Like Royalty

My childhood was charmed.  The first eleven years of it were especially wonderful when we lived in Village Green.  Village green is the name of the trailer park we lived in.  It was all so much like a dream.  Or a reality TV show.  Maybe some of each.  But I loved it.  

I recently decided to look up our trailer park on Google Earth.  Okay, that feels weird.  We never called it the trailer park, we called it the trailer court, so let's just get that out in the open so I can stop trying to remember to keep from typing what is actually coming out of my brain after long years of usage (i.e. trailer court) and translating it into the-rest-of-the-world-ese.

So Village Green was the trailer court (sounds so much more regal and so much less "white trash"*) in which I grew up.  And I decided to find it on Google Earth.  

I entered the address: 222 N. 1200 W., Orem, UT, and here is where it took me:

 I stared and stared at the area directly above where the address is written and couldn't for the LIFE of me make sense of trying to wander through those streets.  Wait.  Where is the park?  Where are half the streets?  And what, pray tell, is that huge parking lot to the left of it?  I don't remember any business in the area large enough to require such a huge parking lot.

I seriously looked up and down the street and zoomed way out and back in again.  I made sure I was looking in the right area compared to Trafalga Family Fun Center, which was just down the street.  Yes. this was the place.  What in the world happened?  Where was the place I had grown up?

Then, after turning the map and thinking and thinking for far more minutes than I care to admit,  I took a closer look at the parking lot.

Yeah.  Duh.  Not duh ME, of course!  Duh, Google Earth, who wrote my address out under the adjacent neighborhood.  How was I to know that the parking lot, which happened to be located exactly where I remembered the trailer court being, actually WAS the trailer court when the address was written so far off?  Sheesh.  

Once I got over that (I feel like an idiot again just thinking about it), I starting wandering in my mind through that trailer court.  And it was all there.  All the places I rode my bike and the hill on which I'd wiped out on my roller skates countless times.  My best freind's house and the park.  Oh, but the pool.  Looks like the swimming pool is gone.  Other than that, it looked like home.  And then I found home.  

In the lower left hand corner, with a brown roof, was the double-wide I grew up in.  The one that started out as a single-wide and, as our family grew, was transformed into a double-wide by my dad, who can do anything. 

Oh the memories!  Thousands of them flying at me in the most random of orders.  And so I realized that I need to put them down.  And so I'm going to.

This is the first of a series I will be doing about life in the trailer court.  I can't wait to get it all out.
*For the record, I really hate the term "white trash", especially when used to describe a person for the same reason I despise the term "loser".

Missed Her Sister

There once was a woman whose sister visited her in Poland with her four children.  They played and had fun for two weeks, after which the visiting sister left.  Her absence left the woman asking the question, "who's going to wash the dishes now?"

Having pondered this question without finding a satisfactory answer, the woman walked away from the sinkful of dishes and headed to the computer, where she decided to write down a few memories from the family-filled two weeks.

She recounted the sweetness of her nieces and nephew.  She remembered watching them play with her own four children and delighting in the quality cousin time, on this, the first time they had ever had cousins visit in their home.  She recalled the billions of hugs she had been given.  As a non-hugger, she was surprised at how much she loved all the love.

She documented memories of her sister washing the dishes, helping with the cooking, taking care of all the children and constantly looking for ways to be of help.

She thought back to a conversation:
Woman: I know it's weird that we eat in the living room, in front of the TV.  We're so Simpson-esque.
Sister:  Yeah... Wait, did they eat in front of the TV... No, they ate around the kitchen table!  You're WORSE than the Simpsons!!

She was amazed at how, after a week of eating things like cake, pie, cookies and muffins, her sister announced that she only had a few weeks left until her 40th birthday, and she wanted to be at her target weight.  The sister immediately started in on the Dukan diet (the one the woman's husband had used to lose 35 pounds in 6 weeks). She completely ignored the woman's next week of dinners and treats in favor of lots of yogurt, eggs, tuna, and oat bran.

The woman had lovely memories of a power outage, a patriotic holiday, castles, underground tunnels, old town squares, ornate churches and lots of ice cream shared with family.  She relived attending church in her own little branch--meeting in the missionaries' apartment--as it overflowed with children who all attended the one-class "Primary" in the living room.  

She didn't write much detail, but just the act of typing it up was nice.  And a little sad.  She missed her sister. And still didn't know who was going to wash the dishes.

A Wrinkle From Time

My sister Anne and I were often mistaken for twins when we were kids.  Because of this, and the fact that everyone in her apartment complex at BYU knew I was her sister the second they laid eyes on me when I visited from Ricks, we started a tradition of staring into the mirror, cheek to cheek and comparing our faces. Seriously, every time we have been shocked at how alarmingly different we look.  Every feature is so different, we are baffled at how anyone could think we look similar.

We are only 13 months apart.  Anne used to love to laugh through the entire month in which she was actually TWO years older than me.  I was such a baby that month!  Ha!

But now the laugh's on her!  That extra year and a month has rewarded her with the beloved prize time allows us all: wrinkles.  Wrinkles before her baby sister started showing them.  Who's laughing now, huh Anne!?!  Hahahahahahahaha!

Just kidding.

I hope I didn't have to say that.  I would never laugh at the misfortunes of a sibling.  Well, that's not true.  At all.   But whatever.  The point is, in this case I did not and will not laugh at my sister.  The only reason I even noticed her wrinkles at all was because of the fact that she brought it up about three times a day.  We had a number of conversations like these:

Anne:  Look at these wrinkles on my forehead!!!  And the one on the bridge of my nose!!  Can you believe those!?!
Me:  Yes.  Yes I can.
Anne:  But you don't have any wrinkles!
Me:  Yes I do (smiling and pointing under my eyes).  See?
Anne:  Those don't count.
Me:  Well how does it happen that you're the one who gets to determine which wrinkles count and which don't?
*****
Anne:  You use different moisturizers on your face for day and night?
Me:   Uuuuum, yes.
Anne:  (Rolls eyes.)
*****
Anne:  (suspiciously) Why are you rubbing your eyes like that?
Me:  That's how I rub my eyes, Anne.
Anne:  See!!  You're totally trying to avoid wrinkles!!
*****
Anne:  I'm thinking of getting Botox.

Our sister Su is 4 years older than me (that's 3 years older than Anne, if you do the math.).  I'm not sure about her wrinkles.  Does she have any?  I think she does.  I don't really remember.  I try not to memorize people's wrinkles.  And we didn't have many wrinkle-centered conversations in the days I spent with her.

I think wrinkles are fine.  They're neat.  And mostly they're inevitable.  So who cares?  It's just your face.  And they're only skin deep.  Accept them and move along.

I've been realizing that I think I will have wrinkles above my upper lip. Does this delight me?  Not really but we age how we age.  I'm not going to try to smile less frequently to minimize those wrinkles.  (Or, actually, now that I've thought of it, I might.  I'll just claim I stopped being happy and nobody will be the wiser.  It will be my own little wrinkle-avoiding secret. Except never mind because Greg and the kids are way too funny for me to pretend to be sad through their jokes.  Forget that idea, self.)

So to Anne I say:  A lot can happen in 13 months.  By the time I'm the age Anne is now I may be far more wrinkled, even by her own standard, than she is now.  The next time I visit California and we look at our faces side by side in the mirror we may decide to go in for Botox together*.
*Not really.

Home Sweet Home Away from Home Sweet Home

What a vacation!  Spencer and I bounced around from Micah's to Dad's to Anne's, to Jon's to Ben's then back to Anne's and then Dad's in the space of 2 1/2 weeks in California.  I realized a lot of things while we were there.

I realized/learned/decided:

• that I love America as much as, or maybe even more than I remembered.  
• that I love my brothers and sisters very, very much and am grateful that they married such awesome people and gave birth to such lovely (seriously gorgeous), intelligent and fun children.
• that family gossip will never affect me much again.  I feel like I "get" everyone in the family.  And love each of them a ton*.  Oh, I already said that. (*that's 2,000 pounds of love each.)
• how people can live without cooking.  This has always been a mystery to me.
• that minute rice bears virtually no resemblance to actual rice.
• that it was a very, very good idea to take Spencer with me.  
• how different every family is.  I loved spending time in so many different homes.  
• that I am not a good conversationalist, but decided it's okay because silences were never awkward.
• that I am lucky to have the parents I do.
• that I have it in me to forgive a sister for having a cupboard full of bags of chocolate, vanilla and peanut butter chips which have EXPIRED.  It took me about a week, but behold, I did forgive.
• that, as a guest, I am terrible at helping with dinner prep/cleaning.  This bothered me, but not enough for me to overcome my insecurity and get my rear up and give it a try.
• (or rather confirmed) that for me, sitting around at home with people I love is usually as fun or enjoyable as going out to do something with them, and often it's more enjoyable.
• more about what kind of person I want to become from being with so many people I admire.
• that everybody makes stupid mistakes or bad choices that cause crisis in their lives.  And that it's okay to just learn from them and move on.  And that it helps to get sympathy from those around you.
• that arms do not actually fall off from carrying a toddler for long periods of time.  Even if you keep expecting them to.  And pretty much wish they would.

Plus a billion other things that kind of made me a little bit of a new person.

And the fact that I would go through what it took to get us home all over again* -- twice, even, if necessary! -- says everything about the trip.  It really was one of the best experiences of my life.  And I'm still happy to be back home.  Home away from home.  Together with my family, away from my family.  Actually, those last four words are the not-so-happy part ...
*story to come

"Please Refrain. . .

. . . from using profanity while I'm in the vicinity."

My sister, Anne, and I were probably 13 and 14 years old and at the height of our cleverness when we came up with that little gem. What a perfectly polite and intelligent way to let those around us know our tender ears were being defiled by their undiscriminating vocabulary. I'm not sure we ever actually used it, though neither of us was reticent when it came to making our displeasure at the sound of foul language known to those who used it.

On one of our trips to Disneyland we heard some profanity and lots and lots of "Remain seated please. Permanecer sentado por favor", which was our inspiration for a little addition to our catch phrase, "Please refrain from using profanity while I am in the vicinity. Exit to your left and thank you for your support."

Oh, my. It really is a wonder we had any friends given our level of dorkiness. Sure we didn't actually say this to anyone but the very fact that our brains came up with it and we thought it was awesome are clear evidences that we probably did not deserve any.

Once in my 10th grade Spanish class we were taking turns reading some dialogue. When it came to me, instead of "Dios mio!" I said "Ay, caramba!" My teacher did not appreciate it and asked why I could not just read the text as it was printed. There is a slight chance that I was one of the few who understood her extremely dry and harsh sense of humor and the only one who responded with sarcasm, so she did not especially like me. When this incident happened I explained that I do not take the Lord's name in vain. She assured me that this is perfectly acceptable in Spanish. I assured her that I would not say it in any language. She stared at me in silence for a long while before moving on.

I grew up in a home where there was very, very little swearing. I remember running to my parents and tattling that one of my older brothers had said the f-word. My dad asked what he said, and I whispered in his ear, "fagot".

When my mother was at her whit's end she would say things like, "Oh, fiddlesticks!" or, on a really bad day, "Dang, dang, double dang!" I believe my dad swore on the very, very rare occasions he got really angry.

I remember the first time I ever swore when I was about 13. I had a friend who used mild swear words occasionally. She was at my house and we were sitting there chatting and I said, "What the he**" in the conversation. I stopped suddenly, in shock. My friend laughed and told me it was okay! I... started crying and never swore again until after I had children. (no more about that later)

So the concept of using bad language just to color your normal sentences is one I don't get. It seems so very jr.high and high school to me. Some of my old friends from high school still use language like that occasionally on facebook and I feel like, "did you never grow up?" The answer, of course, is "no". I mean, the answer is that they just live in a different world than I do. And also a different country.

And speaking of which: I love living in Poland. I never hear any swearing here at all. This is not because this is the only country in the world that doesn't have or use swear words, but because I don't know any of them. The only way I ever know that someone is using bad language is when my husband or children say something about it.

Teenagers over here live in the same world as teenagers (and former teenagers who became adults and still use obscene language all the time) in America . We were reminded of this one day when Greg was planning to wait in the cafe area of our grocery store while I did the shopping. As always, there was a group of teenage boys hanging out and being extremely cool. Their language was awful. Greg sat there for awhile and then told me that he could not stand it. I told him I was sorry for him and left to shop.

Forty-five minutes later I paid for the food, returned to the cafe area with my loaded cart and saw that the boys were just leaving the area. As they walked past Greg they gave him the "sup?" head tilt (what do you call that?) I asked him what in the world had happened.

He told me that one kid saw him looking at them in disgust and the kid asked Greg if he had a problem. Greg asked him if they had to use that kind of language. The kid was insolent. Greg explained that some people simply do not want to hear that kind of talk. The kid said that it doesn't bother them. Greg explained that he was sure it didn't but that it did bother many of the people who had to listen to it. It was as if this kid had never heard such a crazy thing.

The boys kept cussing but had somehow come to respect Greg for expressing his difference of opinion. They seemed to understand that he was living on a different planet than them and could respect his alien culture. Not enough to give up their swearing for a few minutes, but still.

Becoming My Mother

There are many ways in which I want to be like my mom. There are also some ways I don't mind not being like her. For example, my mom is approximately three feet tall, and I don't particularly care to sink to her level on that one (kidding! She's like 4'9" or something).

I have earned the absentmindedness she mastered long ago (one of motherhood's awards). I am getting the lack of attentiveness down, too. She showed it by "listening" to what we said with a faraway look and then slowly repeating the last three or four words of our discourse, as if it might help her register the other 300 words that came before (it did not help and she never remembered what we had said). I show my inattentiveness by saying, "I'm thinking of a million things right now: tell me later. " or just "Now is not a good time." or occasionally, "Leave me the heck alone." (they know I'm kidding) or if I'm stressed, "I don't care right now." (such a dear, dear mother!)

Another thing I have in common with my mother is the ability to laugh at myself. I am grateful to have inherited this trait. If my future is going to be anything like my mother's I'm going to need it. It's a good thing she has this one mastered because her offspring are terrible teasers and there is nobody we like to tease more than mom (and she makes it so easy! Love you, mom).

Evie is already starting to tease me a lot. She has always been the best laugher at jokes but now she laughs at my personality a lot, too. This is a good thing because I sort of talk through things a lot and my internal dialogue comes out, which is often humorous (for one reason or another) and so should be laughed at, I suppose. But it's the making fun of me that I'm not sure I'm ready for.

Tonight we had this conversation:

Me: (looking at the clock) What!?! It's 7:20 already!?! I don't believe that!!

Greg: (in a sing-song voice) You never do.

Me: I know. I have never, ever believed it was 7:20. Not once.

Evie: No mom, you're supposed to say, "How did that happen!?!"

Me: (seriously confused) What? Am I often surprised at how late it is?

Evie, Greg, David: giggles/laughter

Me: Ugh.

And so it begins, I suppose. I guess I'd better start getting used to it since as we age my absentmindedness will only get worse and my kids will only get sassier. *sigh*

Women

Happy Women's Day to all you great women!

One of my favorite women in the world came to visit this week. She's my mom and she was here for five days. She is such a pleasure to talk to. She is such a great grandma and I was reminded of my own childhood while she was here.

I'm so grateful my kids got to feel her love up close for a while in our own home. I appreciate that she came to be here and help out with Spencer's blessing and David's baptism yesterday. Having her here made those important moments even more special. I am proud she is my mom and I aspire to be like her in many ways.

So I think this holiday (which claims to be international but definitely skipped the U.S.) is supposed to be about men appreciating women, but I appreciate them, too. My mom and sisters, as well as all the good friends I keep here in my computer. Happy Day, Women!

An Unfortunate Sequence of Events

The night before the wedding there was a rehearsal dinner at the Napa Rose, a restaurant in a Disneyland hotel (NEAT). Before we ate, Micah and Heather ran through with us what they'd practiced at the rehearsal at the chapel a few nights before.

For the bridesmaid's part, we were to walk down the aisle and line up on the left side of the altar. I was to go first. So much for being able to go without glasses and just follow the person in front of me. We ran through it once or twice, were told about the little yellow triangles on the floor to guide our positioning etc. Then we ate a very delicious dinner.

In talking to Heather a little at the dinner she expressed how nervous she was, and that she was scared something would go wrong or that she'd mess up what she was supposed to say etc. She had the perfect, bridely jitters.

The next morning the wedding was at ten o'clock. We were told that we could practice from nine to nine-thirty. I was glad, as I had never been in this type of wedding, hadn't seen the chapel's layout yet, was wearing those heels (I haven't worn heels since I got married since Greg, um, doesn't like them on me.) and have pregnancy wobbliness on top of my normal spastic tendencies.

We arrived a little after nine and rushed to dress so we could practice. But the bride wasn't there yet. So we didn't actually practice and I just peeked in the chapel once but was mostly wandering the grounds with family.

At five or ten 'til 10 the photographer was taking pictures of my family on the lawn and I was feeling as though it was very late. I ran to the dressing room to ask the other bridesmaids if we should be with them. They said yes.

I ran back to get my sisters and we got our bouquets and all six of us ran around the chapel to the back where we would enter from.

While we were running we started getting in order, me in front. At the back of the church I stood first. There were loud whispers from the wedding planner (I think that was her title) for us to hurry up! Get in order! Etc. I just stood ready and let her take care of the girls behind me.

Sooner than I expected I heard her voice in my ear, "Okay, you can go in now." I was starting to turn my head for confirmation and felt a light nudge on my back. Oh! Better go!

I walked as gracefully as I could down the aisle and turned left at the altar and took my place.

But Anne wasn't behind me. She was supposed to start walking when I was half way down the aisle. She should have been right behind me!!

Whatever. Once I was standing where I thought I was supposed to be (totally forgot to look for yellow triangles) I tried to sneakily remove my glasses and held them with my bouquet. Anne kept not coming. I smiled into the audience and reflected more than I had before on how very empty the front of the chapel was. How very, very empty.

I had no idea what was going on but I tried to smile as if I had been sent there to smile for everyone. To give them a hint of what was to come, or something. I was just hoping that there were more bridesmaids to come. And SOON!

I did not see the wedding planner at all. I kept looking for a sign from her (that I had done something wrong or to sit down or come back or anything). Granted I had my glasses off, but I could see her talking to the harpist (beautiful music!!) but never motioning to me or even looking in my direction. But I saw Anne standing there waiting. (FOR WHAT!!?)

Both my mom and dad kept giving me sympathetic smiles, which I appreciated. I wondered if I should sit down (I was standing right by a pew) until the other girls came but decided against it.

Finally Anne started walking. Hooray! Oh, wait. Then she went back . I noticed movement from the other side of the front of the chapel.

The groom and groomsmen came out of a door in the front and started lining up. So it was them, and me. Cute.

For the record, my level of embarrassment through this whole thing was a zero. I felt pretty confident that something had happened after I started walking so they had to change plans or something. But my level of feeling bad for being the one who sort of ruined the effect was well above a zero. Especially when Heather's words from the night before came back to me of her fears about something going wrong.

Once the groomsmen were nicely lined up the music changed (I think) and Anne started coming. And she looked great. All the girls did as they came in behind her. And I finally felt relief. We arranged ourselves:

See me smiling my relief to all my new-made friends in the audience?

Then Heather and Micah were married. It was a lovely ceremony.

Afterward I tried to find the lady in charge (to apologize/find out what had happened), but I never did. However, from talking to a few different people I learned that some guests had come in behind us while we lined up and were hesitant to go sit down so the lady told them, "Okay, you can go in now." Yeah. Right in my ear. (I swear!)

It wasn't until even later that I found out that the push I got on the small of my back was not from her but from Anne who also heard her and also thought she was talking to me.

Here's what I assumed we were lined up like when I started going in:

Here's what it actually looked like: (notice in the picture above it's Anne at the front of the line and not me. I'm at the front of the chapel). And that's my actual first step of doom. (I was seriously so shocked when I saw this picture, just today. I had NO IDEA we weren't all lined up.)

So there's my story. I already mentioned a couple of posts back that the wedding was wonderful. I never felt like anyone blamed me or really even cared about my big blunder. It was completely lost in the awesomeness of the day. And I got lost in it, too!

Here's another shot of my family, this time with our newest sister!

The Time I Had

The entire purpose of my trip to California was to see these two people

Micah and Heather. All I can say is they're lucky there's no limit on the amount of good looks that can go into a marriage because otherwise there would have been NO CHANCE for them.

get married in this place.

The Wayfarers Chapel. Probably the second* most beautiful place you could get married. IMO.

It's in Rancho Palos Verdes (CA) and the grounds are beautiful and are just at the edge of a cliff hanging over the ocean. It's GORGEOUS. Here's the groom's family, oldest to youngest, with parents as book ends.

This is on the grounds of the Chapel. If we all took about 20 steps to the left (our right) we would, every last one of us, trip over lots of flowers and greenery and then fall a long way down into the ocean. That's one of a few reasons we took the picture here and not twenty paces to the left (our right).

Afterwards the reception was just down the road at the Trump National Golf Club**. The day before the wedding the groomsmen played a game of golf there, presumably for purposes of bonding, or something (bridesmaids bonded at the super fun bridal shower). At a course like this, I think even I could enjoy watching golf.

The reception was in the building overlooking the course (and that incredible view). Every detail was perfect without it feeling at all contrived or stuffy or anything. Formal, yet extremely comfortable and friendly and happy, happy, happy. Seriously awesome. Here's all the family that were there for the groom (I love them, every one) at the reception. Sure wish Greg, Evie, Dave and Aaron were in this shot!

This collage will give you an idea of what a party it was (and especially how much my nieces an nephews loved it, adults were really partying, too, you just don't see it in these pictures so much) (That's me and my sister's on the bottom, me, Su, and Anne)

But there were other awesome parts of my trip! I didn't take any shots, so all that I have here have been borrowed or stolen from my brother's or I got them off my sister's blog (hence the collages, she ignored my request to SEND PICTURES! so I'm snatching her collages.

Here we are at my dad's wife's family's amazing condo which overlooks the beach (notice a theme here?) and which they totally let everyone stay in even with kids (lots of them).

And guess who else I got to see (meet)? This Lady:

And even got to play with her little boy.

Look at that face. I certainly would never accuse Melanie of lying (especially not after meeting her and finding her as down to earth and smart and nice as I expected), but after having spent a few hours with this extremely well behaved and super cute boy I just can't reconcile him with the boy who decorated the walls and bunk bed ladder that she posted about.

The trip was a blast. I will never forget it and I'm so grateful to my dad and Pam for getting me out there. Seriously. Loved nearly every minute, except when I was crying. Even then, I loved most of those, too. Here are some things that made me cry:

* Feeling the baby move for the first time (at the airport on my way there)

* The sight of (certain) trees (I love trees)

* The beauty of the ocean

* My 10 year old niece's amazing poetry

* Things my nieces and nephews said/ their cute faces

* How much I love my famiLee (siblings)

* What a pain in the neck my famiLee is

* Saying good-bye

I wonder. . . do you think I might be pregnant? (eighteen weeks!)

* Or the hundred and somethingth most beautiful, depending on how you look at it

** Wasn't surprised to find from their site that this is the most expensive golf course ever built.

Meet My Dad

(Hi everyone! I'm over here in America the Beautiful having a great time!)
I grew up at BYU, which isn't to say I was actually raised there , but I did spend a good deal of time there as a child. Mom worked at the library and dad at the photo lab.

I remember the smell of the library, which I didn't appreciate as a child, and climbing stairs there. I remember the smell of the photo lab, which I still don't appreciate, and dad letting us into the little circular chamber leading from the lab to the dark room. I remember being scared of being in that small space, in pitch blackness and always being afraid of what might be there when I came into the light, or the darkness of the dark room (I never knew which to expect while turning that curved, sliding door). Maybe that was because of all the weird odors.

We ran around on the grounds of campus. We played hide and seek at the Tree of Life. We hopped from stone to stone of those paving blocks outside the bookstore. I always felt a little irreverent doing that, as I knew they were actually tombstones. We spent good, long minutes drooling over the display of fudge and all the piles and piles of candy in the bookstore. Over and over and over again.

Then we moved away.

On one of our early trips back to visit family in Utah we all knew we'd be going to BYU. In the weeks before the trip we talked about all the things we'd see and do. Once when we were talking about the candy counter my dad heard the anticipation in our voice and felt he should warn us, "Oh, you guys, they don't have any more candy at BYU."

We stared. "They what?" "They don't have any more candy." "You mean like that candy counter? It's gone? Even in the Twilight Zone? Why? Are they trying to keep people from being unhealthy? Is it a new policy, like the no caffeinated drinks thing?"

We were very confused and very disappointed. He kept replying that he didn't know why, he just knew they didn't have any more candy.

I almost didn't even want to visit campus anymore.

But we did. And we went to the bookstore. And. . . THERE WAS THE CANDY, just as it had always been, colorful and tempting as ever. How could this be? Then we ran over thinking maybe it was actually just the Twilight Zone. Candy galore.

When my dad came back from visiting friends in the photo lab we accosted him. "What happened? You said. . .?" etc.

"What?", he wondered with an innocent (read mischievous) expression on his face. "I said they don't have any more candy, right?" We agreed and pointed all around at the mountains of sweet stuff, question marks all over our faces.

"Well, do they have any more? I don't think they do have any more. Probably there isn't any less, either, but I don't think there's any more."

Yeah. That's my dad. Taking advantage of the fact that we couldn't see the space between the any and the more every time he said it. It means a totally different thing when there's a space in there.

I know I'm a few days late, and I won't go on about how much I love my dad (though I do!) but this story is a great example of the many, many things my dad said to us growing up that reeeeeally shaped the way I am today.

Other examples include his response to our (probably constant) complaints that our something or other hurt (if it was our right elbow he'd ask us to give him our left so he could even it out, or so the other wouldn't seem to hurt so much) or that it hurt when we did this (like raised our arm or whatever, to which he replied, "Then don't do that!"). Plus all the times he "ate" an ant that was on my raspberry or a gnat that was in my soup. (I was a little disappointed a few years ago when I mentioned this to him and he told me that he must have been teasing because he would never eat those things on purpose. I WATCHED HIM DO IT! With my very own seven year old eyes which don't miss anything!)

I love my dad.

Stuff I Was Going to Post on My Birthday but am Posting the Day After Instead

Sometimes when people have a birthday they're allowed to write anything and everything that they want to without caring what anybody says. This also goes for people who always write anything and everything they want to without caring what anybody says.

Proof that I've always been awesome: Journal excerpts (as written)
On Sunday I was reading some of my old journal entries out loud to the kids and I had a really hard time because I was laughing so hard. You know when you keep trying to say something over and over but you can't get it out because you're laughing so hard? Like that. Only when I typed it up the funny was kinda gone out of it.
******
Feb. 11, 1986 (age 9)
Sorry I haven't written for so long but my Journal was lost the hole time! Now I will write about Christmas. Well, we went to grandmas, sang songs, opened, presents, ate goodys, and played. I got. . . (list of presents, a description of the following morning and the presents received then, including a Ramses II sweatshirt and tickets to the Ramses II exhibit). . . It was so fun that I wished that day would have lasted forever. Well the time is 9:17 and I don't have anything to write so good-bye.
Oops. I almost forgot! I still haven't written about Halloween in 1985! Well, mostly it was boring, but now I remember one more thing about it. Cold! Oh, gee, I musent forget what I was. A punker. My mom did my hair all (illegible, looks like, "snandy" I'm guessing I meant to write "standy-upy") and put red floresent hair spray on it. We got lots of candy and had a blast! I remember something really funny!
As we were leaving Eddnes (Edna's) house she was talking to my dad and said, "make sure your kids don't say what some are! Trick-or-treat smell my feet give me something good to eat, if you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear! (I refuse to believe I ever found something like this funny.)
Feb.12, 1986 (apparently mom and dad were off on some extended trip)
Mom and dad have just pulled out. I feel like bursting into tears so I sing a song Im playing in piano.
I will be writting much more this month than usuall. (To express my feelings.)They have left us with many treats. I know Ill miss them.
March 17, 1986
Sorry I lied on the other page. I just never think about this book. It is now 8:58 pm so I am very tired. (then an account of my St. Patrick's Day, which I'm skipping)
Hello! It's 8:03, Mar 18. I had a good day. I wore my Ramsese II shirt. I can't beileve I haven't written about the Ramsese II excibite the BYU has set up. I went to the exibit and saw many outragous things. I got my sweat shirt from dad for Christmas and the ticket from mom. We just said family prayer and it is 8:17 I am tired. Tonight we got 1 whole pack of starbursts for cleaning up's dessert good night.
*******
I was so excited to show David, the lover of all things Ancient Egypt, about how I went to the Ramses II exhibit. Love that I said more about the "whole package" of Starbursts that we got for having cleaned up, than I did about the priceless, ancient artifacts I was able to see up close. I really haven't changed a whole lot. *sigh*

And I love the telling what time it was, and the "They left us with many treats." in the middle of my melancholy post about missing my parents. And the going back four months to relate the tale of Halloween 1985, which begins, ". . . it was boring"

Here's one other entry that I remember SO vividly. This one is from earlier on before I understood dates. I never wrote them, I just started my entries like this:
********
Wene I was seven I Liked PeoPle to feel sorry for me. And I told my dad. He said "come and sit on my lap." So me and anne sat on his lap. And he said "if you get hurt it hurts huh? and we said yes.
And thene we knew that it wasn't good too get hurt just for a stupud reson.
********

Things the kids have said that made me feel old somehow:
* Evie came into the kitchen where I was washing dishes and asked, "What's a typewriter?" After I recovered, I learned that she read something about one in a Boxcar Children book. After I explained what it is a lightbulb came on, "OH!!! Like in Tarzan!!" (Trashing the Camp)

* David from the back seat of the car: "Mom, does everyone have to have iPods when they are big?" "I'm not really sure what you mean?" "Like when you get older do have to have iPods?" "Well, most people have some kind of MP3 or MP4 player, but you don't have to have one. Why are you asking?" "I just think I always want to wear glasses, instead." --- isn't "eye-pods" the most perfect name EVER for contact lenses? I love it.

* (from the mom tag) When asked "how old is mom?" David replies, "82?" I ask him to please be serious for once. He says, with a very sincere question mark on his face, "83?"

Well, sometimes she feels 82, even though she has 50 years to go. . .

The Best Birthday Present Ever

I celebrated my fifth birthday at my grandparent's house. We always had our family birthday parties at our house, but this time my parents, most especially my mother, seemed to think that it was important to focus on someone else's birth than mine that day. What better way to celebrate your child's birth than by giving birth to another child? She was in the hospital having my present.

I only remember sensing that something was terribly wrong. I most especially remember uncle Carl's (mom's brother) anxious and worried expression as he and grandpa rushed to the car. There were some very serious complications and both mother and baby seemed to be in danger. I learned later that Micah was NOT coming and was extremely stressed. The cord was wrapped around his neck and there were a number of other issues. Mom had been in labor for days and there was something very wrong. My dad had called from the hospital and my frantic grandmother had sent grandpa and uncle Carl racing to the hospital to give my mom a blessing. Soon after the hands of dad, grandpa, Uncle Carl and the doctor were placed on her head, Dr. Lewis proclaimed, "I think I can get this dude out!" And with a yank of the foreceps, he did!! Out came a very blue little boy.

I remember later that night, when the rest of us arrived at the hospital, the dear doctor asked who the birthday girl was. I stepped forward shyly. He said, "well, I think the birthday girl should be the first to touch her baby brother!" Following the doctor's instructions, I reached my hand forward, through the little twisty things on the incubator, toward his bruised and misshapen head, and lightly petted his his warm, pink skin. A bond was formed.

Throughout our childhood I remember trying to look after little Micah. He had his favorite big brother Adam, and his beloved mother for a summer sister, Su, but I was always proud that this little guy was mine. I remember one night when we were sleeping at grandma and grandpa's house while visiting Utah from California Micah woke up cold in the night. I was the only one that woke up as well and got him settled with an extra blanket. I remember wondering why he was so grateful for that, and wishing that I had more opportunities to do things like that for him.

These days, though we rarely (never?) talk to each other, I think, and hope, that Micah knows that he is very special to me. Not sure how it is that I feel MORE special because I share my birthday, instead of feeling less special, but I think it may have to do with who I'm sharing it with. We share more than just a date of birth, though.

* We both love(d) hot dogs. There were never any arguments over what we would have for our birthday dinner.
* In some ways I think he and I are the most emotional members of the family(though we show it differently)
* We both have longish faces? Or eyes a little close together? Not sure what it is, but we look a little alike
* The corners of both of our mouths turn up slightly. Micah's is more Joker-ish than mine is, but mine is bad enough that my friend in high school had a hard time talking to me while looking in my face because she would always burst out laughing about the upturn on the edges of my mouth.
* We both were smart in school (is it bad manners to add a "quite" or "extremely" (kidding) in here if I'm not only talking about me?) but neither of us applied ourselves, or got very good grades.
* We both like to eat sweets quite a lot. Like way too much, if we're not careful.
* We both have spiky hair and nice little beards.

Oh wait. It appears I ran out of ideas. My beard is actually much thinner than his, and my hair is only spiky about a year after I give birth to a child (if you've never had one, that's from all the hair that fell out after the birth growing back in)

Micah is such a smarty. He has about the sharpest sense of humor of anyone I know. He is a very loyal sibling and friend. He has always had a very strong sense of right and wrong. He's not half ugly, either (read: drop dead gorgeous. Are you allowed to say things like that about your brother?)

I really love this guy. I feel privileged to have this special bond with him. Although I may not show that I care like I should, I hope he knows that I think about him and remember him in my prayers. I wish him all the best this life as to offer, and the fullest of happiness.

Here you see the beautiful girl he's chosen for keeps, Heather. They will be married in June, and I am so happy for them. I wish them the very best.

Love you, Micah! Happy Birthday!

On our 17th and 22nd birthday our oldest brother and his wife decided to celebrate our birthday the same way mom celebrated my 5th. Our nephew Noah was born. He loves basketball almost as much as his birthday uncle. And he has his birthday aunt's long face! Happy Birthday, Noah!!

Opposite Day

When you were a kid did you and your siblings play "opposite day"? Oh man, we LOVED opposite days. The first problem, however, came in determining whether or not it was opposite day. Either way, it was "not" opposite day. Tricky!!

We were so very clever, and confusing, and charming and endearing all at once. Sometimes we giggled, but I think mostly we were very good at keeping a straight face while we said things like, "I hate brownies!", " Sure, I'd love to help you with your chores!!" or "You look really good today!" Good times.

Another game we loved was the always-answer-a-different-question-than-the-one-that-is-asked day. Those were the days our true wit shone through. "What time is it?" an unsuspecting person may ask. "Oh, not really." we'd say, with a contemplative sigh. "Are you going to the dance?" "Um, I think strawberry. Yes, definitely strawberry." "Did you finish your homework?" "Fine, how are YOU?"

Well, Aaron isn't super verbal in his communications. He does loads of talking, but uses precious few words. Still, he seems to understand the concept of opposite day extremely well. He's been having them a string of them for almost a month now. When we ask him if he wants something, like a cookie or juice, he will shake his head at medium to rapid speed and say, "Nah!" or "Nah-nah." and then anxiously grabs the offered item. Another opposite type reaction is when he refuses most dinner foods so I have to kind of force a tiny bit on his lips, first getting it past his flailing arms (quite a trick, as many of you probably know). The very second his tongue touches the food the arms go down, the protesting whine stops and he says, "Mmmmmm!" with all sorts of enthusiasm, as if it's soooo delicious, just like he knew it would be. This happens so abruptly that I laugh out loud every single time.

I think most toddlers say things like "Mama," "juice," or "ball" early on. Not Aaron. He still doesn't say Mama, or anything resembling it, to indicate that he wants me. Maybe this is because I'm always nearby, so there's no need. He does say Da-da for daddy and day-duh for David. He also sings "eeeeh-nuh, eeeeh-nuh" to the "Clean Up" song tune whenever he's putting anything into some type of container. And every time he burps he covers his mouth with his hand and says, "Bfff, Bfff" (excuse me) in a high pitched tone. That's really pretty much all he actually says with words. Good thing he's great at non-verbal communication. I mean, why does he need to say either Mama or juice if he's thirsty and I'm in the library, when he can climb the stairs with his sippy cup and hand it to me. Uh, he wanted me, and he wants me to refill his cup. Easy!! Right on, Aaron!

A Broken Promise; or Never Say Never

I distinctly remember sitting with my sister in the living room of our trailer in Orem talking to my dad about fashion. Actually, my memory isn't all that distinct because there's every possibility that it might have been in our house two states (and at least as many years) away. But anyway, we were in some living room somewhere, and we were talking about fashion. I think we had been looking at pictures from the olden days, read: when we were even younger than our 12ish years. We had been teasing dad about how ridiculously he had dressed back then. Those bell bottoms! How silly were those!

They were pointless. If you wanted your pants loose, you should wear them loose. If you preferred them tight, by all means, wear them tight. But to have them fitted from the knee up and then have 5 pounds of extra material flapping at your ankles was just ridiculous. And ugly as sin. We railed him on this for quite a while. He did the best he could to explain that fashions come and go and that they actually were cool and that one day we would understand. He even went so far as to bet us that WE would find ourselves wearing them one day. We laughed. We laughed hard.

When we had finally stopped rolling on the floor and wiped the tears from our eyes we saw that he was actually serious. It was as if he hadn't heard what we were saying at all, and therefore still thought that we really would wear them some day. To prove to our father how very, very serious we were, we each swore (most likely "on a stack of holy bibles"as all oaths were sworn back then) that we would never, no never, stoop so low. I can still picture the kind, but very slightly smug upturn on the corners of dad's mouth.

I'm sure I don't have to explain what happened probably very nearly exactly as many years later as he had said it would. The title of this post tells that part of the tale. To my credit, I resisted for a long time. When I watched people walking down the street and heard the "ding" and the "dong" of their jeans, I felt a bit scornful. I wasn't fooled by the new name "flares". Those were BELL BOTTOMS, plain and simple, and they were ridiculous. Eventually, of course, they became so darling in a "why didn't I see it before" sort of a way. I started wearing them a few years before they went out of fashion again.

Why do we always tease the youth about their naiveness? This is something THEY understand. As soon as you're "supposed" to be wearing skinny pants, they start wearing skinny pants. THEY don't care about how ridiculous they are, or how unnaturally short they make their legs look. THEY don't mind continuing to pull up the extra 10 inches of material over their heels and bunch it around their ankles after they've already zipped and buttoned them at the top. If bell bottoms had come back in fashion a week after we had made our promise to dad, I would probably have been wearing them before the month was out. As an adult, however, I resist.

I am still wondering, do we have to wear skinny pants? Will they be like the flares of yester-or, in my case, this-year? Can't there be some alternate style chosen that will always look classy to people of all ages, for those of us who can't be suckered into wearing the trendy ones? As it is, I am feeling like it's about time for me to go and get myself a pair of skinny pants. Partly because all my old flared ones are falling to pieces, and partly because I don't want to still have pairs and pairs of new-ish skinny pants right about the time they start going out of style. **sigh**

So, advise me. Do YOU wear skinny pants? Can we get away with NEVER wearing them? Do you still wish your flares were in fashion? ARE they still in fashion on the other side of the world? (If so, we may move up our date for returning to permanent residence in the States).

Drapers Know Best

Some years ago, our brother in-law recommended Gmail to us. I believe he even sent us an invitation. He had told us all the advantages of joining up including all manner of numbers and statistics (Tom? Numbers? NEVER!!) about things like megarams and gigaseconds. We contemplated and considered, weighing all the pros and cons in various pertinent categories. How did it compare with our current service as far as its organization, userability and storage space. Gmail won out in all of these areas. But there was one ultra-important consideration that would trump all others: would it be easier, short term, to switch to the far superior Gmail or to keep our current account? We stuck with hotmail. (Remember us? Lazy and Lazier?)

A month or two later Greg's boss sent him an invitation to join Gmail. Suddenly nothing made more sense than to join right up. So we did. And we love Gmail. And at some point we remembered that, Oh, yeah. Tom already told us all about this.

A month or so ago, Tom's better half told me about how she used Google Reader to alert her when there had been any recent posting on the blogs she reads. Oh, Google Reader isn't for me, I told her. I'm really into blogging, and therefore must do all my blog searching by hand. I explained to her about the suspense before getting onto someone's blog and wondering-- did they or didn't they? They DID! Or, nope, on to the next blog. Then the next and the next. What a way to spend an hour (give or take--usually give) in the morning. Then another in the afternoon, and one more before bed. No, Google Reader would completely disrupt my way of life.

So this morning I go to check and see if one of my fellow tagees (who I do not know) from the mom tag, Sharon, has done hers with her kid. She hadn't, but she did mention about how she uses Google Reader. Google Reader! What a great idea! I went straight into looking it up and started subscribing to all my favorite blogs. This is wonderful! I can still find out if anyone has posted lately, but now it takes 3 seconds to find out, intstead of 3,000. How much less time I will spend on the computer! Imagine all the books I can read to my kids! Think of the fun we'll have making crafts together! How great will it be to go to the park before it gets too hot! I'll be a better mother. My kids will learn more. We'll be amazing! We'll be a lot like Su and....her.... kids. Oh. That's right. NOW I get why Su is such a great mom. Google Reader!

So, uh, note to self: when the Drapers recommend something a) it will very likely be something run by Google* (this one isn't that important to remember) and b) listen to them! (this is the one we want to stick).

*This just reminded me that she was also trying to get me to blog (using Blogger--Google!) for a year or so before I started, and we all know how much I hate blogging. Another bad recommendation!

*I know some people are afraid Google is planning to take over the world, but seriously. It's either China or Google. Google or China. Hmmm, forced 16 hour days in a sweat shop or the promotion of workplace fun and creativity? And think how organized and efficient the world will be, and how well everyone will keep in touch with each other. C'mon, join Gmail. Use Google Reader. Get on Blogger. Your vote counts! Thwart China!

*This SO was not meant to be a post about Google! I only noticed it was when I wrote that note to self at the very end! So it looks like the company is establishing its gradual world domination by affecting our sub-concious as well. And apparently the Drapers are in on the whole thing!

Rivers

This is me with a few of my siblings catching that night's dinner with these sticks that may or may not have had any sort of string attached, and almost certainly didn't have any sort of hook or bait on the end. I'm the dorkiest looking one.

Now my own family lives close to a river, too. This is how you get to it. (I'm so glad everything is less brownish now than it was in the old days.)

This is how the kids look once you're there.
Here I am AGAIN, just like in the first photo: by a river, with three cute children, still the dorkiest of the bunch. (Time hasn't changed ME much!)And it's not fair about Evie's glasses. I think they're darling in real life, but in every picture she looks like the poor kid in the nerd glasses. But what can you do?

Watch Out!!

Greg's boss has been in Mielec for the past week so we haven't had him around the house much. But, as always when the boss is in town, we find out new and interesting things about Cobras and Cobra owners. (Greg is the financial manager of a factory which makes the aluminum body and chassis of the 60's sports car replicas) The latest news in Kirkham Cobras is that one of their cars was purchased for use on the set of "Iron Man." Apparently they wanted a Cobra but didn't want one that would shatter in pieces like the fiberglass ones made by our competitors. Greg pasted a picture of the scene from the movie over the poster:


That car was made in Mielec!! Seems like a waste of too many thousands of dollars to me, but from what I hear of how the movie's doing, I guess they're getting their money back (I mean, I hope lots of other movie makers buy Cobras to destroy on the set, therefore giving our company money without decreasing the value of the cars by having more in the market). We'll be watching this movie in 6 years when it comes to theaters in Poland.

Speaking of cool stuff, my sister-in-law to be is pretty cool, too! If, for any reason, you find yourself in a Del Taco, check out their new (or coming soon) "Smokin' Jalapeno Burger" which she named! Of course family who is reading this already knows about this, but what they might not have considered is how Heather is more mine than she is theirs. Besides the obvious connection, (our contest winning creativity--I'm just about to find and win some contest, too, I'm sure) she will be marrying my brother. She has chosen to marry my property, and that makes us more connected than she can ever be to my siblings. (In case you're wondering, Micah was given to me as a present on my fifth birthday). But don't worry, family, I'm sure she likes you guys, too. And maybe Mom can get a little recognition for the bearing and the birthing of the boy (they both barely made it through delivery, I believe) but, of course, this was all kind of overturned when she decided to have him on MY birthday, making him MINE! Okay, enough about that. But this is the same future sister-in-law, about whom, when I was telling my kids that she would be their Aunt soon David asked, "you mean the one who looks like a modelka?" (He's always mixing his Polish and English, but I'm sure you can guess what a "modelka" is). And she does! Hopefully this will neutralize any severe ugliness that Micah might have passed on to their children. :) They'll have gorgeous kids.

And One last important thing I learned while Greg's boss was here. Please try this: stick out your right foot and swirl it clockwise, like you're stirring soup with it. Then, in the air with your right hand draw a number six and keep your foot going clockwise. I dare you.