Organized Insanity

Just a Few of the Reasons...

2012-01-23T19:57:00.000-08:00

Just a few of the reasons I love my little guy:

1) He's fearless.
2) He hates being woken up. I get that.

(Early mornings are especially rough...even if it is Christmas. I get that, too.)

3) He's not afraid of his feminine side. In fact, he's all for a bit of bling.
4) One of his favorite places is the grocery store.
I often let him run loose in Extra Foods. I'm sure some of the staff there cringe when they see us come in. He loves those little rolling baskets. It's the closest Cardston has to an indoor playground for these cold months, so it's where we hang.

And here are a couple of reasons I love my BIG guy:

1) He's not too cool to sit at the kids' table for a family dinner.

(Good thing he never reads my blog, or he'd kill me for posting this.)

2) He's creative when he helps put Ryker's toys away.

Now, that's funny.

So many little things to love about both of them. So many.

All Things Merry and Bright?

2011-12-22T08:55:00.000-08:00

This is a bit of an 'odds and ends' post. Just some stuff to explain what we've been busy with lately...

1. The wind. The stupid, erratic, out-of-control Southern Alberta wind has kept us busy
That's Bear up on the roof, replacing shingles for probably the, um, fifteenth time since we built. Brian (Barry's dad) fixed up our fence, and Ryker was busy supervising it all.

2. Cleaning. How one 30 inch creature can create such a whirlwind of chaos is beyond me. Fortunately, he likes to help clean up after himself.
Okay, so feeding him rice may not have been the smartest move on my part.

3. Shopping. 'Tis the season, after all. Ryker quite likes Wal-Mart. Ryker and his dad together in Wal-Mart is seriously fun.

Notice that between the two above shots, the quality of my pictures got a bit better. I finally upgraded my phone, so now I can post even more gratuitous pics AND video. Then the world can adore my gorgeous child with me. Still, nothing I've snapped so far compares to this heart-melting photo:
My sister Callie took this with her phone in September when we were all in to visit Ryker's newest little cousin. She used an app to edit it, then messaged me with it, and voila, I have new wallpaper for my phone. Technology rocks!

Christmas is coming...

2011-11-22T21:16:00.000-08:00

...and it's going to be

SO
MUCH FUN!

He picked these out himself the other day as we wandered the Christmas section at Walmart.

He likes wearing them as much as he loves his toque.

No really. He LOVES the toque... so Canadian, my boy.

Thanksgiving

2011-10-14T13:23:00.000-07:00

Barry was gone all weekend. That made me a bit less than thankful.

But on Saturday, Ryker and I traveled back up the QE II with my dad and two of my brothers. We met up with extended family at Kraay Family Farm, and spent the afternoon playing in the corn maze and checking out all the other little attractions. Then we had supper back in Sylvan Lake where Grandma Schmale joined us.

On Sunday, we enjoyed a lazy day at home - just the two of us. In the course of only a week, I'd forgotten what it was like to have all-day access to those kissable cheeks. I'd forgotten how awesome it is when he backs up into your lap because he wants to be near you.

On Monday, we baked zucchini bread and doubled the chocolate chips. Then we headed to Raymond and had a delicious roast beef dinner at Mom's where Grandma Peterson joined us.

So in the end, I guess there was a whole lot to be thankful for.

People Confuse Me, Part I: Made-Up Vocabulary

2011-10-11T14:29:00.000-07:00

I find myself increasingly upset about a few things in the world today. As I look around and try to make sense of people, ideas, and events, I just get more and more confused. People confuse me.

I make no claim to being anything other than human myself, but I do struggle with the fact that I'm a confused human. I'm confused at people's stupidity.

In light of this increasing confusion, I am going to post a series (1 part? 2899 parts? Who knows?) of posts about specific confusions. This is Part I.

Today I am perplexed by the idea that some people think they can create their own lexicon...and consequently say a barrage of ridiculous, even insulting things. Well, by ridiculous do I mean slightly oppositional? No, I mean the actual definition of ridiculous: deserving or inviting derision or mockery; absurd. And by insulting, I mean offensive...damn it!

It begins here, I guess: I'm guilty of being a rather emotionally uninvolved Canadian and perhaps an over-involved non-American. Don't get me wrong...I love being Canadian. I'm not planning on emigrating any time soon, but I have troubles following our politics with any kind of... well, attention span. It's not apathy. It's boredom, which if I really think about it, is a good thing. Apparently, the more 'exciting' US politics leave me too confused at the ridiculous and insulting behaviour of the participants ("behaviour" spelled deliberately Canadian to prove my undying patriotism...because as I hope to communicate here, a word really does matter).

So I'm following the GOP nominations, and here are the bullet points:

Rick Perry's too slick. I know, his debate performances are not slick, but he is. I feel like I want to take a shower after listening to him. And after seeing one of his movie-trailer quality ads, I want to pull my eyeballs out and sanitize them in bleach.
Herman Cain seems like a good guy, but let's be real, he does not have the experience or the skill set necessary to run a country. We've all seen what inexperience leads to. VP quality? Maybe...no one could make the office any more of a mockery than Biden has.
Michele Bachmann has no range as a leader. She's just uninspiring.
Rick Santorum is laughably immature. He's just hoping someone will nominate him to VP.
Newt Gingrich can't even get his staff to support him. Retirement is calling.
While I agree ideologically with some of what Ron Paul says, I live in the real world, where I can appreciate him as a very effective voice, as means of making us think about some of the stuff that needs to be thought about. He's serving a great purpose in this (and he's much more effective at it than the 1000's of Occupy protesters...a topic for part 2, maybe?), but anything or anyone so ideologically rooted is just a non-starter in reality. Strict ideologies are scary, and as inspired as the constitution may be, it's still written by fallible men who couldn't have imagined our complex world.
Jon Huntsman is probably the candidate I find myself most like-minded with. He's unabashedly far left of the far right, and I like that, but I know he won't get far in the race because of that. Too bad.
Mitt Romney is the clear leader in my mind. He's moral and decent; he's conservative, but reasonable; he's a problem-solver; and (I know, it's become a swear-word in the deep-dyed circles of red, but I'm going to say it anyway) he's electable.

Whew... imagine what my non-bullet points would look like! Basically, I just needed to explain why I'm a Romney fan. Does it hurt my opinion of him that he's LDS? Nope. Does it help? Perhaps, but not significantly. I'm looking at the man, his political ideals and experience, and the specific mess the US now has... not the professed faith.

So I like Romney, I like watching the nominations play out, and I like the chatter it's ignited about religion... until people get ridiculous and insulting. Until they start creating their own definitions for words. And I don't just mean the stupid, easily-dismissed people posting absurd comments after every online article. I mean the people that others actually pay attention to.

What I'm taking a long time to get to is the fact that Robert Jeffres is an idiot. Do I need to define that for him? Perhaps. He seems to believe he can redefine some pretty straight-forward words, like "Christian" or "cult".

I don't care too much when people tell me I'm not Christian. I grew up with a few members of my extended family telling me that. I know what I believe in, though, and what kind of a relationship I work to develop with the Savior. I know to whom I look for salvation and peace and correct teachings by the truest example. I know that I'm not always good at it, but that I'm trying to live a life that marks me as a follower of Christ.

It didn't bother me too much, either, when I took world religion classes at university and was told that in the strictest sense, the LDS faith was not a religion. It was too new. I also learned that in the strictest academic sense, it was not a cult, either. It was a faith, a word I actually like best.

I am, however, bothered when a man that leads a large group of devout people and toots his own horn as a Christian is so ignorant (and by that, I mean the true definition of ignorant, although the colloquial usage that denotes rude or annoying would also fit) as to use words incorrectly and carelessly. And how does he explain it? With a series of "And by that, I mean..." statements. I'm not the only one confused by his belief that he can create a new and, well, STUPID lexicon on the spot. Check out Anderson Cooper and how confused he is:

Sorry, Jeffres, you don't get to make up new definitions for such simple words... elementary, really, for anyone claiming to be clergy. And you certainly don't get a pass on your ignorant behaviour when you do it in front of a national audience. Instead, he gets a public lesson from this English teacher. For his sake, here are some important definitions:

Cult: 1. A system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object. 2. A relatively small group of people having religious beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange or sinister.

Christian: A person who has received Christian baptism or is a believer in Jesus Christ and his teachings.

Hmmmm... maybe we need to go even more elementary for him:

Believer: 1. A person who believes that a specified thing is effective, proper, or desirable. 2. An adherent of a particular religion; someone with religious faith.

I get the whole salvation-by-faith-alone argument. I've heard it a hundred times. I know what a born-again Christian sees as a flaw in my faith, but it's still a religious faith. It doesn't venerate a figure or object, and it's practiced by a relatively large group of people, thank you very much. While we may be seen as strange, it's a mockable strange, not an alarming strange... and certainly not sinister, or we wouldn't be the subject of Broadway humor created by two ill-researched shock-comedians who are too scared to mock bigger, badder religions.

And try as I might, I can't wrap my head around his delineation of "theological" versus "secular" cultism. My close analysis of his interview, my experience with language and my search for logical definitions has left me with the basic understanding that theological simply means having to do with theology (and theology means religious beliefs and theory when systematically developed). So "theological cult" is a needlessly repetitive term, given that both definitions of cult deal with religious beliefs... and "secular cult" is a contradiction in terms. He seems to think he's either brilliant or gracious in his distinction, but again, he's just a fool. And I'm pretty sure there's no comfort for all the Mormons out there to be told they're not one of the non-religious religious fanatics. Jeffres is a sloppy rhetorician, and that may be what bothers me more than the attack on my personal beliefs. Those have weathered- and hopefully will continue to weather - a lot more sophisticated offensives.

The truth is that no mortal being but me gets to decide if I'm a Christian because nobody knows what I believe... but me. No one can slap a label or deny a label about something so personal. I decide what kind of believer I am. Mitt Romney gets to decide what he believes. Robert Jeffres gets to decide what he is, and if he wants someone in office whose religious practices more closely align with his, he has that right. He does not, however, have the right to play Webster. When he does, he is so obviously stupid that he confuses even himself.

Idiot: A stupid person.

While it's still a value judgment, this label has nothing to do with assuming I know Jeffres' heart and, therefore, what kind of a believer he is. I feel pretty safe saying that he's made his mental aptitude clear, especially when it comes to vocabulary... and that, I am actually qualified to diagnostically judge.

He's an idiot. And this confuses me. It seems so easy to not be an idiot. In this case, just use a dictionary.

Editing my Contacts

2011-08-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

I guess it's time I made some changes to my contacts list in my phone. When my mom calls from home, it still shows up as "Mom & Dad", and it makes me sad.

Dad hasn't lived there since before Christmas.

I wonder if I haven't changed it yet because I was in mourning and wasn't yet ready to move from denial to another stage. I wish the situation was different, of course, but I wish a lot of things in life were different.

We just have to be thankful for the things we get, like the blessing of two loving parents. And we have to love the people we get, even if... well, even if.

Just Like Addy

2011-08-02T20:50:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the best part of being a mom is that I get to watch my husband be a dad and Rykes be an outrageously admiring daddy's boy. Bear was the first to hold Ryker when he was born, and Ryker has wanted to be with his dad ever since.
I always knew that the little moments of affection, the common stuff about parenthood, would be the stuff that stole my heart, but I didn't really know. I don't think I could have imagined how it would affect me to see how much Ryker loves riding his dad's shoulders. I know, I know most boys do. It's not that special... but it is. It really, really is.

(And I love this picture because it was taken on Father's Day, as Barry receives
Happy-Father's-Day wishes from his mom.)

Any semi-truck has the power to send Ryker into a "Addy, Addy, Addy!" fit. And when Bear is home and the truck is parked out front, he becomes a single-minded boy, intent on playing in that truck.

Maybe it's a guy thing, maybe it really is more exciting than I've ever found it (and also I grew up with a truck parked out front), and maybe it's because he wants to be just like Daddy - er, Addy. I like to think it's the latter... because that's just so dang cute. And if he really does turn out like Bear, I'll be thrilled. In fact, I deliberately encourage it.

That's why when I set out shopping for the Little Tikes car that is as big a parental must-have as the baby swing, I couldn't resist paying extra for the black pick-up version.
In all the years I've known Barry, he's had five versions of the same truck - black GM/Chev. It's his trademark, one that has now been handed down, and I hope it's the start of many things Ryker inherits from his Addy.

Independence

2011-07-14T19:50:00.000-07:00

The dates worked out very nicely this year, with Canada Day on one end and the Fourth of July on the other end of a very long weekend. Barry was around for all of it, and we scheduled a little family getaway to Spokane. Our own independence celebration: no truck to load or unload, no M.Ed. project still needing to be written up, no house begging to be cleaned, no yardwork to do, not even a firm schedule we needed to stick to...except for naptime.

Canada Day was spent in Raymond, of course. Ryker was a little unsure of the parade, but warmed up to the experience when he realized there were animals and candy involved.

And then the three of us packed up the pick-up and headed out of town. My two American men showed me how to party Yankee style. (Maybe one day, I'll be cool enough to have US citizenship, too.)

On the fourth, we partied in the park...

... and watched the fireworks over the river
And the next day, we barely left the hotel swimming pool, which was AWESOME.

On our way home, we checked out the Hiawatha Trail that a friend had recommended. It's a bike trail made from an old rail line. You bike 15 miles through 10 tunnels (one really freaky loooong one - 1.66 miles with no light, except the light from your bike headlight) and over 7 trestle bridges. Very cool trek.

Now that I've done it, I also highly recommend it. Ryker does, too.
One more gratuitous baby shot.
Hope you and yours have your own chance(s) to unshackle yourself from the heavy reign of daily routine, break away, and find your own independence this summer.

Waterton

2011-07-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

One of the perks of living in small town Cardston (and there are SO, SO many of them) is that we're just a quick drive from one of the most beautiful places on earth: Waterton National Park.

I'm trying to instill a love of the place into my child, and so far, it's working.

One Sunday in June, Rykes and I hiked up to Bertha Falls. We'll be doing that a few more times before the summer's through. I cashed in on some serious snuggles as we went.

The next weekend, we drug Daddy along.

We figure Ryker has the busiest pointer fingers in the world. They're always working, usually in conjunction with all his monkey OOO-OOO's and EEE-EEE's. It's great fodder for easy mockery.
Great hiking, wildlife sightings, a visit to Cameron Falls, and a Big Scoop ice cream cone. Yep, we're exposing Ryker to all the key attractions of the park.

It was a great way to kick off summer...once it finally got here.

One?! Already?!

2011-05-25T11:07:00.000-07:00

The monkey turned one.

That previous sentence is as far as I got when I tried to write about his birthday...It's now mid-July. I planned on documenting in some overly cheesy (yet strangely charming) way all the details I love about my one-year-old. It was going to be wonderfully sentimental, capture-the-moment stuff, all about the quirky and endearing things that no other kid possibly does as cutely as our little Rykes.

Well, yeah, about that... guess you'll just have to trust me. See, we got a little busy, stuff came up, yada, yada, yada.

BUT we weren't too busy to celebrate.

We had a fun morning on the actual day. Barry went out of his way to be home, and we woke Ryker up with singing and a lit candle in a bowl of dry Cheerios... sappity sap stuff, followed by some pictures before we all headed out the door to our various busy days.

Then we got serious about the celebrations on the 28th, when we had a large party of friends and family. It was fun. Ryker even enjoyed it. No, really, I know that at one, he's not really old enough to know what it all is, but you can't tell me that this isn't the face of a kid who knows how to party.

Mother's Day

2011-05-10T20:22:00.000-07:00

Loved this day. Love this job.

Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho

2011-05-09T21:04:00.000-07:00

So I went back to work last Monday.

It’s been a full week. It’s been hard and easy. It’s been good and bad. So it’s pretty much been life. It’s reality. Everyday is something new and challenging, but often rewarding; something old and comfortable, but sometimes stagnant. It’s pretty amazing to me how life is a constant reality of opposing, but co-existing, realities…no matter what your daily routine looks like.

Ryker goes to a day home, which he loves…most days. The first few days, he sorta hurt my feelings when he didn’t cry, didn’t even have to think too hard about leaving my arms and going into the sitter’s. Then when I picked him up, he’d flash a look of recognition, but didn’t rush to my arms like I’d expected and dreamed about.

But on Thursday, he cried, and you could tell it was because he just preferred to be at home still. And that hurt worse. So I’ll take the personal slights, and hope for fewer and fewer days of him being sad.

While I miss him and have mixed feeling about leaving him for hours in a day, I do feel like I’m back ‘home’ in a way. Teaching had become such a key part of me that it’s like I’m in a familiar climate. The air feels familiar and I breathe easier. It’s strange to not have the same set-up and assignments that I did when I left (I haven’t really gotten my classroom back, and my schedule is a bit…um…well, it’s different), but I can cope for the final two months of the school year. I just try to see myself as a contract position/guest lecturer, rather than the student-teacher/intruder that the insecure me feels like every now and then. And the students are the same – great kids, generally trying hard while learning more than just literary terms and writing techniques. I get to be witness to their learning life… a tough curriculum, with a heavy course-load in the teenage years.

Perhaps the strangest adjustment became most clear the very first morning back. I had a prep period, and partway through, I looked up at the clock, figuring that 2^nd period had to be coming soon. In fact, it hadn’t quite been an hour (we have 85 minute classes). I was so shocked! I looked back at the desk and reviewed the work I had finished in that time, and then realized that I just wasn’t used to how much a person can accomplish in an hour when she’s in control of that hour… when there are no competing demands (as cute and welcome as those demands always are).

My hat goes off to mothers everywhere. Stay-at-home or working, it doesn’t matter. We all have unique challenges, but common goals and hopes. The mother who can dedicate herself to running a household, the woman who can set and keep a schedule when there’s no outside force (a time clock, a bell system) to keep you on that schedule… you amaze me. You astound me, and I wish I could be like you, instead of staying in my pajamas until noon, creatively putting off scrubbing the bathroom, and realizing mid-week that I’ve only left the house to visit the grocery store (but I’ve managed to log a whole lot of TV hours, even if it was just on “in the background”). To those of us who function best with external demands and/or who work because of circumstance, thank goodness juggling seems to be a natural talent we are endowed with when we become mothers.

So our family life has again shifted, and we’re adjusting and growing along with that. It’s hard and it’s easy. It’s good and it’s bad. It’s life, and it’s ours.

Easter Traditions

2011-05-02T21:18:00.001-07:00

On the Easter weekend, Rykes and I drove to Kalispell and met Barry for a very quick (like, 24 hours) vacation. We shopped for landscaping rocks, swam in a freezing cold hotel pool, and taught the baby how to hunt for Easter eggs.
I think he's fond of the tradition... just wait until next year when he is allowed to discover eggs with chocolaty goodness inside. As for me, I'm fond of the fact that the tradition happened in a hotel room. Can we keep that one going? Please?

The Story on the Stoop

2011-04-25T23:21:00.000-07:00

There's a drop of blood that stains the second step of the stoop in the garage. There are two more on the cement floor next to where the car parks. On a rare warm day last week, Barry sprayed and scrubbed the garage, but they're still there.

It's been almost a month, but I usually sleep on the other side of the bed now, and while the half of the master bedroom that has always been mine was never tidy, it’s currently a true disaster. I just don’t like lingering there long enough to put clothes away properly… long enough to remember what happened there.

But, strangely, I’m okay with the dried blood in the garage. I think it’s because I discovered it when we got home from the Alberta Children’s Hospital in Calgary, when I knew how the story ended. Its ending is much better than its beginning.

I don’t like telling the beginning. The details are too difficult. It was an accident. Unfortunately, it was an avoidable accident. I should have seen it coming. I’m not blaming myself unfairly; I’m just speaking the truth. In the future, I hope I can better see things coming – I hope I pay better attention to the individual things in the groups of items you never really pay attention to. I hope I think about the areas that my children can’t access, just on that off chance that, one day and with the right amount of unusual circumstances, they may be able to access them. I hope you do, too, because while I can’t claim to have felt every possible terrible thing in the world, I have a hard time imagining something worse than the feeling of helplessness and sorrow watching someone you love, cherish, and were charged with protecting – your own tiny child – suffer because of something that you should have seen coming.

The steel that is poured into you when you become a mother made it possible for me to hold Ryker firmly with one arm while driving to the hospital; it gave me the strength over the next couple of hours to sing to him and speak softly and calmly about how he was so brave and he was going to be okay. But that was the steel doing, singing, and speaking. Inside, the real me was panicking, wondering about the future. Would we lose him? Would he suffer brain damage? Lose his wonderful personality? Or his eyesight? Or any sense of security? Or that captivatingly beautiful face? What would that split second cost him? And was there any way I could pay instead? I would give anything to turn back time or to barter a trade – I’d take any kind of pain to release him from his. But all I could do was rub the bit of his tiny little hand and the portions of his face and forehead I could access through the strapping that held him still on the stretcher… and pray.

See, I told you. It’s a rotten story at the beginning. But it gets better. With the myriad of things that could have been his and our family’s fate because of that split second, it turns out that the story’s denouement, it’s unraveling, follows some very beautiful threads away from that split second.

Barry, who is away for days at a time, arrived home within minutes of the accident and met us at the ER. While neither of us could fix anything, he was there to do what he could, and that made it so I could do what I could. He also remained adamantly positive and hopeful at every stage, comforting his son, his wife, and - very likely - himself. He never once said anything to make me feel worse about what happened; as far as I could tell he never even thought it. If the tables were turned, I’m not sure I would have been so generous of heart. In those first terrifying hours and over the coming week, I saw Barry’s heart – a heart I thought I knew. Ryker has a fabulous dad. That’s one thread.

From the ER, we each called one family member. Almost instantly, there were texts, phone calls, and emails that buzzed the news. And parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. dropped to their knees on Ryker’s behalf. A swell of prayers reached the heavens such that an army of angels could not ignore. (And the army responded, but that’s another thread.) My mom, my dad, and my sister and her husband met us at the airport. They couldn’t come out on to the tarmac, but they stood at the fence and offered words of support. Then when I wasn’t allowed on the plane, Mom drove me to catch up to Barry, who was already on his way to Calgary. My brother and his wife who live in Calgary went to the hospital ahead of us, and called us with any update they could while we slowly but safely made our way through a spring storm. The five of us were all there as I had to tell the story to the social worker on call and as the surgeons consulted with us, when we got to see that tiny boy before he went into surgery, and while we waited anxiously for word of how he’d made it through. In the following days, more family would visit, call, email, text, bring gifts and supplies, and continue praying. Mom stayed almost the entire time we were up there, running errands and giving us rare chances to take a break together. Then Barry’s mom came up and spent a week with us after we got home. She saved my sanity because I was not ready to be home alone with Ryker. I did not trust that my two eyes were enough. I wanted four… at least. So a big part of the story is that we needed our families, and they were there for us.

Another thread is that of wonderfully supportive friends and community. As will happen in small towns and with things like Facebook, word of the accident spread like wildfire. We had a swell of love from friends, new and old, online and in person. The little town of Cardston and the other little town of my youth, Raymond, were abuzz with concern and hopeful messages of love. And when we returned home, there were deliveries and quick visits, but a thoughtful amount of space given to us to help us readjust. I had to bow out of The King and I for a little over half the performances, and when I came back, I was welcomed with warm arms. As I reflect on the support from friends and family, I'm struck by the fact that I do not doubt this will always be a blessing in my life, always be something I can count on.

The professionals who worked with us were fabulous, from the ER doctor who had the magical ability to insert an IV into a baby with little fuss (something I was to learn is a rare skill) to the EMTs who choked back their own tears watching us as we rode to Lethbridge and who graciously offered to give Ryker the blessing that was beginning to look like might not happen. From the calm neurosurgeon and large team of ophthalmologists who took care of him in surgery to the super attentive team of doctors, nurses, pharmacists, therapists, and other specialists who watched over him in the ICU. At every turn, there were teams of people: weighing in, explaining, responding, teaching, checking, and calming. And we have a great deal of follow-up we're scheduled for, which is all the more comforting. While no system is perfect, I am forever grateful to live in a place that has such a wonderful system.

Finally, there is the miracle of Ryker. When I say that an army of angels responded, I do not exaggerate. Ryker’s wound went into his brain, but did not cause any life-threatening hemorrhaging, as was the greatest fear – in fact, it barely bled at all – and will leave him with no lasting effects. He suffered a couple of seizures a few days after surgery. From CAT scans and EEGs, doctors confirmed that they were caused by the increased healing activity on the one area of his brain, so he'll be on anti-seizure meds for a little while, but the hope is that we'll be able to wean him from those in 3-6 months. The wound was slightly above his left eye, and had it gone just 2 millimeters deeper, he would have lost his eyesight. In that area are six muscles and numerous tendons that control the movements of the eye. Miraculously, NOT ONE of these was touched, or even damaged by the swelling. The accident happened on a Sunday evening, and by Tuesday afternoon, Ryker was very much Ryker. When they moved us out of ICU on Wednesday, he already had a reputation as that very active and happy baby with the eye injury. Each new nurse would come in to check vitals, and halfway through her attempt, say something like, “Yes, I’ve heard about you.” Ryker even learned how to flirt in the hospital, often putting his hand on the nurse’s arm and cocking his head to the side, while looking at her with a half grin or giving a little giggle. He lapped up all the attention he got, seeming to have no idea why he was getting it, no recollection of the trauma he’d been through.

And his beautiful face is still beautiful. He has a small scar that they think might fade to nothing by adulthood. If not, hopefully he buys into the idea that scars are cool, especially character scars that have a story behind them.

So it was Friday night, almost exactly 120 hours from that terrible moment when I gathered my injured baby in my arms and felt my world crumbling... 120 hours from when I jumped into my car and pulled out of the garage... and I was unloading some items out of the car while Barry graciously did a sweep of the house, making sure that there was nothing – like blood – that would make our return home more difficult for me. 120 hours and a lifetime of hope, horror, love, and healing when I pulled back into the garage, parked the car, and began to climb the stoop. I happened to look down, and that single drop of blood brought me to my knees. I expected to fall apart. But I didn’t. Instead, I found myself calmly rubbing that spot and reflecting on the story it told. A story that ends much, much better than it started. A story that I have no desire to relive, but that leaves me grateful and humbled.

No Glee for Me

2011-03-23T23:15:00.001-07:00

I am decidedly anti-censorship. I read and watch things that might shock many of the people I know. I'm not bothered by language, sex, or violence that I think is true to life and suits the story (as long as the story's good), nor do I take offense to an artistic expression of an ideal that I don't agree with. But when I think that things are unrealistic, gratuitous, or overly political, I am turned off... and I turn it off.

Glee used to be one of the many shows I DVR'd, but I'm done with it. It's always sort of bothered me that one of its main premises is that there's an entire school of teenagers who are completely mean-spirited, ridiculously cruel, and cliquey to the point of insanity...except for this special group of talented singers and dancers (apparently, not cool talents to have?). I mean, it's just not accurate to vilify an entire demographic like this, and that plot line is so over-played. But I looked past that because the music was pretty fun and first-season-Sue was so worth it with her bizarre vendetta and fabulous one-liners... but now that storyline has fizzled, too.

Anyway, it was beginning to bore me, and then last week's episode really bothered me. I mean, go ahead and satirize the overly-conservative perspective in the form of the home-schooling, Tea Party-loving, outspokenly-Christian judge (played by Kathy Griffin...gag), but ONLY IF you're also willing to satirize the crazy liberal perspective, too. (And is that not a gold mine of material, as well? Plenty-o-crazies on both ends of the spectrum.) Then there was all this chatter about the 'ground-breaking' gay kiss. Ummmm, pretty sure that was only ground-breaking the first 100 times it happened on however many other didactic programs. What would the creators of some of these shows do if they ever actually poked their noses out of their own personal bubbles of perceived persecution long enough to realize that the stereotypes they rely on are pretty much dead? People, especially today's teens, aren't that threatening.

I'm getting really tired of being treated like I need a lesson in tolerance. I hold creative minds to a higher standard than this. Yes, I think art, literature, and even (sometimes) TV should make us think, make us question our realities, and help us progress as an informed society. This means, though, that a show like Glee has to decide if it's just for fun, in which case they can use any tired plot line, vamp it up with over-the-top stereotyped characters and ridiculous situations (a la The Office), but drop the social agenda. Or if they decide that it's going to have a moral, the show has to be based in some kind of rendition of reality.

Then this past weekend, Barry told me he'd read about Dave Grohl (forever a fan of him) and his refusal to allow Glee to use his songs. He just doesn't like the show, and has a right to control his own creative material. Apparently, there's a history of Glee's creator, Ryan Murphy, being the world's biggest jerk about being turned down. Slash refused to let them cover a Guns 'n' Roses song, so Murphy called him "a washed-up ol' rock star;" then Kings of Leon turn him down, and they were "snotty little a--holes." Seriously? Grow up, Murphy. Not everyone has to love your show, not everyone has to love your ridiculously unnecessary social motives, and we all have the right to turn you down... or off, as the case may be.

Is This Really My Child?

2011-03-10T23:38:00.001-08:00

Ryker is consistently a little below average in height and WELL below average in weight. He seems pretty healthy (certainly no lack of energy), but I've become quite concerned about getting him to eat better... mostly because otherwise it would be so easy to be a terrible mother and forget that he actually needs to eat. He's certainly not interested in it. Where did he get that from? Not me, that's for sure.

So the feeding thing has really become a struggle. When he does get hungry during the day, a bottle is still his favorite. He sucks back an ounce or so, figures he's got enough now, pops himself up and heads off to play. It's a futile endeavor to try to get him to drink more, so you just wait for him to get peckish again.

When he's in the chair and it's time for solids, he's much more captive, and I get to be boss... sort of. He still pulls out all the stops to avoid eating:

ignoring you
pushing your hand away
pretending to be too tired
clamping his mouth shut
hollering and generally throwing a tantrum
gagging, horrid faces, and whole body shivers, like you're torturing him
desperate groans and sorry sobs - that are way too dramatic to be real

Okay, so maybe the dramatic part comes from me. And the angry stuff sort of reminds me of someone else I know. I guess he is ours. Oh yeah, and he will stuff his face full of popcorn twists, so he's normal in that he's gaga for junk food. At least he'll never starve... as long as the salty snacks section of the pantry is stocked.

The other day, I managed to capture a meal in which he tried it all. It began with my trying to ply his cooperation with the twists, and ends with his final move - putting the sippy cup in his mouth and refusing to dislodge it (but never actually sucking much from it, of course).

DISCLAIMER: It's completely self-indulgent to post a 3 minute video of my child trying to eat, and I acknowledge that. I'm a first-time mother, and his every burp is adorable, which makes me ridiculous. If you agree, don't watch it. I'm still going to be ridiculous, though.

February Blahs

2011-03-01T23:09:00.000-08:00

I recently read a few articles on the phenomenon of 'mommy blogs', and the general consensus therein was that such family blogs were glossy versions of real life, that while using the blog as a journal of sorts, the authors never really addressed their difficulties... or even their realities.

Well, how's this for real? February sucked.

The weather's been rotten. I'm so tired of wind and cold and snow and headaches.
I've managed, once again, to commit to doing too many things, and am consequently losing my desire to do any of them.
I get annoyed very easily lately, especially by people's Facebook comments, of all things. Do I need a life? Perhaps. Ironically, the posts I'm most annoyed by are those in which people complain.
I'm dealing with a lot more bitter feelings than I thought I would about some current family problems.
I feel like a giant cow, and when I look in the mirror, that's all I see. My baby's nine months old, and I didn't manage to follow that golden rule of 'nine months to gain the weight, nine months to lose it.' And I'm working at it - honestly working at it, with no results.
I've finally seen the obvious: I'm not a great pet-person. I love the idea, but not the reality, so the dog and I are having a trial separation, and he's moved in with my mom. We'll see. We're resolved to keep things amiable, and Ryker has unlimited visitation rights.
I love my baby boy, and am so grateful for the year-long maternity leave, but there's just no denying I miss control...control of my day, of how much or how little I get done. Motherhood has made me painfully aware of my control issues.
Teething - nuff said.
I feel like a single parent most days. It's far beyond time for a career change for at least one of us...both of us if we finally have to accept the idea of moving.

But, you know, the thing is that I've spent a lot of February dancing around the kitchen with my baby in my arms. Our favorite song is this one.

So, while February wasn't all it could have been, I don't think I'll let it get me down too much.

The Classics Never Die

2011-02-06T14:36:00.001-08:00

So now that I'm home most of the day, I catch a ridiculous amount of TV. It's pretty much always on in the background, and since I'm married to someone who likes to keep current on any new development in the viewing world, I live in a veritable Utopia of viewing pleasure: HD LCDs, blue ray players, surround sound, Netflix subscription, satellite programming with DVR, and now something called a slingbox? Basically, there's always something to watch. It's evil, it's time-consuming, it's outrageously habit-forming, but it's fun.

Especially when I catch a gem, like I did the other day. On one of the movie channels, The Money Pit was playing. I loved that film as a kid, and I found out that as an adult, it's even funnier and more charming. It's from a time when comedy could be clean, Tom Hanks wasn't political, and cheesy (or corny, if you prefer that food metaphor) stuff was somehow more palatable. It got me thinking about what might be on my top five personal classics list... those flicks that could probably be watched over and over, but never lose their power to entertain me.

While it's not solidified or pared down (and certainly not in order), here are some that I've been thinking about... along with some unforgettable lines or moments:

1. The Money Pit (obviously): "We have very weak trees!"
2. Goonies: "Hey, you gu-uys!" (I love that Martha Plimpton's back in Raising Hope... very funny.)
3. Ferris Bueller's Day Off: "Anybody? Anybody?" (Have never been able to take Ben Stein seriously, even though I'm told time and time again from my economist husband that he's supposedly quite genius.)
4. Steel Magnolias: "Aw Ouiser, you know I love you more than my luggage."
5. Over the Top: The jumping jacks outside of the truck, the weight rack in the truck that he drives long-haul without a sleeper (huh?), when he turns his cap backwards... ahhh, too many great moments.
6. Beaches: it's Bette Midler... what's not to love?
7. Last of the Mohicans: "Stay alive. No matter what happens, I will find you."
8. Footloose: Hahahahaha... the way we used the term "local boy" after that!
9. All of Me: "Back-in-bowl. Back-in-bowl."
10 Overboard: "Mr. Proffitt, your children are totally lacking in parental supervision!" "Hey, you don't have to tell me these kids are lucky."

Well, that's 10 anyway. And I realize most of them are from the 80's. Maybe another time I'll be more nostalgic for the 90's or even more recent stuff, but until then, I'll keep my eyes open for any of these gems on the guide... because if it's a classic, you're not really wasting time. Right?

A Little R and R

2011-01-16T11:56:00.000-08:00

No, not the usual kind of R and R (although I can't really claim to have been taxing myself too much the past couple of weeks), the partners in crime kind... the Ryker and Ramses kind.

These two are having great fun together. They have fairly elaborate games (well, when you consider the combined brain power), like when Ryker, who has discovered the amazing feat of engineering that is a bedroom door, shuts the dog out in the hall, waits until he growls, then opens up enough to laugh in his face before shutting him out again. It's great entertainment for all, especially me.

It's true, Ramses is generally the harassee in their games, but he doesn't mind it one bit. Often, after Ryker loses interest, the dog will drag one of his puppy toys back and forth in front of him to entice another round of play. Sometimes Ramses just resorts to hijacking one of the baby's toys.
Probably the weirdest thing this duo likes to do together is hang out in the bathroom. When we designed the house, we thought the open, doorless shower in the master ensuite was a great idea. I'm rethinking that now.
Their adventures aren't all troublesome (or creepy, as the case may be). Ryker's trying to teach Ramses how to be helpful around the house. The other day, they helped pick out some recipe ideas for dinner.
Plus, Ryker's a good duster.
And he likes to help with the laundry.
He definitely is enjoying the company of someone other than Mom, and like any great superduo, neither is quite the same without the other.

December

2010-12-29T11:04:00.000-08:00

Well, besides the weepy pondering I've been doing all month long (such a sap, I know), we have had a few family adventures this holiday season. It all started off with Barry's birthday, which is on the 11th. I baked carrot cupcakes (one of his favorites) and had his present all ready for him..... BUT we didn't see him for almost 2 weeks, so by the time he got home to celebrate his birthday,
Ryker had eaten a bunch of his cake, and while the present was still under the tree, we'd lost the card.
I wonder what might have happened to it?
Oh well, the present was still a hit (NHL 11 for the PS3). Dad and son spent hours playing - going until the paddle had to be plugged in. Too bad I had a decluttering bug a while back and put the charging cord (you know, the long one that lets you still play more than 3 feet away from the screen) in a very, very safe place.

Barry also came home to a surprise family Christmas present.
There's still a little (fairly? friendly) marital debate about how okay Barry was with us getting a dog before I actually got him, but hopefully the little guy (current favorite name is Ramses) grows on him. Ryker really enjoys the puppy (a yorkie-poodle cross), and Ramses is pretty gentle and protective with the baby, especially considering the way his hair and ears are pulled and the amount of drool he gets on the top of his head. So far, we have a problem with the baby biting the puppy, not the other way around. Training is going okay, so for the most part, I've been having fun with our new addition. It's more work, but it's going to all be worth it.... right?

Bear was around a bit more for the week before Christmas, which was really nice. We've been able to relax a bit, and we took our little monkey swimming a couple times.
He's a big fan.

Poor little Rykes got a cold, has been suffering teething symptoms, and had vaccinations last week. All of which meant he wasn't the incredibly healthy and happy bouncy baby boy he usually is. It especially stunk that it all hit at Christmas. At least that allowed Bear and I to share the sleepless nights, and Ryker did manage to pull off a pretty happy Christmas morning.
All of his great presents, and nothing fascinated him quite as much as the string from Dad's hoodie. Not even all the boxes, paper and ribbon. I think it was just that none of those things were attached to his pops - such a daddy's boy, this kid! And Boxing Day saw more great celebration. We finally blessed Ryker...figured it was best to do it before the kid could walk to the circle. And the cute little sweater my good friend had crocheted for him months ago still fit. He was so handsome, runny nose and all.
We just had some family over that evening, enjoyed some dinner, and Barry did the blessing in our living room. He did such a nice job, too. I may have cried... shocking, I know.
So, all in all, despite some sniffles (the good kind and the icky kind) and a few puppy accidents, we've had a great holiday season. And it's not over yet. I'm not one of those people proudly facebooking about how I have all my decorations down. Christmas season doesn't end until New Year's, and some years, I even feel very true to my roots and keep it all going until Ukrainian Christmas.

I mean, why be in such a hurry for a great thing to be over?

Kept and Pondered

2010-12-27T10:02:00.000-08:00

My new favorite Christmas scripture is in Luke 2:19: "But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart." While I do not claim to be the woman and mother that Mary was, I did sense a kinship of spirit with this holy woman as I celebrated this first Christmas as a mother.

Ryker has a pretty nice schedule, and he goes to sleep quite easily. Wrap him in a baby burrito, plug his bottle in, and rock for a bit, and he's out. Lately, he's started to hum in the evenings. I guess maybe I'd been singing to him more than I thought. (The 'lucky' guy was my test audience as I rehearsed for an audition in November. CHT is doing The King and I. I really wanted to be a part of it, and my very nervous rendition of "Thank You for the Music" managed to get me a part as a royal wife. It also got me a baby who giggles as I belt out a tune and shake my 'thang' around the kitchen.)

Anyway, I've now added actual lullaby singing to his nightly routine, and our current favorite is "Silent Night." Every time I reach the line in the third verse about the Christ child being "love's pure light", I have a tough time not choking or tearing up because I'm rocking my own little baby boy who is exactly that. Who knew love - pure love, pure goodness and light, the light that illuminates my entire soul - could be packaged, even wrapped up like a burrito in a race car receiving blanket and held in my arms? Well, Mary did. I'm sure that her love, wrapped in his swaddling clothes, was what she kept and pondered quietly to herself on that special night. While the heavens erupted in celebration, she sat and quietly contemplated his perfect eyelashes lying gently on that rounded cheek and his even breath that flowed between those tiny lips.

I don't know that the Christ child had a crazy arm that he liked to pop out of his blankets and wave in the air as he fell asleep, a "rodeo arm", as I call it, but I'm sure he had his funny little baby quirks that only Mary knew, and that she counted herself blessed to be privy to. I would love to know all the little things she knows about the Savior that no one else does... but then, really, I wouldn't. I think she, like any mother, deserves to keep and ponder them for herself. The joy of a baby - of rebirth, of love and hope in a blanket, of Christmas itself - is the stuff that can't be spoken of, sung about, or blogged. It defies description and elaboration, but it expands emotion and understanding. It is kept and pondered.

Santa's Little Helper

2010-12-14T15:24:00.000-08:00

No, not the Simpsons' dog. This little guy...

On the evening we decorated the tree. 'Helping' me wrap presents the other day. It was pretty fun watching him slide around on those. And it kept him occupied for a while.

A Week Away

2010-12-07T21:05:00.000-08:00

What's better than Thanksgiving? Two Thanksgivings, of course! So this year, we decided to make the trek down to Utah for US Thanksgiving. It's a fun day in Canada, but in the US, it's an entire week that kicks off an entire season. That's a celebration!

Because we're cheap (or smart?), we made it a working vacation, which is a fancy way of saying Ryker and I jumped in the truck with Barry again. The drive wasn't really fun, but there were several highlights from the trip that made it all worth it:

Seeing how excited Ryker was to sit on his dad's lap behind the wheel when we stopped to let him stretch out.
Meeting Mikelle for the first time - so fun for Rykes to have a cousin the same age.
The great big hug that Ry-Guy gave me when he came home from school. Most of the other Rasmussen kids didn't remember who I was, but they warmed up quickly.
An introduction to "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" - now I finally get the glamour muscle cracks.
Fun chats over Rob's tasty omelets.
Pedicure at Walmart...who knew? I'm not being snooty about it. I just never realized so many Walmarts had nail salons. Up here, it's all about having a Tim Horton's up front. Different priorities, I guess...donuts vs. personal grooming.
The fact that the predicted record-breaking storm never really came, and our trip back up to SLC was very uneventful.
Seeing (and staying at) Brianne and Jeremey's new house - wow.
DELICIOUS turkey dinner at Barry's mom's, and the nice visit we had that evening.
Meeting Byron's girlfriend.
Black Friday shopping, especially at the Overstock outlet. Super great deals! Barbara knows all the good spots to save at.
Watching Brynlee and Kendall give such sweet attention to our little boy.
Dinner with Brady and Jeff at Barry's favorite restaurant, Texas Roadhouse.
Chatting with Brianne while I packed (an hour-long endeavor... apparently, the smaller the person, the more stuff they need).

Thanks, everyone, for making it such a nice week.

I Got Plenty of Strings

2010-11-20T22:41:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite places in the world is the little theatre here in town, the Carriage House Theatre. For three years in a row, CHS partnered with CHT to produce some very fun and successful musical productions, and that program was a big part of my life. Now that it's on hold, I still consider myself lucky to be a part, however small, of some of the community shows they do. For their most recent production, My Son, Pinochio, I was asked to help with some set painting and to build some marionettes for the character of Stromboli to use in his scenes.

Fettuccine (the name I gave him... after my favorite Italian word and food) was my first creation. Here he is, complete with a sort of 'stage make-up' painted face.
I played with string, foam, papier mache, dowling, rafia, etc., and it was a lot of fun to sit and play on an artistic project... even if it was just in the small spurts that motherhood allowed. Interestingly, but accidentally, Fettuccine ended up looking a lot like Stromboli, so it was almost like that character had a mini-me that he carried around. I wish I had a pic of the two of them together, but all I have is what I was able to photograph tonight (closing night) before it all got packed away.
There was one scene that needed a couple more marionettes, so these were my next project - a little simpler/more rudimentary. (All of them were a little worse for wear after eight performances and numerous rehearsals... you may have noticed Fettuccine's neck had been reattached at one point with electrical tape.)
Some of the painting I did included faux stucco walls, and I helped with the cobblestone floor - all meant to evoke old-world Italy.
And I was fairly proud of this fake cabinet I painted for Geppetto's workshop. It's just a piece of particle board, but some of the details actually look 3D, if I do say so myself. Other details are a little embarrassing (like the floating, nonsensical paint brushes), but oh well.
I'm very glad to have such a fun place to exercise a little creativity. Things like community theatre and places like CHT are so enriching for a community and for individuals alike.

It's Come to This... And This has Come

2010-11-15T21:33:00.000-08:00

We're learning what foods Ryker's not crazy about, and he's learning how to splatter everything within a few feet radius by spitting and sputtering before swallowing. I don't know why it didn't come to me sooner, but I figured out the best place to feed him...

This past week, he's also become more mobile. He pulls himself up into crawling position, but hasn't figured out the simultaneous arm and leg movements yet. Sometimes, he'll get frustrated and stiffen into a perfect push up position and just holler at the floor. Sometimes he'll put his face and chest down (rugburn!) and push himself around with his butt up in the air. Up until today, whenever he pushed with his arms, he'd just get farther from his desired objective. Today he pushed forward, though, straight to the most obvious place...

We're in trouble.

From Mom's Camera

2010-11-14T22:33:00.000-08:00

I was in Raymond today. Mom and Dad cooked up a big turkey dinner, hoping to convince us all that now we don't need one for Christmas. (I think it may have worked... the current plan is to do Chinese food.) Anyway, while there, I raided Mom's camera for nice pictures. She's got a good camera, a real one with the lens that sticks out and can be exchanged for one that sticks out longer. (Can you tell I'm a photography buff?) It's cool... while mine is handy, but not great. Besides, inside my purse, it gets accidentally switched on all the time, so the battery is usually 'exhausted'. This means that most of my pictures are taken with the less-than-ideal iPhone camera.

PHEW... so after that lengthy (and completely unnecessary) explanation, here are a few of my favorites that I took from Mom:

Grandpa and Ryker having a snooze.

With a few cousins. How fitting that his shirt reads, "Chicks Dig Me." (And, yes, I have troubles telling the twins apart.)

Jordan cheering himself on at his own wedding.

Our best family picture to date.

Okay, here's a pretty good one. I especially like the reflection in the window. Those girls are trying their darndest to get a smile from Rykes, but no-go.

We're not doting parents at all.

Halloween is scary for a little guy like him. Or maybe it's just that he's not used to a camera with a real lens... fascinating!

Monkey, Monkey in a Tree...

2010-11-08T00:28:00.000-08:00

You know how most of us end up with animal nicknames? I once thought that our baby boy was destined to be a bear, like his father, but he was barely a couple months old when it became obvious he was a monkey. (Especially odd, considering he was born of a cow.) He was fond of lifting his arms like an ape, and he loved hanging. He also made very monkey-like repeated 'ooo's and 'iiii's. It just fit.

So it made sense that he stay true to his nature for Halloween. He loved his costume. The hat didn't bother him at all, and he enjoyed our family visits, even though we stole his mini chocolate bars. I especially like this picture of him and Great-Grandma Olsen. With the plants, it has a bit of an accidental jungle motif.

A while back, I even made up some new lyrics to the old "Horsie, Horsie" round song. Ryker has come to recognize it as his special song.

I have a hard time imagining anything more fun to play with for hours a day than a little monkey.

Halloween Apples...

2010-11-07T21:23:00.000-08:00

Making those favors for Mandi and Jordan's wedding put me in a craze, and I just had to make more caramel apples for my favorite season. It's such a great holiday: ghosts and ghouls wandering hand-in-hand with princesses and Luke Skywalkers. It's just so inclusive... anything goes. And everything warrants sugary approval.

Yeah, that's right. My best creations were dipped in caramel and drizzled with chocolate - both milk AND white (see... inclusive). Chocolate always adds that special love.

Even Ryker approved.

Calendar Woes

2010-10-31T11:49:00.000-07:00

If you were to ask me what day we (the stake Young Women leaders) were visiting the Leavitt ward Young Women's, I would tell you, "November 7th."

If you were to ask me what day today was, I would answer, "October 31st." I might even add a haughty, "Duh, it's Haloween."

So why? Oh, WHY!?! Why was I racing out to Leavitt this morning, all crazy sick that I was late? Why did it still take me a couple of confused conversations with very kind people to finally realize that I was 6 days, 23 hours and 45 minutes early for our visit?

I wish I knew what synaptic link was missing in my brain. I REALLY wish I knew.

Jordy-Cat Gets Hitched

2010-10-29T19:53:00.000-07:00

I'm the oldest of six children. I remember when most all of my siblings were born. I remember being asked what we should name my new sister and suggesting Jamie because I was a huge Bionic Woman fan. Then I remember trying to smother Jamie (no, not 'with love'... I literally tried to stop her breathing) when Mom and Dad first brought her home.

A couple years later, I remember Mom sitting Jamie and me down to explain that she was going to the hospital again, that we would soon have another baby in the house, and that 'water breaking' wasn't really water and it didn't really break...well, never mind. Along came Eric.

When Callie came along, I remember the debate over her name... would cruel children call her Smelly? Nope, just her oldest sister... and probably only because I remember overhearing the conversation.

And when Matt came along, we stayed with Jensen's. Bev did my hair in braids folded over to look like dog ears, and I felt special. I still have the picture of me holding him for the first time. I'm sitting on Jensen's kitchen floor, and I should be trying to feature the baby, but I'm doing my best to accentuate the hairstyle.

And then came Jordan. By then, I was old enough to stay home with the other kids... for a few hours, anyway. So when the school secretary pulled me out of class and told me my mom was having her baby, and she'd called for me to go home, I dropped my books in the hall and took off running. I ran all the way home, and as I tore through the back alley (hey, they're my memories, so I get to pretend I was fast), a neighbor came out on her back deck to ask if it was time. (I love small towns.) Inside, Mom was laying on her bed. By this point, she was a pro at the whole labor and delivery thing, so she'd decided to weather most of it at home. She was definitely in labor, and when Dad got there to drive her into the hospital, he discovered he would have a chance to see just how fast his new Jeep could go.

Now, I know a person isn't supposed to have favorites, but at different points in my life, different sibling have been favorites. When I was a teenager, Jordan was my number one guy. I babysat A LOT, and I didn't enjoy it, except on the nights I would put all the kids to bed and then get Jordan up to make chocolate milkshakes together. Jord was just always a good party guy. Through the years, he's been the most excited about Halloween pranks and costumes, Christmas lights and music, and all his siblings' weddings.

Which is probably why we all wanted to make last weekend a good one for him and his new wife, Mandi. (I can't believe my baby brother is hitched!) It was a great day. Beautiful bride, quiet temple ceremony, fun family, perfect program, stunning decorations (my mom is so talented), delicious food, etc, etc. And there was Googs, smiling the widest grin I've ever seen on a man, and it just never came off, not once the whole day. I think it's there for eternity.

Welcome to the family, Mandi. Thanks for being someone who makes a naturally happy guy even happier.
Terrible pictures, I know, but it's all I managed all weekend. We made hundreds of caramel apples for wedding favors. Sticky, sweet fun. Some of the decor. Giant pom-poms. Who'd have thought they'd ever be classy?Jord, his smile, and Mom. Should have maybe got a pic of the bride and groom, eh? Guess I was too busy just enjoying the day.

A Few Firsts...

2010-10-25T13:06:00.000-07:00

Rykes is growing up in the typical too-fast fashion of all babies. While each development is fun and exciting, I'm always a little sad that each stage doesn't last just a little longer. He rolls over all the time now. Back to front is a cinch, but front to back is proving problematic. Sometimes his middle of the night or early morning wakings are just a cry for help to get himself out of some wildly uncomfortable position.

Another big first happened just over a week ago. After a couple uncharacteristically cranky days, that first sharp little tooth cut through! Ever tried to get a picture of baby's first tooth? Impossible, I tell you! I tried just letting him think he could eat the camera, but that just resulted in a few drool-clouded shots of his chest. The best I could do was when I offered him his second favorite teething/sore gum reliever... a cold carrot.

His most preferred form of relief was the pink popsicle he would not let go of at last Thursday's stake YW volleyball night. He has several teething rings and safe alternatives, but they're no match for something that tastes, just like all his bright, fun and noisy toys are no match for the discarded plastic bag he manages to spot from across the room. Go figure.

Totally Juvenile

2010-10-13T13:51:00.000-07:00

The things that make me giggle lately reveal that I'm a bit of a junior high boy at heart. A few examples...

Baby belches in church. (They're always his best ones and always right at the quietest moments.)
Amorous carrots from our poorly-tended vegetable patch. Tee hee. I almost painted kissy faces on them.

The fact that, under the right circumstances and without proper parental attention, a baby boy can pee directly into his own face.

Poor child is in for a lifetime of me laughing at completely inappropriate things. Oh well, while he's in junior high, we'll have something in common.

Best Place in the World

2010-10-05T22:07:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I was brilliant. At least I thought so when I followed a very powerful line of logic to an amazing conclusion:

We live on the best planet in the solar system because here on earth, we don't burn up from being too close to the sun or freeze to death from being too far from it.
We live on the best continent because North America has the best opportunities.
We live in the best country because Canada is cooler than the US, where people are so egocentric. (Yes, I see the irony here.)
We live in the best province because we have mountains and prairies... and, well, oil.
We live in the best area of the province because Southern Alberta has WAAAAY nicer weather than Central or Northern Alberta.
We live in a small town, which is much better than the city because it's more fun and safer (because Lethbridge or Calgary are scary places, you know).
Of all the small towns, we live in the best one because the Comets rule!
Therefore, we live in the best place in the world. (Na-na na-na, boo-boo.)

Well, since then, I've actually seen and lived a few other places in the world. I've been to other small towns (and found out that the Cougars rule, too), many big cities (which weren't so scary, after all), and even a few other continents. I married a US citizen, and we often consider moving. Even before that, I never felt that I was stuck here in Southern Alberta - or even in North America. But I do choose here. For right now, anyway. And this past week I was reminded why.

I went to Taber for my great-uncle's funeral. He was a man who never left the area, except to serve in WWII. When he came back, he lived in the shack next door to the shack he was raised in, where he cultivated a massive and renown garden (because Taber's special climate rules). He knew where he wanted to be. I thought that was interesting. As I drove home, from the edge of Alberta's desert, through the prairies, to my home in the slight foothills before the Rockies rise abruptly - a mere 1-1/2 hour drive - I realized I live in the best place in the world.

This time, it wasn't because I had such an impressive line of logic. It was because of the attitudes here - the pro-family, pro-community, pro-industry, pro-growth, pro-acceptance stuff that permeates daily living here, but is very difficult to describe. It was because of the smooth, open highway with the occasional flash of a wild animal's eyes in my periphery, because of the way Cardston's lights kind of nestle into a little corner of the landscape with small pockets of other lights from wind farms dotting the horizon, and because the mountains at dusk were like navy blue cut-outs against the deepening royal blue sky... the line of this amazing sight stretching as far as I could see in either direction.

Then yesterday, as I drove to Calgary (to claim my son's US citizenship), I had another moment. To my right was the golden stubble of a newly-harvested wheat field. To my left, large round bales the color of rawhide neatly dotted a hay field of the boldest green. Just ahead was the large smiley face barn I always watched for as a child. And in the near distance were the ever-present mountains that seem to punctuate the scene without ending it. They just stretch on forever. And you can see forever here.

Literally, I can see my forever here.

Because I can see my children having moments of deep appreciation for this place. I can imagine that one day they'll also get a little choked up as they drive, and they may even pull over to take a picture of the proud prairie meeting the majestic Rockies... and then not even care that the picture doesn't work because it will all be here tomorrow, just as beautiful. It will even be here for their children, and so on. Forever.

So excuse me while I toot my own horn and say that I really was quite a smart little kid. And that I really do live in the best place in the world. I hope you do, too... wherever you live.

Busy Boy

2010-09-24T21:52:00.000-07:00

So... four months.
Who knew so much could happen in only four months?

Mothers. That's who.
I never used to know, but now I do.
It's only 120 days, but in that time, someone can go from this...
... to this.
Just a tiny, cute little boy...

(the newborn...
Uncle Jordan's sorta cute, too, I guess.)

... becomes a less tiny - and impossibly more cute - little man.

(who appreciates chillin' with Grandpa S.)

And this little man really is busy with all kinds of manly stuff,
like exercising...
... and lounging with Dad...

... and watching TV...
... and making new friends...
... and answering emails.
It's taxing, but amazingly, he manages to fit it all in.
So, yeah, four months. Times flies when you're busy, another thing moms - and babies - probably know best.

Terry's Legacy

2010-09-21T15:11:00.000-07:00

So I ran the Terry Fox Run this past weekend. Okay, I hobbled the run (no Terry-related pun intended). I'm just slowly working my way back to good cardiovascular shape.

I love the spirit of the Terry Fox Run. I love that my good friend has been organizing it here in Cardston for years now. I love her example of personal strength and the spirit of remembrance.
Terry Fox is one of those cool Canadian icons, and I think it's so amazing that through his legacy, he's still fighting cancer, long after losing his personal battle. It seems like everyone that participates is doing so in memory of someone they've lost... or in celebration of someone who's a cancer survivor. And that's a lot of people still fighting cancer long after ending their personal battles... and through a great number of loving friends and family. If I was cancer, I'd be scared of that kind strength and the power of all that love.

So for Jocelyn, Darla, Cam, Grandma Gloria and many, many others, I hope we keep fighting in any way we can.

Four Months and a Milestone

2010-09-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

Rykes is four months old today. Some other time this week I'll write about all that seems to have amazingly fit into four months. Right now, I just wanted to share that after much consultation (so don't judge me, even though the health unit says to wait until 6 months), I decided to try him on his first serving of pablum. It was time (I believe a mother knows this best), and it was a milestone Barry wanted to see, so today was the day.

He loved it, which was fabulous.
And then he hated it, which was funny.
Okay, you can judge me for laughing at my crying baby.

Yard of the Week

2010-09-11T19:47:00.000-07:00

As the general contractors on both of our homes, Barry and I have always taken great pride in the appearance of our house. Of particular importance and (to be quite honest) a source of unexpected joy is our yard. We REALLY enjoy working out in the yard. Barry makes it a bit of a personal contest to have the greenest lawn (we live next door to a man who did the grounds for the Banff golf course for years, so that's a tough contest). And I love the look of a full flowerbed. We both love the calming time spent out there, and while it's never SERIOUSLY been a contest, the Communities in Bloom committee in town just named us...
Boo ya!

So here's a few shots of the space.
The honor is pretty timely, actually. We've spent a lot of time lately working on the final big project for this property - a fence. A glorious, tall, private, block-the-ugly-alley fence. A fence I've dreamed about for years.

Okay, I'll be honest, it's mostly been Barry and the neighbors working on it while I've been relishing the difference having a baby in the house makes in the amount of manual labor you're expected to help with.
A little before and after...
Even Ryker's putting his personal stamp on the yard of the week.

New York Alphabet

2010-09-01T22:46:00.000-07:00

A is for the amazing architecture in that city - old and new. I could spend hours just walking with my neck craned upward.
B is for Billy Elliot on Broadway. Fabulous! Wish we'd had time and money for more shows, but if it had to be only one, I'm glad it was that one.

C is for Central Park, and the many walks we took through it. I love all that it stands for. It's likely the world's most valuable real estate, and yet we all know that it's still best served being the charming public sanctuary that it is.
(C is also for cheesecake. And Chelsea Market. And Carnegie Deli, which serves Barry's kind of sandwich... so many great c's in this town.)
D is for the children's Diesel store we found in SoHo. Barry was on cloud nine picking out the same cut jeans for his baby boy that he loves to wear.

E is for Ellis Island, where (besides many other ancestors) my Great Grandma Jenna first set foot on North American soil on her way to Southern Alberta and her arranged marriage. Standing in the great hall there always makes me feel like I'm on sacred ground because of all the stories that passed through there.

F is for Frank Lloyd Wright... by far my favorite architect, and

G is for the beautiful Guggenheim that he designed... by far, my favorite museum (of those I've visited).

H is for the High Line - a park created on the old suspended rails in the Meat-Packing District. Ingenious. And augmented by some very cool art installations.
I is for the infernal and intolerable heat of a subway platform in August.

J is for Jen, forever my dear friend and an excellent hostess, even when she has no place to host us because of a fire in her building. Still, she manages to make us feel at home. (And she looks fabulous in horizontal stripes... who else can say that?)
K is for killer pain in my feet after walking city sidewalks all day in flip flops.

L is for Lady Liberty and her willingness to accept "your tired, your poor,/ Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..." beautiful words, the sentiment of which has affected my life and liberties as a 4th generation Canadian. May our immigration policies always reflect that vision of opportunity and equity.
M is for Magnolia Bakery in the West Village and it's tasty red velvet cupcakes.

N is for the assertive "No" I developed to dissuade the persistent and shady handbag peddlers on the sidewalk. I only bought my fake, knock-off bags in 'reputable' Chinatown stores and stands, not in back allies or off sheets spread on the sidewalk.

O is for open air dining available at most restaurants, usually out on the sidewalk. At 44 1/2 in Hell's Kitchen, however, we enjoyed a delicious brunch in a charming back garden.

P is for the pasta of Little Italy, and the way it, too, tastes better when you dine in the street.
Q is for the quickening heartbeat I got when we met Bear at Penn Station. I had so been looking forward to seeing him. We'd both been to New York before, but never together. How lucky am I that he still makes my pulse race?

R is for the restful nature of this vacation. We packed a lot in, but we managed to sleep a few mornings away and forget about some of the work waiting for us at home.

S is for the stroller that allowed us to see all that we did, and for the sirens of the firehouse that was kitty-corner from our room. Surprisingly, they never woke Ryker up... just me. It is also for the smiles of strangers when they see someone with a baby. Who knew Ryker could be so sensational?

T is for Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of Pharaohs exhibition just off of Times Square. So fascinating that those amazing artifacts were made over 3,000 years ago and have survived to be on display for tired tourists mere meters from tacky t-shirt shops

U is for the Upper West Side, a friendly neighborhood... just as desirable, but much less snooty than the Upper East Side. Decidedly, the place we would live if we were New Yorkers.

V is for the vibrancy of the city, unlike any other place I've ever been. It's a very special energy innate to NYC.

X is for the xylophone because, really, is x ever for anything else (well, besides x-ray)? And one night, there really was a panhandler playing one - very poorly and very ironically - outside Julliard.

Y is for the wonderful Yankees game we went to on our last evening. New stadium, friendliest fans, coolest uniforms (love those pin stripes), and a great game (final score 11-5 for NY, and I don't even remember how many home runs we saw).
Z is for "zee bébé" as Jen calls him, who learned to sleep at least seven hours in a night in the chaos of the big city, and is just such an easy baby. Not every little one could have done that trip with such ease.

So Very NYC

2010-08-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

One day, Ryker and I wandered Tribeca - in and out of shops I don't think I could ever afford. (And even if I could, never would. I mean, who buys $15,000 dining room chairs... each!?) Although, if I could afford it, I'd buy a loft in this building...
Seriously, I could be a part-time New Yorker... if only that money thing weren't an issue. I think this should go up on the fridge (right next to the hot body in the leopard bikini picture) as motivation. My goals are simple... and, yes, alarmingly shallow.

This darling little park borders Tribeca and Chinatown. (Now Chinatown - there's some cheap, knock-off crap I can afford.) The nannies and I relaxed on the benches for a bit.
That evening, Jen met us and guided us through some great places in Soho, and we tried to eat at a little place well-known for celebrity sightings (a big goal for this trip that Jen's doing her best to accommodate). Ryker was the biggest scene there, unfortunately, as he screamed through appetizers and forced us to pack up the main course and grab a cab home.
We took turns trying to calm him out on the sidewalk off the patio, but his poor, little tummy ache just needed a warm bath and a place with muted traffic sounds.

Yesterday was our Central Park/Upper West Side experience. We spent a while walking, turtle-sighting, napping, and people watching in the park before meeting Jen for some Shake Shack (I'd also had my first Gray's Papaya hot dog for lunch).
Then we hit up the Museum of Natural History, but they kicked us out before Theodore and all his friends woke up.
We went for a mani-pedi-massage combo (Ryker abstained - just played with his hanging toys, drank from a propped-up bottle, and fell asleep in the stroller, like the dream baby that he is).

Yes, he is kissing his frog here... giving a big, sloppy one, in fact.

And, though it seems impossible, our evening was even more 'New York'. We checked out the newly redesigned Lincoln Center (gorgeous!) and then headed back to Central Park for an open-air screening of King Kong - the good one, with Cardston's own Fay Wray and the cheesy puppet monster that made Ryker this scared...
Have I ever mentioned that I love this place?
And it's about to get better. Barry gets here today!

Baby's First Bite of the Apple

2010-08-26T07:27:00.000-07:00

This is how Barry drives me to the airport.
This is how his son helps.
This is how a frazzled, but excited, Mom looks once she knows she's made it. She's gotten herself, a baby, and way too much luggage from Calgary to Newark, and from Newark onto the train to Penn Station. Victory.
This is what you do with a sleeping baby when you're in a restaurant and you don't have a car seat. He slept our entire meal flat on the table with passersby pointing and laughing as they passed by the window he faced. (Mmmm... Junior's cheesecake.)
This is how Ryker reacts to a woman who is so like Mom, but strangely not Mom.
He's blessed with a few honorary relatives in his life - this is Aunt Jen.
This is indicative of why I like New York. There's no denying this town has a confident personality.
More to come...

Good Company

2010-08-26T07:26:00.000-07:00

We were blessed the beginning of the month to have some visitors of the best kind - family. Uncle Brady and Jeff came up and stayed for a week. We were able to do fireworks, a campfire, s'mores, good conversations, a local show, and a wonderful day in Glacier together. Wish I had some pics from them (hint, hint). Brady is one of my favorite people in the world. I love the good, long talks we've had over the years. I love his kind heart.

In that same week, Grandma Barbara (Barry's mom, from whom I'm pretty sure he inherited his photogenic face) and Lawrence came and stayed a night. We enjoyed dinner and a nice visit. Grandma got to rock Rykes to sleep and had some sweet morning snuggles before they had to head out to their next adventure on a very packed trip.

I've started writing this entry a few times, but haven't had inspiration strike me for how to cleverly express my feelings. So forget being clever.

I live a very blessed life right now. There's not much for me to wish for or regret about it, but I really, REALLY do wish that we lived closer to my in-laws. I love you guys, and we miss not seeing you more. Thank you for visiting.

Cover to Cover

2010-08-17T21:54:00.000-07:00

In the past year, I have begun reading at least a dozen books that have failed to capture my attention. I don't think it's entirely because of the books, either. I've just had a much shorter attention span, and if my head is anywhere near horizontal, it's a matter of minutes before I'm dozing off.

Frankly, it's been quite disconcerting. I haven't felt like me. I'm a reader - it's one of the primary ways I would define myself. I especially love fiction, but my most memorable reads this year have been You Having a Baby (Drs. Oz and Mehmet) and Hypnobirthing (Marie Mongan). While it's obvious why those caught my attention, it's been a mystery to me why nothing else has.

This past week, I finally finished a full book that was supposed to be purely for pleasure: Isabelle Allende's Island Beneath the Sea. It was okay. I fell asleep many times. I wasn't in love with the heroine, and the ending was strangely abrupt and unsatisfying. But I finished it.

I'm dying to find something that I just don't want to put down... a novel that makes me forget to eat and that I take with me to the bathroom. I'm pretty sure it exists (there are hundreds of predecessors), but I worry that maybe I'm just not the same voracious reader I once was... and there's the practical/economical side of me that is forcing me to read (at least) a couple of the unfinished books that are stacked by my side of the bed before I buy more.

A couple weeks back, I created another blog with the intent of writing reviews of all the books I read. I hoped it would be akin to writing down everything one eats in a day or creating a to-do list... a sort of motivation by documentation. So, hopefully, I write about Island soon, and start gaining some reading momentum back in my life. I feel a literacy lethargy, and it's time to get back in shape.

Ode to a Baby Swing

2010-08-16T20:54:00.000-07:00

I think I love you.

Your gentle 'click-click' as you cradle him lovingly
is music to my ears.
You're a loaner, and it's apparent
you've been through some rough times,
yet your remaining (albeit stationary) mobile animals
have made him smile for weeks,
and your warbled music can sometimes
weigh down those eyelids that last little bit.

I love that you calm his squawks
before I can even set foot in the hall.
I love that I can have a shower
or a nap
or decent meal
and a semi-tidied home
...because of you.

I love that you are now
so recognizable.
We see your twin on TV
and in the back of pick-ups on moving day.
And we know
there's kinship with those other lucky parents.

I believe there's nothing to rival you,
nothing that could capture my heart
and deserve my affections
...except, I'm told, the exersaucer.

Couldn't be Cuter

2010-08-09T23:58:00.001-07:00

Okay, I know. I'm one of those annoying people who act like they're the only person in the world to ever have a cute baby.

I know. Your baby, grandbaby, niece, nephew, etc is just as adorable.

I know. My baby is not the center of the universe.

But seriously... he's the center of mine. And here's a couple reasons why.

I mean, seriously...

Until Someday

2010-08-05T23:36:00.000-07:00

Someday, I'm going to own a cozy cabin on a lakefront. There will be sand, sun, the buzz of motorboats in the air, plenty of spare bedrooms, a large porch, a fridge full of fresh fruit and cold lemonade, a large hammock in the yard, and several other spots to plop down and have a snooze.

Until that day, I am the niece who is ever-grateful for the generosity and hospitality of others who made this past long weekend a very memorable one. Ryker was able to meet some important greats in my life - his great-aunt, great-uncle, and after much anticipation, his great-grandmother. And it was so amazing to reconnect with Jocelyn (one of my favorite people ever) and her wonderful kids (some proud, doting, and darling second cousins).

So until someday, I am glad someone is willing to share because there's just something about spending the long weekend with extended family at a cozy cabin on a lakefront... Something that someday, I would also like to share for the benefit of my extended - and great - someones.

A Few of My Favorite Things - July Edition

2010-07-25T08:43:00.000-07:00

Sunny, calm mornings, especially when I get to enjoy them from my bed... with the window open, of course.
Underground sprinklers.
Evening walks pushing the stroller.
Overhearing Barry talking to Ryker in the nursery through the baby monitor.
Using the 'baby wear' cycle on the washing machine.
Multi-grain pancakes with butter-flavored syrup for breakfast... or lunch.
Libraries, especially university libraries. You just feel smarter being there.
Discourse analysis, appreciative inquiry, and other great things I get to learn about.
Being done with that learning for a little while, so I can read a trash novel just for fun.
Dr. Pepper slurpees.
My sister Callie, who is fun to just hang with... and is a great babysitter.
My parents, who are also fantastic babysitters.
So many willing babysitters.
Warm rhubarb crisp with ice cream
The bike chariot my parents gave us, and the fact that I figured out a way to secure Rykes' car seat inside.
Baby's first trip to Waterton, for which I actually remembered to bring the camera... with its dead battery.
The fact that my camera tells you the battery's "exhausted" - very precise vocabulary for a piece of electronics.
Big Scoop ice cream cones.
That cute little 'o' that a baby's lips sometimes make.
Cruising around looking for ideas for the next house we might someday build.
Barry pointing out that "That dad needs a good talking to. Look at the shorts he's letting his kid wear," about the family crossing the street in front of us. (The boy's shorts were alarmingly tight and riding very high.)
BBQ steak.
My first decent run post-pregnancy... going to need more of those, since the summer foods aren't helping me get trim.
The fact that Ryker is growing into some of his clothes, especially this fun onesie.

A Little Bit of July

2010-07-21T23:05:00.000-07:00

I can't believe how quickly summer (well, the quasi-summer we've been getting here in SA) is going. It was just yesterday, it seems, that Ryker donned his best red onesie and celebrated his first Canada Day. We didn't make it in time for the Raymond parade (a little YW camp burnout made it tough to get up that morning), but we got to Raytown for the more important (and more impressive) potato salad and bbq chicken that is just as much a tradition.

Dad gave motorcycle rides to all the grandchildren (also becoming tradition). He has a small helmet for them, and they each get a turn. Maybe next year for Rykes.

(When we announced Ryker's name, his grandpa approved,

based solely on the fact that it rhymed with "biker".)

That evening, Ryker slept very soundly through his first fireworks show - he literally konked out as soon as we got to the hospital lawn to watch them and didn't stir once in all the booming. Then we went back to Mom and Dad's for the real party: including s'mores around a campfire in the backyard, while Mom served lemon cake and Jamie's mocktails from her tiki-hut, and Barry and Jordan lit off more fireworks that we had picked up on the way home from Utah. (Bear has a funny story about asking the guy at the stand for the 'good stuff'. The vendor actually looked around to check that he wouldn't be overheard, motioned Barry to move in closer, and pulled a 'special' box out from under his counter... priceless.)

That weekend, we also had Ryker's passport photo taken, a truly hilarious endeavor with an infant, with equally funny results.

He'll need his passport for his first plane ride next month... Barry booked us some flights to NYC!!! (I'm just a little excited for that.)

Then on Monday, the 5th, I started the on-campus portion of the last course of my M. Ed. It ran for two weeks in the mornings, during which time, Ryker got to chill with Grandma and Grandpa Schmale and Aunt Callie... and his mom missed him incredibly, even though it was just for a small portion of each day. I'd love to say that I'm all done with that course now, but I still have a couple late assignments to submit. (So in true procrastinating Jenna fashion, I'm blogging, instead of researching.) Luckily, the work I've yet to do will serve as a key component to my graduate project, which I hope to complete by May... if I can develop some better self-discipline and work-from-home skills. Someday soon I'll blog about the project. I'm pretty excited about it, actually.

In the past few weeks, we've spent some time with the Walburger cousins, too. Audj-Podge is a particularly doting cousin, who despite never using a soother herself, has a very firm grasp on how Ryker should use it.

(Looking forward to watching these two grow up together.)

And the rest of the month? Well, besides finishing some school work, hopefully it includes a trip to Sylvan for Ryker to meet his Great-Grandma Schmale, a new fence to finish off our yard, and a lot more time spent doting on baby. (They tell me you can't spoil them at this age, and I'm choosing to believe that.)

Lessons from an Infant

2010-07-11T14:04:00.000-07:00

As a teacher, I'm very familiar with the idea that we often gain more from those we're supposedly teaching than the knowledge we offer to them, but I'm still quite surprised by all the little gems I'm garnering from an infant:

When you're wallowing in poop and there's nothing you can do about it, cry... scream, even... whatever you need to do to get some help.
Everything has its uses, even drool, which makes the best bubbles.
One should be happy for the smallest reasons - a brightly-colored hanging stuffed fish, for example, could be sufficient for hours of glee.
Sometimes a well-timed squawk can get you exactly what you want/need.
Wide mouthed grins that crinkle up your eyes are the most authentic (and most effective for the emotional manipulation of others).
Giggle often - and do so hard enough that you have to gasp for air and kick your legs a little for emphasis.
The best way to pass time in a car is to sleep, sleep, sleep.
Gas is just a part of life - deal with it. Don't hold on to it. Let it go.
When someone's smiling at you, you should always smile back bigger and brighter.
Naps are healthy. You should partake often and deeply.
Sometimes you're going to accidentally punch yourself in the face. Best to continue blissfully and excitedly flailing like it never happened.
Relish the attention people give you.
Double chins are cool.
Whenever possible, fall asleep in someone's arms.
If there's no big reason to be upset, you should be ridiculously happy. And when something upsetting is fixed, you should forget about it ASAP and resume being ridiculously happy.

Be Strong

2010-07-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

About a year ago, I was called to be the stake Young Women's camp and sports director. For several reasons, I thought it was a joke, and it took me a while to say yes. The greatest concern I had was that this summer was slated for a stake camp that I would be in charge of. I desperately wanted to keep believing that I would be a new mom and, therefore, directing a four-day outdoor excursion for just over 200 people would be next to impossible. But I did say yes, and despite my misgivings and spiritual shortcomings, as well as the fact that I did become a new mom just weeks before the big event, I did my best.

The YM/YW theme this year is from Joshua 1:9... "Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest." So "Be Strong" was our camp theme, and we tried to center all our activities and firesides around that, including a hike up Table Mountain... certainly not an easy hike.

It was inspiring to see all the bright-colored t-shirts working their way up a mountainside.

It was uplifting to watch people struggle and dig deep for the strength to make it to the top.

I had been unsure of just how much I would be able to be a part of the camp. I had planned it with the help of the presidency, an assistant, a committee of ward and youth leaders, and an amazing food committee. But I had remained pretty non-committed to actually being there because, seriously, who takes a newborn to girls' camp? Well, if you're like me and the event (especially if it's camping) is the big pay-off for all the work, you get a little selfish, you strap on the Snugli, and you go.

Ryker did very well. He got plenty of attention from all the campers, and he slept very soundly in that fresh air. I took him home at one point (after I looked down at his tiny infant hands and saw dirt under his fingernails!) for a sleep in our own beds and a good bath. Then, once I felt like an acceptable parent again, we headed back up.

I look back on the whole camp, and I'm pleased with how it turned out, but I know it wasn't because of me. And after taking a couple days to reflect, I have a developing theory about strength. I recognize that I can be strong... to a point, and then I need the strength of others. I think back to a year ago and the doubts I had about being the person for this job. They were well-founded.

But I also think of how all those people made it up that tough mountain... as a group. I think about how any of us rise to a challenge... on the shoulders of others. Sure, we are sometimes able to muster up an inner strength that surprises us, but we usually just learn to lean on the right people.

So when fellow campers would comment to me how brave or dedicated I was to be up at camp considering I'd just given birth five weeks previous, I couldn't help but sense - all the more acutely - my personal weaknesses. I knew that I was only able to do it because presidency members had offered to take pre-camp tasks from me in the preceding weeks, the assistant had taken a few of my sketchy ideas and made them into her own amazing activities that she then directed, the food people prepared gourmet meals with an organized ease, my husband kept me calm and reassured, and my infant is - apparently - a very happy camper.

Moreover, the strength of the event itself was not solely in my or anyone else's efforts. It was in the magic of a campfire, the comfort of a warm sleeping bag, the sound of teenage girls giggling at 2 AM, the bear that wandered through camp, the cold mountain lake, and the lack of cell phones and facebook. It was in the mountain air, the songs, the creative skits, the pranks, the conversation, and the laughter. It was also in the grumbling... and the getting over the grumbles, once everyone (well, most, anyway) realized camping is an attitude, not just an activity.

So when we're asked to be strong, I think we're often only being asked to look around us, to the strength of our surroundings and the support of others. The more I keep thinking, the more I believe we are at our strongest when we are willing to admit how weak we are. That's when we are willing to give up some control and be helped.

So I'm grateful for the challenge that this calling has been, for the people and the magical quality of hanging out in nature that have helped me feel a little surge in strength.

Quick Trip

2010-07-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

Week before last, we were finally able to go show Ryker off to our family in the US. He and I jumped in the truck with Barry, which was an adventure. Rykes did okay; he even did impressively well the first six hours, but by the time we stopped to sleep (the three of us all 'cozied' up in the sleeper) and we'd tagged along to the unload, it was about 20 hours from leaving home, and he was DONE!

We stayed at Uncle Brady's, who has done a lot of great work to his new house and yard. He was a great host with a very comfortable home. We were able to visit with Grandma Barbara and Uncle Byron a few times; one evening almost everyone was at Aunt Brianne's for dinner, including Grandpa Brian, who seemed pleased as punch over the little guy. It was just a quick 2-day visit, so we couldn't make it down to St. George like we would have liked, but we did fit in some fun with one Rasmussen and the two King cousins, especially one afternoon spent at Cowabunga Bay.
I'm so glad Ryker has such a large, amazing family, especially these doting cousins.

The Many Faces of Rykes

2010-06-19T06:59:00.000-07:00

For several hours a day, I simply stare at and adore our baby boy. Never has my time been so well-spent. Over the weeks, I've caught some of his best faces.

I just can't believe I'm really a mom. After years of work and worry and wondering, there he his - he and his many faces, each one more fun and beautiful than the last.

To "MY" Graduates

2010-06-14T09:39:00.000-07:00

Cardston High School celebrated graduation on June 3rd and 4th, and I'm still glowing from the experience. This year's group of grads is the last of a few grades that I've taught in both jr. high and high school. I've seen these kids grow up, and in my heart, they've really become 'my' kids. When I went into teaching, I never expected to feel so strongly about my students...

Which is why that weekend meant so much to me. Ryker and I attended the grad ceremony on Thursday night, and just as in the past four years, my heart swelled with pride watching the students march. As a group, they were awarded (or were acknowledged for having been granted) a total of over $250,000 in scholarships... we're a small school remember, roughly 100-130 grads each year. The valedictorian did a great job, and the year in review (given by Mr. and Miss CHS) was augmented by a fun slideshow and included a nod to Ryker at the end that went something like this: "Some of our teachers go the extra mile..." (picture of my cougar face) "...and provide us with our own little 7lb. 3oz. baby Cougar to play with..." (pic of the t-shirt I made for provincials) "...We had hope for a full litter, but we'll take them one at a time, too..." (photo of Ryker that they must have lifted off of Facebook or this blog). I'm so excited to let Rykes know that he was a minor celebrity in our little town when he was only a couple weeks old - it's definitely going in his memory book.

The next evening (Friday) was the banquet, and I had been asked a few months back if I would be willing to come back from mat leave to give the teacher reply to the students' tribute to the teachers. I told them I'd be honored, but the truth was, I was THRILLED. I began writing it immediately, and as I worked on it, I kept coming back to the idea that I really felt that these students were "mine", so the final speech (or the bulk of it, anyway) went like this...

Some of you poor unfortunate souls have had me for a large chunk of your last six years. For you, that may have been torture; for me, it’s been a blessing. I feel like I’ve had the privilege of watching you grow, and many times I’ve openly claimed you as ‘my kids.’ I didn’t have my own, so I secretly – sometimes not so secretly - adopted you. Now that I do have my own, let me make one thing clear: I’m still keeping you. I hope your parents don’t mind sharing you because the plain, simple truth is you are mine. Let me explain a little how that works because I know I’m not the only one in this room to lay claim on you.

You’ve chosen the theme “Small Town, Big Dreams,” which means that besides acknowledging that you’re about to enter a new, bigger world, you’re essentially celebrating having belonged to a safe, small world, too. Not just belonging as in ‘finding a place to fit in,’ but literally belonging to a place and a great deal of people who have a stake in your life and success. See, another reason why I’m especially humbled tonight is because I recognize that I’m a spokesperson for all of the teachers you’ve had through the years, and if you stop to consider that, that’s a pretty fantastic group of people to represent.

Think back to those first elementary years and the wonderful people who managed to love you despite your never-ending supply of snot (that seemed to come from every orifice of your head) and your annoyingly incessant questions about the most random things. Those teachers are the ones I truly tip my hat to. They taught you the most difficult lessons, including how to get along with others and how to sound out the word “the” from three little letters on a page. Now, I know for a fact that you were (and still are) theirs, too.

Then you had the upper elementary teachers, the ones who taught you to think for yourselves a bit more, to experiment, and to be kind and gentle with the younger kids while still having fun at recess. They loved you, despite – or maybe because of - your weird ways of getting their attention, sometimes with those long, drawn-out, totally unrelated-to-anything stories. See, you are also theirs.

Your junior high teachers loved you despite your emerging hormones, your adolescent catfights, and that new terrible odor that followed you from gym class (that you were somehow, magically impervious to). They taught you some independence and other tough concepts, like higher-level math. You are also theirs

When you came to high school, we watched you stretch and figure out that unpleasant lesson (which by the way, is a lesson you’re likely to relearn every five years or so for the rest of your life)…that you actually had it pretty easy before now. We loved you, despite the fact that you sometimes seemed more interested in honing your manipulation skills than your writing skills. We got to see you emerge as fledgling adults – something that’s terribly awkward and scary at times, but trust me when I tell you you’re getting it. Because of all this, you are ours.

So you belong to a lot of people – and how cool is that?

Some of your teachers knew their professional calling long before they were your age – they were just born to be teachers. Some naturally fell into teaching along their life’s path. Others, like me, maybe took a little coaxing. See, I’ll try to make a long story short because this story has a point that isn’t about me, but there came a point in my life when I had two years of university under my belt and no idea where it was taking me. I had stopped school to go on my mission and was spending a year working housekeeping at the hospital in my hometown. I needed career guidance, and I was getting plenty of it because I lived in a small town where everyone thought they knew me and knew what was best for me. (Sound familiar?) Most who cared enough to speak up urged me to become a teacher, and I tried to be polite about their concern, but I was not interested in that advice at all. Teaching was not for me; it was just too average, just so ordinary.

Eventually, I gave in to their logic, though, and I went back to school for a teaching degree, thinking it would be a good, safe thing to fall back on, and by the time I graduated, I had already willingly fallen. I’ve learned a few things since my days of mopping hospital corridors, and one of only two pieces of advice I’m going to give you tonight is to listen to those nosy people in your hometown who think they know best. They probably do. They certainly knew better than I did what was “for me.” Furthermore, I’ve learned that I was right about teaching: it is very, very ordinary. But I’ve also learned that the most precious things in life are the ordinary things.

I am proud to be just a teacher.

I can’t help but include a little object lesson here. (It’s a part of my ordinary teacher nature, I guess.) I want to show you a clip from one of my favorite movies, Billy Eliot. The film tells the story of a young British boy from a small mining town who is supposed to be taking boxing lessons like all the other boys to help prepare him for the tough life of working the mines like his father and older brother do. However, Billy has literally stumbled upon a different, less acceptable interest: ballet. And he’s discovered a love and a natural talent for dance. Thus, we have a conflict, as the only person in his family and community who might have supported his dancing - his mother - passed away when he was just little. In this scene, he and his teacher are meeting to choreograph an audition piece for a prestigious arts school in London. She has asked him to bring some objects that he finds personally meaningful. One of the items he has brought is a letter his mother left for him to open when he turned 18.

I love that last line. “She was just me mom.” It’s so rife with layers of meaning. (It’s an English teacher’s dream!) He’s speaking of an ordinary, everyday relationship - billions of mothers in the world for billions of sons, but that’s exactly what makes it so beautiful because in all those billions of people, there is one (and if we’re lucky there are many) whom we claim, there is one who we know belongs to us, of whom we can say, “He or she is mine.” And those people we treasure the most are those people we characterize as just my mom, just my dad, just my brother or sister, just my friend, just my spouse, just my child…And even, just my teacher, just my student.

So here’s my second piece of advice: love and honor the ordinary things, the ordinary people and the ordinary callings in your life. I promise you that is where you find the extraordinary... because you find what and who belong to you.

In closing, let me just blubber a little more as I borrow Billy’s mother’s words and I tell you on behalf of all the many, many people here tonight who would call you theirs, including those who have been just your teachers, that I’m glad I haven’t missed seeing you grow, or missed you crying, laughing, and shouting. I didn’t even miss out on telling you off. Please know that I tried to always be there - with you - through everything, and in one way or another; I hope I always will be. And I am proud to have known you, and I am proud that you were mine.

It was a wonderful evening for me and Barry. A thousand congratulations to all 'my' graduates. I wish them all the best in life.

Ry Guy Meets (some of) his Cousins

2010-05-31T16:48:00.000-07:00

By some fluke coincidence, Ryker is the 10th grandchild on both the Schmale and Olsen sides. He is also the 3rd boy on both sides. Yesterday, he had his first family dinner with all the Schmale cousins. They were all begging to be the next to hold him or touch him. He's certainly going to have a lot of fun with this motley crew.
It's no small task getting this many little ones to hold still and all look in the same direction for 5 seconds. Maybe we'll have better luck with the Olsen cousins when he meets them... hopefully in the next few weeks? Hopefully.

They're Ba-ack!

2010-05-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

Post-baby recovery is quite the process! I have days when I feel I can conquer the world, and inevitably, I pay for it the next day. But there is one piece of my body that has bounced back very, very nicely and quickly...
Which means that they other day, I finally got to wear these beauties that I had ordered in March. That was a good day.

So in review, from this

to this

in about seven days.

Now the bigger question is, Can I go from this

to this

in about seven months.

Hey, one can dream, right?

About the Name...

2010-05-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

We went in to the hospital with a huge list of names we would consider... literally. I had scoured a few books and websites and composed a typed list of names that could work for first or middle. Bear and I each had our top picks. True to what we've been told, most of the top ones went out the window when we saw him, and we found a different one that we had only bounced around.
I had no idea how hard a decision naming him would be. Of course, you choose a name largely on what sounds good and seems to suit the baby, as well as your preferences for what kind of person that child become. But it was also important that it have some meaning beyond what is trendy or what sounds cool.

I grew up with a name that had a lot of meaning because it had been one of the names my great-grandmother used. (She was a bit paranoid of her immigration status, so she changed the variations of her name on every legal document. My mom was pregnant with me when she found 'Jenna' on Grandma Jane's second wedding certificate.) It was original at the time - very few Jenna's then - so some thought it was made up, but it was actually a fairly traditional name. Before we settled on Ryker, we did some research, and I think one of the reasons I like it so much is because it is similarly meaningful.

Ryker is an old Dutch name, a germanic rendering of Richard into a surname (like Richardson), but it's sometimes used as a first name, increasingly more in recent years. As a derivative, it could mean 'powerful ruler', but most sources claim that it has come to mean 'strong/hardy power' on its own. Some sources I found claimed that it is also a Danish name. I never heard it over there, but it is a little similar to the Danish word for strength - styrke. He has a lot of germanic heritage - Danish on both sides, and my Grandpa Schmale (who passed away just a couple years ago and who, I like to believe, had a hand in helping Ryker find his way to us) was Dutch.
His middle name, Kael, is Gaelic (a nod to Grandma Olsen's heritage as a Stewart), and it means 'slender'... interestingly, the translation of Schmale from old German is the same. Plus, his initials then become RKO, the same as his great-grandpa Olsen, a man I know is one of Bear's personal heroes and someone we hope Ryker can emulate. 'RKO' is also the family brand that was used through Barry's childhood on the farm.

Ryker is currently a pretty little guy. He may end up being tall, but I don't know that he'll be large, so I like the way his name suits the kind of strength I pray he does have - slender, hardy power. Physically, mentally and spiritually, I want him to be the kind of man who is humble and pliable, and who weathers his storms with persistent effort and resiliency.
Plus, like I said earlier, we considered how it sounded - as a potential politician, was it statesman-like? Would it suit a rock or sports star? Did it make him sound tough without being harsh? Could I shout it at a playground and not sound like the biggest hag on the block? Would it make for cool nicknames... all that stuff.

I know the nurses got a kick out of Barry and I hunched over our lists, crossing off names and rating them in a strangely clinical fashion. In a way, choosing a name was as tough/nerve-wracking as delivery... but personally, I'm just as thrilled with the outcome.

Ryker Kael Olsen

2010-05-21T22:08:00.000-07:00

We got home this afternoon from the hospital with our new little Olsen. He's perfect, but then, we're admittedly biased.
Here's the story of his first few hours in photos.
At his immediate arrival, he looked like he belonged in a scene from Star Wars - one of those filler scenes at a public space or event that helps establish that you're watching a bunch of aliens from various galaxies. I know babies always look quite alien, but that head bump/mohawk thing will always be a favorite memory.
Apparently, he just wanted to be beamed back to his home planet. He looks like he's quite the screamer here, but his loudest crying so far is pretty impressively soft. Let's hope he stays that mellow.
When Mom first got to hold him... a little emotional... just a little.

Counting fingers and toes on those wildly blue feet and hands. Also, he and his tongue have a special relationship that we're getting quite a kick out of.
My two men. How blessed am I?
Later that evening, when the three of us got to have a little alone time. I'm trying to write these captions, but let's be honest, words fail when you're dealing with moments like this.

...So here are just the vital stats that one usually shares:

Born May 19, 2010 @ 3:11 PM.
7 lbs, 3 oz; 20.5 inches.
Perfect.

Mother's Day Eve

2010-05-08T21:27:00.000-07:00

This evening ended with me, Junior, my elephant cankles, and my throbbing lower back soaking in the jacuzzi tub with frothy bubbles, a Flare magazine, and my favorite DQ Blizzard (Skor, sans the fudge sauce), which my wonderful husband had brought me shortly after he finished cleaning the kitchen. Happy Mother's Day Eve to me!

The day ended that way, but started just as nicely with a morning snuggle while we watched DIY Network for a bit, followed by an intelligent debate about some of the latest developments in US politics (random, but fun). Through the course of the afternoon and into the evening, he went grocery shopping for me - twice - and spent over five hours at the school helping me sort through eight years of teaching materials - he ran the photocopier, so I could leave the most relevant and valuable things for my replacement (but still ensure I had back-up copies stored at home). He also helped cook the supper that he later cleaned up, and he gave me a nice tennis ball back rub before I went for my soak.

So I especially want to wish my mother-in-law a Happy Mother's Day. She obviously raised my husband right. (And how's this for amazing? Just yesterday was her convocation. She graduated with a solid 4.0 GPA and a B.S. in Sociology from University of Utah.... congratulations, Barbara!)

I'm obviously a lot cheerier about this weekend than I was last year, and I have to thank family and friends who helped me through a difficult time and are now so excited for Junior's impending birth that I'm feeling rather spoiled. Last weekend, my mom, sisters, and sister-in-law threw me my second baby shower. My first was a wonderful gathering of old neighborhood friends (the Thunderbolt Whiz Kid Club) and our moms, thrown by one of my dearest long-time buds, Kim. At both showers and in between, we have received such generous and heartfelt gifts - beautiful handmade blankets, must-have items from women 'in the know', and darling little outfits (including personalized onesies that brought me to tears). I've been so loved in times of pain and plenty, and I am very grateful.

...Especially, of course, to my own mother. This summer I took a couple M.Ed. courses that centered on life-writing (autobiography...sort of) as research. We wrote a great deal about the people and events that had shaped who we were, but in memoir fashion. We captured key moments as 'snapshots' of sorts. After a week or so into the course, it began to feel like a contest to see who could have the most depressing memories. When I wrote my final project, I made a conscious choice to find an equal - if not greater - ratio of happy snapshots to the difficult ones. I am, after all, a very blessed and generally happy person. I tried to center on memories with Mom in order to find the especially happy and secure times, but I found it surprisingly difficult to fashion a narrative from my life with her.

I wrote of how she had loved me enough to call my bluff when in grade one, wearing nothing but my underwear, I threw a temper-tantrum about having "nothing to wear" to school. She wrapped me in an orange parka and drove me to school, very apologetic that since I had nothing to wear, I would have to go naked. A humbled and tearful me begged to be taken home to put on one of the many clean (but not especially stylish - I mean, c'mon, I had an orange parka!) outfits in my closet. As she had planned, I never actually left the van and embarrassed myself, but I learned a valuable lesson about wanting vs. needing.

I wrote about how she led us in impromptu family dances in our living room or kitchen. I recounted how she loved to pull elaborate 'gotcha' scares on me and my siblings by letting us think we'd come home to an empty house before jumping out of some hiding spot. There were a lot of little anecdotes, but nothing that could really capture her and all that she means to me. She is an amazing personality who was always there to orchestrate some of my biggest moments, but almost frustratingly for my writing, they were often still my moments. She entered so many of my stories - as the worrier, the emotional gambler, the sideline cheerleader, the seamstress, the builder, and at times, the person I had disappointed - but so rarely in the forefront, which led me to an important realization that I summarized like this...

Sometimes it bothers me that, unlike most of the other relationships in my life, there is not one distinct moment or story that allegorically defines the way I was influenced by my mom... perhaps because she is a very complex and interesting person (and she certainly is), but more likely, it’s because like most mothers, she is the quiet supporting character who serves to move your story along, but expects no leading role in the drama. While there may not be one story, there is one consistent symbol in my life: my mother’s hands.

I’m who I am today because in my most formative years, those hands held me tightly, caressed me tenderly, scolded me firmly, labored quietly, and joyously embraced life as a full-time mom.

Jodi and Jenna (1975).
My favorite hands in the world holding mine.

I'm just one week from our due date, and as it nears, I'm praying that I've effectively learned from key women in my life - grandmothers, Barbara, my sister and my sisters-in-law, aunts, cousins, friends, and neighbors - how to be a good mother. I'm worried and feeling unsure, but I am comforted to know that I have had the greatest teacher possible - my own mom. And if I can be even half the mother she is, if my hands and heart can have a fraction of the influence hers have, Junior is going to be just fine.

Doing just 'SWELL'

2010-04-30T17:24:00.000-07:00

You'll never catch me out-and-out complaining about my pregnancy. That's been one of the biggest blessings of our journey to parenthood. Every ache and pain and pound is a miracle, so generally speaking, after each cringe or wave of ickiness, I can't help but smile.

However, it is a completely odd sensation to be a visitor in your own body. So there's just no denying that there are some things I'm looking forward to... like having my ankles back.

I've always tried to pretend I was a big-boned gal, since that excused the extra 10-20 pounds I've carried around my tall frame most of my adult life. But I always had one tell-tale giveaway that underneath that layer of chub was a pretty fine-boned figure: thin calves and ankles.

About mid-pregnancy, I noticed that all my knee-length zip-up boots I usually wear to school in the winter were getting awfully hard to zip all the way up. I told myself my calf muscles were growing because they had to work a little harder to support two of us. But within another month, the little, cheap slip-on ankle boots I had graduated to were uncomfortably snug. I just blamed the synthetic suede... it must have shrunk after being worn so often in the snow.

I fully left this stage of denial in March, though, when I ordered a few pairs of cute summer sandals from my favorite online place (endless.com). I was trying them on in the front entry, deciding what to keep (usually all of them). I consulted Bear... Didn't this one pair look a little odd, how my feet seemed to spill out that one strange spot? He politely held back judgment for a few minutes, but by the third pair, he had to ask, "Did something happen to your legs? You just don't look like you from the knees down."

It was time to face the swollen reality. My new rings didn't fit anymore, my feet looked like stumps, and I had recently become desperate enough to hide my altered face with a home-salon chopping of new, hide-myself, thick bangs. I had wanted to be one of those 'Wow, if she didn't have that darling basketball belly, you'd never know she's pregnant' people, but I'm pretty sure even my nose is swollen.

Last weekend, I was working in the den with my arms folded at enough of an angle that when Bear came in, he had to chuckle, "You've even got water in your arms!" Sure enough, there were ridges of indents from my elbows down, where water-soaked tissue had folded against itself!

Now, again, I'm not truly complaining because there are a few positives here. It gives us a laugh or two every now and then to see what new pattern will imprint on my body. I've gotten a fair amount of sympathy and a few decadent foot rubs. I have always sort of coveted my husband's collection of cool, casual Puma sneakers, and now they are the only thing in the closet that fit - width-wise, anyway. (Even a pair of flip flops I wore the other day didn't work. They had cut the base of my big toe by the time 3:00 rolled around.) And the best benefit? Well, let me remind you that I'm not above using any excuse (legitimate or not) for the extra pounds I probably shouldn't be carrying around.

I'm told all the water leaves really quickly after delivery, helping you feel a bit more immediately like yourself again. I know that once he's born, I'll miss many of the pregnancy miracles, including the way Junior gets the hiccups almost daily and how I can count on him to be excited and restless (as his limited space allows) at those times when I've just managed to settle comfortably. But I'm pretty sure I'll be glad to lose this strange sight...

Oh yeah, and once I can bend over again, I'll fix those hideous toenails!

Birthday for the Bard

2010-04-23T18:07:00.000-07:00

It's Shakespeare's birthday. I know, it's terribly English teacher geeky that I know that and celebrate that, but that's who I am.

Shakespeare's work is actually my favorite literature to teach. It's just rewarding to see students struggle a little with the language and get that oh-so-fun-to-watch payoff when they 'get it' and realize how amazingly poetic he really was. NO ONE can pack into an iambic pentameter what that man did... and with such eloquence!

So cheers to the man whose thoughts and words live centuries beyond his life and times! Even if you look back on your high school Shakespearean studies with bitter distaste, you've got to respect anyone who can accomplish that feat.

SONNET 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:

But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

Changes on the Homefront

2010-04-17T18:57:00.000-07:00

Some things have been changing around the house this last month or so. Our stairs have gotten more difficult to climb; the chairs and couches have shrunk, making them rather tough to get up from; the bathrooms have been cleaner (love this nesting thing... never actually WANTED to scrub a sink in the past); and the floors... well, I'm not sure.

My view of them is a little obstructed, so I just assume they're probably as clean as Barry usually keeps them.

In all seriousness, we have been doing quite a few little projects around the place. Last semester, I took a M.Ed. course called Understanding and Enhancing Creativity, and one of our assignments was to undertake and reflect on a creative activity of our choice. I hadn't done anything purely artistic in a while, so I decided to paint some large canvases for our hall/stairwell. I wasn't thrilled with how they turned out, but a month or so ago, I worked up the nerve to face them again. I changed enough that I was okay with framing them and hanging them. They fall in with a tree theme that I seem to have developed all through the house.

My camera can't really capture the detail in them, but they are coolest at night when the spotlights are turned on them, and the gold trees shimmer.

When I was drawing up our house plans and as we were building, I used to fantasize about what I was sure would be a favorite room in the house - the workroom, I called it. I had dreams of a treadmill in the bay window with some other exercise stuff, and the rest of the room being a studio/sewing space for me. Well, thanks to Barry's savvy internet hunting and willingness to haul a treadmill up from Utah, some furniture finds my mom had given me and I had refinished years ago, as well as a bunch of clearance deals at Ikea, the dream workroom is becoming a reality.

Then, of course, we've had the ultimate dream fulfilled - setting up the nursery, a mainfloor room that has always been reserved for that purpose. When we built, I put in a light fixture and painted colors that I knew I'd love for a nursery. A piece of me believed that if we built it, he/she would come. The rest of me didn't have the heart to do anything more. We put a daybed in there for when grandmas who have trouble with stairs came to visit. It was also a handy place for hanging laundry. Otherwise, the door stayed shut. It's kept wide open now, and I smile every time I pass it in the hall.

Working on the nursery has also had a fun ripple effect. We moved the bed that had been in that room down to that last, unfinished bedroom in the basement, one that had been such a handy storage closet for the past couple years. We finally did a refinishing job I'd been putting off on a cool dresser I'd inherited when my Grandma Schmale left her house. So that meant that room was complete (well, fairly complete - I dream of finding a retro chair in lime green for beside the dresser, and it's practically screaming for some accessories, but I'm too exhausted right now).

So that leaves the nursery itself. It's not quite done. It needs some art, some cute baskets in the change table, and other finishing touches, but it's getting there.

Maybe we'll use some of the portraits we recently had done for artwork in there. Junior can see how awesome it was to carry him and love him before I even knew him.

He can see the man he will hopefully become like someday.

And he can begin to learn about love, affection, and joy.

(Thank you, Heather at Silverline, for your beautiful work.)

So the gist of it all is that we've been busy, changing and rearranging our house and our lives... getting ready for the best change yet. Just four more weeks. An early arrival would be fine by me, too, because I really do think that staircase is getting longer and steeper every day.

Poor Choices

2010-04-08T17:14:00.000-07:00

Pretty sure I've eaten about 2000 calories worth of snickerdoodles today.

Barry's currently making a healthy supper of salmon, sweet potato, and broccoli that will totally cancel out all my poor choices today.

...Except maybe that I'm blogging while pretending to work on a M.Ed. paper. That one I'll definitely pay for later tonight when I just want to go to bed.

I'm sure a midnight snack of a few more snickerdoodles will help me stay awake.

Why I Love March

2010-03-23T15:21:00.000-07:00

Sunny days that can reach 20 degrees or higher.
Easter break is coming soon.
Slurpee cravings.
Tulips start to emerge.
It sometimes snows, but the snow is nice and white and only lasts a day or two.
Daylight savings begins, and the evenings feel less dreary.
March 23rd comes along, and I remember how on this day 8 years ago, I knelt across from Bear and we promised each other eternity. I was a very undignified bride, with tears and running nose, and I couldn't even wait for the full vows before I blurted out, "Yes."

Lucky for me, that just meant I got to say it twice.
Because I really meant it.
And I still do.

Baby Cougar

2010-03-18T15:02:00.001-07:00

Cardston and Raymond High Schools are hosting the boys' and girls' 4A Provincial Championships this week. Today was the opening ceremony/banquet and overall kickoff, which made for an interesting day at our school. I wanted to show some team pride, and I was feeling a little crafty last night, so I pulled out the permanent markers and let my inner Cougar out.

Who knows? Maybe the little guy is a future star?
Love that it's March Madness, too. Hope the Big Cougars and the Little Cougars both do well.

For now, Baby Cougar is just a fan.

And here's a belly pic, just because it's the only time a person is proud of a gut this large. (The doc's comment when she measured me this week: "My he HAS grown, hasn't he?) Plus, I am also proud that those are pre-pregnancy jeans... very low waisted, but still. (I need all the self-esteem I can get since I'm just a few pounds away from my heaviest sister-missionary-eating-every-pastry-in-Denmark weight that I swore I'd never hit again... and I've got almost 2 months yet!)

Hair

2010-03-17T14:56:00.000-07:00

Isn't hair an amazing thing? It grows, it transforms your face, it is fun to play with, it turns unpredictable colors. It's like it has its own personality that can help to reveal yours.

Myself, I usually like having my hair short... that's when I have always felt the most 'me', but I quite often seem to be in transition because I see supermodels and celebrities and think that I, too, could be beautiful with long, flowing hair. Once it's grown, I realize I still just look like me, but with a mop of hair on my head, so I hide behind it for awhile and eventually, I go back to short. The last few years, however, I've become rather hair-lazy. I only get a cut every six months, and I'm addicted to the ease of pulling it all up in a ponytail or even (if I'm all out of elastics in my desk at school) making a quick bun that I fix in place with a pencil.

So it's long been long for a while and is beginning to feel more and more like me, which is weird. Even more weird, though, is this...

...brace yourself. This is a BIG DEAL...

Yep, Barry, who has always (as long as I've known him) had longer hair, has always seemed most comfortable and 'him' with some luscious locks, has gone short! In our entire hair history together, we have usually had similar length hair (because I'm in transition) - a 'great' family joke at times, how we have matching hair (sense my sarcasm). Or I've often been shorter. Even back when we met (remember this photo), I remember discussing how we were both attracted to the other because we were obviously willing to be rather untraditional with our outward appearance, especially our hair.

While he still looks like a rock star (especially at the Billy Talent concert my sister scored us some free tickets for), my husband has gone all respectable on me! And I'm twisting my long locks into conservative buns with HB pencils! Oh, how we've changed!

I love his new look, even though I barely recognize him when he walks in a room. It's got me thinking, searching for pics of cool cuts, wondering if it's time for a new me to go with the new him.

We Had a Cat...

2010-03-05T12:52:00.000-08:00

We had a cute little kitty last year that I quite liked - I've even written about him before. The neighborhood children loved him, too. In the summer months, they would often come by, ring the bell, and ask if Salem could come out and play. I kid you not.

I don't believe in keeping a cat indoors all the time, not when I love yardwork like I do. Having a kitty follow you around and pounce in and out of the flowers just makes time in the garden that much more magical. So Salem would often go outside to play with the children or keep us company in the yard.

This past fall, Barry let him out one day while he mowed and whatnot. Salem never came when he called, and we never saw him again. It's our third lost cat in the six years we've lived in that neighborhood. I think we have the kitty version of the Bermuda Triangle somewhere close by. I always try to imagine that they've just gotten kitty amnesia in an otherwise non-scarring accident, and that a sweet little girl or boy has taken them in to a wonderful home where they are regularly fed strawberry ice cream. (Hey, it helps soften the loss.)

I really do miss Salem, never more so than last night when I had trouble sleeping. I gave in, got up, and sat at the island with some paperwork. Around 1:00 AM, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a little movement... and discovered we have a different house guest, one that is NOT welcome!

EEEEWWWWWW!!!!!

Anybody know of someone wanting to give away a cute, little (preferably black) kitty? I haven't been sure I was ready to take that gamble with my heart again, but I'm sure now.

Going for Gold!

2010-03-02T15:11:00.000-08:00

I just have to make a couple comments about the Winter Olympics. I didn't get too fevered over the whole thing, but I really did enjoy some key moments.

The opening ceremonies were pretty cool. Classy, even. I immediately downloaded KD's version of "Hallelujah". I've always loved that song anyway, and seriously, could that be done any better? I got chills.
We have US satellite, so all the broadcasts I watched were from that perspective. I was very impressed with the way NBC gave their props to Canada and to Vancouver. It felt like the US really was that friend that we always like to imagine it is. (Often, it can feel like we're that little-bit geeky, easily dismissed friend in the lunchroom - US will sit with us if there's no one cooler that might see.)
I'm not sure how I feel about the blame game that they tried to play about the luge track and the poor guy who was killed. Isn't the whole point to go as fast as possible, and if there are tracks that are too fast for inexperienced athletes, then shouldn't we have some minimum requirements like they instituted for ski jumping after the sensational Eddie the Eagle in '88? I am sure, however, of one thing... that it was in poor taste to show the footage like they did... over and over.
I often like to dream that I'm a speed skater. I love skating, but wasn't much of a figure skater and can barely function on hockey skates (too toe-pick dependent), but in some strange fantasy world, I'd be lightening fast and have perfect crossovers on the turns if you threw me on a track. Anyway, I tuned in for that whenever possible... and skipped figure skating, apparently missing out... so little time, so many ice sports.
We got our golds in hockey, so all is right with the world. While the women looked pretty tacky in their celebrations, I thought it was kinda funny. I mean, could they play into the stereotype(s) any better?
I love that the US made our men's team take the hard road. It made for a better tournament, and a better team in the end. I cracked up at the US announcer who was at a loss for words the first time we matched up and just summed up the game as "tremendously tremendous."

Which leads me to my all-time favorite moment. I hesitate because it will reveal a sick sense of humor, but here goes... judge me at will:

Those closing ceremonies kind of creeped me out. It was like some strange acid-ridden, Canadian icon love-fest, so I didn't watch a lot of it, but I was so glad I caught Bob Costas saying, "...and the always enjoyable giant inflatable beaver." Now THAT was golden!

Tell me this doesn't make you at least crack a grin.
He's even got his own fan page on Facebook.

Little Things

2010-02-26T20:55:00.000-08:00

Daily I can’t help but be amazed by the power of little things. I’m now in the last trimester of this pregnancy that, so far, seems to have flown by. (I have been warned, though, that the next little while drags a whole lot more.) I’m worried that unless I record some of those magical little things that bless my life right now, they’ll be gone too soon, and I’ll never remember them or be able to describe them like I might right now.

I spent an unexpected hour hooked up to a fetal monitor earlier this week after I had a couple not-really-supposed-to-happen- just-yet symptoms. Everything is perfectly fine, though, and I’m kind of glad it happened. Normally, the doc just checks the heartbeat for 30 seconds, smiles, and sends you on your way. A full hour of lying in a quiet room with the echo of that precious, strong heartbeat was magical. I loved that Jr. hated the pressure of the sensor and was moving around a lot, so the heartbeat was punctuated by loud thunk-thunks and a few ripples across my bare belly, followed by a faster heart rate or the occasional white noise as I drug the sensor after him. That I have the honor of hearing him, feeling him, and even knowing him just that little bit is… well, words fail. And I'm crying as I write about it. Super sap, I know.

While I’m not crazy about my husband being gone as much as he is, an interesting benefit seems to have emerged. Because Bear doesn’t see us daily, he is much more fascinated by things than he might otherwise be. It's like he's seeing me for the first time every time he comes home. I love how he can’t resist touching or rubbing my belly anytime I’m within reach. I’m pretty sure on a subconscious level, I’ve been deliberately walking by him more than normal. Those quick moments in the kitchen on a weekend morning take my breath away.

Sleeping has been problematic for a while now. I build a nice wall of new pillows that I literally spill myself over to get into bed. It has helped, but I can’t escape the cloud of memory foam odor that hangs around me night and day.

I’ve become enamored with lullabies. I recommend the new Jewel CD, and I can’t get enough of the Jason Wade recording of “You Belong to Me” from the Shrek soundtrack or Mama Cass’s “Dream a Little Dream”. Yes, I’m that cheesy pregnant woman who is totally buying into the idea that if I play them enough, they’ll be something he recognizes and will soothe him later.

Bear gave me new rings for Valentine’s Day after remembering my complaints about swelling hands. (Tell me he’s not an amazing man!) I got him an ipod that I’d already loaded with a few of the songs from our years together. It’s the first time in years that we haven’t just agreed to not get gifts. We may even be moving beyond spelling out what we want for each other... really, I wasn't even remotely hinting when I complained!

I try to do a kettlebell workout (from a DVD my sister lent me) at least three times a week. My favorite thing about it is that the 7-month pregnant woman who leads it regularly loses her train of thought: “Okay, now we’ll do a…” (five second pause, during which she dazedly reaches for something) “…a lift and press, which will help build…” (spaced gaze into the camera), etc. It’s fabulously reassuring. I catch myself doing that in front of a class of confused students several times a day.

And that wonderful community of people that I work with (especially the students) is so excited, concerned, and interested that I feel a little like Jr. is a minor celebrity as I walk the halls and field questions. I have big plans for him on our next blue and white day.

I get a weekly email that gives you an idea of fetal development for that week, and I often text the basic facts to Barry. This week: “Jr. is about 2 ½ pounds and 15 inches long, and he now has eyelashes and blinks.” Barry’s reply: “Our little boy is really growing up!”

I’ve spent countless hours online searching for the perfect nursery furniture. It’s become an unhealthy obsession, sort of like the chocolate-banana milkshakes I couldn’t get enough of a couple months ago.

It’s even inexplicably easier to slow down and make time for little things now. I got a manicure this week (the second of my entire life) from my old childhood neighbor and friend, and we had a nice time catching up on the last 20 years. I’ve booked photo sessions, including one for just Bear and me that we’ve talked about doing for years. A solitary walk around the neighborhood, an evening cup of herbal tea, a half-hour of reading rather than TV before going to bed, emailing or chatting on the phone with friends and family more… all these things seem to fit into my day better than they have over the past several years. It makes sense, really. They are, after all, just little things.

V-Day

2010-02-14T22:22:00.000-08:00

This March will be our 8th anniversary.
We'll have known each other 12 years this coming summer.
Time flies when you're having fun...
especially when you're in love.

Our first 'official' date: Summer of '98
(obviously already liking each other enough to bust out
a couple-type pic - there may have already been a 'history',
which is not a part of our courtship story our children will hear).
Pretty sure I have my arms folded inside of my coat and hoodie,
in case you're scratching your head
like I was when I had the film developed.

Liar, Liar

2010-02-12T13:15:00.000-08:00

I have a problem that I'm trying to come to terms with. I lie.

Not about big stuff or 'important' stuff, but I lie as a strategy. I don't think that makes a valid excuse, though.

I realized this this week when I caught myself in my most common lie - a lie to my students about how far I am into marking a set of their essays. I do this because the responsible thing to do would be to mark at least a few a day (one full-length, critical/analytical essay can easily take a 1/2 hour to grade and give effective feedback; multiply that by 25-30 students, and yeah, it's a good chunk of work). And I want to at least appear responsible... I am, after all, not just supposed to be teaching English, but life skills, as well. And what better way to teach than to model, right?

The truth, though, is that I prefer to mark a larger chunk all at once because I feel I'm more consistent. And even though that's valid reasoning, I have the undeniable need to appear more 'on the ball' than that. I don't want them to know that I, too, procrastinate and end up paying the price with a painful all-nighter every so often.

I also have to work up the incentive to do that all-nighter, so I manufacture incentive by telling a lie. I say I'm almost done, that there's little reason why I won't have them back in the next day or two. I lie myself into a corner... for my own good.

Last night was one of those lie-induced all nighters. Yuck... but it was a good thing to get me thinking about the lies I tell. It scares me how many there are.

I lie to myself about how much junk I eat - I think a piece of me literally believes that if I don't 'know' about it, it burns off much easier.

I lie about time frames sometimes, expanding or contracting how long I've been at something, as I see fit. Again, I'm quite often just lying to myself (because who really wants to admit they just wasted two hours playing solitaire on their cellphone). Sometimes I'm lying to others about why I'm late (because the truth is that I just didn't care enough to be on time).

I used to lie to Barry about what I was doing when he called in the evenings. I'd make myself sound all busy with some household chore or homework, when really, I was sprawled on the couch, with a bowl of something I'd convinced myself I wasn't really eating, well into my third episode of "Law and Order" from the DVR. I always felt guilty that he was still working. I'm over that now. (I realized if he was home, he'd be plopped down beside me, and we'd be debating whether we needed to go get a Blizzard from DQ or pop a bag of popcorn.)

I lie about being okay with a lot of the things I get asked to do. Sometimes all I really want to do is say no, but I don't, and that starts a string of lies because I'll start to tell fibs about preliminary work I've done. This is that same tried-and-true marking strategy applied to a different task - just lie myself into a situation where I'm forced to finish the job.

I lie about my age and weight... because I'm a girl.

I lie about having seen a movie, read a book, or heard someone's story if I think it will get me out of a painful conversation sooner.

There are so many lies I send out, floating around me, poisoning my karma.

The worst one? I lie about liking people's baby names. This one's really biting me in the keister now. So when you ask about whether we have some names picked out, and I tell you, "a few, but nothing definite" (or that I'm too forgetful to remember most of them without my list), I'm totally lying.

I just can't stand seeing your reaction and knowing that you're likely a liar, too.

So Nice

2010-02-08T15:19:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since Bear and I both had a weekend home together. Between vacation travels, his unpredictable job, and my 'extracurricular' things, a couple full days of regular, at-home weekend-type activity has been rare. But it finally happened. It was so nice, and I've decided that "nice" is such a wonderful thing.

For example, it is nice to...

Sleep in together and make waffles for breakfast.
Watch my husband vacuum, while I re-pot some plants.
Do a few little home improvement things - together. I measure and mark; he drills and fastens.
Lay down when your not feeling well, and have someone come check on you a little while later.
Cruise Wal-Mart and Costco - together, and inwardly laugh and admire my husband (who is known to buy $200-$300 blue jeans) calculate which sandwich meat is the better value by weight.
Finally go to that movie we had planned on seeing during Christmas holidays.
Fall asleep with someone in the other half of the bed.
Let him wash and fuel both vehicles while I make us grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup that we gulp down quickly before heading to church.
Have the little kid in the pew in front of you turn around and loudly ask, "Why are you wearing a costume?" (That's my new favorite shirt!)
Watch the Superbowl in our comfy basement, and when I get bored, go upstairs to watch something else in the bedroom (which is more comfy), only to find out I missed the more exciting part of the game.
Fold warm laundry - together.
Close the weekend with fresh-from-the-oven brownies topped with vanilla ice cream.

The smallest and simplest things are nice. And doing those things together is just so very, VERY nice. I hope everyone has weekends like this... at least every now and then.

Mental Recess

2010-01-28T18:09:00.000-08:00

I'm up in Edmonton again. I'm marking diploma exams for the government, which is an interesting change from my regular work week. In a lot of ways, I quite enjoy it - the day actually ends when it ends. I don't take folders home with me or get questioned by the janitors about how late I'm staying tonight. Admittedly, though, it can get pretty tedious reading the 50th essay of the day about the same topic as all however-many-thousand other essays from the entire province. Every now and then, you have to stop, stare across the vast room of people stooped over purple test booklets (and munching on snacks of questionable nutritional value), and think about something a little different than "the ways in which we pursue or compromise our happiness." Here are a few things I've been thinking in those little mind recesses:

I don't like brown carpet or the fake veneer tops on tabletops in government buildings. Both are just so, well... brown.
Tim Hortons is pretty much just popular because it's Canadian, and I'm okay with that. I feel very patriotic every time I pop a Timbit... sometimes the old "Hockey Night in Canada" anthem even runs through my head.
I have the best aunt and uncle in the world. (Well, I've got quite a few of those, but I'm particularly enamored with Rod and Brenda who always let me stay with them when I'm up. I hope Barry and I can be as warm and hospitable to our families as they are to us.)
I secretly get a thrill when I catch people staring at my belly.
I don't know that I want to finish reading "Edgar Sawtelle" - just not feeling it, and I need a great read right now... something that I'll have troubles putting down.
I like chinooks and sunny Southern Alberta. I miss both.
I'm not much of a city girl, especially when it comes to driving. I'm too used to not needing to worry about turnoffs and lane changes for miles at a time.
I'm jealous of people who have little, darling lapdogs. I want one. I'm working on it ('it' being my husband and his admittedly logical reasons for not getting one).
I would like to start knitting some fun little project.
"The Office" is funny - wish I had written down Michael's line last week about Lady Gaga. I laughed so hard I cried.
I need to hit up Sephora before I leave town, but this time, I'm going to set a spending limit, and I'm REALLY going to stick to it.
I wish I had something clever to blog about.

As a female...

2010-01-21T14:30:00.000-08:00

I consider myself a feminist. I'm not out burning my bra (I don't want to be the same; I want to be equal), bashing men in general (like that helps our cause?), or trying to rewrite all our texts with "s/he" or "herstory" (which would actually erase the truth in history because, arguably, what isn't there tells us as much as what is). It upsets me that the term 'feminist' has morphed into some idea of a militant hater. Admittedly, I dislike most of the rhetoric around feminism that makes women look angry, bitter, and reflexively combative.

But here it is: it is a historically undeniable fact that women have been undervalued and demeaned, and any socioeconomic study in even the most "developed" countries and regions will prove that a woman is more easily discounted than a man is in modern power structures and situations (like politics and the workforce).

There are huge issues on a global scale that we need to be aware of, and many of those I should probably act on... at least educate myself about better. What really gets under my skin, though, is the fact that there are day-to-day things in our communities and interactions that we pretend are okay, but they're not. I, for one, am tired of never being taken seriously when I have a concern or a valid point. I am tired of being dismissed when I have an idea or a complaint, and I cannot pretend that it is not largely because of my gender.

The difficulty I experience is that if I present something in a detached and/or purely academic/reason-based way, I (and, consequently, my message) am easily dismissed, either because it is likely anyone would be dismissed with such a lack of investment in what they're saying, or because I do not hold enough power in the male-dominated structures that I must be considered. If, on the other hand, I present it in an emotional and/or philosophical/experiential way, I (and, consequently, my message) am easily dismissed because we still discount a woman's ability to be reasonable in emotional and philosophical realms. Simply put, if I'm excited (whether it be a happy, sad, mad, frustrated, or assertive frame of mind), anything I say has little merit because I'm just an emotional female.

If I'm upset, I'm moody or hormonal.
If a man's upset, he has a point.

If I'm assertive and blunt, I'm a b!$@h.
If a man's assertive and blunt, he's effective.

Of course, this is not true ALL the time, but it happens enough that I often censor myself, or I walk away from many situations feeling discriminated against in a wildly unjustifiable way. And today, it happened again.

And the cherry on top of it all? The discrimination came in the form of numerous comments about my not being myself because of my pregnancy! Excuse me, but I happen to know better than anyone whether my hormones are affecting my judgment. (I have, after all, been dealing with them in my body for decades.) I have many personal and professional opinions born of strong mental acumen and valuable experience, and DO NOT dismiss these things because I also happen to have some other demarcating feature that is completely non-related to the issue at hand.

I wish it were different, and until it is, there is a need for regular women like me (who just want to do their jobs, including those in the ranks of homemakers that I hope to one day join full-time; who want the option of voicing the occasional opinion without the danger of becoming a public laughing stock; and who to think they should be treated in a manner befitting their ability, insight, and contributive history) to stand up, speak out, and even (*gasp*) identify as feminists.

All that being said, I dare you to dismiss this blog post as an emotional rant by a momentarily upset pregnant woman. I also dare you to consider that I may, actually, just have a point.

Baby Bear

2010-01-15T16:56:00.001-08:00

By the Time I'm 35...

2010-01-15T12:49:00.001-08:00

I turned 35 yesterday.

Even though, I'd rather not see that number rise higher as quickly as it seems to, I am grateful for birthdays. When people have a birthday, we have good reason to be kind and friendly with them; we go out of our a way a little for the birthday boy/girl.

I got a lot of birthday wishes online and in person, as well as the usual family phone calls, including singing on the voice message (it's just one of those traditions that refuses to die). My two grade 12 classes that were in writing their diploma exams yesterday, sang to me today (I'm going to miss this group). One girl even brought me a vase full of chocolate-covered strawberries on skewer sticks, making them look like a vase of roses (so cute... and delicious). Also, a good friend stopped over last night with a beautiful present, and we had a good visit.

It's always nice to know that you've crossed someone else's mind. (My loved ones cross my mind often, but I know I'm not alone in admitting that they rarely know that... unless there's a special occasion.) Birthdays are just a good time to be reminded that we're not alone, that people love us.

They're also a good time to reflect, and I've been doing some of that the last couple of days, especially about all the things I may have expected of myself by this age....

When I was 5,

I'm not sure I could have even counted to 35, so I probably would have expected that by that age I'd be dead.

Well, I'm very much alive, and some days, I even feel healthier than I was in my 20s. (I think that's because I eat less Ichiban and other less-than-nutrient-rich student food.)

When I was 10,

My parents were stressing about turning 30, and I'm pretty sure I saw them as past their prime because I figured my very young parents were middle-age and my middle-age grandparents were ancient.

I like that word - prime - to describe myself now. I feel blessed to be well-established in some realms and yet on the threshold of other major life experiences. I'm ready, and I'm able, and I'm starting to suspect I'll feel the same at 50... and 65... and 80.

When I was 15,

My mom was about 35. She had six children; the youngest was already out of toddler stage, but not yet in preschool. She was stretched pretty thin between her teenage daughter, several elementary age kids, and two small boys still at home during the day. She spent her days taxiing, do laundry, cooking, playing with little ones, etc. All her friends were in pretty much the same stage of life. So I'm sure that I would have expected my life to be a lot like hers.

Junior #1 is on the way. The idea of six children is laughable at this point, unless we get a couple sets of multiples (and I'm willing to attend my children's elementary school Christmas assemblies, and have the other children figure I'm just Junior #6's grandmother). I can't imagine being as needed as my mom was. I'm busy, sure, but not with demands from the people around me. My time is spent on the things I demand of myself... to a large extent, anyway. This has been a great luxury of the last 10 years of my life.

When I was 20,

I had reached the conclusion that marriage and family were not for me. I was destined for an illustrious career in an exciting urban environment. My lifestyle would be wonderfully worldly and much more exotic than what I witnessed in little ol' Raymond, Alberta, Canada.

I live roughly a 1/2 hour away in another small town, and I teach high school English. It's not exotic or illustrious, but it's satisfying and meaningful. 20-year-old me would, frankly, be disgusted... Cardston?! Teaching?! Could it be any more... well.. bland?! Ironically, I think in our little pond, Barry and I are seen as worldly, since two incomes and being childless so far has made for a somewhat comfortable and unfettered lifestyle that differs greatly from the neighbors'. We'd have traded that years ago for something different, but we have tried to play well with the cards we were dealt. And I don't mind exhausting the life's-a-card-game metaphor further and admitting that it has been a fun round in a lot of meaningful ways.

When I was 25,

I had sort of begun to grasp that whole we-need-each-other principle that was the basis for families in God's plan. I was dating Barry, and he looked like a potential candidate for the future face in my ten-years-from-now family portrait I had in my head (but he'd better dang-well ask soon, or I was definitely moving on). There were also three or four young children and a thin and beaming version of myself who, oddly and incomprehensibly, looked better than 25-year-old me.

Barry took another couple of years to ask, but in hindsight, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. I'm grateful for the fact we both finished university before marrying and that we knew each other well enough to feel comfortable with some of the working and living arrangements we've had. We work more like a team than a lot of couples I know, balancing concessions and aspirations, and we have never had the unrealistic expectation of the other person 'making me happy'. The fact that we are just now having our children may prove to be a similar boon to our relationship and to our parenting skills. Who knows? (Oh, and I do sometimes consider the odd procedure because I'm just as hopeful as I was then of being inexplicably beautiful.)

When I was 30,

I struggled with turning 30 and being childless. Granted, we'd only been actively 'trying' for about a year, but I literally shuddered at the thought of progressing through my 30s without children. If it didn't happen soon, my life would be somehow less than acceptable. The thought of turning 35 without at least two children was a death-sentence for my potential happiness. By this point, my goals all revolved around this one thing.

Fortunately for my sanity, I managed to become better rounded than this. I've spent the last five years growing closer to my spouse through some personal struggles that, quite frankly, may have reasonably made it not our 'season' for children. I began my M. Ed. and have enough of it completed to see it through in the next year. I've had many professional triumphs. I've revived old loves and interests, like writing, theatre, and art. I've come to believe that comments that stuck with me, like "You'll never really know what your marriage is made of until you have kids," or "You're not really a family until you have children," are absolute garbage. Those sentiments may have held true for those people; maybe that's what cemented their relationships. Ours, however, was cemented by a different set of circumstances, and I can't help but feel proud that my child(ren) will join an already cemented family.

So I guess all this reflection really boils down to the fact that I'm now 35, and I'm happy with who I am and where I am. No matter what wonderful or worthy things I may have wished for myself in the past, I cannot guarantee that had I been granted those wishes, I could say the same.

This birthday as I blow out the candles, I'm wishing for more unfulfilled expectations in the coming years.

"On a steel horse I ride..."

2010-01-13T17:16:00.000-08:00

Somewhere along the Arizona 72, shortly before Bouse (wow, thought I'd seen some trashy looking towns in my day, but...) my iphone shuffled to a little Jovi. I may have the most disturbingly eclectic mix of tunes on my phone (vintage 80's rock; cheesy soundtracks; Barry's favorite alternatives; Broadway showtunes; chick stuff, a la Lilith Fair; oldies - but goodies, like Beatles, Mama Cass and Janis Joplin; a little hip-hop and pop to keep it light; some rap and a little metal to keep it real; and some classical and instrumental to keep me well-rounded), but serendipitously, it always seems like the right thing pops up at the right time.

So there I am, singing along to "Dead or Alive", which inside of a full-closure helmet sounds even more acoustically controlled than the shower, when I catch myself belting out this line. I laugh out loud and give Sassy a little pat on the gas tank. That was a good moment, one of many on our holiday bike trip.

I grew up with motorcycles. My dad seemed to always have one (or three), and he brought home my first bike (a silver Honda Enduro - for street and dirt, a true Everyman's bike) when I was eight. He even set up a makeshift course in the spare lot that I spent hours riding around... and then, of course, there was Temple Hill. (Ah, Raymond.)

When I was a teenager, we took his street bikes out on a particularly warm Christmas day, and I wiped out on a patch of ice in Aneca's driveway. (Ah, memories.) My first purchased-for-myself bike happened when I was 24 or so, while Barry and I were dating. It came in handy because I had also bought a lemon of a Jetta and then rolled Barry's truck (leaving us both without a car), so for some cold late fall/early winter weeks, I'd pick him up on that maroon Virago 750, and we'd ride through snow and sleet over Whoop-up bridge and to the university. Yep, if you're picturing that scene from Dumb and Dumber (minus the urine), you've got it about right. (Ah, young love.)

I've had a couple other bikes since then, and I've always tried to convince Bear that he needed one, too. Well, nothing like a pregnancy and the realization that bike trips together are soon to become nigh-impossible, to light a fire under a man.

And so the Christmas bike trip was reborn - with a little higher expectations than making it across town to Aneca's. After Christmas itself, we headed to Las Vegas where we met Mom, Dad, and my youngest brother, Jordan. They had hauled all the bikes down. We stayed at the Westin (after a bizarre 2 hour wait to check in, during which Mom and I let the men stand in line while we proceeded to loose a series of small bills in the penny slots), and then we geared up in the parking lot the next morning for an early start.

Love Mom's new white helmet, which apparently made it hard for her to hear me say, "Hey Mom, turn around and say cheese."

Well, even by Schmale standards, it was no early start. In fact, that first day was repeatedly referred to as the "gong show." We all took longer than expected to pack, someone's bike wouldn't start and had to be boosted, another's had to be push-started numerous times, someone else wiped out and laid over before we even made it out of the parking lot, and another person ran out of gas before we got a quarter mile out. (All these people shall remain nameless, but you know who you are.)

The 3rd (or 4th or so) push start.

By the time we made it just up the freeway to the gas station, we were all starving. Late lunch at McDonald's and a discussion about which way to head meant we had about 1-1/2 hours to sundown. Then, when we finally did leave town, within a half hour, we were separated. (See, a serious gong show.) The three Schmales went over Hoover Dam, and the two Olsens (already freezing and ready to pack it in for the day) decided not to turn around, so we kept South, found a $20 room at Laughlin, and lost some more pennies. The others met us a little later, and we all enjoyed the tackiness of the Nevada border-town casino hotel experience. This included wandering the crowds of senior citizens wearing sun visors... indoors... in December, pigging out at the buffet, joining the Tropicana Club to score a free t-shirt (available sizes: L, XL, XXL, and XXXL), consoling the woman in the elevator whose husband had just been arrested for public drunkenness ("and he had all our gambling money in his pocket"), and mocking the rude and very aged-before-her-time waitress at breakfast the next morning.

Day 2 saw a little more progress. We made it to Lake Havasu City and spent some time at the London Bridge... yes, the original, the one that falls down in the song.

The men - you'll soon figure out that Jordan strikes a pose in every photo.

See what I mean?

Meanwhile, I don't even try anything strange, and I still end up looking like a mutant.

I figured there was some cool background story to the bridge - you know, something about sister cities and goodwill gifts, but the bridge was just brought over by a guy who bought it and figured that if he put it up on his land and funneled some of the nearby lake to make a channel under it, he could prospect a whole tourist town around it. It worked; Lake Havasu is a big spring-break destination.

While there, Barry and I bought leather chaps at a little gear shop with a very friendly woman, who ran out after me to give me a gift: a bib with a silk-screen baby (who, as Barry pointed out, is very androgynous in a leather vest) on a bike with the caption "Born to be Wild" - so cute. I also had my first In-N-Out Burger experience there (and my last... I don't get it).

Then we pressed on and made it to Phoenix that night. This meant a little freeway riding in the dark, which some of our party weren't thrilled with. That evening, however, was probably some of the nicest weather. Everything was calm and smooth. Personally, it was one of my favorite stretches.

The next day looked promising. We packed up in warm sunshine, and as soon as we set out, that sun tucked behind the clouds and the wind kicked up, and I'm pretty sure I heard laughter in the heavens. We were surrounded by palm trees and green grass, but they couldn't fool us. It was cold. I had never been to Phoenix before, so Barry and I lagged behind, so he could show me around the city a bit.

Here we are, pretending to be someplace warm. Don't be deceived by the green, the flowers and the cactus. We're both wearing almost every article of clothing we had with us.

We all met up again in Parker and cruised up the California side of the river to the dam.

We stayed in Lake Havasu City that night, where I had my first Golden Corral experience (and not my last - we hit it up for breakfast the next day). I lead a pretty culinary-sheltered life, I know.

New Year's Eve - the last day of riding, and it looked like it was a beautiful day. I mean, check out that sun! You can't take a picture of the cold and wind, though. At one point, we stopped to stretch and warm up, and about 30 seconds after parking, my windshield fell off. It had just politely waited until I was stopped and then collapsed, as if from exhaustion. We all made it back to Vegas safely, though, and in time to relax and put on some normal clothes before heading to the strip for the big party. We hung out inside the Bellagio for a while. Mom was in heaven there: flowers, Christmas, creative decor, all in one space!

Bear and I went to Vegas on our honeymoon almost eight years ago, and we stayed at the Imperial Palace (or the Imperial *&@!hole, as he calls it). We've made the pact to spend our 10th anniversary at the Bellagio, to prove we've progressed. It's not Europe or the Caribbean; it's still Vegas, but it has a bit more class, n'est pas?

And what to say about the strip for New Year's? I can now say I did it, which I'm glad for, but it was rather overrated. The crowds are funneled into oddly tight spaces in a wildly ineffective attempt to control them. And the fireworks, while spectacular, somehow seem to pale when you're standing in a forest of neon.

So that was our holiday, and while everywhere we went was about 10 degrees colder than seasonal average, and we seemed to run into a myriad of other little technical glitches, it was a fun time. We had family, we had the open road and possibility, and we had a hot shower every evening. And, really, isn't it always the hilariously unexpected that makes for the best memories?

Speaking of which, I have to mention my motorcycle jacket. It began as normal, with those back cinch-things all pulled in. Over the course of four days, they were completely let out until, finally, the front zipper just busted, and I had to wear my dad's large rain coat over top. Yes, some of that was from adding layers for warmth, but also I've now proven that biking is good for fetal growth and development. And someday, maybe in about eight years or so, I'll get Junior his/her own steel horse because I believe that's good for all kinds of other growth experiences.

The Early Bird...

2010-01-11T07:41:00.000-08:00

I'm not much of an early riser. This morning, however, I hauled myself out of bed at 6:00 A.M. to spend 1-1/2 hours marking before heading to work. (It's that crazy two weeks before diploma exams, during which I try to help students with a bunch of last-minute practice essays... and they finally hand in all the missing and make-up work that I've been asking for all semester.) It was all worth it, though, because outside the den window, I was able to watch the progression of the morning sky. At one point, I just had to leave the desk, run outside and snap these:

I think all the work I marked may have even benefited from the beauty of the morning and the generous mood it put me in. I should get up early more often.

Nah.

Christmas

2010-01-04T21:55:00.000-08:00

What a great time of year! Besides the extremely important, but too-oft forgotten reason for the season, it's that chunk of time when we all try to reconnect with people we love. For me, that's the biggest success of this past holiday season. Every visit was too quick, but each was long overdue, so I'm happy that they happened.

School let out on the 18th, and the following Monday, I traveled with my parents and two siblings up to see my Grandma Schmale in Sylvan Lake. She was so cute; she kept telling everyone how flattered she was that we had all driven so far just for her. We assured her it was well worth it. We took her for lunch and caught up some. She is absolutely thrilled for our pregnancy; she (and my Grandpa, before he passed) had been praying for us daily for years. Now, THAT is a whirlwind force of faith on our behalf, something I was always very grateful to have... I've never known anyone as unshakable as Eleanor Schmale. She also had a Christmas present for the baby (who, incidentally, received more gifts than I did this year). We also briefly visited with Jocey, my cousin and old roommate from my one year in Edmonton. We had so much fun living together, that I often feel actual physical pangs from missing her when I think of her.

On the 23rd, I had a FABulous visit with some FABulous friends (they'll all get that - much better than the "leftovers" moniker we also garnered... and found profoundly amusing). We had all been roommates in our pre-marriage years. We try to get together each year. We missed Jenn, but Laura was there this time. It was so nice to catch up, and I think we shocked a few of those old-timers in Smitty's with our topics of conversation.

We got a late getaway on the 24th, unfortunately, but we still made it to Utah in time to spend Christmas itself with Barry's family. They're a little scattered over the state, but we managed to see everyone but Byron (who'll be home from Guatemala within weeks) at least once in the week we were down. It was high time I saw my in-laws. With Barry on the road, he sees them occasionally, and he would rather stick around home when he has some time off, so I don't get down there as much as I'd like. Brady's new house is great, Bear's siblings are as fun and warm as ever, and all the nieces and nephew are growing so quickly (but still staying charming and darling - we're excited for all the fun cousins Junior will have). We had a great dinner on Christmas day, thanks to Brian, and another on New Year's day with Barbara. Turkey and trimmings twice in one week- we're too spoiled! My only regrets were that each visit was a little rushed, as we had to be off to the next place in order to catch everyone (or to catch a ride home), and that we didn't break out the camera more often...

Barry, Brynlee and Kendall. A favorite moment from Christmas day... Brynlee crying, "Mo-om! Barry stuck his tongue out at me!" And we all just laughed because we knew it was true and that, secretly, she loved his attention.
At Brianne and Jeremy's on Christmas day. Note my lame attempt to camouflage my thickening self with a heavy sweater and Barry's leg, neither of which are working.

On the way back to Alberta, I traveled with my parents and brother, while Barry jumped back in the truck and headed for California. We made a stop in Idaho Falls, stayed at my aunt and uncle's beautiful new home, and had a fun breakfast with a couple of cousins and their families the next morning. It's always especially fun to see Alexa; in my heart, she's forever my teenage pen pal. She always wrote the best letters, and I entertained myself through many a math class trying to write back things that were half as clever.

Maybe I'll get a chance to post about the bike trip we took, too (once I feel my pre-diploma-exams marking rush is under control). The most important thing this season, though, was the chance to be with loved ones. That's what made my Christmas. I hope everyone else had that in abundance, too.

Dress Up Like a Teacher

2009-12-17T14:58:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was dress-up-like-a-teacher-day for all Mr. and Miss CHS nominees. I had two little clones who donned fake bellies and all.

Some days I think I have the best job on earth. And I give credit to the students for that. Whenever I hear people lament about "kids these days," I cringe inside. Besides the fact that "my kids" don't see the value in capitalizing and punctuating when they write (dang texting and instant messages), I think they're a pretty fantastic generation. I'm honored to work with them.

This past week is another 'spirit' week, with the special function of selecting our Mr. and Miss CHS. Essentially, we're looking to select students who are good ambassadors and who will inspire a good attitude among their fellow students. Students like that, fortunately, are not very hard to find.

Ready for Christmas

2009-12-13T17:10:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm not ready for Christmas in the typical sense. I don't even have a tree up, and I was planning on putting up two again, like I did last year. Last year I also went on a baking rampage, but I haven't turned on the oven for anything but the occasional tuna melt in months. I haven't even bought a single gift. But I am SO READY for Christmas!

Yesterday I finished up the last of my university work for the semester, and my entire body and mind immediately relaxed. I'd forgotten what that felt like. One more week of work before school lets out, and shortly after that, we head down to Utah to spend Christmas with Barry's family. Then we're planning on a motorcycle jaunt from Nevada into California and/or Arizona for New Year's. Like I say, I'm SO READY.

A bit of a pregnancy update: my second trimester so far has been much more pleasant than the first... not feeling so exhausted and queasy all the time (although I admit I got off a lot more lightly than other women I know). A couple times now I've felt those little flutters, and at my appointment last week, the doctor was laughing at how much Junior was moving while we tried to listen to the heartbeat. Maybe I need to lay off the Pepsi - the caffeine is making him/her hyperactive.

Personally, I felt like I was showing at two months. The gut I've had all my life (even at my thinnest high school weight - aahh, the good ol' days) was all of a sudden solid - no sucking in, no standing with different posture to mask it. At three months, I had to announce at school because students and staff alike were having a hard time hiding the stares at my midsection. Now in my fourth month, there's just no denying there's a bump...

Part of me relishes it, part of me is terrified about how huge I'll probably get if I'm showing early (and in my 1st pregnancy), but all of me loves that I get to experience this. It's been so much fun for Bear and I to speak of our future in less hypothetical terms - no more 'if we have a baby'; it's now 'when the baby comes'. The words are so beautiful.

We like to joke around a fair amount. We toss out terrible names - our recent favorite is Herb. We both got the giggles remembering Herb Tarlic from WKRP in Cincinnati. So sometimes the baby is Junior, sometimes Herb or Little Herbie, and every now and then we'll acknowledge that it could just as easily be a Herbella.

I feel so blessed. I have all I want for Christmas.

PS: Just in case you're thinking we're terrible parents, we have nice names picked out, too, the doctor said a motorcycle trip was just fine, and I only drink Pepsi occasionally because I'm not allowed to take my regular medication I normally do for my chronic headaches. Oh, and my deepest apologies to anyone named Herb.

PPS: Some of you wondered about my Halloween costume(s) this year. I posted pics on facebook, but in case you missed those, you can check out the post I made on my blog/journal for my creativity course. I just didn't have time/energy to double post.

New Math - Fractions

2009-11-11T14:34:00.000-08:00

You may remember my emotional, soul baring rant against math back in May. Well, it turns out there are different times in life when we should concentrate on different kinds of math. Back then, I was obsessed with addition...literally. Now I'm constantly calculating fractions.

For example, I find it almost too-exciting-to-stand that I'm 1/3 through (well...almost. I'm fourteen weeks on Monday) my first pregnancy. Since I'm going to live to be 100 (at least), I've pretty much got 2/3 of my life to enjoy this child and all the blessings of motherhood. We're also currently hoping that this baby will be one of three over the coming years...but let's not get ahead of ourselves. For now, we're just happy that this piece of our family is finally coming - a third member to join me and Bear. Aren't thirds beautiful?

I've been dying to tell friends, family, and all who have been so supportive over the years, but I was also a lot more apprehensive than I thought I would be. (I think I've been in shock, to be honest.) Yesterday, we had a Dr.'s appointment, though, and we heard that fast and hard THUMP of a healthy heartbeat, and I just can't hold it in anymore!

I'm not going to be all hokey and say that I now see some master plan in it all, or that I'm grateful for the trial that it was for me to feel so denied the strongest desire of my heart for those years... I'm not sure I believe that. I think life is just hard because it's hard, and the trick is figuring out how to be happy in difficulty AND bounty. There's always plenty of each, so you'll find whichever you're looking for.

If you're lucky, like me, you have a partner who helps you refocus when you're overly fixated on difficulty. And as far as fractions go, there has always been a bigger chunk of my life to be happy about than any little sliver that was tough. Aren't fractions great?

I do feel a renewed/strengthened faith in one particular thing: HOPE is never wasted. Ever.

And sometimes, even when all you can muster is a just a fraction of the hope you need, it's enough for a miracle.

I love fractions.

Thanksgiving

2009-10-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

How fitting that on the holiday we celebrate harvest and bounty, I felt compelled to actually harvest some things from our garden? (I'm usually best at planting it, tending it, and never really using it. Maybe I run out of steam by harvest time.) Earlier this fall, I had used about a tenth of the zucchini (those plants just never stop!) to make a batch of nineteen loaves of to-die-for zucchini bread. I'd share the recipe, but then I'd have to kill you. I will say, however (for all you skeptics out there who don't believe it's really that good), a key ingredient is a great deal of chocolate chips.

Anyway, this past weekend, I decided to use up a bunch of parsnips and some carrots. I don't really remember planting the parsnips, but they're there, and they're huge! I had heard of parsnip soup, so I did a little researching and I made my own recipe that turned out pretty fantastic, if I do say so myself. It's not exact, since I made it up as I went, but if you're interested in trying it, here's what I did:

Three yellow onions and a head of celery sauteed in about a cup or so of butter. Add garlic, salt, tarragon, and chili powder.
Smother over peeled and cubed parsnips and carrots (about a 5:1 ratio of the two). As far as the overall amount of parsnips and carrots, I had enough to fully cover two large baking sheets a couple inches deep. Or put another way, when I dug them up, they filled a 3 gallon bucket - I know, these are some exact measurements.
Roast vegetables for about 1/2 an hours, until tender and a little browned.
Transfer to a pot, and simmer them in about a gallon of vegetable broth for another half hour or so.
I let it sit overnight, since I was taking it to Raymond for the family to eat the next day. This may or may not have affected the taste (steeping, perhaps), but it certainly made it easier to puree when it wasn't boiling hot.
Use a blender to puree the soup. Thin with more vegetable broth if needed. Warning: it will look like baby diarrhea... but it smells divine.
Warm and serve with yummy crusty whole grain bread. Barry had the idea of cubing ham to put in each bowl, too - for all those guys out there who don't think you've really eaten a meal unless you've had animal protein. I have to hand it to him, though, it was a tasty idea.
This made a giant pot - about 4 gallons of soup. You'd want to scale it back, unless you too were trying to feed and warm a family crew of 6-10 hungry workers over a couple of days.

In all, it was a good Thanksgiving. We spent Saturday and Monday at Mom and Dad's helping them replace the siding on their house. We made some serious progress, despite the cold. It's looking great. At one point, we were able to visit with my uncle from Idaho, who stopped by with Grandma Peterson. On Sunday, we went up to Sylvan Lake to visit extended family on the Schmale side. My uncle from Toronto and cousins from Vancouver were there, and we don't see them often. And the bunch of us who are scattered around Alberta still don't get together that often, either. So, you know, good food + good company = good times.

So I'm thankful. Thankful for sanity activities, like soup-making when I'm knowingly putting off overdue marking and late university work. Thankful for a family that has as much fun working together as playing together. Thankful for harvest and plenty (especially pumpkin pie with whip cream). Thankful to be a Canadian who lives close enough to the border to enjoy two Thanksgivings. And I'm thankful for memories... and the holidays that help us make those memories.

Dress It UP!

2009-10-03T01:53:00.000-07:00

I love dress up days. My favorite time of year is Halloween. I think wearing a disguise and being someone/something else for a day is a blast. One of my favorite things about working at a high school is the dress up days.

This past week, our student council promoted a "Spirit Week." Each day was devoted to some fun school spirit boosting activity, and every day was blue and white day. On Monday, we started decorating our classrooms for a contest. On Tuesday, the cafeteria served blue and white fare. On Wednesday, third block classes dressed their teachers in another contest. (Mine made me into a giant hall pass - a new thing at our school, so it was funny in a very timely way.) On Thursday we were supposed to paint our faces, and Friday was dubbed "Extreme Blue and White Day." These last two days were my favorite because I got to play at one of my favorite things...dressing up.

I had particular fun with face painting. I'm just warming up for Halloween - I've got a real fun idea for that!

Thursday

Friday

I'm Melting!

2009-09-16T14:11:00.000-07:00

My classroom is a great place to be in the winter. It's warm and cozy, while other areas of the school are chilly. Admittedly, I do prefer being a little too warm to being a little too cold, but this is ridiculous.

Canadian schools don't always see the financial viability of air conditioning in their buildings, which leads me to believe we should have heat wave days, just like we have snow days. If the temperature is higher than 30 degrees Celsius, we should get the day off to run through sprinklers...and remain free of heat rash and teenage body odor.

But, alas, I do not run the world, so we just open the tiny window slits and hope for the wind to kick up a little. To most of my students, I'm sure I look like this...and not just on the days we swelter in the classroom.

"See that there mountain (mountain, mountain)..."

2009-08-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

K, a million bucks to the person who knows the song I was referencing there. (Not a real million, of course, but I'll write you a cheque for a million Jenna bucks.)

Anyway, I wanted to write about my recent excursions to GNP. Summer isn't complete without spending quality time in the Flathead Valley, and that means traveling the always awe-inspiring Logan's Pass. I drive it several times a year, but rarely stop to enjoy any of the great sites. In fact, I'm often that rushed person waving a fist at the slow tourists who have never seen a mountain goat before. This summer, I've ridden it a few times on Sassy, and we've made it a goal to pull off and check out some of those wowza views and great trails. How lucky for me that I live just a 1/2 hour away from such a cool place!

On Tuesday, Sass and I headed out because we finally saw a sliver of sun peek through some wind-swept clouds. It wasn't the most gorgeous day, but I went to Sunrift Gorge and hiked the little bitty trail that goes to Sun Point. I was determined to worship what little sun there was.

I took the Coolpix and tried to capture a few of the beautiful things, like the bridge that I've driven over hundreds of times, but never knew it was there, let alone that it was this cool or that you could walk under it on a path the lines the creek.

The gorge is just few steps off the road. This picture doesn't do it justice.It's like a little forest fairy spot.

The rock at Sun Point was peeling shale, so the boulders looked like fish skin. I totally wanted to take one home with me - illegal and a bit tough to strap on the bike.

Why are dead trees so pretty?

Coming up on Sun Point.

The view toward St. Mary.

Another dead tree.

I stopped to eat a lunch and read for a while. I imagined that I was a real mountaineer, climbing the peak behind me. I got tired just imagining it.

Looking down - love the colors in the water.

Bright, fascinating lichen on the rock I reclined on for lunch.

Then this weekend, Bear and I went down again and camped at Apgar, so my wish from the previous post came true... yay. My new wish? That my camera battery hadn't been dead.

My Little Pretties

2009-08-19T21:27:00.000-07:00

Just some of the blooms from our yard.

Love them. They make me smile.