The Many Sides of Doug and Other Stuff

Doug is one of those kids who has had...shall we call it personality?... from the time he was born. He's smart and he's funny and he's just a little bit unpredictable.

He's also a great model for my fun camera. Here's a few of the shots I've taken of him in the last few days.

Even when he's just pretending to be mad, you can still see his "stork bite!"

Isn't he handsome?

This one was at the Thanksgiving Point Children's Garden today. We went with my friend Jamie and her two cute kids. Also a good place for playing with my camera-- love that new low aperture lens!

This from the boy who hates getting his face wet in the shower...

Try getting 7 kids to spread out on a hill and look at you at the same time. Not an easy trick, my friends.

Jamie and Riley

Riley

Garrett

Emalee

Michael

Sorry about the picture-heavy post. The little creativity I've had the last few days has come out in a camera, not in words. I think that all of my good ideas melted in the sun. . .

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?

I Ride Like a Girl

Yesterday, Layne and I decided to ride with the Trek group ride for our Saturday date. As they usually only do 20 miles and we wanted to do more than that, we left an hour early and got in 10 before they started.

Those 10 miles got me good and warmed up, so my legs felt great. We were doing a fairly uphill course-- from American Fork into the foothills of East Alpine-- and I had plenty of time to make some interesting observations.

First. My life and the people I know are pretty homologous-- similar backgrounds, tastes, interests, etc... However, I've met some pretty Interesting people in the cycling world. (With a capital I, if you know what I mean.)

I'll call one of them Ebed-melech. (If you want to know the reason, you're going to have to go to Jeremiah 38:7) "Ebed" used to be a man. Yep. You got it. (I guess I should call him/her Ebedina?) I'm never quite sure which pronoun to use for Ebed. Is it "him?" Is it "her?" Is it "it?"

He-She has a death wish, and I guess I can see why. He-She is obnoxious to ride with-- always trying to prove something and darting into traffic to pass other riders. I'm always worried when he-she starts talking to me because, and I know it's hard to believe from me, but I can't find any words to say back. I always think strange thoughts when I'm around him-her that I'm afraid will come out of my mouth without me thinking. Things like, "So. Is it more comfortable to ride a bike as a woman or a man?"

Inappropriate.

Anyway, the second most beautiful thing about yesterday was that about 2 miles into the ride when we started up the hill on 100 East in American Fork, I sailed past Ebed and never saw him-her again.

Tender mercies.

I say the second most beautiful thing because there was one thing even better than Ebed in my rear-view mirror, so to speak.

A little background, before I divulge.

There were nearly 30 people on this ride-- probably about equally split between men and women. As we started, the testoserone-laden half dashed for the front of the group. Team Estrogen naturally gravitates to the back.

Except for me.

As I mentioned, I was good and warmed up when we started. I had also taken my vitamin full of guarana, taurine, caffeine and other good stuff. For whatever reason, I hung right with the boys- up the big hill at 16-17 mph. (I usually do about 14.) I soon passed every woman who was in front of me, and a bunch of the men.

We rode into Highland, then turned west. We rode through Bull River and then turned up the Suncrest road. That is one steep, long incline! However, I just kept pedaling and knocking off the men one by one. Only 2 managed to stay in front of me-- and I have to say that I didn't try very hard to catch them because I began to note an interesting phenomenon.

Boys don't like being passed by girls. Especially ones on pink bikes with pink jerseys and pink sunglasses.

I got funny looks as I motored past. As soon as we'd crest the hills, they'd make sure to fly past me on the descent.

That's okay, boys. Knock yourself out. When push comes to shove, we know who's getting to high ground faster.

I had a blast-- I don't remember the last time I had that much fun on a ride. Layne didn't have as much fun as I did. His Lucky Charms didn't last as long as my Frosted Mini Wheats and he was hungry.

I guess that some days it's okay to ride like a girl. I think that Ebedina must agree.

A Free Woman!

I'm done with my year as the PTA Chief--
The arrival of June has come as a relief.
No more board meetings where everyone's bored.
No more fundraisers or luncheons galore.

I'm done with newsletters and contests and fluff,
I'm done with reports and all of that stuff.
I've cleaned out the closet and thrown out the crap--
I've left some instructions for next year's poor sap.

I do have to say it's been better than expected--
My marriage is in tact and my wits are collected,
But if someone dares ask if I want a second go,
I'll laugh in their face and answer Hell No!

10 Reasons I'm Terrified of the Start of Summer Vacation

10. Wet, near moldy swimsuits and towels all over the place. All of the time. (Compare this to the wet mittens, hats, and coats I complained about 6 months ago.)

9. Stinky sandals. Need I say more?

8. Popsicle sticks. Everywhere.

7. Friend of number 8-- Otter Pop wrappers. Under all of the popsicle sticks.

6. Cleaning up breakfast 5 times, because everyone wakes up at a different time and no one can seem to get their bowl to the dishwasher.

5. Bugs in jars and in pockets. At least we don't have frogs like my sister in Saratoga Springs.

4. The dreaded "Mom I'm" phrases all day long. You know the ones-- "Mom, I'm hungry." "Mom, I'm bored." Now if it sounded like this, "Mom, I'm finished scrubbing the whole house and I'm going out to weed the garden,", I might like it more. (Side note: a friend of mine said that she gets so sick of hearing "Mooooooooooooommmmmmmm", that every once in a while, she tells them she's changed her name and will only respond if they can guess what it is-- kind of like Rumplestiltskin. Might have to try that one.)

3. Sponge Bob music. Maybe I can figure out how to block Nickelodeon from the tv?

2. Fixing lunch for everyone. Why don't they keep school lunch all year and the kids could have somewhere to go for an hour a day?

1. The first three weeks of trying to adjust to kids who think that they need entertained every minute. Hopefully they get through that quicker than last year.

Just when we get a system down, it will be time to go back to school again...

Memorable Memorials

My kids asked me what Memorial Day is for.

I am ashamed to say that I took the lazy mom way out. I could have told them nice war stories about heroes and martyrs and all of that. I could have told them about honoring their anscestors. I could have even told them that it's a day we give flowers to dead people. (Well, maybe it's good that I didn't use that one.)

I just told them that Memorial Day is a day make memories.

We went for a 7 mile bike ride.

We went to McDonald's for breakfast. Seriously-- it would have been cheaper to go to IHOP! When did McDonald's breakfast get so flippin' expensive? It was funny-- and scary-- to see my boys INHALE their pancakes. Man, those boys can eat.

The day was mostly about food. As soon as we finished eating at McD's, we started planning dinner at the cabin. I made my guacamole.

I was a moron and forgot to take jackets for any of us. Luckily, Layne's golf clubs were in the back and he had a jacket. Here's TWO kids wearing it.

Here are my handsome men on the deck of the cabin. Don't look too closely-- they came back filthy.

Perhaps we best honor those who have gone before by making new memories with those we love most, yes? It's got to be better than putting those ugly mum-things on their graves. When I die, don't bring me any of those plants. In fact, feel free to have a party on Memorial Day. I'll try to bring the guac.

Kickin' Butt and Takin' Names

So, right after I blogged last night and finally pushed "send" on the email button, I started having mixed feelings.

I don't think that I have ever told someone off like that before. Granted, email is kind of a cowardly way to do it, but still--

Thing is, I actually stuck to my guns. I not only sent the email, but I also refused to go to the meeting that I was supposed to be hosting.

I got a response back later in the morning-- it made me laugh. It was full of things like "I assumed that you knew", "I assumed that you would have blah, blah, blah" The phrase "I assumed" was in there 6 times.

We all know what happens when you "assume" things.

Here's the funny part. I heard from someone who actually went today that during the meeting, the Dragonlady was very apologetic and said that she was sorry for stepping on people's toes, she didn't mean to come off bitchy in her email (her word, but I would agree), etc... She also said that next year, she will do better and have half as many meetings.

So, I guess that my ranting for once had the desired effect. We'll see next year if anything actually changes. Wait. Maybe not. Not my problem anymore. :-)

I also learned something myself. Sometimes when people come off as bullies, they really just have terrible people skills. Don't know that it makes it any better, but it definitely makes it less scary to call them out for their crap.

I also learned that I'm pretty good at kickin' butt and takin' names. Maybe I'll hire out. Anyone have anyone they'd like to sic me on?

I finally learned to say no...

Without giving a lot of long, boring details, let's just say that the council PTA president has stomped on my toes again-- for the last time. Here is part of the response I just shot off in an email:

You and I obviously do not see eye to eye on the role of PTA and the importance of your council stuff. I made it very clear at the first of the year that I took on this job because no one else would do it, and that I was dedicated to the good of the school-- not to the PTA as an organization. You have tried to bully me multiple times into participating at a level that I clearly did not want to do and I have generally ignored it or pushed back. Quite honestly, as a school, we have had a fantastic year-- we've done great things and I have enjoyed my time as co-president. However, my experience with the "council" PTA has left me ready to take my name off the PTA records.

Has it occurred to you that we, like you, are VOLUNTEERS? The ONLY purpose of the "council" PTA is to support school PTAs. I don't know who told you that your job was to be a dictator and to scare people into doing what you want them to, but I for one am tired of it. I am not getting paid to do this-- and even if I were, I still wouldn't put up with this kind of treatment.

I'm done.

Kim

How's that for learning to say no?

Flats, Bugs, and Bonks

It's 11:47 pm Sunday night and after making posters and videos for school tomorrow (still waiting for one of them to finish "rendering"-- whatever the heck that is), I'm finally getting around to blogging.

I had kind of a surprise yesterday. We decided last week that we were going to ride the 67 mile version of the Salt Lake Century-- that's 100 kilometers, if you like nice, round numbers. Due to weather and other annoying factors, neither one of us felt particulary prepared to ride a full 100 mile century. 67 was going to be pushing it.

My former Cycling Padawan-now-turned-Apprentice Calli decided last minute (we're talking Thursday here) to come with us.

Calli has never ridden more than 35 miles in one ride.

That ride nearly did her in.

Calli not only wanted to do this ride, but she wanted the full 100. (miles, not kilometers.)

I humored her a little and thought--"Once she hits 35, she'll be ready to quit."

But Calli's not a quitter.

Not even when she hits a sheet metal bar and slits her tire nearly in half.

We fixed it with a Wet Wipe wrapper (a mom is always prepared with those, right?) and backtracked 4 miles to the last rest stop where they gave her a new tire.
Here's the awesome guy who fixed Calli's bike. Twice. (I'll get to the second time in a minute.)

By that time, we'd done 25 miles. We could have turned around for a respectable 42, but everyone was feeling good, so off we went.

It felt like it took forever to get to the next rest stop. At about mile 37, you guessed it-- Calli flats out again. Here's Superman (Layne) fixing that one. It took both he and I to get the new tire back on the rim, as new tires are notoriously tight. We both have broken thumbnails to prove it.

Calli's job is to look cute, hold stuff and make witty remarks while we change her tires. She's getting good at her job.

We finally made it to the rest stop. We were about 45 miles in. Figuring in the 10 that we double tracked (going back for the tire change), we decided that to get our hundred, we'd have to ride out about 7 miles, then turn around.

This is me when I still thought that was a good idea.

Most of those 7 miles (14 round trip) were on the Antelope Island Causeway. Long, flat, smooth road-- perfect for riding.

Except for the stench.

And the bugs. I ate them for lunch.

Couldn't help it-- they were everywhere. I'm pretty sure that I flossed 9 or 10 of them out of my teeth when I got home last night. Extra protein, right? Here's a pic I took WHILE riding 20 miles per hour at the back of the paceline. It's not as hazy as it looks. It's bugs.

I never really thought we'd do the full 100.

I guess that's why I forgot to eat.

On an extended ride averaging 18 mpg, I burn just over 1100 calories per hour. I need to be putting back in 250-350 per hour to stay fueled.

By hour 4, I had eaten only 700, maybe.

At mile 80, I started to feel REALLY bad. Here's the thing. When your body needs more fuel in a bad way, the VERY last thing that it wants to do is eat.

This is called "bonking" and it's one of the worst feelings in the world.

Technically, it means that you have used all available glycogen in your liver and muscles and there is simply nothing left.

Bonking comes with some pretty funky side effects. Nausea, inability to stand, hallucinations-- pupil dialation which causes colors to seem very bright-- all accompany this condition.

I had all but the hallucinations.

I forced down some Sport Beans and Gatorade and willed myself not to puke them back up. There was nothing left to do. I got back on my bike and rode.

(I should mention that somewhere in here is where Calli got ANOTHER flat tire-- it was a slow leak, so we pumped it up and the nice guy from above fixed THAT one too.)

I'm used to being the one that finishes strong-- the one pulling everyone in at the end.

This time, I was on the tail end and there was not much I could do about it. Layne (who hardly has any time to ride) and Calli (who had more than doubled her longest ride ever by that point) pretty much dragged my sorry ass to the finish. (Sorry about the swear word, Mom.)

We took a wrong turn at the finish, which added two miles to our journey. Those were the longest two miles ever. That's when the hallucinations started.

(Hey-- how did my bed get on the side of the road?)

Finally, the finish was in sight. We were all so elated (and so out of it) by that time, that we thought we were pro racers and we should sprint for the finish for I-got-there-first bragging rights.

We're stupid.

But we made it.

And I'll never tell who won that sprint.

Here's Calli and I at the finish. This was right before I sat down and nearly passed out.

Here's me kissing my Knight in Shining Spandex.

And here is my proof that, in spite of:

* 5 flat tires,

*a serious case of the bonk,

*2 pounds of bugs (seriously, they alone should have kept me from hitting the wall!),

*a couple of unwanted detours,

*and a strange guy riding a mountain bike wearing spandex and hiking boots,

I rode 100 miles.

I think it's kind of like having kids. Your whole body hurts (especially parts South, if you know what I mean) and you want to die. But, somewhere in there, you get the elation of pushing yourself further than you thought you could go-- then putting in 20 more miles on nothing but will power and the grace of God.

Next time, though, I'm going to remember to eat.

Graduation

My baby's growing up.

One of my first blog posts last fall was about Doug's first day of school. Here he is on his first day:

Now, nine months later, he "graduated" from pre-school today.

We've filled our last treat bucket.

He's gone on his last field trip to the fire station (maybe his last field trip ever, if Alpine School District keeps up their current policy.)

No more bringing toys to school for show-n-tell.

This was a little bit hard for me-- but what amazed me was how hard it was for Doug. Not the face of a happy boy.

He did well through the program, but when the teacher put on a video with pictures of them through the year, he scrambled up on my lap with tears in his eyes. I thought maybe someone had been mean to him or something and I asked him if he was crying. He said, "Not yet, but I'm about to." Then the tears spilled over, he choked down a sob and buried his head in my shoulder.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

"I'm (sob) going (sob) to miss (sob) preschool. (Sob, sob, sob.)"

Poor little guy. He can be such a little piker, but when it comes down to it, he, like his daddy and his brother, has a big, soft heart.

Here he is with his teacher Helene. He went and gave her a big hug and he started crying again, which got her choked up too. I have to say-- any teacher who can get my son's affection like that is gifted-- thank you, my friend.

I think I might cry too, now-- but it's mostly because Doug's graduation from preschool means the end to my ALONE time every Tuesday and Thursday morning for the next few months. If that's not sad, I don't know what is. . .

There's No Crying in Baseball!

I need some coaching tips.


I'm trying to teach 10 little girls to play softball. They look pretty good in practice, but when the game comes, they all freeze up and look like Bambi in headlights.


The pitcher did a great job sweeping up a grounder.


Then she promptly threw it to the short stop. (What?)


The short stop missed the throw and it went into the outfield.


The outfielder threw it to the umpire.


Three runs scored.


That happened twice.

Not to mention that the catcher kept letting runs score because she couldn't see them coming. Why? She wouldn't take off her helmet. Why again? Because it might pull out her hair barrett.

Girls.


This coaching job might kill me.


On the good side, my daughter is LOVING this game. I bought her baseball pants, a pink belt and pink baseball socks, cleats and batting gloves. As soon as she was dressed like a ball player, she started acting like one.


She went 3 for 3 tonight at the plate-- including the longest hit of the game. Granted, she did forget that she was playing second base and let the runner on, and she did pout when her foot got stepped on by another player, but all in all, she's doing great.

She's having fun.

And I'm not dead yet, although next game I might need to take some nitroglycerine pills with me-- just in case. Can you say cardiac arrest?

A Child's Prayer

Short post today to counter the long one yesterday.

After weeks of counting calories and exercising HARD, I thought I was making progress. However, after the weekend (even with or maybe because of the 42 mile ride) I found myself at the same weight I started at weeks ago. How the heck do you regain 7 lbs. in 2 days???

I know, I know-- water gain from the long ride and time in the sun, that time of the month, muscle gain, etc... I'm sure there are logical reasons but it still sucks.

Anyway, I was feeling blue about it this morning as I fed Doug breakfast. He said the prayer on his food and he said something that made me laugh. Instead of praying for the food to "nourish and strengthen our bodies" as usual, he instead said, "please bless the food to nourish and shrink our bodies."

A big AMEN to that.