyon. Which isn't really and canyon. (No stream in the middle.)

The Kids and I at Rainbow Point


Bet you wish you had my hat.

Emalee was pooped after 5 miles of hiking.

Happy Birthday to Layne. (I love you, Honey!)

Breakfast in the morning (That was always my favorite part of camping when I was little. Not as much fun now that I'm grown up and Dad wasn't around to cook.)

Going down Navajo Trail into the canyon. (Again, not really a canyon.)

Wall Street slot canyon. Em hated the heights getting there and I hated the walls once we were down.

Doug and Layne.

Weird things about Bryce-- everyone we ran into was German. I don't know what the draw is, but English was definitely in the minority. They even brought their own buses to sleep in-- European plates and all. I didn't appreciate them smoking in the jacuzzi, but other than that, it wasn't a big deal.

We had a great time-- it went way too fast. There was no cell service, so we actually went without phone, email, etc. for a whole weekend. Just what we needed.

Layne and I both found ourselves wondering why we don't do stuff like that more often. Now, we're going to start planning small weekend trips to Zion's, Canyonlands, Arches, etc...

Who's in?

This Bugs!

My boys came running in from their grandma's house yesterday and told me that they found something scary in the backyard. I ignored them for a few minutes, then I decided to follow them. This is what they found:
They were totally disgusted and I thought that my mother-in-law was going to puke. I picked it up to take its picture.

It reminded me of the good old days as a missionary in Brazil. I remember one night in a new apartment (that is a generous description-- it was more like a cement shack) when I awoke to a strange sound. I went to investigate (my first mistake) and found the source in the bathroom. I turned on the light (my second mistake) and the floor was moving. Hundreds of roaches about this size were crawling up from the shower drain and onto the bathroom tile. The strange sounding was the clicking of their grody little feet.

My options were either to scream or to go to bed and to pretend I didn't see any of it.

I chose number 2 and slept with my pillow over my head for the rest of my 3 month stay.

Good times...

Reviews

I've been a blog-slacker for the last few weeks. I could give all kinds of excuses, but instead I'm just going to call it summer vacation. I have been seeing a few movies, watching tv and reading a few books, though-- so I thought I'd share a few thoughts.

Book List:

Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernières This book is a World War II book written about the role of a Greek Island during the war. I loved that this book "had it all"-- love, humor, great characters, drama, irony, tragedy, and history. I was getting mad at the end because I thought I'd been duped into reading another one of those books that just ends badly, but it was saved in the end. There is a little bad language in the book-- but it's more contextual than gratuitous. I'd recommend it, as long as you don't mind a couple of "f" bombs.

The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje. I checked this one out because it was on the "if you liked Captain Corelli's Mandolin, then you'll also like...." list. But they were wrong. I can't give you a full review on this one, as I couldn't make myself finish the book, but they are definitely not in the same class. I think that the story had potential, but the writing is so disjointed that you can barely find the story for all of the extraneous words. It's a dud.

Movie List

Knowing with Nicolas Cage (on DVD). What a bummer. I like Nicolas Cage and the first of the movie was dramatic and had chills running up and down my spine-- I really thought it had potential. Half way through, though, I started to see that there was no good way for this movie to end and it was like watching a train wreck. At the end of it, I sat there in disbelief thinking, "really? This was the best you could do?" The special effects during the last 10 minutes were totally cool-- especially on Blu-Ray with surround sound, but overall, I'd like those 2 hours of my life back.

TV

Man vs. Food Have you seen this show? It's disgusting and awesome at the same time. This guy travels around and visits local restaurants in big cities-- usually culminating in some food challenge (eat the 72 oz. steak and get your picture on the wall, etc.) My boys love this show-- Layne included.

The last episode, they showed a 3 1/2 foot diameter pizza that weighed over 30 pounds. It looked so good, that my boys almost had me talked into calling Pizza Hut for a 9:00 pm delivery. For the challenge, he had to eat a burger covered in ghost chilis-- the hottest chilis known to man. You shouldn't eat anything that you have to wear surgical gloves to touch. Bad in, bad out, if you know what I mean.

With school starting up in a week, I'm hoping to maybe have a little more time to do more quality blogging.

Who am I kidding?

I'll probably just spend more time on my bike.

As soon as my butt stops hurting from the last ride, that is...

Never Again.

At the start. Who knew what was ahead?
At lunch. Still able to smile

113.2 miles.

50 of them in headwinds of 14 mph with gusts up to 33 mph.

Not enough food.

Pure Hell.

Never Again.

(P.S. At least all 6 of us finished-- way to go, Team!)

Holy Terror, Holy Grail

Have you ever been so scared of something that every time you think about it, your stomach turns?

That's me and my bike race/ride this Saturday-- most appropriately named the ULCER. (Utah Lake Century Epic Ride) Appropriately named because the closer it gets, the more certain I am that I'm getting one. (an ulcer, that is.)

This ride is 111 miles long. It starts at Thanksgiving Point and goes all the way around Utah Lake and back.

I've tried this ride before and only succeeded in 70 miles of it. Both times before it was 100 degrees or more by the end and I felt like death on a stick. (or on a bike seat, if you prefer, which quite honestly often feels like not much more than a stick.)

I've done two centuries this summer already-- you'd think I'd just be happy with that, but for some reason, this particular ride is my Holy Grail.

A "metric century" is a 100 kilometer ride. A "century" is a 100 mile ride. And an "epic century" is a ride that is over 110 miles.

Why the different name, you ask? 10 more miles is nothing, right? Wrong.

There is a mental shut down that happens when I hit 100 miles. The hardest miles I've ever ridden are from 100 to 104 to the end of the Tour de Cure course. I don't know the psychology behind it-- and I'm not even sure that it's not unique to just me, but I do know that when we hit 102 miles on the Salt Lake Century and realized that we'd made a wrong turn and had to go another mile or so, I could have fallen off my bike and cried.

So, I guess what I'm really scared of on Saturday is those extra 11 miles.

You'd think after doing so many of these, it wouldn't be such a big deal. However, it's like childbirth. I was much more terrified with each child because I knew more and more what I was getting into.

Luckily, the weatherman says we should only be in the low 80s-- which will make things much more comfortable. (on a bike? I think maybe tolerable would be a better word.) And, we're riding on a team with a bunch of friends, (the team is aptly named "We Could Go All the Way"-- thanks Cal!) so that should be fun as well.

I know it will be good and I'll feel relieved to finally have this monkey off my back, but Dang! I wish it was over...

Swine Volitation

I went on a bike ride early Saturday morning and this is what I saw:
Here is the close-up:

Yes, my friends, that IS a flying pig.

And that means that for some things I swore I would never do, I now have license.

For instance:

My grandma always kept her scriptures in a drawer in the bathroom-- right across from the toilet. I always found that offensive somehow-- perhaps even a little sacrilegious. One of the things I swore I'd never do.

However, with the event of flying pigs, I have moved my triple combination into my water closet (adding a little British lingo) and have had a few good moments with my scriptures. As with most things my grandma did, I am finding it a very efficient use of my time.

Also, since the swine volitation (don't you love that word? I'll link you to the definition, if you missed that day in English class) I have decided to try a few other things I had sworn not to do. Things like making peach cobbler for dinner and eating leftover pizza for breakfast. (That one is still yucky.)

Perhaps now that pigs are flying I will learn to like country music (I doubt it) or eat fish or plan a trip to China. These are all things I have shunned in the past, but you never know.

Perhaps a flying pig isn't enough to overcome some barriers.

Maybe I'll watch the weather forecast to see if hell is freezing over any time soon.

Working Against Me

We all know that my language could use a good scrubbing. There are a few 3, 4, and 5 letter words that should be expunged from my vocabulary.

When I say this, I feel like I am talking about starting to smoke or something, but I started swearing about the age of 17. All the cool kids were doing it... at least all of the cool debate nerds that I hung out with. (Is there such a thing?) It made me feel grown up.

As I've gotten older, though, I find that the swearing is not about being cool so much as it is about being accurate. I know, it shows a lack of intelligence on my part, but I've never come across any words that make my point like swear words.

But I'm going to have to.

I tell you, it's like drinking. For a long time, I tried to hide it from my children, but I think that I must be slipping. Trust Doug to point that out to me. The other night as he was praying, he said, "and please bless that NO ONE in our family will say any more bad words."

No one means me.

So, I've been trying.

But life is working against me.

Take today, for example. I went for a ride with Jedi Joy. We had a great time. We went 26.5 miles and had 1/2 mile to go. We're riding along, when some _____ _____ on his cell phone goes to cross the road right in front of us. We both pull our brakes and he finally sees us. The moron freaks out and stops in the middle of the road-- still on his phone-- only feet away from us. He is just stopped there for a second right in front of us and we can't figure out whether to go in front of him or behind. He waves us through, then thinks better of his position (being stopped in the middle of a busy road and all) and steps on the gas anyway, nearly mowing us over again.

Who wouldn't call the guy a dumb ass?

Later on in the day, as I am cutting up canteloupe with my awesome new knife, I slice my finger. This knife is so sharp and the cut is so clean that it doesn't hurt at all, but by the way blood started spurting out, I knew I was in trouble.

Out slips the s-word-- right in front of Emalee. She just looked at me sweetly as she was getting me a band-aid and cleaning up the blood on the counter and says, "Don't worry, Mom. I probably would have sworn too."

Ouch.

She did say something that made me laugh. She said that she heard her grandpa (my dad) say that word when they had all of the grandkids at the cabin last week. She said they were all fighting a little and my dad told them they were being little "s----s."

Like father, like daughter, I suppose.

Viva Le Tour!

The Tour de France has been over for 2 days now and I am in withdrawal.

Lance didn't win-- exactly. He did get third though-- not too shabby for a 38 year old who's been out of the sport for 4 years. (Seriously-- they showed pictures of him watching the Tour from home last year drinking beer with a little pot belly.) Way to go, Lance.

Watching the world's best cyclists is inspiring. And then discouraging. Why? Because you'd think that riding a bike is riding a bike. When you watch basketball or football or gymnastics, you see the athletes do seemingly inhuman actions and realize that they are special people born with certain talents and characteristics. But, riding a bike seems like something that everyone should be able to do, right?

Wrong. The riders in the Tour de France ride 100 plus miles everyday for 23 days, with 2 rest days in between. They cover over 3000 miles. They climb thousands and thousands of feet. They ride up hills that are 8-12% grade (think Suncrest) at 18 miles per hour. That's a pretty dang good average for me on a flat road, let alone on an incline!

I can't imagine the suffering these guys can handle to put themselves through that kind of ordeal. I rode up to the windmills by the point of the mountain the other day without stopping on the steep part and was pretty dang proud of myself-- even though I was sucking wind and seeing stars for 2 minutes when I got to the top-- and that was only a quarter mile climb!

My point is that, just like running, even though riding a bike is something that nearly everyone can do, there are definitely some people who do it on a level that is incomprehensibly better than most of us.

Maybe that's why I just spent the better part of a month watching them do it. Some people find God in music, art or nature. I see Him in the beauty of watching His most wonderful creations in an impossibly long, difficult, and supremely graceful feat of endurance.

How long until next July?

Why Not to Ride Your Bike in 100 Degree Weather

I had every intention of getting up today at 6:30 and going for a ride. I really did. I even made plans with Jedi Joy to meet at 7:00. However, when 6:30 came around and the alarm sounded, Layne rolled over and put his arm around me and wouldn't let me up.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I dragged my butt out of bed somewhere closer to 8:30 and decided that I'd better do the yardwork before I did anything else. (It is Thursday, after all. Me and my schedule.) The kids were moderately helpful and we had the mowing, weeding, edging and blowing done by 10:45. (Ok. The edging wasn't all the way done, but it's not my fault. The battery went dead.)

I really wanted to put in some miles today, and, as I am still trying to get ready for the 111 mile around-Utah-Lake ride (ULCER) in two weeks, I figured riding in the sun might be good practice.

So off I went.

I didn't have much time, so I decided to make the most of it and ride up to Alpine and back as fast as I could.

Probably not a good idea in 94 degree weather. By the top of golf course road, I was seriously sweating and my heart was pounding. I noticed that, unlike when I ride in the morning, there were very few other cyclists on the road.

All smarter than me.

I got to Alpine in good time and turned around to find a nasty surprise. Apparently, I had a tailwind the whole way up that I hadn't noticed. Going the other direction, the tailwind turned into a hot, nasty, dry-out-your-lungs kind of headwind.

The real bummer about that is that the whole reason I like climbing into Alpine is that it means I get to descend fast on the way down. Not so with a head wind. That makes the downhill at least as hard as the uphill.

I knew it was getting hot, but didn't realize just HOW hot until I stopped at the four corners in Highland. Standing still there in the hot sun waiting for the light to change, I could feel a river of sweat running down my back. I grabbed my waterbottle and squirted a bunch of it down my neck-- much to the delight of a crew of Mexicans in a nearby car. You're welcome, boys.

I started feeling a little sick about a mile or two from home. I was ever so grateful to turn down the street to my house. I parked my bike and stumbled into the house, where my kids told me I looked like a tomato face. All I could do was lay spread eagle on the floor under the ceiling fan.

When I stopped seeing stars, I climbed into a cold shower-- which felt good for a minute, but did little good, as I was still sweating when I got out. My face stayed red for 3 hours and my head still hasn't stopped throbbing.

Today's ride leads me to two conclusions-- first, no more 11:00 killer rides to Alpine. And, second, I am in REAL trouble for the ULCER in two weeks. If 12 miles in 94 degree weather almost killed me, I think that I'm screwed for 111 miles in the 100 degrees we'll probably have then.

I don't think that I'm ever going to accomplish that goal...

Did You Ever Have That Dream?

Do you ever feel like you're living in a dream?

Not the really good kind where you wear a size 4 swimsuit and you live in a mansion.

I mean the kind of dream where you're back in high school and you can't remember your locker combination or if it's "A" day or "B" day.

Oh. And you forgot to wear pants.

I've been having that feeling for the last few days. The only reason I can figure out is that with the end of PTA and Tour de Donut, I have nothing to do.

I haven't had that luxury for a very long time. For well over a year, every time I've sat down, I've thought to myself, is it worth sitting down when I have ___________ and ____________ and ______________ that need to be done? That's actually the reason I ended up with a laptop computer-- so that I could sit in the family room with Layne and work on whatever project needed doing.

Now, I look at my calendar during the day and actually see white space and, quite surprisingly, I don't know what to do with it! I get in such a quagmire of indecision (should I read a book, clean something, call someone, work in the yard?) that I don't really do anything.

I go to bed wondering what the heck I did with my day?

I'm glad there's only one more month of summer vacation. I'm ready for something new to do. The danger is that I'll get so bored with all of this nothing, that I'll unlearn my "no!" word and start saying yes-- just to have something to do!

I'll never learn.

State of Grace

I've been watching my kids in varying stages of learning to swim this week. Like I mentioned before, they've had a really good teacher and they made much more progress in a week than I expected.

Their teacher is an interesting woman. Short hair, deep voice, short, muscular build-- not what you'd call feminine or svelt. But, put her in the water and it's a different story.

She turns into a mermaid. It is beautiful to watch her swim. She is so fluid and graceful-- it's more like a dance than a sport.

Making that observation this week gives me the answer to a question I've asked all my life. Why can't I swim?

Because I am not graceful. And, apparently, grace is what keeps the water from going up your nose and making you cough. Grace is what makes your kicks actually propel your body and not just splash everyone around you. And grace is what makes a backstroke look like an efficient windmill and not a drowning rat.

Dictionary.com defines grace as "elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion or action." I don't know what the opposite of graceful is, but me running, swimming, walking or even breathing is probably posted right by that word.

I remember meeting my kindergarten teacher right before school started-- you know, in the old days where they didn't test your alphabet and reading skills, but instead tested your colors and if you could walk on a very short balance beam? I couldn't do it and I remember my mom and my teacher trying not to laugh at my efforts.

Oh, the scars. :-)

It's never been a big deal-- I've learned to entertain others with my klutziness.

But today, watching that dolphin-lady dance in the water, I realized that she is one of the lucky residents of the state of grace.

And that's a place I just can't seem to find on my map.

Why I Want Lance Armstrong to Win the Tour de France

I can't say that I am a huge Lance Armstrong fan.

I admire what he's done for cancer research.

I am in awe of his 7 Tour de France wins.

After reading his autobiographies and also a couple of books written about him, as well as a couple by some of his team mates, I think he's a megalomaniac and he'd be hard to be around.

He also makes bad choices in women. Really, the Olsen twins? Come on.

But, even though I am a Garmin-Chipotle fan and Lance rides for Astana, I still want him to win.

Why?

Because he's old.

He's 38, which is old for a professional cyclist. He's been out of professional cycling since 2005.

It doesn't matter. Right now, he's sitting in 3rd place-- only 8 seconds behind the leader.

I'm turning 35 at the end of the summer. It's one of those monumental birthdays divisible by 5, and I'm starting to realize that I am older than most of my close friends now.

Every once in a while, I am noticing that a few of my hairs are a strange color of blonde. You know, the shade that looks like gray?

Pretty soon, I might have to buy some polyester pants.

Except for Lance. He's older than me. If he can come back and kick the trash of 180 of the world's best (and youngest) athletes in the world, there might be hope for me.

Maybe I can work a little harder and stay out in front of Calli up the golf course hill.

Maybe I actually can finish the 111 miles around Utah Lake in 3 weeks.

And, maybe if I train really hard, I can take advantage of the fact that I am on the 35 side of the 35-54 year old category B in the Utah Tour de Donut next year.

I'm bringing home the trophy, baby.

Just like Lance.

How to Get Your Kids To Do What You Want

I've sufficiently discussed in this forum how I can't swim. It's true. I tell myself it's because I'm so muscled up that I just sink.

I'm determined that my kids won't be the water-weinie that I am.

For this purpose, I have enrolled them in private swimming lessons.

We've done the rec center thing-- talk about scary. Hundreds of kids in the pool being "taught" by horny 16 year old lifeguards flirting with each other while my kid is drowning.

No thanks.

But what to do? I've tried to teach them what little I know about swimming, but I couldn't get them to get their faces in the water.

Enter Sheila Morrison.

She has the coolest indoor pool I've ever seen. She's expensive and no-nonsense, and after 2 days, my kids are swimming. Better than me.

She tells them to put their faces in the water, they do it. She tells them to blow bubbles out their noses, they do it. She tells them to breathe from the side, they do it.

Like I didn't tell them all of those things before. I even tried to help Michael when we were swimming in Vegas. He wouldn't put his face under water so I gave him a little assistance. :-) He wouldn't talk to me for an hour.

Here's Doug, jumping into the deep end of the pool without even plugging his nose. When he was in the pool with me, he made me hold his hand when he went down the ladder so he didn't get his eyes wet.

What I'm thinking is that my kids do better when I pay someone to tell them to do it. Piano, soccer, swimming-- they all seem to do better when it's not me telling them.

Perhaps I should get a paid-parent. Like Alice on the Brady Bunch-- remember her?

"Alice, the kids' rooms are a mess. Please tell them to clean them." Done.

"Alice, the kids need to do their homework." Done.

"Alice, the kids are burping at the table again. Tell them to stop." Done.

So, what I want to know is, if I paid myself, would they listen to me?

Tour de Donut

It's finished.

I've been dreading July 11th for a year now-- ever since July 12th of last year. Why, you ask?

Tour de Donut.

A couple of years ago when Layne was president of the Rotary club, we were looking for a better way to raise money for service projects than a fireworks stand. We read a funny story in Bicycling magazine about a race back east called the Tour de Donut-- and we decided that was something we could try.

Just like that, we gave birth to Hell-Day (for us) and a really fun time for a lot of other people.

The first year went so well, that somehow Layne and I suddenly found ourselves major event organizers.

Here I am starting the race.

We've spent the last month or so designing and ordering tshirts, designing, programming, and updating a website, planning a course, talking to the police, ordering donuts, creating registration databases, finding and organizing volunteers, and a host of other tasks. It takes an incredible amount of work to organize a bike race for 300 people!

The gist of the thing is this. The course is 7 miles. You ride it once, then eat as many donuts as you can choke down. (You get 3 minutes off your race time for every donut you eat.) Ride the loop again, eat more donuts, then ride one more loop for a total of 21 miles.

The winner ate 28 donuts and ended up with -13 minutes. There were over 1300 donuts consumed-- 6 of them by Doug. Some people squished the donuts up and poured water over them to make them slide down easier. It was disgusting.
At least no one puked this year-- at least not where I could see them. We definitely got an interesting mix of people-- serious racers, families, and--well-- whatever this guy is.

Amazingly, it went really well. There are always things that can improve, but it was smoother than last year and everyone seemed to have a good time. We raised $7400 for some really good causes (Kona BikeTown as well as local rotary projects).

Here's the thing though-- when everyone assumes that Layne and I are going to do it next year, I'm going to practice that word I learned a couple of months ago. You know, the one that starts with "N" and ends with "O".

Depending on my mood, I might even add a "HELL" to the first of it. I'd be happy to help-- get the shirts or something, but I'm not being in charge again. It's someone else's turn to be in charge of stuff.

It really screwed up my riding schedule.

You know we can't have that.

Lavender and Pond Scum

Today my friend Helene invited my kids and me to go out to Mona to the Young Family Living Farm. I've seen this place as we've driven to St. George before-- fields and fields of purple. Today, we decided to check it out.

The whole place smells like lavender-- which, to tell you the truth, is not my favorite scent. They sold lavender ice cream and lavender lemonade. I didn't try either.

Sorry about all of the over-exposed pictures-- I forgot my filter and it was a BRIGHT day. You'll notice 6 kids-- 3 are mine, 2 are Helene's and one (Kyle) we had to import so that Mike could have a buddy.

I've got to get me one of these stocks. What a great time-out place that would be!

They have a medieval village there with some really cool toys. This is a giant swing made of a huge barrel.

This is a human-powered merry-go round. As all of the kids wanted to ride, I guess it was a "mom-powered" ride.

When we got tired, Mike decided to give it a try.

They have two activities that you can pay for down there-- a rock climbing wall and paddleboats. I tried my darndest to get my kids to choose the rock wall, but to no avail. Of course you had to have someone over 12 in the boat, so against my better judgement, I found myself in a paddle boat with a wet booty. Here's my self-portrait in the boat.

My friend Helene was not as reluctant as me and talked me into it. Unfortunately for her, the bad luck / klutzy karma that usually follows me around somehow stuck to her today. When she brought the boat in and went to jump onto the deck, she hadn't tied up the boat and it slipped right out from under her. I was watching and it was like slow motion-- I knew what was about to happen, yet was powerless to stop it.

Her feet stayed on the boat, her hands were on the deck, and those two things were quickly traveling away from each other. Suddenly, Helene found herself in scummy pond water-- which DID NOT smell like lavender.

Here's the thing about my friend Helene-- and the biggest sign that she is several thousand steps ahead of me in the journey to heaven. Had that been me, all 6 kids would have come away from the day with a new vocabulary full of 4 letter words-- especially considering the fact that she had her camera in a bag around her waist. Helene just laughed. No bad words. No bad attitude. Just soggy clothes.

If you're wondering, I didn't get a picture of her in the water-- I wanted to, but instead helped her out. I did get this of her when she was safely removed from the scum.

I'm really sorry that Helene got dumped in the water-- but I do have to laugh that it happened to someone other than me this time. Usually I have to write these posts about something dumb that I've done...

Lost My Marbles, Quite Literally

When I woke up this morning, I had every intention of putting in 12 miles or so on my bike. I jumped up and headed into the bathroom-- and tipped right into the wall. Who tilted the room?

I made it to The Throne and the world stopped spinning a little, until I turned my head quickly and woosh! Same thing. About fell right off the toilet.

Needless to say, I did not get on my bike, but instead sat down in my Laz-y-Boy and waited to feel better.

Except that I didn't.

By lunch time, I knew something wasn't right. Lucky for me, I'm married to a balance doctor.

I drove myself carefully to Layne's office and told the good doc about my symptoms. He told me to get on the exam table and he was going to lay me down quickly and I was supposed to keep my eyes open.

He laid me down with my head off the table and suddenly, I had one of the most horrible feelings I've ever experienced. I felt like I was tumbling inside, outside, and upside down, and I wanted to hurl. My inclination was to close my eyes and make it stop, but Layne told me not to do that-- it would make it worse.

He said I had BPPV.

No, it's not some kind of STD. Here's the technical definition:

Within the labyrinth of the inner ear lie collections of calcium crystals known as otoconia. In patients with BPPV, the otoconia are dislodged from their usual position within the utricle and they migrate over time into one of the semicircular canals (the posterior canal is most commonly affected due to its anatomical position). When the head is reoriented relative to gravity, the gravity-dependent movement of the heavier otoconial debris (colloquially "ear rocks") within the affected semicircular canal causes abnormal (pathological) fluid endolymph displacement and a resultant sensation of vertigo. This more common condition is known as canalithiasis.

Essentially, my marbles came loose.

It was inevitable.

Like I said, lucky for me, I'm married to the guy who fixes loose marbles. In more ways than one.

We'll Be Popular

I've tried for almost 11 years to figure out how to put a jacuzzi tub into my master bathroom. I've finally decided that, barring a serious addition to the house, it's not going to happen.

Apparently, someone who lived in the house before me had figured that out too, and had a hot tub out on the covered patio. Unfortunately, they didn't leave the tub when they moved-- they just left a slight ring on the cement. Luckily for us, they also left it already hard wired.

Layne's never been too interested in having a hot tub-- treated water always made his legs itchy. In the last little while, though, that hasn't been a problem for him and after he spent some time in a hot tub on our Vegas trip, he started liking the idea of a spa as well.

He went through his whole stalking process. He researched them on the internet. We visited a showroom. He made a decision and within a week, we were the proud owners of a BullFrog.

Here's the paragraph in the brochure that convinced me:

Need More Friends- Just Add Water
Become the most popular house on the street by simply owning a Bullfrog Spa. Your house will become a favorite destination for your friends. It will be the place where your children and their friends want to hang out. With JetPaks, you can have a massage experience that is perfect for everyone. You don’t worry about planning something to do because your spa is a great place to socialize and is perfect for entertaining.

You mean that something might actually rival the Wii for my kids' attention?

We had our Cul de Sac of Fire on the day it came, before it was wired and filled. The kids had a great time playing in it.



On Saturday, our friend Adam came and wired it for us. I was as bad as the kids, standing around waiting for it to get filled. Finally, it was ready.

You should see it at night. It has colored LED lights and the water glows. The stereo is being installed sometime this week-- our patio is going to rock!

I don't know about the popular part-- but I know that we've pretty much added another room onto our house. We've spent more time on the porch in the last week than we have in the last 5 years.

Who needs to be a cheerleader to be popular? Just buy a hot tub.