Banter at Bedtime

Me: How's it going, old man?

Max: Bye, older lady.

Me: Where are you going, short person?

Max: Haha, very funny. You're smaller than Christian.

Me: Yeah, but I can still sit on him. And I can sit on you, too.

Max: Yeah, but you're just a midget.

Me: Too bad for you, since you have the same DNA.

Max: DNA? Who cares about DNA?

Me: Let's move on to another subject. What would you like to talk about?

Max: Something you don't want to talk about.

Me: Like politics?

Max: Maybe something different.

Me: Let's talk about unicorns. How many unicorns do you think it takes to make one unicorn burger?

Max: See you later.

Me: What? Did I upset you? Does the thought of a big, juicy unicorn patty make you cry?

Max: Wait, I need to go to the bathroom. For about, like, forever.

Me: Hmmm. Must have had beans for dinner.

(Several minutes later)

Me: Were you rapping in the bathroom?

Max: No! Maybe. Yeah, I did.

Me: That seems like a fun bathroom activity. What are your plans this weekend?

Max: Sleep, uhhhhhh, and other stuff.

Me: Sounds fun. I'm ready to go to sleep right now. How about you? You could get started on your weekend.

Max: Great! I'll do it a couple hours after you do.

Me: I may be funny, but I'm not stupid. Go to bed, you short little old man.

Max: Oh yeah? I think I can do more math problems than you.

Me: What's one little boy plus one bedtime?

Max: Equals Mom sleeping and little boy partying.

Me: Wrong. It equals 73.

My Day in the Pitts

When you think of Pittsburgh, what comes to mind? Industrial town? Steel mills? Cold, gray, desolation? Depressed, forlorn factory workers who dress in ratty black jumpsuits and chain smoke and complain about "the man"?

Um, that is not Pittsburgh. Why were we thinking that was Pittsburgh? Why am I dragging you into this with all this "we" talk? Because this is my blog.

Pittsburgh is beautiful. Like, really beautiful. It's nestled inside some lush mountains. Or, large speed bumps, as we call them in the West.

We ventured to Pittsburgh to cheer on the Utah Utes. Here are my boys representin'. Please notice in this photo that Pittsburgh has three beautiful rivers that join in it and a plethora of lovely bridges throughout. See the one in the distance? See the one we're standing on? See the cheery yellow stadium in the distance? Bee-yoo-tiful.

We were also representing with our intake of local food. I love local food. We did our homework (a.k.a. hours of Man vs. Food watching) and found these Quaker Steak wings at the stadium. (By the way, is it just me, or does Max look exactly the same as he did when he was three? Yes? I know. So weird.)

We cheered on our team. I also cheered on the sun who was battling the clouds that day. Go Sun! You can do it! Show me the sunny!

We got there a little early and were lucky enough to sit in the visiting team family section. Careful what you criticize when you're sitting in the team family section. Somebody's mama might bop you on the head. (By the way, whenever Ryan is dressed in hat and sunglasses, I think he looks majorly CIA. I, on the other hand, look majorly DORK.)

Our cheering paid off. The Utes won! The team came over to sing the fight song after the win. It was really cool. It was also really cool because the clouds beat out the sun for the weather win. Womp, womp.

Pittsburgh also has beautiful architecture and a nice city center. We did not see the Pittsburgh ghetto of my imagination. I don't think it exists. Everybody we met was really friendly and nobody threatened to kill us with steel beams. Several people even called me "hon," which actually threw me a little off guard. I guess I'm getting used to our proximity to Philly because I was about to say, "Yo, knock it off with the 'hons' if you know what's good for yous." However, since I lived most of my life in Utah, I just smiled and said, "I sure do apprecia'cha!"

Speaking of Man vs. Food, we followed Adam Richman's advice and made a bee-line after the game to Primanti Brothers for their famous sandwiches. There were lots of "hons" flying around that place, but it's not what you think....

It was me saying, "Well, helllooooo, hon," to this sandwich. Let's dissect the layers, shall we? Bread, tomatoes, tomatoes, cole slaw, cole slaw, cole slaw, runny egg, french fries, french fries, cheese, pastrami, and bread. Don't make that face. It was bliss, I tell you. Pure bliss. 

Pittsburgh. It's the land of many wonders. Like, I wonder why I had such totally false ideas of what it would be like. Perhaps the word "pitts" is to blame. Maybe subconsciously the ideas of avocado pits and armpits created the negative connotations?

If I were the mayor of Pittsburgh, I'd start a PR campaign to educate dumb, prejudiced people like me. And the first thing I'd do is change the name officially to Brad Pittsburgh. It's much more appropriate and fitting, don't you think? It brings to mind all sorts of wonderful connotations.

Brad Pittsburgh: The Devastatingly Handsome City

Brad Pittsburgh: We'll Adopt You And Love You Like Our Own

Brad Pittsburgh: We Oughta Be In Movies

Brad Pittsburgh: Angelina Jolie Chose Us, Why Don't You?

Those are just a few ideas off the top of my head, but I think I'm on to something. 

Goodbye, Brad Pittsburgh! I hope to see you again soon!

For the Record

I did work on the Book yesterday.

I also made the first pot roast of my life.

But wait, there's more.

I plan to do both again.

Thanks for the encouragement.

But wait, there's more.

Here's my boys. Remember them? One is really enjoying himself and one is really restraining himself.

Here's my other boy. This photo was taken by Max as part of a two-part series called "Happy Dad, Abstract Dad." I accidentally deleted "Abstract Dad." Oops.

But wait, there's more.

Do you need anything texted for you? I know a guy. He's very good at it. Quite proficient. Quite prolific. Quite protextual.

I hire most of my texting out to him. 

What I Done Did

First I got on a train. I sat behind a group of judges who'd been in Philadelphia for a conference and were on their way home to New Haven. They were playing Words with Friends on one of their iPads and complaining about the computer's lack of respect for them and some of their words. They joked and giggled and gossiped and acted generally immature together. Judges gone wild.

Next, I got off the train in New York City. You know you're in New York City because of the smell of fresh urine and pretzels. Mmmm. I met up with my sister-in-law Betsy and niece Sydney. You know you're with Betsy and Sydney because of the fresh smell of shopping bags. Aren't they cute?

We ventured to Brooklyn and stood in line for the best pizza on earth. It only took an hour to wait for the best pizza on earth, which is reasonable, I think. Especially on a beautiful fall day.

Later, I sat in their hotel room and asked them to share all their shopping finds with me and, oh, what a parade! Ladies and gentlemen, the economy has officially been stimulated. I lived vicariously, delighting in the gorgeous fabrics and frugal finds. I may or may not have coveted a poncho and lusted after it in my heart.

The next morning, I arose bright and early and donned my walking shoes. I made like a pioneer and walked and walked and walked all day. First, I walked to Alyssa's apartment. Look how cute my baldy friend is! We're calling her new look chemo-chic. My look is slept-on-the-floor-frazzled. But I think it works.

The color theme of the day was pink. We joined a sea of pink at Central Park for the Race for the Cure. I'll be honest, mine was more of a walk for the cure, but I know the cure won't mind.

After the race, we had lunch with some of Alyssa's friends (such nice people, by the way) and then Alyssa and I spent some much-needed sofa time together at her apartment, laughing, talking, and occasionally crying. Eventually it was time for me to catch my train, so I walked and walked to the station. They oversold my train, but I pushed my way through before I could get bumped to the next one. I was ready to get home to my house full of boys. And also my bathtub.

The next day, I got to have dinner with my brother John who is in Philadelphia for some meetings this week. Lucky for us, it's Restaurant Week in Philly, so we took him out for swanky Mexican food. (Did you know Mexican food can be swanky?) We ate ourselves silly. We ate so much, my hair lost all its volume and pizazz.

I crashed in bed last night. I slept like a corpse. When the alarm clock went off this morning, it was a foreign and disturbing noise. I must have been dreaming that I was a wealthy aristocrat, able to sleep to my heart's content and never bothered by such annoyances as alarm clocks. I love that dream. I finally awoke, firing the butler, and crawled back into my everyday life.

Everyday life today included more walking, some writing, some emailing, some errands, and the creation of the first butternut squash soup of the season. It's roasting in the oven now, bathing in Thai spices and coconut water. I will patiently wait.

And that's what I done did. I wonder what I will done do next.

Our Circus Can't Beat Up Anybody Else's Circus

I did something stupid over the weekend. I went to see the circus. It was so underwhelming, I strongly urge the owners to rename it, "Mediocre Show on Earth."

The last time I saw the circus was in 1988. My grandfather treated my family to the show. He was old, in the beginnings of his decline. It was a Saturday afternoon. I wore a red dress. The show, as I recall, was spectacular. The clowns were so funny, the animals were so majestic, the contortionists were so bendy, the stunts were so life-threatening, and the trapeze absolutely blew my mind. In short, the experience was magical.

I wanted to revisit the circus many times since then, but was turned off because of alleged animal abuse. I boycotted the circus for as long as I could possibly stand it, right up until Saturday. I'm not sure why I decided to give in. After all, I was on a 23-year streak. I guess I sort of hoped that the allegations were either false or no longer an issue. Plus, who are we to say that elephants don't like wearing sequins? (See how easy it is to break down your moral fiber with only a little justification?)

If only I'd been warned that the real reason to boycott the circus is that it has taken a serious nose dive into the Snore Zone. For example, there were fewer clowns this time, and they were not even remotely funny. I know we're in a recession, but is funny that expensive? Did funny have to get cut out of the budget? I walk around being funny all day long for free! If it were up to me, I would have given the horribly annoying musical numbers the axe instead.

There were very few stunts in the show---no ladies doing handstands on top of galloping horses, no tiny Asian men folding themselves into 3 x 5 index cards, and no trapeze artists flying through the air by their teeth. The best we got was a man catapulted across the stage shortly after being lit on fire. It was semi-impressive if I hadn't SEEN IT EVERY NIGHT ON DAVID LETTERMAN IN 2006. Plus, they gave the guy a giant inflatable landing pad and a crew with fire extinguishers to greet him there. Where's the excitement in that?

I wanted to like the circus, I really did. I went in ready to give it my all. And I would have been satisfied if only it had maintained the 1988 status quo. But truthfully, I was hoping it had become bigger and better as most great American industries do, like our car manufacturing and healthcare system. Oh wait.

But seriously, I was semi-expecting that the circus of 2011 would be all thrilling and edgy. You know, I thought maybe they'd have one of the lions escape from the cage, jump into the crowd and eat a kid. Then, just before the crowd tramples each other on the way out of the building, the lion runs back to the cage, vomits the kid out whole and unscathed at the feet of the burly tamer to the jaw-dropping surprise of the audience. The lion takes a deep bow as the crowd erupts into applause. The lion tamer then lifts the kid---who is actually a pygmy circus performer disguised as a kid---onto his shoulders. And all of this, of course, is going on as trapeze artists are flying around the big top on fire, practicing contortion moves. Now THAT'S thrilling and edgy. That's the circus of 2011.

Hey, Circus, you can actually have that idea for free. You're welcome.

Updates, updates, updates

Let's play catch-up, shall we? It's a really fun game in which I write down all the stuff I've been doing so that I remember it in ten years. You can read it if you want. Or, you can look at this random picture of my kids.

So much of our daily life is explained in this one simple picture. (Sigh.)

Now, for the updates:

We ate Thanksgiving dinner alone at a nice-ish buffet at Longwood Gardens. It was meh. A few days later, we had Thanksgiving Do Over that I cooked myself. It was much better. I highly recommend doing over holidays that aren't quite right.

A week after Thanksgiving, we flew out to Utah for a quick holiday visit and had a great, fun-filled, exhausting time. Here's a shot of my family party. Believe it or not, there are several family members not in the photo.

Then, that night, we had Ryan's family party. Jesse and his band, Herod the Fink, performed and rocked the house with their awesome Christmas tunes. (Have you bought the CD yet?)

We came home to Lucy, who yipped and pawed at my leg for 45 entire minutes and made me promise to never, ever leave her again.

Another update: I've been keeping (somewhat) busy with freelance work, thanks to a couple of great ad agencies in town who have been funneling work my way. My new motto is, "No project is too small!" However, I'm starting a big new project this week and, hopefully, an even bigger project in January. Thanks again for all the well-wishing and networking, my friends.

And yet another update: Last week, I pulled out my withering, neglected novel-in-progress. Even though it's a computer document, a giant puff of dust shot out of my computer screen when I opened it. I cringed, but I pushed up my sleeves and started writing again. It felt good.

Guess what? Another update: Ryan spent a few days last week in DC working on a very exciting project. I can't give you all the details, but he is now one degree of separation from President Obama, which means he is only TWO DEGREES OF SEPARATION FROM OPRAH! He doesn't like to admit it, but he's sort of a big deal.

Would you like one more update? Christian tried out and made his middle school basketball team last week. Yahoo! Later today I plan to purchase a season's worth of non-toxic, non-comedogenic paint (in school colors, of course) to paint my face and belly for all of the home games. You know, because I'm a cool mom.

We're all caught up now. Have a wonderful Monday.

I Interrupt This Blogging Slump...

...with happy photos. Many happy photos.

Like this one. This is Ollie and I'm in love with him. And don't accuse me of just falling for his looks; the boy has a great personality, too.

Here we are loaded in a minivan headed to New York City. That's James and DeDe along with my boys. James says it looks like I'm trying to show off my wedding ring in this picture.

We had an amazing few days together. We toured Washington DC, New York, as well as the mushroom capitol of the world. We spent most of our many hours of driving time playing "Hot Seat," asking each other deeply personal questions. 

Here's the boys club. Aren't they cute?

Let me now interrupt this blog post to point out a disturbing trend I've noticed. It seems that my last born offspring is slowly, inexplicably, morphing into Richard Nixon. What the?

If you have information regarding this problem, please let me know. I'm officially concerned.

Anyway, back to the trip. We had a great time and looked forward to it for so long, I'm completely sulky now that it's over.

It's impossible to tell but I promise it's true, minutes after this photo was taken, Ryan did an AMAZING toddler impression. It was an oscar-worthy performance. Even Ollie liked it.

Here's one last shot of me and my brother. I'd like you to know that I didn't pin him down, sit on him, or threaten to beat him up once during his visit. And likewise, he didn't call me a fat cow. We've really grown since we were nine and six.

It was so much fun being together. However, I've been thinking about it and I've determined that it was NOT long enough, and I demand a do-over!

Who's with me?

Hello There, Stranger

Well.

I didn't mean to be gone quite so long, but you know how it goes... First, my parents come into town and then spring break comes along and before I know it,  I've forgotten how to blog. Be careful, it could happen to you too.

But I'm back. With the remains of a sunburn that are fading into a tan, and a long list of items that have been fixed by my dad around my house. I couldn't be happier.

The problem with being gone for so long is that I feel compelled to write about it all, because it was enchanting, but (lucky for you) I don't have that kind of attention span. So, I will just summarize a few of the truths I discovered spending a week with my parents, and then a week on vacation:

• Having my parents stay is like having kindly, live-in servants. Rich people are so lucky.
• If we set our minds to it, we really can eat an entire giant bowl of fruit in one week.
• Take time to wander in small shops; they could be selling magic pants.
• A trip to the beach is not the same without the bacon ice cream store.
• Field of Dreams is actually a very strange story. How did we miss that in 1989?
• Some gas station food is actually good.
• Watching your parents with your kids is one of life's treasures.
• The cherry blossoms in Washington, DC are worthy of every lovely adjective sent their way.
• Speaking of adjectives, the only ones worth using in Mad Libs are: poopy, chunky, smelly, and pimpled.
• The best Mad Lib nouns are: poo, poop, turd, diarrhea, armpit, and pee.
• Taking a tour of the nation's capitol is even more fun when your nephew is leading it.
• The best Smithsonian cafeteria is in the American Indian museum.
• If you're a mom or a grandma, a trip to a cool grocery store can feel like a trip to Disneyland.
• Dropping my parents off at the airport will always make me cry. Always.
• Packing for vacation can keep your sad heart occupied.
• A ten-hour road trip seems exponentially shorter when started at 7 am instead of 2 pm.
• When in doubt, rent the minivan.
• My oldest child is becoming an adolescent, which means that I am becoming an agnostic.
• Some Subway employees are not worthy of the title "Sandwich Artist."
• The sound of the ocean is very good for the soul.
• Mexican food, as it turns out, is also very good for the soul.
• There is no shame in eating Mexican food every day.
• There are no wiggly pigs anywhere in the Piggly Wiggly.
• If you really concentrate, fried okra is almost as delicious as fried Oprah.
• Never miss an opportunity to wander a tiny, used bookstore.
• No matter how long you're gone, the dog will always be happy to see you again.

No Vacancy

The Ryan & Tiffany Bed & Breakfast & Gall Bladder Surgical Recovery Center is officially booked for the week. I'll be sparse here in blogland because I'll be so busy attending to my hostess, nurse, and tour guide duties. I'll be like, "May I fix you something to eat? May I fetch you some gauze? May I escort you to Amish country? May I fix you some Amish gauze to eat in the country?"

It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of my second favorite room in the house, the guest room. I love it because it's the place where our friends and family stay.

And now, check it out with the swanky vinyl lettering I applied over the weekend...

I think it added a lot, don't you?

See you (sparsely), peeps!

Warning: Thanksgiving Vacation Can Be Harmful to Your Regular Life

It's a dangerous, dangerous thing to take several days off of work to gallivant around with your whole entire family seeing movies, eating fattening cookies and meals, staying up late, and taking naps whenever the mood strikes.

You won't know it's a dangerous thing until you get up on Monday morning with your regular life staring you in the face. Suddenly your regular life doesn't seem fair. (And then you curse Paris Hilton because her regular life looks like your holiday life. Plus, she's skinny.)

It was so good to be with almost everybody (missed you, Ashley!). We spent a couple of days with Ryan's family and then we joined my family up at a cabin where we all stayed together for a few days. We walked in the door and I swear I didn't see my kids again until we loaded in the car to head to the airport. They were swallowed up in cousins.

Today I worked and worked and worked (with more work to go) and found myself missing my Thanksgiving Vacation life, so I'm going to take a minute and live vicariously through my memories.

Some things I don't want to forget in no particular order:

The fluffiness of the biscuits at Ruth's Diner.

When my niece Leslie said, "It smells like burps out here." (And it did!)

Shopping with the girls.

Sitting up late talking in the hotel lobby with Val and Heidi and girls.

How funny and cute my kids look going through airport security.

Sitting on the couch talking with my dad.

Taking a nap in the middle of the day.

Taste-testing popcorn and hot chocolate.

Seeing Christian as an adolescent for the first time.

The background sound of my brothers playing guitar.

The family talent show and my nephew Sam's amazing, manly voice.

My nephew Christopher--everything about him.

Max playing with his cousin Ben from sun up until sun down.

Preparing our Thanksgiving meal with everybody.

Driving down the canyon to see my parent's new house.

Listening to James read my bookus (think fetus) to some of the group.

Taking a family picture at Silver Lake, one of my favorite places on earth.

Max making funny faces in the pictures.

Losing miserably at Bananagrams over and over and over again.

Having my niece Sydney do my makeup.

A quiet cabin while most of the family went to a movie.

Realizing that I'm either too old or too tired to do Black Friday shopping.

Quality time with some of my favorite people on earth.

A smooth flight home.

I hope your Thanksgiving was equally wonderful and my condolences on your return to regular life.

All is Fair in Love and Board Games

We played Monopoly over the weekend. I used to beg my siblings to play that game when I was a kid, but everybody always rolled their eyes and moaned, "I hate that game!" Christian has been begging us to play it, and even though Ryan and I rolled our eyes to each other behind his back, we agreed to play. He's our kid, after all, and part of our obligation as parents is to clock a certain number of hours playing board games with him. Go ahead and check that; it's in the handbook.

So, we start playing and on my second roll of the dice, I landed in jail. JAIL! What the? But I didn't do anything wrong! I was forced to sit there in jail while everybody else pranced around buying up St. Charles Place and Marvin Gardens and B&O Railroad. I sat in the same spot, carving tally marks in the wall and getting tattoos. Doing hard time is so.....hard.

But finally, after three rounds of lost turns, I paid my debt to society (actually, I paid the banker $50) and headed out into the real world a changed woman. Or more particularly, a changed shoe. I stepped out into the "Just Visiting" area of the prison and looked around. I threw my shoelaces up in the air and exclaimed: The world is such a beautiful place! And it's so good to be alive! I'm going to live each day to the fullest by buying real estate and creating wonderful green houses and red hotels to shelter my loved ones!

Prison changes people.

The playing field wasn't exactly even at this point. Ryan had substantial holdings; Max was closing in on some utility ventures; and Christian was finding his place in the banking industry. Sure, I was behind in nearly every respect, but I had something they didn't have: PERSPECTIVE. And you just can't put a price or a big red hotel on that.

I worked hard and soon I was enjoying some success--Baltic Avenue, Illinois Avenue, and even a darling set of twins named Boardwalk and Park Place. When I landed on Water Works, I gladly handed over $120 dollars to Max's small pile of money, even though he was lying under the coffee table picking his nose and would never have known I owed him a dime. And when Christian owed me $14 in rent, but only had $11 without breaking a hundred-dollar bill? I said no problem, we're family. Mi casa, su casa. I was playing with integrity.

I was also playing with Ryan.

Ryan's approach to the game was quite different. It was like he was determined to own all of the properties and have all the money to himself. He quickly secured the trio of yellow properties and at the earliest convenience built a giant resort, three hotels deep, with water slides and chocolate fountains. I thought it was a tad showy, but I'm the one with integrity and perspective, so I kept my opinion to myself. Christian spent a lavish turn there, leaving him with nothing but a railroad and a five spot. He left in utter devastation. Max lost everything in a similar stay, although he wasn't really aware, being under the coffee table and all. I was a little bothered at how easily and cheerfully Ryan was bankrupting our children, but it wasn't until I checked into one of his smaller investments that I saw his true colors.

"That will be two hundred and forty dollars," he said (which is not really good customer service, I'd like to point out).

"I'm a little short on cash." I said.

"That's unfortunate," he said.

I offered him a nice fixer-upper property and a fifty dollar bill. He declined the offer, asking for my recently obtained one-house Pennsylvania Avenue--valued at $470.

"But, I don't owe you that much," I said.

"I don't care," he said. "You don't seem to have a lot of options."

"Well, are you going to pay me the difference?" I implored. (Imploring is like asking, but with more intensity and ticked-offness.)

"No," he said, without a second thought.

I stared at him, blinking in disbelief. And he had the audacity to laugh at me because he thought the disbelieving blinking was hilarious. The funniest thing he's ever seen, in fact.

"How do you sleep at night?" I asked. And I meant it.

There wasn't much game left at this point. Every roll of the dice led to more tragedy for me and the kids and more money and property to Ryan. Christian surrendered everything but his little metal top hat to Mr. Ruthless Moneygrabber, and was still in the hole when he made an emotional exit. Max--long gone to another one of Ryan's disgusting, garish, so-not-worth-it rent payments--took it much better. He was in the kitchen eating ice cream out of the carton.

I held on the longest, believing that all of the good karma seeds I had sown throughout my post-conviction playing time would finally yield a happy ending. You know, the one in which I own all of the properties and share them freely and equally with all the top hats, cars, irons, and wheelbarrows of the world, rent-free with an all-you-can-eat buffet? (Did you just get goosebumps?)

Yeah, well, I guess karma was taking a nap. I landed on another one of Ryan's pretentious properties, whose nightly rate was a trillion dollars plus one kidney.

"You could really use some time in prison," I said as I walked away in a huff.

Thirteen Words, Thirteen Snapshots

(This is a homework assignment from School Days , brought to me (and you) by Travelin' Oma. )

Baby. I am born in a modest home in Sandy, Utah on February 18, 1977. Yes, in the house, with my dad and aunt supervising the birth. I am born with no complications, round-cheeked and healthy. There's a picture taken that day with blanketed me held in my dad's arms.  He is wearing a striped shirt and has side burns.  He is thin and young, only 34. My mom is 34, too, and looks quite a bit like a young Liza Minelli but prettier. They have moved around a lot, including a three-year stint in Samoa, but they have come to Utah to stay.  New baby. New house. New business. Time to put down some roots.

Sunshine. It's not long before I learn my place in the family. My role is to perpetuate happiness. I make funny faces for pictures and wear a t-shirt that says, "I must hurry and catch up with the others for I am their leader." (My parents love this shirt and talk about it for thirty years. Do you have a t-shirt you've talked about for thirty years?) I have a head full of curls and a one-dimple grin. I like making my family smile and develop quite an identity around this idea. Occasionally this is a problem when I feel responsible to make people happy and uncomfortable expressing sadness.  But overall, I like my place. My favorite season is summer. Go figure.

Loud. I am precocious and frequently loud. And often obnoxious. I sometimes get in trouble in school for talking too much. I am always talking at church. And at home. I constantly want to be included with my older siblings and their conversations. I have many things to say, but nobody seems to want to listen. HOW ABOUT IF I SAY IT LOUDER? I am loud with my younger brothers, too.  I say a lot of loud, bossy things. If they don't listen, I sit on them.

Student. School is easy for me. It never occurs to me that it could be difficult for some. One day my dad sits with me on the couch in the living room and shows me my Iowa test scores. He shows me the little dot on the graph that represents me and the line that represents the national average. He tells me that I am very, very smart. I think I have made him proud. I feel good. I like making him proud. I never forget that moment.

Boys. I am in middle school. I meet two boys who will change my story. After a failed middle school romance, one will try to ruin my life for several years, with moderate success. The other, my honors classmate and favorite conversationalist, will prove himself as my only true friend and the love of my life. When I am fourteen years-old, I know that I will marry him, but I never say that to anyone because I know how ridiculous it sounds. But I know. I know. His name is Ryan.

Actress. I pull up in my car to the theatre and enter through the back doors into the green room. I get a free Dr. Pepper from the soda fountain and say hello to my fellow cast mates. I like to be with them. I rarely acknowledge to myself how miserable high school is, how much I dread going each day, how I wish to be invisible, and how good it feels to spend a few hours each week pretending to be someone else. And be applauded for it. I don't give this extra-curricular activity enough credit.

Lost. I am in my first semester at BYU. I have no idea how socially damaged I am after my experiences in middle school and high school. I am suspicious of every potential friendship and feel nothing in common with my roommates. My church experience is bizarre. I am supposed to meet my ward for prayer on Sunday nights and hug a boy I don't know each time. I am horrified. I want more than anything to love college, but I hate it. I hate this weirdo city. The only thing I like is my writing course. I move back home after nine months and drop out of school after another semester.

Wife. I am twenty-years-old and married. People keep saying that I'm young, but I think I am old enough. I think I am mature. In some ways I am. Being married to Ryan is the easiest thing I have ever done. We have loved each other for so long. We have waited for each other for so long. It is a sweet relief to start our lives together, even though I know my family is somewhat skeptical of our success. But I'm not.

Mother. Everybody warns me that adjusting to marriage is hard, but it isn't. So, having a baby will be easy too, I figure. We don't wait very long to get pregnant. I am wrong about this adjustment. We bring Christian home from the hospital and I love him and fear him all at once. I take a drive with Ryan a few days later when my sister offers to babysit. "I don't want you to think I'm a bad person," I say, "but WHAT HAVE WE DONE?" We figure it out together, day by day. We take our time before we have a second baby. We are getting smarter, even though I'm still grateful for all the decisions I made when I thought I was old and mature.

Student (Revisited). I am twenty-four years-old and working full-time to put Ryan through graduate school. I have a years-long regret about dropping out of college. I have been telling myself that I will go back to school once life slows down. Then, I have a moment of enlightenment and understand an eternal truth: life never slows down. I enroll in school and spend the next four years chipping away part-time at a degree while I continue working full-time. I finish. I want to feel proud of myself, but I don't. I experience a feeling of relief. I have taken care of unfinished business.

Writer. I have taken every writing course offered. There are no others to take. I miss being able to write and share with my class mates. I get a crazy idea to start a writing group. I take flyers around my neighborhood and ask people to join. I feel exhilarated and embarrassed all at once. I am shocked when my neighbor friends show up, pens in hand, and even more shocked when they come back. I fall in deep, true love with writing, as well as the process of writing. My writing group meets monthly for several years. I make new and lasting friendships. I begin to heal socially. I start a blog. I apply for an honest-to-goodness writing job. I get it. I am in awe.

Sponsor. On the rare occasion that somebody asks me what I do for a living (Why do we only ask men what they do for a living?), I say, "I'm sponsoring a graduate student." Ryan is in his eighth and final year of his doctoral program. The program is intense and though he has been incredibly successful, he is cursed with the feeling that he might be kicked out of the program at any moment for failure to be smart enough. (Par for the course, right, my PhD friends out there?) He begins an agonizing process of applying and interviewing for jobs all over the country. He is going to be a professor. It is impossible for me to imagine life after school. It is all we have ever known. I wonder what I will do with myself once I am no longer the primary breadwinner. I dream of writing a book.

Transplant. Sunlight is coming in the window and I open my eyes. I see the leafy trees outside the window. I am in love with the trees, the landscape, this spot of geography that suits me like my favorite red hoodie. I walk downstairs and make breakfast for Christian and help him tame his inherited head of curls before he walks out to meet his friends at the bus stop. I wake Max and fix him breakfast. An hour later, the kids are gone, three rounds of breakfast are in the sink, and I join Ryan in our yellow home office. I make a list of things to do today, divided in sections: work, home, book. I rarely cross everything off the list, but it doesn't upset me. I'll make a new list tomorrow.

Wouldn't You Like To Be a Trooper Too?

Based on my childhood experiences, one of the best things a person can attain to be in this life is a trooper.  My family really loves troopers.  And you should feel highly honored if anyone in my family calls you a trooper; you are being held in the highest esteem.

By the way, that's something important to know about troopers: you cannot self-proclaim trooperism.  It does not work to say, "Boy, I was really a trooper today!"  That is totally against the rules.  You must be nominated a trooper by someone else.  For example, "He's such a trooper!" and "What a trooper!" and "She's an amazing trooper!" are all ways of announcing a trooper to others.  So, it's important if you want to become a trooper that you troop a lot in front of people, particularly my relatives.

What does it mean to be a trooper, you ask?  Well, basically it means to endure without complaint.  To long-suffer without whining.  To keep on keepin' on (and on and on and on).  To be consistently selfless.  To accept what you're given.  And I can see why my parents praised troopering--it was likely a positive reinforcement survival tactic with eight kids.  Who could endure the whining of such a crowd?  I should probably give a lot of credit to my five older siblings.  If they hadn't been such troopers, my parents never would have had me in the first place.

And while we're on the subject of having kids, there's nothing that thrills my parents more than to hear that their grandchildren are also troopers.  You should hear it when I call my mom and dad to say, "We drug Max all over New York City all day long, and he never once complained about the walking.  He kept right up--two of his steps to every one of ours!"  I can hear them smiling through the phone, beaming sunshine, and I know what they're thinking: Our grandson is such a little trooper!  (And if you think it feels good to be nominated a trooper, just imagine how good it feels to realize that you've raised one.)

I am proud to come from such a long line of troopers.  There are tales of supreme trooperism from my ancestors.  It comforts me to know that my DNA is structured to endure all manner of hardship---electrical shock, wild animals, and natural childbirth, to name a few.  Even though I don't choose to practice troopering regularly, I'm glad to know it's in me.  You know, I can if I have to.

I should clarify something--troopers are not only found in my family tree.  Here is a list of famous troopers:

Helen Keller

Moses

George Washington

Rocky

Mother Teresa

Thomas Edison

The guy in Field of Dreams

The guy in Shawshank Redemption

The guy in The Patriot

The guy in Cinderella Man

Cinderella

The Energizer Bunny

Abraham Lincoln

Barbara Streisand

Littlefoot

Albert Einstein

Keri Strug

Princess Diana

Zac Efron

Jackie Robinson

Abigail Adams

Luke Skywalker

Oprah

Nemo

See?  Almost everywhere you look, a trooper is there to inspire you.  I know they've inspired me.

Now, I'd love to know: Is the grand tradition of troopers something that is celebrated only in my family? Or have you spent your life striving to be nominated in your own circle? What are your thoughts on the subject?

Breaking Bread

We celebrated Rosh Hashanah last weekend with our Jewish friends Steve and Nancy and their two daughters.  Earlier in the week Nancy realized that her family wouldn't be able to make it to their regular service at synagogue.  They were going to have their own ceremony, she explained, and wouldn't we--the Mormons--like to join them?

"Of course," I said.  It made perfect sense.

When the day arrived, we drove to meet their family down by the neighborhood lake.  In the privacy of our own car, I tried to explain the ceremony to my family and begged them (particularly Max and Ryan) to refrain from silliness, to try and be thoughtful and respectful.  After all, I explained, it isn't every day we celebrate the Jewish new year.

We went down to the lake and stood on a small bridge; it was important to find a spot where the water was moving.  Nancy explained the tradition to us: the new year is about seeking forgiveness from those we have hurt or offended, giving up our sins, and promising God a new and improved version of ourselves in the coming year.  We then break pieces of bread and toss them into the water, giving each one the name of a sin we pledge to forsake this year.  The water then carries them away.  Kind of a beautiful thought, huh?

Before we got started, Nancy turned to me and said, "The most important part of this tradition is the part where we ask forgiveness from others.  So, I'm sorry if I've been a pain in the ass to you at any point over the last year."

I laughed.  "Likewise," I said.

We turned and faced the water.  Nancy tore a piece of bread and threw it as she exclaimed, "Impatience!"

I was still holding my piece of bread, trying to decide how to organize my sins--alphabetically?  Or in order of most grievous?

"Impatience!  Impatience!  Impatience!  Impatience!" she rattled off, a small tear of bread for each one.

I already felt behind.  I tore a piece and tossed it.  "Financial stupidity," I said.

"Good one," Nancy said.  "I'm going to use that one too.  Financial stupidity!" She threw another piece in.

And then it was as if the floodgates opened, the sins lined up in orderly rows for each of us, anxious to be announced and airborne.  We all stood there, tossing our sins over the edge, one after another after another, and watched them pool in the slow-moving water below.

"My temper," someone said.
"Expecting too much of others," said someone else.
"Breaking someone's toy," said a voice that sounded like Max.
"Jumping to conclusions."
"Not being present."
"Not listening."
"Making a big deal out of small things."
"Not doing things the first time I'm asked."
"Not taking enough time for my spirituality."
"Being too hard on myself."
"Being too hard on others."
"Fighting with my sister."
"Making fun of my brother."
"Hitting my sister with a piece of bread." (Those Jews are hilarious.)
"Gossip."
"Not reaching for my potential."
"Hurting other's feelings."
"Being too sarcastic."
"Wanting what I don't have."
"Obsessing about things I want."
"Procrastination."
"Not enough exercise."
"Not listening to my kids." (I think this one got an "Amen.")
The lists went on.

Sometime around the point when my piece of bread was nearing vanish, Max came next to me, urgent to get another piece of bread.  He hadn't been standing by me, and I hadn't been paying close attention to him.  I was too caught up in casting away my many sins, I guess.  He took a stale roll and tore a piece.  He flung it out into the water and yelled, "Recycle!" and then tore another piece and shouted, "Be good at school and don't get in trouble for talking too loud."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he tossed piece after piece, shouting each statement with gusto.

"Love Jesus!" (This made the Jews laugh.)

"Be nice to America!"

"Don't yell at your mom!"

"When you meet a new kid, go up and say, 'Hi! What's your name?'"

"Don't lock your bedroom door ever again!" (His only real sin of the day.  I'd spent an hour dissecting his doorknob.)

"Pray!"

"Don't break your brother's toys!"

"Be nice to Barack Obama!" (I guess he's been reading my mom's emails.)

"Eat good food for your body!"

"Love someone in the heart!" (That's the maximum amount of love, according to him.)

He went on and on, until the stale little roll was gone and a scatter of little crumbs sat at his feet.  I was wearing sunglasses; they hid my big, fat tears.  I hadn't expected him, a six-year-old, to be so.....introspective.  He seemed to be so careful and thoughtful about this, and his observations were so universal.  I should have thrown another piece of bread and said, "Not giving Max enough credit."

But all the bread was gone.

We stood around for a few minutes.  We thanked them for inviting us and walked back to our cars.  I felt a little lighter, a little sober, more committed to a better new year.  I looked at myself, my husband, my children, my friends, with new eyes.  I thanked God for an unexpected spiritual moment.

And as our bread crumbs slowly made their way down the stream to disintegrate and dissolve into the memories of last year, we continued our celebration of Rosh Hashanah by going out for Chinese food all together.  It made perfect sense.

The Beach Makes Me Philosophical

It's a marvelous thing to sit at the edge of land, look out into an endless ocean, and contemplate your self.  To take a look around at all the dusty corners of your being, all at once accepting them and committing them to improvement.  To look at the crashing waves and remember that life's problems are so similar--regular, temporary, and part of a beautiful pattern.  To be removed from buildings, appliances, and devices we fear we can't live without.  To share fresh air and frivolity with your loved ones.  To dig holes.  To lie open-armed in the sun, receiving its warmth.  To not know what time it is.  To sit still.  To refresh.  To be.

And it's even better if you do all of this with a giant bucket of french fries.

It's Always Darkest Before the Power Comes Back On

The power goes out all the time here.  Even when I have made my payment to the power company.

And when it goes out, it goes all out.  I mean, it really overachieves.  It excels at being out.  It's constantly trying to one-up itself.

If there is a significant rainstorm, the power will most likely go out.  And not for a few minutes, but for several hours.  I've learned to count on it.  But yesterday--bright, beautiful, sunny yesterday--the power suddenly went out around noon.  

"You've got to be kidding me," I said.

"Did you pay the power bill?" Ryan asked.

After 45 minutes with no power, I called the power company.  A robot told me that my outage was known, was affecting nine other houses, and that there was no estimated resolution time for the problem.  Thanks, robot, you are so helpful, friendly, and informative.

We left in the car to go to my eye appointment.  I've been wearing my last pair of contacts for longer than I'm willing to admit.  When the nurse?/technician?/examiner? used his fancy machine to take a look at them on top of my eyes, he remarked that there were several "deposits" on them and that they reminded him of the constellation Cassiopeia.  He moved to the other eye and said, "Ahh, and here's the Milky Way."

"What a relief," I said, "they're only deposits.  I thought I had glaucoma."

Then I endured a short lecture about disposing of my disposable contact lenses before they become home to deposit constellations.  

And just when I thought my exam was over (my prescription improved, by the way, so I could argue that leaving contacts in forever actually repairs vision) he informed me that he needed to dilate my eyes since this was my first visit and they like to create a baseline.  Twenty minutes later I checked out with fully-dilated eyes and some new boxes of contacts.  

When we got home, the power was still out.  I called the power company and the robot told me that my outage was known, was affecting nine other houses, and that there was no estimated resolution time for the problem.  

I needed to work, but I had no power or internet.  I also had no vision.  But I did have a piercing headache, so I went upstairs and took a nap in our ever-warming, un-air-conditioned house.

When I woke up an hour later, the power was still out and my eyes were still dilated.  I could have given birth through them, they were so dilated.  I harumphed around the house, feeling completely restless.  I couldn't work because the power was out and I couldn't see.  I couldn't watch TV because the power was out and I couldn't see.   I couldn't make dinner because the power was out and I couldn't see.  I thought about reading--an activity that requires no electricity--and remembered that I couldn't see.  Hence, all the harumphing.

Finally, we decided to flee.  

We got in our car and drove to our favorite Mexican restaurant, relishing all the way in the air conditioning and ample electricity--playing the stereo, charging the cell phones, rolling the power windows up and down!  

The dimly lit restaurant was bustling and we worked our way through two bowls of salsa as we waited and waited for our food.

"This is taking forever," Ryan said.

And then, as if to spite him for his impatience, the power went out in the restaurant.  (See what I mean about the one-upping?)  Before we could decide what to do, our food was delivered to our table.  We ate in the darkened restaurant with only an emergency battery-powered flood light shining into our refried beans.  By the time we left the restaurant, all of our eyes were dilated from the darkness.

We drove home.  The power was still out.  We stayed in the car while I phoned the electric company on speed dial and the robot told me that my outage was known, was affecting nine other houses, and that there was no estimated resolution time for the problem. 

We drove to the mall and walked around in the electricity until they closed.  My vision seemed to finally be restoring.

We drove back home and saw our street lined with big, fancy trucks from the power company with big, fancy flashing lights, and several men walking around scratching their heads.  I called my robot friend and she gave me a new message: my outage was known, a crew had been dispatched to investigate, the problem was affecting nine other houses, and there was no estimated resolution time for the problem.

I had a flash of genius and outsmarted my power outage.  I grabbed my laptop, a DVD, and my family.  We watched Where the Red Fern Grows on the couch.  I hadn't seen it in years.

"See?" I said watching the Coleman family in the Ozarks, "They don't have any power either."

The dogs died, the red fern grew, the Colemans moved to a bigger city (with electricity) and the movie ended.  The big, fancy trucks on our street were long gone and the power was still very much out.  I tucked the kids in to bed by candlelight and then plopped myself next to Ryan on our sweltering bed--dead, hot air all around.

Sometimes it's so hard living in the twenty-first century.    

This morning the power is back on.  Ryan said it happened around 12:40 a.m. when he was still reading in bed with a flashlight.  My eyes are back to their normal size and a fresh, new workday is before me.  The problems and annoyances of yesterday seem long gone except for one perplexing question: What is that smell coming from the refrigerator?

Anniversary

One year ago today we had lunch with my mom in Sandy, Utah.  James and DeDe joined us.  We sat outside in the summer air and ate our turkey sandwiches and laughed.

One year ago today we loaded our suitcases and weighed them on my mom's pink bathroom scale to make sure they didn't exceed 50 pounds each.  One of the suitcases contained a frying pan.

One year ago today we drove in my Mom's van to my dad's shop.  He came outside and we hugged and laughed a little and hugged one more time.

One year ago today we drove to the airport and unloaded our heavy suitcases on the curb.  I hugged my mom in an unbreakable clutch and we cried.  I hate goodbyes.

One year ago today my mom left us at the airport and drove directly to the hospital to welcome my beautiful niece Abby.  Goodbye.  Hello.

One year ago today we boarded a plane.  Lucy sat in her kennel beneath my feet, mildly sedated.  We traveled 2200 miles while we watched Kung Fu Panda and ate beef tips with mashed potatoes.

One year ago today we rode in a shuttle van from the airport to the house of some new friends.  We were stuck in traffic for hours.  We were so tired--physically, emotionally--and the brake lights and orange cones seemed to never end.

One year ago today we refused to wonder if we had made a horrible mistake.

One year ago today we found our way to the quiet house of our friends.  They were away on vacation, but left a welcoming note for us and fresh towels.  We laid down on a foreign mattress and fell asleep to the sounds of the summer bugs outside.  The next day we would buy a house, an air mattress, and a sheet cake.  The house to live in, the mattress to sleep on until our stuff arrived, and a sheet cake to make everything all right.

One year ago today we left home to come home.

The Ballad of Max and Brianna

This is Brianna, my sister's daughter.  She is bright and funny and adorably compact.  She says hilarious things like, "We're not supposed to say 'butt crack,' right, Mom?" 

Everybody loves Brianna.

Well, everybody except for Max. 

Temporarily ousted from his place as Resident Littlest One last week, Max had a taste of life as an older sibling as Brianna followed Max and her big brother Ben all around.  And, oh the frustration!  

One morning, the kids started a movie.  At one point Max said something about the moving being on, to which Brianna declared that the movie was not on.  And then something like this followed:

Max: Yes, it is.

Brianna: No, it isn't.

Max: Yes, it is!

Brianna: No, it isn't.

Max: YES, IT IS!

Brianna: No, it isn't.

At that point, Max who was staring at the movie that was most definitely on, boiled in frustration and spontaneously sprouted a gray hair.   

Well, you can only imagine the rest of the week.  

As soon as Max realized that Brianna loved going to the pool, he announced that he was ready to "take a break from the pool."  In fact, he explained, he was pretty sure the pool was closed.  Forever.  

Who's calling the shots now, huh?

And then there was the time that Max and Ben set up all the Transformer toys on the coffee table.  Max anticipated Brianna's interest in sabotaging their fun joining them and built a barricade out of pillows to keep her out.  He sat vigilantly in the chair next to the pillowcade and announced as she inched near, "I'm watching you."  It was very Robert De Niro.

Only twice was he detained for assault during the week.  Only once for attempted assault.  

The evening after they left, he was a little lethargic.  Of course, he was missing Ben--his constant companion of the last week--but he also seemed to be depleted physically.  Self-restraint can be so exhausting.

Tonight after dinner, I decided to test the waters and see if absence could make the heart grow fonder.

"Max, do you want to call Brianna on the phone and see how she's doing?"

He volunteered to call Osama bin Laden instead.  

I'm not worried about these two.  Eventually, they'll make nice.  A truce will lead to a treaty and a treaty will lead to a lasting friendship based on common bonds.  And I have a feeling that common bond will be butt crack jokes.  It's only a matter of time.

Sisters

I really like my sister.  

She is an uncommonly kind person.

And funny.  Don't forget funny.

It is fun to make her laugh.

I wasn't supposed to make her laugh because she is recovering from surgery.

Surgery is no laughing matter.

I really tried not to make her laugh.

But I failed a few times.

Sorry about that.

She told me not to clean the house before she came.

And though I intended to, I did not clean my house before she came.

In fact, I didn't even shower that day.

And I didn't even feel bad about it.

That's the kind of person she is.

She loves me even if my house is dusty.

And my armpits are smelly.

We had fun hanging out and talking.

And reminiscing about our childhoods.

She shredded chicken while I made a salad.

She is a wonderful mother.

She worries that she is not a good parent.

I think that's probably one of the signs of a good parent.

We talked about all the silly mistakes we made on our firstborns.

It's really hard not to make silly mistakes on your firstborn.

We stayed up way too late one night.

That's one of my favorite things to do.

We talked about everything in the whole wide world.

We took our kids to the pool and then took turns making sure they didn't drown.

We went to a county fair and got drenched in the rain.

She felt funny about having her daughter on a kid leash.

Because she is not one of those people who puts a leash on their child.

It's okay, I told her; I've used a leash before.

Don't we always end up doing the things we swore we'd never do as parents?

Besides, who cares what people think?

I mean, whoever said at 21 years old, "My dream is to drive a minivan!"

Nobody, that's who.

We ate donuts.

We watched movies.

We did dishes.

She still takes a long time to get ready.

It made me remember our teenage years.

She always sat cross-legged in front of her long mirror to get ready.

She used Clinique makeup.

And a knitting needle to poof up her bangs.

I always wanted to look like her.

It's OK that she takes a long time; I don't mind.

She made Rachel Ray's french toast one morning while I was working.

It was delicious.

A week went by so fast.

Max was grumpy the day they left; he didn't want to say goodbye.

He'd had a cousin all to himself for days and days.

I knew how he felt.

Oh yes.  It's nice to have a sister.

How close are we on that time-travel thingie?

I'm sorry I forgot to mention that I would be out of order for a spell while I attended to a handful of busy matters, including a few days lounging on the beach.  I was hoping you wouldn't notice.

Anyway, I'm back.  Mildly sunburned, sufficiently relaxed, and daydreaming of a beachfront life (would homelessness be so bad at the beach?), I'm back.  

Well, until I leave next week.

But that's all the way next week.  Let's live in the moment, okay?

Actually, let's live in the past.  Specifically, let's live in Tuesday.  Tuesday was marvelous.  I accomplished so much: gazing, blinking, lying on my back, lying on my front, and listening to my iPod.  At the last minute, I managed to squeeze in licking an ice cream cone.  I'm an over-achiever that way.

In fact, over-achieving runs rampant in this household.  Tuesday, Christian dedicated himself to digging a hole, large enough to sit in.  I supervised from my nap.  

Oh please, oh please, oh please let me go back to Tuesday!

And if I can't go back to Tuesday, at least let me have Wednesday.  Wednesday was sunny and picturesque--everything a Wednesday hopes to be.  It was like living in a dream.  Or, maybe that was just the sunscreen smudge on the lens of my camera, making everything appear milky and dreamy.  Either way, Wednesday was like a postcard from dreamland.

Right up until my children turned their weapons on me.  What is it with boys and weapons?

Look at them, they're ready to take me down.  They're ready to attack me with their rubberband gun and B-grade light saber and rob me of every quarter I have.  But, really, who can blame them when there are oodles of cheapy arcade games to play?  I'd rob me too!  

Oh please, oh please, oh please let me go back to Wednesday!  Please?  I'll let you come along!