Smells like scout spirit

Matt and I were leaving leather works when he turned to me and said "That camp counselor was nice."  

2 minutes later . . .

"He was really nice.  Don't you think?"

As the conversation progressed I realized Matt thought the counselor had "special needs."

workout interrupted

running shoes  ipod  ponytail colbie caillat  leash  goldendoodle  brisk walk  song change  run  side ache  ouch  walk  lily allen  skip song  fields  tractor  horse  high school  run  side ache  sweat  heavy breathing back door  grapefruit juice  ahhh

 

I was sporting a swimsuit

that Brandon made me promise to throw away months ago.  The turquoise top had lost it's elasticity and would have looked more appropriate on an expectant mother but the brown Roxy board shorts were perfect for hiding thighs I hadn't found time to shave before our departure.  I was still taking note of swim necessities as I unloaded the children in front of the fitness club.  Sunblock, check.  Kick board, check.  Goggles, check.  Warm peanut butter and freezer jam sandwiches, check, check and check.

Mom #2 (my mother in law) had invited us for a day of swimming at her gym.  We walked through automatic doors into an air conditioned lobby and perched ourselves on the edge of an all too nice couch as we tried hard not to look too out of place.  It was beautifully decorated with bronzed sculptures, green foliage and a fish tank larger than the mini van I had just parked on the front row.  She arrive minutes later, arms full of swim noodles and beach towels for the grandkids.  She took care of business at the front desk and motioned for our crew to follow her down the corridor.  We walked out a pair of distant glass doors into the pool area.  I thought for a moment that we had walked onto a movie set as I took in my surroundings.  

The men were chiseled and tan, hidden behind their dark sunglasses and ipods.  They were far outnumbered by the mothers and children that filled the lawn chairs and zero entry pool.  These mothers were not like any that I had sat next to at PTA or pushed a cart near at the local grocery store.  They were beyond fit with rippling muscles accentuating their teeny tiny gucci bathing suits.  They were slathering on Banana Boat something or other that didn't smell a thing like my SPF 70+.  Little attention was paid to their offspring as so much of it was being used up on themselves.

I blended into a shady corner with my baby nephew and a bag of cashews and wondered what kind of message these women were sending their children.  

My attention was soon turned to my Mom #2  as she shed her coverup and sun hat at the request of my son.  "Come sit in the hot tub with me Grammy."  She grabbed his hand and walked with confidence through the maze of sunbathers on display.  I watched as she engaged each of her nine grandchildren in play over the next three hours.  No time for sun, relaxation or self.  I found myself longing for her energy.  She invited the children for pizza and a sleepover, giving me the gift of a night alone.

The following afternoon I met her at a parking lot half way between the miles that separate our homes.  As she stepped out of her car I was struck by how beautiful she looked.  She was wearing a clean white shirt, a baseball cap and flip flops.  Around her neck hung a leather strap that held a silver medallion reading "Life is Good."  The wind blew her hat from her head ruffling her soft silver hair as she told me entertaining cousin stories from the night before.  Someone had tripped and sat smack dab in the middle of the pizza, another had dressed up as a pet doctor and been absolutely offended when it was suggested he help a human with their feigned injuries.  "I'm a pet doctor.  Read it.  Right here."  Her eyes always light up when she  talks of the grandkids.

and I was thankful to understand the message she was sending her children 

 

Look what the cat dragged in

six merit badges later

few things make me feel more alive

than a summer storm

Dear Snake:

I saw you watching me today while I mowed my lawn.  Don't think I'm scared of you just because I ran away when you stuck out your snaky tongue.  I know taekwondo, carrot-ee and shitzu and I'm not afraid to use them.  I'm a force to be reckoned with, Snake! You have exactly 5 hours before my boys get home and make you their latest pet.   Their last pet?  Mr. blue belly lizard, found sneaking around my flower beds.  He didn't last two days before he was blue belly jerky, his tupperware habitat baked in the sun.  This could be your fate, Mr. Snake.  You'd better run and hide . . . RUN AND HIDE!

Sincerely,

I was at the park today

reading a book with Nick as he leaned over to sniff my hair.  He tells me it smells like popcorn and he asks if we can have some when we get home.

"That's a beautiful dog you have there.  Is it a laberdoodle?"  I look up to see a woman about my age, athletic build, bronzed shoulders exposed in the afternoon sun.  

We talk of dogs for a moment and then she tells me they haven't been able to get a dog because of her son's Sensory Integration Disorder.  Luckily, she tells me, he's almost healed of that.  He used to have apraxia as well but that HAS been healed.  I mention that my son has Sensory Integration Disorder and apraxia.  She removes her sunglasses and perches them atop her auburn hair.  Penetrating green eyes look deep into mine as she tells me of the specialist, one of only three in the entire U.S., that has healed her son.  She sent a video of her child to the specialist and was flying to the clinic a week later.  Apraxia (poof) gone.  As for the sensory issues they're seeing an amazing specialist up in Park City twice a week.  I should really look into it she tells me.  "What are you doing with your son?" 

"He's just doing speech through the school right now,"  I report, realizing full well she may turn me into DCFS at this point.  

I didn't mention that we had done Occupational Therapy, for years.  That we had spent thousands of hours and dollars on private speech therapists, social groups, alternative medicine and ABA therapy.  My family has sacrificed greatly in the name of early intervention, in hopes that Nick would be able to be mainstreamed at school.  Frankly I think Nick deserves a medal just for making it to school and completing the assigned homework each day,  I can't imagine using his down time for more therapy.

"Where do you go to school?" she asks my 4 year old.  Allie stares blankly.  

"My son goes to Challenger.  It's a wonderful program," she beams.

As I walk home my thoughts turn to those who have taken out loans and second mortgages to afford the latest therapy, diet or supplementation.  I have friends who are sacrificing normalcy of family and home in hopes of "healing" their child.  I feel the pressure, wondering if our course of action will be the best for our son in the long run.  

We nod politely as the newest cure is mentioned by well meaning neighbors and friends.  Have we heard of the latest diet?  What about floor time?  Oxygen chambers?  B12 injections?  

It's hard.  

I remind myself that we're doing the best we know how as the smell of popping corn begins to permeate our home.  And then my mind moves to more important things, like if my new shampoo really does make my hair smell like popcorn, of all things.

I detest exercise

Let's be honest, I hate being uncomfortable.  When I find myself in the middle of those "would you rather" conversations I get completely stumped.  "Would you rather freeze to death or die of heat?"  Hmm.  Neither really.  I think I'll opt to go in the blink of an eye on a 73 degree spring afternoon while snoozing on the back deck.  Speaking of death, let's get back to the subject at hand, exercise.

I haven't partaken in that particular form of torture for years.   After graduating with honors from Pulmonary Rehab at the University of Utah hospital I was turned away with a clean bill of health.  I was in stellar condition, most likely the best I had been in my married life.  So I did the only logical thing, I got pregnant.  I made regular visits to the local gym, undaunted as I pushed through the "wow, that girl has really let herself go" stage of pregnancy.  You know the stage. You don't look pregnant, just super thick around the middle and fuller in the face.  (The husband's annual office party is inevitably scheduled during this period.)  

I attended my doctors appointments religiously.  My O.B. was becoming increasingly worried as my weight gain continued to fall well below normal.  "You need to stop working out and be sure not to limit your calories,"  she informed me while scribbling something in my chart.  JACKPOT!  I was smiling from ear to ear as I put my gym membership on a temporary hold.  "Sorry.  Doctor's orders."  

That was five and half years ago.  After the successful delivery of our healthy baby girl the gym rules required our membership be taken off hold.  Although we were back to paying our monthly dues I had a million and one excuses as to why I couldn't workout.  I did step through the front doors once to take my little one to the restroom while waiting for our car to be repaired next door.  "Hmm.  When did they remodel this place?"  It was good to see my money going to good use.

I recently decided to give up my denial.  As I was standing at the front desk canceling my membership the fit looking 20 something perched behind the counter actually said, "Let us know when you decide to get your butt off the couch."  Sweet.  I love honesty.

So that's that.  I've run a time or two since then, although  I use the term "run" loosely.  When I say run, I mean jog out of my immediate neighborhood, walk slowly around some others and resume running only when reentering the ward boundary (which begins at the house to our immediate right).  

Would you rather exercise or . . . 

 

He chose me

"Most likely we came where those in authority decided to send us.  Our agency may not have been exercised to the extent of making choice of parents and posterity." - Joseph Fielding Smith Jr.

 

We met when I was a toddler, all pudgy cheeked and wide eyed.  I'm sure I was just beginning to assert my two year old independence at the time but still he was taken with me.  My mom said it was love at first sight.  She tells me he loved my brother and me from the moment he met us and I know it must be true.  What young man in his right mind would sign on for instant family, not knowing how in the world he was going to support them?

We don't share the same hair color, eye color or even the same genes 

but he likes spicy foods, good books, deep conversations and his Savior. 

We share what matters most.

He loves me like daughters are meant to be loved.

some things never change

my best friend called last night

to see if she could borrow my pimple cream.

i think i'll ask her if she can ride bikes 

down to main street to get a soda later

but not too late.  not after dark of course.

I'll take a tall glass of whatever you're selling

He's a patriarch

a temple recorder

a lemonade drinker

a Kool Aid connoisseur

I listen as my budding entrepreneurs

report their earnings

and smile as they tell me

he was the first to pull over

to their road side stand

Of course he was

Just as he was the first to support

every other stand they've had over the past 8 years

these days

we never pass up the chance 

to pull over

and pay 25 cents for

5 ounces of luke warm summer happiness

our way of saying thank you

I meant to do that

well, not really.

I'm heading back into the world of higher education.  I don't have my 4 year degree and it's been a monkey on my back since I left college without it.  In applying to the university of my choice I first needed to round up my transcripts.  

Luckily Mr. Matt agreed to make the journey with me after I promised a trip to the downtown DI to help furnish their clubhouse.  We fed the meter and walked through two ominous looking red doors.  We asked directions of a studious looking young man pouring over a text book.  The only thing he could find time to direct us to was the school map.  Let me say at this point that I'm positive I wouldn't have found my way without Matt's expertise.  We wound around halls full of young, hip looking students as I thanked my lucky stars grandma had agreed to keep the rest of my brood.  I already stuck out like a soar thumb in my capris and t-shirt, I didn't need little ones hanging off my legs to add to my frump.

We found ourselves in front of a smart looking brunette sitting behind a large computer screen.  "You need your transcripts?  Just follow the white cones over there."

"Over where?"

"Right there."

"Where?"

"THERE,"  pointing to the white cards a foot from my face.

Oh.  Just fill out the white card over there.  Pardon me.  I'm going deaf in my old age.

Jethro

I took a white card, sat down in the chair provided and grabbed a gerber daisy pen.  

What?  You haven't seen a gerber daisy pen?  Well there are a dozen of them in our elementary school office.  I've used them at the pediatrician's office and at the local craft store as well.  They're the hip happenin thing these days, don't you know?

Guess what.  The gerber daisy wasn't a pen.  It was a gerber daisy.  It was an actual flower arrangement.  

And I'm an actual nerd.

This is promising to be one painfully long journey.

oh joy

n o w  e v e r y t h i n g  i s  b e t t e r

Warning: Depressing

I'm going to lose my ever lovin mind.  My house is always messy.  I mean it.  From the time I get up to the time I lay my head on my wrinkly pillowcase.  I don't do well in chaos.  It makes me cranky.

After a full day of picking up everyone else's messes and making snacks, snacks and more snacks for my kids and the rest of the neighborhood, I was standing in the middle of the disaster area that is my kitchen.  Nick looked up at me with big, teary eyes and said, "You didn't take me to Walgreen's."  Nine fifteen.  A promise is a promise so I grabbed my purse and keys with a little too much force and put my shoeless ragamuffin in the car.  That's right, shoeless.  I had thrown away his two sizes too small Croc's not two hours prior after they had left him with a bloody blister.  I haven't seen his flip flops since we left St. George.  Reasonably sure they're at a rest stop somewhere in Beaver.  

I carried him into Walgreen's, his savings grasped firmly in his dirt smudged hand.  We looked at all the colors.  We spun, we bounced, we compared, we walked around the store until he settled on the green one.  He made his purchase and the second we walked out the sliding doors he started crying.  "I think I made a mistake!" he wailed.  I think I made a mistake too.  Just grab a dirty spoon off my cluttered counter and pop my eyes out, will you?  Please?

And I have something else to say.  Depression is depressing.  Even more depressing than fighting it yourself is watching someone you love struggle with it.  Double depressing.  

That's all I have to say about that.

And don't try to make me feel better.

Really.

P.S.  I think Buddy, the baby bird, accidently threw himself off the side of a virtual cliff tonight into our creek.  Two days of keeping the dog tied up and over feeding the cat while Buddy pranced around our backyard.  And this is how he thanks us?  By hurling himself off the edge?  Baby robins and their extreme sports . . .

join me in a moment of silence, for Buddy.

It felt like 12 hours

sitting alone at the kitchen table just staring at that half a banana.  I cried, I begged, I said some angry words yet still you made me sit across from that horrid bit of fruit.  The rest of the kids having long since cleared their plates, were outside enjoying a carefree summer afternoon.  I cursed them and cursed that banana.  I finally took a bite of the virulent monkey food and gagged so intensely I thought it might rejoin the browning piece of fruit before me.

Since that day you have made a little bowl of banana free fruit salad 

just for me.  

I like that about you.

May every heaven sent wish make it your way this year.

I love you mom.

 

That darn food chain

So the baby bird did it.  He jumped.  And then Murphy paid him a visit.  And although he miraculously survived crazy dog, soon he'll have to deal with Mr. "Came with the House" cat.  

He's just hopping around our backyard, in all of his baby bird cuteness, just waiting for nature to have it's way with him.

"Look away kids."

 

Outside my window

stands a majestic scrub oak that took root over 200 years ago.  That fact alone makes it completely magical to me.  I hung globe lights from one of it's straightest branches and basked in the glow of lit paper lanterns on warm summer nights.  Those same lights sent their warmth through the newly fallen snow all through the winter.  As spring approached, that oh so perfect branch was discovered by another.  I watched in awe as a robin meticulously worked on her charming nest.  Soon after it's completion it was inhabited by four, Tiffany blue eggs, on which my attention was riveted for weeks.  

The mother nested with absolute dedication.  When her hard work was discovered by a magpie she refused to be moved, heroically standing her ground until two nearby robins came to her rescue.  On the rare occasion she did take leave the father was always there, standing watch until her immanent return.

The day before we left on our trek south the first egg hatched.  I was enthralled by this little one and the bottomless pit that was it's stomach.  Again, the father took his post as moths were caught and offered up to the newest arrival.

Seven days later I returned to a nest filled with four feathery siblings.  How quickly the family had changed in my absence.  After running out to find food for my own offspring I made my way back through a torrential downpour.  I hurried to my window to see how the nest was faring in the awe inspiring storm.   

I found a mother dutifully protecting her young and a father standing over her, sheltering her from the elements.  Her head was nestled deep in his red breast, safe from the storm.  "Thank you for not leaving her alone," I thought.

He doesn't intend for any of us to do it alone.

Meet Glitty

his newest obsession

our newest family member

it was a big week for Glitty:

at the sand dunes

hiking

exploring

swimming

happy fun park

water fountain

twenty five main

the most traumatic part of Glitty's week?

he was traded for cousin Jed's Golden Glitty.

instant remorse.

luckily trade backs were allowed

and the universe was in order once again.

it just takes one

to 

make

 life 

worth 

living

Dear Jason,

As I watched you and Brayden graduate from elementary school today my mind went back to the chubby two year old I met 10 years ago.  I didn't know then what an integral part of our family you would become.  I am so thankful for your calming presence in our home.  You are a peace maker, a quiet leader.  You go to great lengths to include each one of our children and show such patience as they maul you each morning when you show up at our door.  I am thankful for your good manners and words of gratitude as you sit with us around the dinner table.  I love listening to your laughter pour throughout the house, reminding me that you are still little boys at heart despite your new height and shoe size.  Thank you for being someone that Brayden can share his secrets with, for celebrating with him when he's happy, for being sad when he is sad.  You have a strong hold on your testimony and you are a great influence for good.  Every mother wishes her son had a friend just like you.  

Sincerely, 

P.S.  You and Brayden did a fantastic job on the new clubhouse.  I was so surprised that you had it painted by the time I got home last night.  Wow!  I really like the new T.V. and DVD player you guys found at DI.  They fit perfectly on the table you two engineered.  It's going to be a summer to remember, I'm sure.