My Awesome Boy

Remember I told you a while ago that Sport won the helmet safety slogan contest? Part of his prize was the free helmets for everyone in the family. The other thing was a pizza party for his school class. He had been so excited to share that part of the prize with his friends.

Since his regular teacher has been out on maternity leave, it has been a bit difficult to get the party scheduled. They moved it several times and then finally settled on last Tuesday. My kids generally pack their lunches, but because of the promise of pizza, Sport went pretty light with his.

The time finally arrived and so did the pizza. The kids were very excited and Sport, of course, was the hero. Pizza was handed all round...one slice per student. Sport was watching carefully to make sure all of his friends were taken care of and that's when he noticed the problem. They had not counted carefully and the pizza was cut one slice short.

Sport's best friend, Jayden, had the distinction of being the last person in line. That's when my awesome son did what any best friend would do. He picked up his own piece of pizza and quietly slipped it to Jayden.

Yeah, this mama is proud...

My First Ticket

When the Dog Walker got pulled over earlier this week, it got me thinking about the first time I ever got pulled over. So let me just say, “DAD! YOU DON”T WANT TO READ THIS POST…”

I got a job working at Taco Time when I was 14 years old. I turned 15 in January and shortly after that a new girl started working with me. Her name was Debbie and she was a senior, so I’m guessing she was 17. She could swear like a sailor (I tried it a couple of times, but I’m glad it didn’t stick) and she loved to chase boys. We definitely had that in common.

Remember that first boyfriend I had? The one where I almost wrecked his beloved car? Well she was my partner in crime. Those two boys lived about 15 minutes away and Debbie had a car…It was an old brown station wagon that belonged to her parents, but as long as she had a job and could afford gas, they let her drive it as much as she wanted.

The two of us worked nights and as crazy as it sounds, I was actually in charge of her. So one Saturday morning, we decided it would be fun to drive down to Gunnison and see if we could spot those two boys we were crushing on. We had to work at 4:00, but there was plenty of time for chasing and still getting back for our shift. Such silly girls, we decided to do our hair the same way, down with little side ponytails and we even wore matching shirts.

I’ll spare you the details on the boy-chasing part, but we had fun and then decided we needed to head back. Deb was a little giddy and talking crazy. We cruised into Manti at about 80 mph. She was laughing when she asked me if I’d ever driven a car before since she knew my dad was the Drivers’ Ed teacher at the local high school. I told her that I had driven my Grandpa’s truck with near-disastrous results, and the tractor, but no, I hadn’t driven a car before.

She pulled to the side of the road just outside of the city limits. “Well, you are going to drive today!” she announced. I was terrified, but being a stupid teenager, I couldn’t possibly admit it, so I climbed out of the car and slid behind the wheel. After a 20-second lesson on the knobs and gears, I pulled onto the road.
It was exhilarating and exciting and totally crazy! My speed eased up and up. At Deb’s encouragement, it wasn’t long before the speed-o-meter was approaching 100 mph. Thank goodness there were no other cars on the road…except for one.

When I saw the police car, my foot immediately left the gas. He clocked us at 80 mph. I had never been so upset in my short life! Fortunately for us, he was coming toward us so to give us a ticket he had to turn around and we were on a two-lane road. My hands were shaking as I steered the car onto the shoulder. Deb was beside herself! “Quick!” she squealed, “Trade places…trade places!”



We scrambled over each other in the car. When the flashing lights pulled in behind us, we tried to compose ourselves (i.e., not look too guilty!). As the police officer approached the door, Deb smoothed her hair and glanced over at me. I was so glad we had decided to dress alike! She handled the situation well and took all the blame and accepted her ticket. I think she even thanked the officer! He reminded her to drive more slowly and gave me a stern look. I’m pretty sure he knew, but he had no proof and we weren’t admitting anything. Deb would have lost her license for letting me drive.

As it turned out, we split the $45.00 ticket and paid it together at the judge’s house who just happened to be my neighbor. DAD, I KNOW YOU READ THIS STORY EVEN THOUGH I WARNED YOU! I just want you to know that Mom guessed the truth…I was a better driver than a liar; especially at 15.

Miniature Golf and Giveaway

You all know I grew up in small-town Utah. We didn’t have many choices for activities. There was one movie theater with one screen. During the summer they played movies every night of the week, but when school was on it was pretty much weekends only. We had a bowling alley, but my parents said we couldn’t hang out there on account of the pool tables. Don’t ask, I didn’t get it either…So when one of the downtown shops was suddenly turned into a miniature golf course, we were more than excited!

Picture Credit

I had never golfed before and I knew nothing about the game, but I was definitely drawn to this new activity. It didn’t hurt that the guys liked to hang around either. It was 1979 and I was in the 8th grade. My birthday was in January so right after Christmas I started hounding my mom to let me have my birthday party at the miniature golf place. The price tag was hefty! Forty dollars to rent the place for the evening, but I told her I would pay half and my 14th birthday was definitely a big one. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone yet, but this was the first year I wanted to invite boys.

I wrote and rewrote guest lists that included the cutest, most popular boys in town. They would never even consider coming to my birthday party unless it was something really cool. After a couple of weeks I finally wore my mom down and we reserved the building. I hand-delivered about 30 invitations, some to my best friends, but most to kids who considered themselves way out of my league.

The night finally arrived. I was so excited! Mom made a cake and we headed to the party site. The party started at 7:00 and by 7:15 all my best girlfriends were there and one poor guy, the boy who lived across the street. (I heard that his mom forced him to come…). I was so disappointed. Once more my dreams of being part of the popular group were trampled.

But yours don’t have to be…I hear that one of the hottest new coupon groups is coming to town TODAY! The folks at Eversave have asked me to help with their launch party and in return they are going to let me give away a couple of free passes for miniature golf to my luckiest reader. All you have to do to enter is comment on this post. They would love it if you “like” them on Facebook and follow them on Twitter. (Extra entries if you let me know.) I’ve looked around on their site a little and it looks like they offer some great deals. Not sure if we can get passes that are good outside the state of Utah for this giveaway, but they do have regional sites all over the US. Check them out and let me know what you think.

Master Gardeners

 
First I want to show you this cute onesie that Baby Doll won from Rhonda @ wherever you go...there you are.. Doesn’t she look adorable? OK, so I’m a little biased.

Pretty sure I’ve mentioned that I’ve been watching my grandkids all summer. Near the end of July, the kids started going back to school, and now that it’s September, I only have my 4-year-old grandson, Burrito, my 3-year-old son, Curly, and almost one-year-old Baby Doll left at home. Scout is in kindergarten, so we have her for half the day except that she sleeps in until noon so it’s not like she’s really here anyway.

So with just these three little ones at home, I’m having a rather difficult time accomplishing anything during the day. My biggest babysitter for the boys is our humongous sand pile, and I send them out there often. The problem with that is that they like to turn on the water and then they get in trouble when Burrito’s dad gets here to pick them up. Now since they can’t use water as a diversion, they have found something new. Apparently, they are both planning to be Master Gardeners when they grow up, which is next week if you ask Curly.

First I discovered three random ears of corn laying on the patio table. No one seemed to know anything about them. Then, on Thursday, both boys came running in, “Grandma, Grandma,” Burrito shouted. “We found a watermelon!” Curly was close at his heels. Yup. They found a watermelon all right. They pulled it right out of the watermelon patch. It was about the size of a baseball. Patience already stretched thin by my inability to deal with my life this week, I came slightly unglued. “That watermelon is never going to grow any more,” I snapped. “You killed it.” Curly started to cry. Burrito looked at me stone-faced. “It was Curly’s idea,” he said. This made Curly cry harder. “No it wasn’t.” He looked like his heart was ready to break as I continued to rake them over the coals about playing in the garden.

Last week they stomped on all the cherry tomatoes and when I cussed them about it, Burrito’s response was, “But I don’t like cherry tomatoes.” I immediately sentenced them to unloading the dishwashers as a punishment job. They complained, but eventually they made their way to the kitchen and started tossing Tupperware bowls into the cupboard. I put Baby Doll in the high chair and opened a jar of baby food. Maybe I could keep them on task if I were sitting right there. I spooned the pulverized lasagna into her open mouth. I must have been really tired because I was totally oblivious until Burrito approached the table. In his hand he was carrying Princess’s bottle of body mist. The strong scent lingered. “I sprayed the soap on all the dishes,” he proclaimed. “That is not soap!” I screeched. I snatched the bottle from his hand, stomped across the room and checked the dishwasher. Yup, sure enough. He had sprayed all the clean dishes with the body mist. At least they smelled good…I hung my head in defeat. Then I proceeded to restart the dishwasher. I guess there is more than one way of getting out of doing a job. I sent them back to the sand pile.

Six Seconds of Confusion

This is Curly, but pretend it's somebody else's kid.

You ever look down and realize that the child hanging on your leg is not your own? You’ve heard of “Babe Magnets…” well, I’m a “Baby Magnet”! It happens to me at least once a month. Usually it’s in a crowded place like a grocery store, the library, or maybe the park. My kids will be wandering around, ignoring me for the most part. Then I feel it…that little arm wrapped around my thigh, or my personal favorite…the lean. A small head just above my knee. None of this bothers me until that little person looks up at me and after about six seconds of confusion, usually it begins to scream, then run. Not that I’m THAT scary.

Princess

Then there are the times when I’m the one who makes the mistake. Like last Sunday at church; Baby Doll and I were wandering the halls because she doesn’t like Sunday School class. We rounded the corner and headed down the long hallway. Just up ahead I saw a beautiful little girl in a short flowered sundress with a white t-shirt beneath it. She had on black stilettos and her blond head was bent over her scriptures. I walked toward her for about 20 feet before I realized that it was not my Princess. I was so startled by the resemblance that I even said something to her about it as I strolled by. She glanced up at me and again I got the six seconds of confusion. Thank goodness she was a little too old to do the scream and run thing at the church although for a minute I thought she just might.

Princess

So last night we had Pack Meeting for Sport and Bean Dip’s Cub Scout group. My sweetie happens to be the Cubmaster, so at our house it is a big huge hairy deal. He spent the whole weekend designing a rocket launcher that would send 2-liter bottles a couple hundred feet into the air. We had about a dozen cub scouts and their parents and little brothers and sisters. I know bottle rockets are cool (at least for 8-year-olds and their dads), but I and the rest of the moms were just chillin’ out in the pavilion waiting for them to finish up.

Gamer

Since Bean Dip also attends scouts with us, Bossy and Gamer were there with their boys. As usual, Gamer was teasing my girls and visiting with the neighbors. One of his favorite things to do to the kids (especially Princess and Curly) is to ruffle up their hair. He likes to run his fingers through Curly’s because it’s kind of like petting a woolly little lamb. Princess he torments because she cares what her hair looks like even in front of a bunch of 8-year-olds (as long as they are boys!).

My cute blond neighbor, Angie, and I were talking about our kids (she has six!) and the blog. We were straddling the picnic benches and I was keeping an eye on the action on the field and she had her back to everyone else. (I guess watching a 2-liter bottle sail up in the air 25 times gets a little boring after a while.) Suddenly, and without warning, Gamer slipped up behind her and ruffled her hair! Then he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around so he could laugh at her…except that when he realized she wasn’t Princess…I’m not sure who was more surprised, my friend or my SIL. After the six seconds of confusion (from all three of us), I think he was ready to scream and run, but all he could do was apologize…over…and over…and over….

Stop the Merry-go-round!

Every year our little city has a celebration called CountryFest. It attempts to mimic those old-fashioned town days we remember as kids where we had fireworks and games at the park, a softball tournament and a parade. Unfortunately, like everything else it has become more of a street fair with dozens of booths all lined up to take your money. I’m not complaining about those people, I understand that they need to make a living, in fact, a very dear friend Becky O'Keefe at Twisted Spiders mostly supports her family selling beaded spiders in booths just like that every weekend. 

More pictures here on Facebook!

But the kids always have a hand out, hoping quarters and dollars just might fall into it. I’ve gotten smarter about these situations and now I simply leave my purse at home and tuck a twenty in my pocket. If we spend it, it’s generally on kettle corn or cinnamon almonds that can treat the whole family. 

So a few years back we took the kids to CountryFest. I’m pretty sure it was the summer I was pregnant with Curly, so my sweetie found me a spot on the grass to watch the entertainment on the stage and then he offered to walk the booths with the kids. As usual, they begged for anything and everything. The Dog Walker in particular kept pointing at the carnival rides and pestering him for money. Now any of you who have attended one of these events knows that the carnival rides are ridiculously expensive…these were $3.00 per ride! That meant even one ride times six kids (who were old enough to really enjoy the rides) was nearly my whole twenty. 

After about half an hour, my sweetie joined me on the blanket with a warm bag of kettle corn. The kids all plopped down around us, digging into the popcorn with greedy hands. 

pic credit

 "Where’s the Dog Walker?" I asked worriedly. My sweetie settled himself more comfortably on the grass. "I gave him some money so he could go on the rides," he said. "What?!" I was annoyed. That wasn’t really fair to the other kids and I was not in the mood to explain why the Dog Walker got preferential treatment. 
"It’s OK," he explained confidently, "I already talked to everybody else. They all wanted popcorn." 

I looked around at their contented faces, happily munching and enjoying the entertainment on the stage. After a moment I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed some popcorn for myself, and settled back to watch the show. About 20 minutes later I saw the Dog Walker staggering across the lawn. He stopped first at one garbage can, then about 20 feet later at another. My sweetie choked on his Diet Pepsi. "I guess it worked," he chuckled. I was totally mystified. 

The Dog Walker had finally reached us and flopped down on the blanket next to me. I glanced at his pale face, "Are you OK?" I reached a hand to touch his forehead. He was sweating and cold and clammy at the same time. "You were right, Dad," he managed. "Those rides just make you sick!" My sweetie hid a smile. "How many times did you ride it?" he asked innocently. The Dog Walker coughed into his hand. "Just twice…" I looked at him incredulously. "Why did you ride it twice if it made you sick?" "Well, Dad gave me enough money for two tickets." I gave my sweetie a look. I couldn’t believe he was messing with the Autistic kid. "Why don’t you go over to the restroom and wash up a little," I suggested. "Maybe it will make you feel better." 

As he stumbled off in the direction of the restrooms, I confronted his tormenter. "You are so mean!" I accused. He chuckled, "Best six bucks I ever spent." I was still annoyed. "What do you mean?" He lounged back in the grass and glanced toward the restroom. "He’ll never ask to ride a carnival ride again." And you know what? He was right. Just for proof, I asked the Dog Walker to help me with a couple of details on this story and the first thing he said was, "I hate carnival rides!"

Pageant and Palisade

As you all know, I grew up in a small town in central Utah. When I was 2 years old, somebody decided that we needed to present a pageant (not a beauty pageant, but a large live play) that explained our Mormon faith. My parents were excited about this opportunity and promptly signed up our family to participate. The girls all got bonnets and long dresses and we walked at the appropriate time across the fairgrounds to represent the trek of the pioneers. I don’t actually remember any of this, but my mom told me about it many times and showed me the bonnets that she kept as remembrances. The pageant had about 2000 people attend the first year and it grew and grew and grew. For two weeks every July, the Mormon Miracle pageant brought thousands of visitors into our tiny towns.

When I was about 12, I had a second opportunity to be part of this production. By then they had moved it to the grounds of the Manti Temple. I was part of the heavenly choir along with the rest of our Young Women group. We wore white dresses with tinsel (no wings because we don’t believe in wings). I can still perform the actions for that song. After my second year as an angel, I graduated to the ranks of a Nephite. These dances were much harder and required weekly practices that began after auditions the first week of May. The costumes were fun and elaborate and reused every year.

Christ among the Nephites

The year I was 15 I was chosen to be a Lamanite, but not a dancer. I stood on the platform. Since Lamanites are the ancestors of today’s American Indians, I was required to be covered in a coppery shade of body paint and have my hair dyed temporarily black each night. This paint was messy and stained the shower. Several years earlier, my older brother wore his hair mostly black all summer when the dye they used wouldn’t wash out of his blonde curls. Our part in the pageant was during the first half, so we were allowed to leave the staging area on a school bus and return to the high school to change.

The years I was an angel or a Nephite, we would walk the couple of blocks to where the crowds were gathered to watch the pageant and chase boys. When I was a Lamanite, we had to find a place to wash off. We were not allowed to mingle with the masses in our war paint. So we would all pile into the back of somebody’s pickup and head to one of the nearby lakes. Gunnison Reservoir was a favorite swimming hole because it was dirty and loaded with catfish. No one minded if we had our cleaning party there. (Remember, this was thirty + years ago. The Water Quality people would be all over us now…I don’t know what they currently do.) The other spot we liked to go to wash off was Palisade Lake in Sterling.

One night a bunch of us headed up there. It had been a difficult performance. The guy who was playing Samuel the Lamanite was supposed to stand on a wall and preach to the people. But he had worked an 18-hour shift the night before and when his cue came, he was snoozing on the ground behind the wall. The spotlights hit the wall, but nothing roused him. The Nephites threw their rocks and chased nobody…He was in our group and rather upset as you can imagine. So when we got to Palisade, he wanted to do something idiotic. He wanted to swim across the lake and back.

The lake is 66 acres with an average depth of 18 feet.

He was about 18 and cute, and I was the only taker. I had been on a swim team as a child and thought I could do anything. Looking back, it’s amazing I even survived. This guy was a trained lifeguard and a much stronger swimmer than I was so I guess that was some consolation, maybe he could have saved me. I was in the pageant all through my teenage years until I was married. I even auditioned for the lead role, but was disqualified because I was only 17 and they required an 18-year-old. The pageant now plays for over a hundred thousand people each year. I looked up the dates for you just in case you are driving through Manti and you want to stop. This year it is June 16 – 18 and 21 – 25. It’s all free and if you’re interested, it’s a great place to pick up guys…but don’t let them take you to the lake. You might just have to swim for it.

*Editor's Note: If you decide to put this on your Summer list and attend the pageant please leave us a comment about your experience.  We'd love to hear what you enjoyed.*

Food for Thought: Mom's Banana Nut Bread

I don’t think my mom really enjoyed cooking, but she loved to bake. The cookie jar was always full when we got home from school, but it didn’t take long for her eight kids to empty it. She made an amazing Toll House cookie with just the right amount of chocolate chips and her applesauce cookies were to die for! When the milk cows were producing and she had plenty of cream, she made chocolate and white sour cream cupcakes by the dozens. I loved candy bars and cookies from the store, but I never missed them at home.

There was one treat I know Mom made just for me because I could eat an entire loaf by myself and that was her banana nut bread. Since I grew up with this tasty sweet bread lovingly made by my mom, I can’t find any in the stores that tastes quite like hers. Using her recipe always makes me melancholy for the rest of the day as I eat slice after slice and remember the sounds and smells of her busy kitchen.

 I spent many days during my crazy high school years curled up in a kitchen chair with a generous piece of warm bread in my hand while we chatted about boys and homework, friends and the future. I never imagined then that I would lose my mom when she was only 68. I’d give almost anything for one of those chats now…maybe I’d better find a couple of my teenaged daughters and slice up another loaf.


 Mom’s Banana Nut Bread

½ cup shortening
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
2 bananas, mashed (approx. 1 ¼ cups)
½ cup walnuts (coarsely chopped)
2 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
¼ tsp salt

Cream shortening and add brown sugar gradually.

Add eggs one at a time. Add bananas. Now put in the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Add nuts.

Spray loaf pan. Bake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees. Makes one large or two small loaves. When I double this recipe I can get three loaves out of it.

Swan Lake

I told you yesterday that Sport made his debut in Swan Lake. He was a cute little trumpeter complete with a feather in his cap. He wasn’t the only one. All told we had five kids strutting their stuff or honking their horns (do swans honk?) as the case may be. They gave three performances and we attended the last one. I knew we had kids in every Act so I didn’t want to be late. We climbed into our seats about two minutes before the opening music to Act I started. 

Since this was an artsy-fartsy show, I fought my droopy eyelids in the semi-darkness until somebody familiar entered. It was the Dog Walker. He had his arm around a cute little girl in a red tutu. Under any other circumstances he might have been ecstatic that he was sporting such a hottie on his arm. But because he was in the middle of the stage and that girl was expecting him to lift her and spin her and generally make her be amazing, he looked a bit nervous. He shouldn’t have been. He did everything just right…I breathed a sigh of relief, but it only lasted a second because right after that Crafty came out with her group. Man, that girl can work a crowd! She dances with the biggest grin on her face. 

Before I had time to fall asleep again, it was the intermission. Baby Doll was awake in her car-seat and demanding attention. As I lifted her out I was hit with a nasty aroma. I was fumbling through my purse looking for a diaper when they dimmed the house lights again. Act II was about to begin. Princess had a dominating role as one of the main swans. I could tell she was nervous, but I’m not sure why because she did an amazing job! Meanwhile, Scout squirmed next to me in her seat. "Do you have to go potty?" I whispered. She nodded her head vigorously and squirmed some more. Baby Doll was also whimpering. I took one last glance at the stage where my beautiful Princess was still performing, tucked Baby Doll under one arm, grabbed Scout’s hand with the other, and bolted for the door. 

The Valse des cygnes from Act II of the Ivanov/Petipa edition of Swan Lake

 

We headed quickly to the restroom. I pushed open a stall door for Scout and looked around for the diaper changing station. Duh! We were in a Junior High School. There wasn’t even a counter to lay my little one on. I backed my way into the next stall, locked the door, and found the only seat available. Thank goodness she didn’t have any leaks! It actually turned out pretty good…I had toilet paper handy to wipe up the excess and a tiny garbage can for diaper disposal. We made it back in for Act III. 

My cute little trumpeter was the first one on stage. It wasn’t long before he was joined by Crafty and Prima Donna, each doing separate dances. Prima Donna looked great even though she was wearing one of those goofy red and yellow costumes I sweated over last week. The Dog Walker came back on stage too. Then the little trumpeter blew his imaginary trumpet for the princesses. There were five of them dressed in powder-blue tutus. Mine performed an amazing solo (if I were the prince I would have picked her…) and she would be mad at me if I didn’t say her friends were amazing as well. I’m not sure I noticed that they were amazing though, because I was too busy watching the trumpeter. 

I’m pretty sure he was supposed to just stand there and look like part of the furniture, but every time I looked at him he was yawning, or wiggling the feather in his cap, or mimicking whichever princess happened to be dancing at the moment. Just for a little variety he also twirled his trumpet around and around on the silken cord about his neck. At one point he almost tipped over the scenery! And you thought Rothbart was the evil one! When the show was over, we stood around waiting with the other parents for the dancers to come out. I had quite a few comments on what a beautiful job the girls did (Princess’s boyfriend was there and even brought her flowers!). The Gym Rat commented about the Dog Walker and his way with the girls, but I had by far the most comments about the little trumpeter who kept everyone from falling asleep. And I thought I was the only hick around here…

Dogs (part 3)

Catch up on part one here.

So I grabbed my son-in-law who isn’t scared of dogs (as opposed to my sweetie who still has nightmares about being trapped in the closet by a maniacal dust mop) and my autistic soon-to-be-dog-owner son and we headed for the animal shelter. I had never been in the dog part of the shelter before…what a ruckus! Dogs of all shapes, sizes, and colors were barking and yapping and howling. There was a blue heeler that was jumping five feet off the ground – straight up! I quickly steered my son to the other side of the compound, there was no way I was putting up with that. 

Blue Heelers can jump amazingly high just google it.

We walked past cage after cage, some with single dogs, and others with half a dozen noisy canines. A pit bull, a yorkie, hounds, and labs all clamoring for attention, affection, and adoption. I must say I was totally overwhelmed! My son wasn’t faring much better…he had both hands clasped tightly over his ears. Only Gamer held it together. He stopped at several cages, greeting dogs and trying to make friends. He finally made a choice for us and we got the dog out of the cage. After a few minutes in the yard with that particular make and model, it became obvious that it was not the right fit. 

We took it back and again started up and down the aisles. A medium-sized brown dog with velvety ears and short hair caught my attention. I think it’s because she seemed to be the only dog in the place with her head down. Her big brown eyes stared at us, and surprisingly, she was not making a sound. I looked at the tag on her cage…name: Diamond, age: 2 years, housebroken, and then: Pit Bull. "No way!" I said to Gamer as he looked at me expectantly. "I’ve heard about pit bulls. They are fighting dogs and we have lots of little kids." He rolled his eyes at me. "Let’s just get her out and see," he suggested. "Fine," I mumbled. Honestly, I didn’t see anything any better. This was all starting to seem like such a bad idea. We took the dog out into the yard. 

She liked both boys and didn’t seem to mind me either. They played catch and fetch and just chased around. After about half an hour we took her back inside. A kind worker led us into a small amphitheater and told us to take all the time we needed. I turned to my small son. "Do you like this dog?" I asked. He thought a minute. Then he signed the letters for Y-E-S. "Maybe you need to say a prayer," I suggested. "Let’s see if Heavenly Father agrees with this choice." I figured He was the one repeating the message in my ear until I finally heard it so I wanted to make sure we were getting the dog He was recommending. I helped my little guy with a short sweet prayer. "She’s good…" he said and smiled at me. Gamer was all business. "Let’s go then," he said. 

We gathered our things, stopped at the counter to pay, and suddenly I was a dog owner again. That was six years ago and that dog still drives me nuts! She doesn’t obey any better than the kids do. They often forget to feed her (so of course she complains to me) and when they do she pushes her food bowl into the laundry mountain and then I end up picking mushy dog food out of my washer. She poops all over the yard and they aren’t small! We got in trouble with the neighbors because of her barking, and we had a run-in with the city when they found out she was supposed to be a pit bull. Animal Control came over to tell us that pit bulls weren’t allowed in our city. But after one look at her they reclassified her as a lab mix. She is gentle and forgiving when the kids climb all over her. She only bit somebody once, but that’s a story for another time. I guess we’ll keep her…but don’t be getting the impression that I’m happy about it!

She is camera shy too.

Anything You Can Do...

I gave you a teaser yesterday in my post about my two older brothers, now Bossy says I’d better explain myself. When I was a child, our house was full of the competitive spirit. I have seven siblings, three brothers and four sisters. This provided plenty of opportunity to try to "one-up" each other. 

My parents encouraged us to work hard and value education. I remember bringing home a report card with all A grades and one A-. There was no "Good job! Nice report card." It was "Why did you get an A-?" My parents also believed that comparing kids with each other made them work harder. Nobody wanted to be the biggest slacker! And for the most part, it worked. 

My oldest brother was the amazingly brilliant one. It all came so easy for him.  He was Valedictorian, received cool scholarships, accepted only the highest possible grades without ever studying, traveled the world, earned a PhD at Cornell, wrote books, and finally landed a prestigious position at the University of Canterbury in Christchurch, New Zealand. He eventually even got the girl when he married at age 38 and had an incredibly brilliant daughter of his own. (He’s losing his hair first too, so that’s got to be worth something!) 

My next brother also had very high grades because he worked extremely hard, received nice scholarships, traveled the world, earned a PhD from UCLA, wrote books, and landed a prestigious position at the University in Chiba, Japan (sorry, I don’t know the name of your school!). He has a beautiful wife and three extremely talented kids (OK, the two boys play an amazing game of basketball…) and his little girl can only dribble down her chin (so far! She just turned one.). 

Then there’s me…but for now, let’s focus on the competition that goes on between these two brothers of mine. Perhaps you can see a few similarities in the paths they have followed? Both played tennis in high school and were state champions. Watching a tennis match between the two of them was a lot like watching them succeed in life. Japan 15, New Zealand 30, Advantage Japan, Game, Set, Match! They were working hard for the same things. Both were Eagle Scouts, missionaries, ESL teachers in other countries. Both married later in life (I think they had a pact of some kind). 

As kids they weren’t always the best of friends. I remember them fighting one night and running through the glass window of our front door. I’m pretty sure that one ended in stitches. Actually, I’m pretty sure that happened twice! But as brothers they were always close. New Zealand was a bit of a nerd in elementary school and Japan ended up in the principal’s office many times for beating up the kids who picked on his older brother. 

©: FOX

 This has been the hardest blog I have written. I have been so worried that their competitive spirits might misinterpret my intentions somehow and make them feel that I care more for one than the other or that I think one has been more amazing than the other. They are two of my heroes and even though I like to tease them a little, I’m very proud of the amazing men they have become. But just because one of you did something doesn’t mean the other one has to copy every time. Japan clearly won the earthquake competition...now can’t we just do something easy? Like stealing the moon or maybe a race to Mars? 

©:Dreamworks

Cell Phones

I’ve been working on my sweetie for a while now and I finally got my way…now I’m starting to wish I hadn’t. You know the Dog Walker is 17 years old and autistic. Other than the fact that he can be somewhat irresponsible, he seemed to me to be the perfect candidate for a cell phone. The problem is that we already have 5 phones on our current plan and there was not an option for any more. That ended the discussion. Sort of. Until Bossy got a new phone plan and new phones. 

She and Gamer only needed two, but they added an extra one and offered it to me for all the younger kids to use. That was working out fine except that 14-year-old Princess thinks she really is one and dominated the phone with her contacts, her text messages, her friends…basically her phone. Now anyone with a brain in their head can see that if Bossy can get three phones, then Bossy can get four phones. Unfortunately, my sweetie was not seeing the value of taking advantage of this offer. He didn’t want to pay for another phone. After a couple of months of discussion and just some plain old whining on my part, he finally gave in and suggested that maybe the Dog Walker needed a phone. 

So I called Bossy and asked her to order this nice metallic blue model that was mostly free (ok it was $30.00, but that’s not bad for such a cute little phone). Later that night at basketball practice I asked her if she had time to order the phone. "Mom," she said. "I tried to order the phone. Really I did, but I have a problem." She bounced the basketball a couple of times to make her point. "What is it?" I asked anxiously, thinking that perhaps the phones were sold out or that Gamer had put his foot down. She bounced the ball a couple more times. "The phones are buy one get one free and I just couldn’t do it! I just couldn’t order one and leave the free one laying there on the table." At least I’d taught her something about being a good shopper! 

It took me a week to get up the nerve to mention this to my sweetie. When he finally asked me when the new phone was coming I said, "You know, the funny thing…" I let him draw his own conclusions. The next day he sent me a text, "If I never have to have this discussion about phones again, just get one for the Prima Donna too." So we ordered two phones. "Buy one, get one free," she said. Then she sent me a bill for $82.00. "Well you knew there would be an activation fee," she said. For two phones! The phones came in and they are beautiful. In an effort to save money we blocked all internet access and read them the riot act about going over minutes. 

Like this teenage boy

They were so excited! Prima Donna programmed in all her friends and all Princess’s friends and I think even some of my friends. Crafty set up the other phone. The Dog Walker was nervous. He sent me a text that read, "What if I get in trouble?" and then, "What if I get caught with it?" I told him to put it on vibrate and keep it in his pocket. The next morning was an early day. He has a band class that meets twice a week at 6:00 am. He and his dad left the house at dark-thirty and drove the short distance to the school. I still have my head buried under the covers at that time of day. At 7:45 I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. I picked up the line, "Hello?" "Mom?" It was my Dog Walker. "I’ve lost my phone," he said matter-of-factly, "Can you ask Dad if I left it in the van?" My stomach started to hurt. He’d had that phone for less than 12 hours and I had a two-year contract! 

I called my sweetie at work asking him about the phone but he must have been in a meeting because he didn’t answer so I left him a message. Did I mention that it snowed six inches during the night? If my son dropped it in the parking lot, that would be the end of it. About half an hour later I got a text from the missing phone, "I have your sons phone any chance of a reward?" First I was relieved, but then I was annoyed. Who does that? Just give the autistic kid his phone back! "Who is this?" I texted angrily. A new message appeared on my screen. "Did I scare you? I figured you would know it was me, but I guess not. Sorry." That second message came from my sweetie’s phone. Who does that? Don't mess with the autistic kid's mom! I guess he won after all.

Basketball Mom

Some things never change. This morning we crawled out of bed around 10:00 so the Dog Walker could get to his basketball game at the church by 10:15. I’ve admitted in the past to being a basketball junkie, but there are sometimes when I’d probably be better off if I just stayed home. We sent him off at 10:10 in our orange and rust colored 1970 Chevy truck so he wouldn’t be late. By the time I got myself and Baby Doll dressed and out the door it was pushing 10:30. We arrived at the game during half-time so it was relatively easy to find a comfortable seat in the overflow. I unzipped Baby Doll’s coat and we settled ourselves in for an exciting second half. 

Dog Walker has been playing basketball since he was about seven or eight, but the game stresses him out and he forgets the rules or throws a shot from half court instead of setting up a play. For 17, he’s a big kid; almost 6’3" and 300 pounds, with large hands and size 14 shoes. He’s been actively involved in sports for most of his life. Did I ever mention that he’s Autistic? I’ve never allowed my kids to be quitters and just because he is Autistic, that doesn’t exempt him from those rules. 

The Jr. Jazz games he played when he was little were pure torture for his mother. He didn’t understand the rules or instructions from the coaches so he would just run back and forth about 10 feet behind the others boys, screaming and crying his frustrations the entire time. If you didn’t know better, you might just assume that he was upset because no one would give him the ball.  He didn’t really speak until he was about eight and then he couldn’t carry on a real conversation until he was ten. All through that time, he still played basketball with some very patient coaches. Each time a new season began I made sure I spoke with each parent and coach, "My son is Autistic. Hopefully he won’t say anything weird or inappropriate to your son. Please let me know if he causes problems." 

Then there were the games. He would complain or pout or cry and sometimes all three at the same time. Every game required me to make that long trip around the court at some point during the game to talk with him and help him settle down. For the first 3 or 4 games of every season he would yell at me from the floor, "I hate you! I hate this game! Mom MAKES me play basketball! This is NOT fun!" Most parents just gave me a sympathetic smile and secretly breathed a sigh of relief that they could stay in their seats. 

As a sometime coach and parent, I yelled encouragement and occasional corrections from my seat in the bleachers. This would bring even more comments from my son, "Stop it, Mom! I don’t want to play anymore!" Or my personal favorite, the primal "Arrgghh!" But he always kept running and moving, chasing the other boys and the basketball. A single shot on Saturday would keep him happy all week. 

When he was 14, I quit signing him up to play. Church ball was cheaper and more convenient, and sometimes I could miss a game, knowing that our friends and neighbors were there being supportive. So, back to today’s game…halftime ended and my son took the court with his friends. A neighbor assured me he had been doing well with lots of rebounds and blocks. They ran back and forth, back and forth with my son trailing a little, but obviously a big part of the game. He tossed a few up but they bounced off the rim. I could see the frustration building, but he kept on running. 

He finally picked up a rebound and tossed it in for two points. Usually that would be enough to keep him happy for the rest of the day, but not this time. 
About 30 seconds later he tried putting up another one and he got hacked on the arm. A whistle blew. "Number 11, on the shot, shooting two!" My Dog Walker made his way to the foul line. The first shot was up…and swished the bottom of the net without going through the hoop. On the second try he managed to hit the rim, but the rebound fell to the other team. As he turned to run with his teammates down the floor, I almost missed it. "You shouldn’t have come!" he shouted in my direction. Some things never change.

Falling in Love: First Kiss

 My lab assistant and I spent a lot of our spare time together that week, working and talking, but now everything was different. We weren’t just friends anymore. It was time to take our relationship to a new level. I hate to admit that I had some previous kissing experience and I was pretty sure that he didn’t have any. That said, I tried to make it easy for him to make a move. He just didn’t seem to get the hint.

Exactly one week from our first date, we sat together in my car in the library parking lot.  We'd spent several nights there together until they dimmed the lights and my lab assistant insisted we had to leave.  It was December 10^th and cold. We were snuggling and talking about finals and how glad we would be when school was finally out for the Christmas break. Remember this was a small town? At some point my mom showed up. It was way before the days of cell phones and when I didn’t answer the office phone she came looking for me. It didn’t help that we had fogged up the windows. Unfortunately it was from warm breath and cold air, nothing else. We chatted for a few minutes, then I promised to come home soon and she left us alone.

This seemed to be as good a time as any for expecting that first kiss. I knew he was nervous so I moved a little closer to make it easier. The tension was as thick as the ice in the parking lot. It seemed to be taking forever for him to make up his mind. Finally his lips touched mine. It was sweet and gentle and scared, but quickly took on a mind of its own. I’m not even sure why, but to diffuse the moment, I blew a breath of air into his mouth! His eyes popped open and he pulled away. I don’t think this was what he had imagined it would be like. Then to make matters worse, I started laughing! He looked confused for a moment; then he started laughing too.

It was a long cold winter that year in our small town. I told you before that he didn't have a car and I did, but I drove one that belonged to my parents. That meant I didn’t always have open access to transportation. It was only three or four blocks to the college from my home, so sometimes I would have to walk to the library or to class depending on the situation. One night a week or so later, before there were very many more kisses (I don’t know, maybe he was scared to try again after the reception he got the first time), he was walking me home.
 

There had been a storm earlier in the day and the plows had come through, making huge piles of snow along the sides of the road. At each corner these piles were even bigger, some as high as 10 or 12 feet.  We were laughing and talking and tossing little snowballs at each other. I had on boots, so I was walking in the deeper snow. Suddenly I climbed up one of these higher piles and let my boots sink in. The snow quickly swallowed me up to my knees. "I’m stuck!" I called out playfully.

He hurried over, the concern clearly showing on his face. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, oblivious to my flirting techniques. "Get me out?" I suggested. He carefully stepped over the snow and gallantly reached out a hand to help me. This was not my plan. I wanted big strong arms around me and maybe more, so I played dumb. "I don’t think that’s going to work," I said. He inched closer. "I’m really stuck," I reminded him. Finally he seemed to get the message. He put his arms around me and pulled me to safety.

It was several years later before he understood that I could have gotten out of that snow bank all by myself. Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you a little more about our stormy courtship and his declaration of love.

Falling in Love: First Date

So we met the first week in June of 1982. I survived the Survey Chem class with the firm intention of never taking another chemistry class in my life! But my job required me to correct homework and tests for the various chemistry classes, so chemistry became part of my routine. 

I was an English Major, so sometimes correcting homework was a bit beyond my abilities especially for the Organic Chem class. This nice lab assistant was the perfect person to ask for help! Not only was he in the Organic Chem class, but he could get paid for his efforts in my behalf. So we started spending many afternoons together, laughing, working, and getting to know each other a little better. 

 
I must confess that I was a big flirt and it never occurred to me to be anything different around him. It was obvious that he didn’t have much experience with girls and most of my flirting just seemed to frustrate him. After several months of working together I finally ran into him one night at the library. I was with my little sister and he was just hanging out and doing homework. We started teasing him and eventually I stole his class ring. That was really the first time I looked at him as being a romantic conquest. 

Several evenings later I was working in the chemistry office. The Organic class was having a test and I had several guy friends in there sweating it out. After a couple of hours, they were finally dismissed. What a ragged bunch! They had clearly used every bit of brain power they collectively possessed. These were some of the smartest guys in the school and they all congregated in the chemistry office. I was the only girl among them. 

My lab assistant sprawled in the professor’s chair, "I could sure use a steak!" he complained to no one in particular. Then, when he got no response, he said, "Anyone want to come?" "I’ll come," I said. We looked around at the rest of the guys. Each had his own silly little smirk on his face. "I have some stuff I need to do," said one. "Have fun!" commented another. Somehow I thought I had been set up, but I wasn’t going to walk away without a good steak dinner. Besides, this was probably the only way I was ever going to get this super-shy guy to ask me out. "OK, let’s go," I said. 

He didn’t have a car, so naturally I had to drive. We headed to the only steakhouse in town, a tiny café I had never been to before. I made up my mind then and there that this was a date and we were both going to act like it. When I pulled into the parking lot, he got out and headed to the door. I just sat there and waited. It took him a few minutes to realize that I was still in the car. I’m pretty sure that’s when he figured out that we were not just two friends grabbing a bite to eat together. 

 He came back and opened my door. We enjoyed our meal and talked about things that were a little more personal than homework and test scores.  Then I took him to my favorite place in the whole world…my grandparents’ house. 

They were a little nervous about me bringing a new guy around, but they took it in stride. Although my grandma took me in the other room and said loudly enough for him to hear, "Now don’t go getting serious with this one!" I was only 17 and college boys were definitely trouble. I can’t remember who suggested that we attend the dance that night, but somehow we ended up there. Several slow dances later and we were both convinced that our first date wouldn’t be our last…come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you about our first kiss.

Gym Rat

I have four amazingly smart and cool sons! But today I want to tell you a little bit about my oldest son. We call him the Gym Rat because he spends about two hours a day in the gym every day but Sundays. He works a full time job carrying huge buckets of paint as a deliveryman for a local paint store. He also goes to school part time and has recently changed his focus to Physical Therapy. He is intensely interested in the body and how it works. I think there are two reasons for this.

First of all, about the time he hit 8^th grade he became unhappy about his size. (Before that he was fine with it because he was playing the line on a pee-wee football team and bigger was better.) At 21 he was 6' 6" and well over 300 pounds. He worried about high blood pressure and diabetes, so he decided it was time to do something about it. He started watching what he ate. He was the kind of guy who hated vegetables and lived off cold cereal, bread, pasta, and Doritoes. He also started working out, and instead of working for Blockbuster, he got the job at the paint store. It didn’t take long for the extra weight to morph into extra muscle.

www.rawfoodlife.com

As he became stronger and more fit he decided he might want to change his diet. First he added fruit and when that didn’t kill him, he introduced a few vegetables. He still doesn’t like them much, but he tolerates some of them. (Once we hid a pea in his sandwich and he found it! Another time we fed him eggplant lasagna and he ate it until we told him what it was. And he was pretty grownup when one day he was eating potato soup, found a tiny piece of onion in it and actually THREW it at me across the dinner table! It was a good thing he was done eating because he spent the rest of the evening in his room thinking about it.)  Today he told me he eats broccoli every day! He also eats peppers on a regular basis.  Changing his diet also meant learning to cook. That is an adventure he enjoys very much.  He and a close friend have their own little business called "Warriors Fitness." They are hoping to eventually open their own gym.

The second reason the Gym Rat is interested in how bodies work is that he has a friend who is a paraplegic. He was injured in an accident shortly after they both graduated high school. He has no mobility in his lower body and limited in his upper body. This friend craved independence and the Gym Rat helped him to find it. They moved into an apartment together at school, and my son helped him with that transition. He put him to bed at night, drove him around (until his friend got a special van), carried him where he needed to go, and even assisted with other not-so-pleasant tasks. I have never in my life been that nice to anyone.

When someone needs to move a piano or a house, the Gym Rat is the first and last name on the list. When some pretty little girl has a broken heart, she seeks out the Gym Rat for comfort and cuddles. His broad shoulders carry many burdens for others willingly and often. His little brothers and sisters are so excited to see him. "Do a trick!" they squeal as his lifts them upside down and around his neck, setting them gently on their feet just so they can reach up for another one. He never walks into the house without seeking me out and giving me a hug first thing. I always used to say that I found the best man when I got married, but my son is even better. He is kind, even-tempered and unpretentious. He will be a bit annoyed about all the fuss over him, but he will roll with it just like he always does. I so admire my son and his willingness to serve and take care of others and improve his own life at the same time. Now if he would just find a nice girl and get married…Happy 24^th birthday Big One! Love you. Mom