A Glimpse Into Her Life

Just for fun, let's say that YOU are Kiki. Here is how your week will go:

Your mom will say, "Kiki, I love you." You will reply, "Can we call Grandpa Jack?"
We will. He will take us to get hamburgers and see the leaves.

You will eat your dinner like a dog, both in style (all fours, on the ground) and content (meat and water).

You will take pictures like this:
and this:

and then say, "That was a good one!"

Your big sister will give you a "new" outfit and you will say, "I look so stinking cute!"

You will insist on bringing your dinosaur to Mi Ranchito even though he was bad and has to go to time out.

You will pick a zucchini from the garden and decide it is your baby. You will insist that your zucchini needs a sock. Endless jokes will be made by your parents.

Your inexplicable underwear habits will force your mother to say things like, "Where in the hell did the panties in the kitchen come from?"

You will go for a playdate at your friend Riley's house. When your mother picks you up you will say, "I told you not to come until it was dark."

You will delight in bubble wrap and jump on it and make fart jokes.

When your mother tries to scold you for something, you will say, "You can't fire me. I QUIT."

You will sleep through Sacrament and most of nursery yet insist to your father that you only slept for "10 seconds."

Of your 90 waking hours, you will sing for 82.

And when you get tired, you will crash mid-cracker in the hammock.

Mommy's Hands Weren't Always Gentle...

Shameful Admission #1: I'm a little vain about the condition of the skin on my face. I've always been paranoid about sun exposure: I have worn sunscreen on my face every single day since the late 80's. And maybe I have some "crinkling" now around the eyes, but it's only when I smile so I think that's allowed. I'm just asking for trouble by admitting to this vanity: Surely it will be undone for me by a freak accident or severe yet unexplained decline in my skin condition in the near future.

Shameful Admission #2: If only I could take the same pride in the condition of my poor, poor hands. Oh sure, if you don't look too close I've still got my long pianist's fingers, but a real examination reveals scaly skin, cracked cuticles, and veins. Oh, the veins. No pictures, here, it would be too horrifying. On second thought, maybe I'll send a picture to one of those medical poster companies- you know the ones you see in the doctor's office showing horrible skin conditions and you don't want to study it but you can't help yourself and wind up with your nose pressed against it thinking, "Holy ****! I had no idea eczema could get so awful!" I have a little piano student who does her own "nose pressing" to my hands every week- she'll lightly touch a poking out vein, then she'll press that same little spot down a little more firmly, then she'll run her finger along the whole vein in a futile attempt to get it to stay down, and all the while I'm thinking, "That totally won't do anything. Want to know how I know? Because I have tried that exact thing a MILLION ZILLION times."

I blame housewifery. Canning especially. I spend every fall with my hands submerged in ice-cold or boiling water, or getting sliced, or shaving little bits of skin off with my peeler, or washing them 100 times a day, and then I still have my usual chores and the havoc that those wreak. I can't stand rubber gloves either- I feel so confined, and then my hands stink, and the gloves have that weird powder in them.

And as a result, a gentle mother's caress from me to my children feels more like a pass with a kitten's tongue or 30 grit sandpaper.

So, is all my domestic success worth it if it causes me to have hands that look like Ma Ingalls'? Because inside I'm totally Arianna Huffington but the outside package just doesn't appear that way.

You've Got A Friend In Me

No time for a heartfelt post. It's canning season. 'Nuf said.

But this must be recorded. Many of you were a witness to my stress last year about Kate's social life (Forget scholastics. I've got a laser-like focus on the things that really matter. Friends, Shoes, and Hair.). I happily report that she has made several new friends this year.

One of them is named Maegan. She is a doll. She called last week while Kate was at gymnastics and only said, "This is Maegan. Tell Kate she is playing at my house on Thursday." Click. A few phone calls later (Thank goodness for caller ID...) their first playdate was set up. They have had so much fun, she lives just up the hill from us, her mom is completely nice. It is a match made in heaven.

I'm really thankful.

Happy Birthday To ME!

36.

It's kind of hard to believe. My whole life, though, I was excited to be 30. I thought that 30 was the age when I would finally have things "figured out." It actually turned out to be largely true, although instead of 30 being the age at which I begin to apply my accrued wisdom, it was more like the age when I finally pulled my head out of my a**. Seriously. I have to say that I have thoroughly enjoyed my 30's thus far. I feel like I just keep getting better (which isn't to insinuate that I don't have improvements to make).

I got to celebrate all weekend long.

Friday night Bruce and I went to dinner with our friends Chris and Anne.

Here's Anne and I prior to gorging ourselves at Koi. We are looking a little squinty, but that has to do with the sun and not our age at all. Anne is a woman who is accomplished in every single way- at times I find myself wondering what she gets out of the friendship at all! Nevertheless, I was so happy to kick off the birthday weekend with her and her fun husband. We ate dessert at Thanksgiving Point and since I was the "birthday girl" I indulged in some delicious chocolate cake.

Saturday morning I decided to test my speed at a local 5k. I haven't run a 5k in a year, but Bruce agreed to pace me because I was really wanting to get under the 24 minute mark. Well, it wasn't pretty, but I DID IT. 23:40. Seventh among the ladies and 26th overall, and just slightly over 7 1/2 minute miles. Bruce was an excellent wing man, and I managed not to vomit at the finish line.

Saturday afternoon I went with my girls Steph, Janet, and Jo to lunch and shopping. Everyone was kind enough to order a unique dessert, so I got to try the peanut butter brownie, the cupcake, and the pumpkin bar at Flour Girls and Dough Boys. I could say so much about my incredibly lunch companions, but suffice it to say, I am seriously blessed in my friendships, and I am seriously grateful.

Sunday we breakfasted with George, Merrilee, Dan, and Porter. (I gained 3 pounds in a single weekend. It was horrifying.) Again, I just thoroughly enjoyed my company! We talked gardens (my brother is a hard-core gardener now, and not just marijuana like in high school), cows, and whether you should be straight up with your small children about where steaks come from. Oddly, Dan, my "tough" brother, is the one who has stricken the word "slaughtered" from his personal dictionary.

Monday was my actual birthday. And, yes, I wore the orange sweater all weekend. Sue me.

Bruce took the girls to my favorite store in town and the owner helped them pick out some really fun gifts. It was the first year that Kate used her own money to buy my present- an awesome bracelet. She has great taste.

Kiki picked out a ring. It is very sparkly. I call it "The Bling-a-ring."

Again, I'm choosing to believe that my haggard looks have zippo to do with my age and mucho to do with the fact that I had just returned from the gym.

I received so many birthday wishes on Monday- my sister-in-law Angie came bearing gifts (and yet another evil dessert, which I managed to prolong eating until Tuesday), my dad came with 4 pound of Colosimo's sausage (I'm sorry. If you think that is a weird gift, then you have never had Colosimo's sausage.), and tons of phone calls and Facebook messages.

We spend Monday with Kurt and Julie Church. Julie and I have been friends since 1992. Utah State, freshman year. Thankfully, our husbands like each other so we hang out. We saw Pirates of Penzance at Hale Theater. I'll be blunt- Bruce was in hell. Musicals at all are a cultural stretch for him, so a comic opera was more than he could take. He's a good husband, that Bruce.

Julie and I.

This was a birthday where I felt so loved by those around me. It left me with a full realization about the quality of relationships that I am blessed to have in my life- there are just so many amazing people in my inner circle, and I feel grateful for every single one of them.

Junk Miles

Liza and I were recently dissecting our race performances. To be frank, neither one of us was completely happy with our results, and we were discussing our training (or lack thereof on my part), and at one point in the conversation Liza said, "I know I didn't run any junk miles."

Allow me to explain. There are a lot of people out there who just pound the pavement for a few miles every day and call it good. But, for those preparing for a race, that just won't do. A training runner has a specific schedule of different types of runs. You have your speedwork, you have your tempo runs (race pace runs at shorter than race distance), you have your long runs, you have your recovery (or easy) runs. Every run has a purpose and a goal, and a run without either of those is what we call "junk miles." These are miles that don't get you any closer to a specific goal. Maybe you are asking yourself, "Don't you run for pleasure? My heck." Every single one of them is for pleasure, I say. Seriously.

I've been in a philosophical mood lately, and thinking about junk miles has my brain analyzing my life in general. It seems like I have many days where I just deal with whatever is thrown at me with no plan or strategy. It seems like I have lots of long term goals yet my day to day behavior isn't getting me any closer. It seems like I go through the motions sometimes but don't execute to the level that would make me and my life any better.

In the "olden days" I worked as a trainer for a retail company. It was my job to teach people the corporately acceptable ways to act while employed with us. Almost 100% of the time here's how things would go: The person would leave my office incredibly motivated and ready to execute the behaviors. This would last a few days, and then slowly they would relapse into their old behaviors or the way everyone else was doing it. My boss and I called this "diminished intent." It is really hard to translate ideas (no matter how good) into changed behaviors. Many times retraining was involved, or additional coaching or motivating, and inevitably there was a certain set of people for whom change was not possible.

Haven't we all experienced this? Gone to an excellent church meeting or watched an episode of "Frontline" that made us think, "That's it. I am never swearing/never eating fries/always recycling until the day I die." and then by Tuesday next week you are back to cursing, eating, and throwing away? I totally have.

Junk miles.

That's what it was. Good intentions but no real follow through.

I'm making a little vow. I know I can't cut all the "junk miles" out of my life. I'm too lazy and too fully human. But I'm going to cut a few for sure. I vow to myself that I am going to really THINK about the behaviors that I am engaging in on a daily basis and ask myself if these are indeed the behaviors that are going to help me become the person I want to be. If the answer is yes, I'm going to keep them. If the answer is maybe, I'm going to improve my execution of them so that they do make a difference. And, if the answer is no, I'm going to try REALLY hard to quit.

The end.

Of this lecture anyway.

(But not my philosophizing, because I have at least one more topic that has been fermenting in my brain for weeks. I just need to birth it.)

Everything Good Is Readily Available

I read that once.

Not in one of my fancy Pulitzer's either. I'm certain it was in a magazine: nothing as lofty as "The Progressive" but nothing as shady as "The Enquirer." Maybe it was "O" or "Good Housekeeping." But, I digress.

Wherever I read it, the sentiment has stuck with me. Sometimes when I am mired down in chores, or conflicts, or stresses, I remind myself that all the good things in this world are mine for the accepting. One of my core beliefs is that this world has a "Giver." A supreme being, if you will, and I need only accept what He is offering.

Just what does this have to do with anything, you ask? I'm getting to that. We spent the weekend in Southern Utah with my dad, much of our extended family, and some very dear friends for the 2nd Annual Grover Boyz Picnic. We ate, we laughed, we played, we ate some more. The scenery was beautiful, the company was good, the weather was largely perfect. And it served to remind my that this life is so damn ABUNDANT. That we haven't been given only a little food, or a little beauty, or a little love. That instead, our Creator has poured out amazing things for us, for no other reason than for us to enjoy the world and enjoy each other. I find it amazing, and after a harried and stressful couple of weeks, I was grateful for the reminder that the world is abundantly beautiful, people are abundantly good, and that I am loved (and love) in abundance.

So, yeah, it was a good time.

Dan, Dave, and Ben

Bruce, Trea, Dave, Kay, Jill, and Kate Kay, Me, Jill, and KatePorter attempts to take Kiki's life.

Fortunately, she was equipped with a force field.

Me, Angela, and Courtnee

Kate and Grandpa Jack

Me and the Grover Boyz.

Kate's presence indicates that a third generation is in the beginning stages of their indoctrination by Jack and Doug. Formal beliefs include: 4-wheelers are an absolute evil. Cheese is an absolute good. Horses and dogs=good. Whiners=evil. Secret spots=good. There's plenty more, but that's a post for another day.

Ben and Kiki.

Preston, Eric, and Kyle on the fence.

Desperate for the wrong kind of attention.

Jack and Doug present the awards.

A rapt audience.

Doug and Trea.

These two were my spare mom and dad.

Fawn and Kiki foraging for their dinner.

Angie and Dan

When the sun went down it was camp fire time.

Jack promised Kay somewhere decent to sleep. After all the time they've spent together, you may wonder why his assurances didn't raise her suspicions, but she's trusting.

Misplaced trust, as it turns out.

Jack constructed this on site.

It's like a camper trailer, only wood.

And only not a camper OR a trailer.

We call it:

The Jack in the Box.

Kay is laughing here, but she wasn't the next morning after laying awake all night listening to a blue tarp whipping 'round.

Sunday morning brought some water play in Grand Staircase.

Then we walked in a little baby slot canyon. I has everyone lined up for an awesome shot when Powder ruined it with public urination.

That's better.

Courtnee and I hug a tree.

The Hatch Fam.

The Barratt/Rasmussen Fam.

Kiki has the same talent as Powder for ruining pictures.

Kiki laid down in the red sand, rolled around, then dumped several handfuls of sand on her head, so Bruce and I decided a shower was definitely in order.

Showers and Popsicles restore good spirits.

Then, another night of campfires and XXL s'mores.

Lots of kids.

Dan and Madie.

Half decade of friendship. We may be witnessing its final moments here, however.

Then a crazed killer attacked us all.