tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42344745890156910642024-03-13T07:47:43.562-07:00Steph and StuffUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-59457908333305753402013-03-12T13:51:00.002-07:002013-03-12T13:51:54.190-07:00Skate Skiing on the Dry Farms, AKA Crust CruisingSometime I'll have to write a post about how I've fallen in love with skate skiing. I learned many years ago (1988-89) when I was a freshman in high school. Gulp. That makes me feel old. I was on the skate ski team and had one whole season of coaching and racing. Since then, I've only gone a handful of times. This past November Jeff and I signed up the whole family for an all-day cross-country ski clinic in West Yellowstone. Jeff and I were in the skate ski group and got some excellent coaching. Also, this is the first time that everyone is at school so I have had time to ski in the mornings, between 9 and 10:30am, home by 11am to get Charlotte from kindergarten. Finally, we actually had enough snow this year for a skate ski trail to be regularly groomed and skiable at the local golf course (thank you, Randy!). Oh, and Jeff taught me how to wax my own skis, giving me some autonomy. All these things combined to make for a WONDERFUL winter of skate skiing. It's been delightful. I've watched myself progress in skill, balance, speed and stamina and believe it or not, have not missed going running one bit. Instead, I've skate skied about 5-6 times a week, between 5 and 20 miles each time, averaging about 8miles each time. I even entered a race, my first since that freshman year in high school. It's thrilling to move over the snow so fast. It's rejuvenating to work my whole body. It's lovely to be out in nature. Yes, sometime I'll have to write that post about falling in love with skate skiing... Or maybe I just did write it? :)<br />
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Jeff's ski buddy (and my high school friend's dad) Randy, introduced me to "crust cruising." He saw how downhearted I was at losing the skate ski trail at the golf course (since the snow is melting, and the groomer broke down). He took me up to the Dry Farms and showed me that I can still skate ski as long as the nights get cold enough and there is still snow on fields.<br />
Now that I know it's possible to keep skate skiing, I'm taking every chance I can before it all disappears. Saturday while Jeff took our oldest son Sam to a meeting, I took the other three out to the fields. We live about a mile and a half from the wide open farmland, so it's very convenient. Everyone donned their snow pants, hats, mittens and ski boots, clipped into their skis, and strapped on their poles without any need of assistance (except tying the girls boots)! This is a big deal for me. For over thirteen years I've been helping at least one child or usually hopping from one child to the next, making sure everyone has everything they need. They're growing up! They're also used to getting themselves set for skiing. Wow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2EAmpNY7piKASe-W0leGEKDU-P8Nz20p1WUKgnGrniZPb6wfCi6BP-byDAhbBECTUAWHZmehXhgKX8f7eMs0GJtsy73eerHn3SwGFe83nChyZUKEAvkTfuKTGtO8Nlq8MNtgk4Hl6PY/s640/blogger-image-459756084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2EAmpNY7piKASe-W0leGEKDU-P8Nz20p1WUKgnGrniZPb6wfCi6BP-byDAhbBECTUAWHZmehXhgKX8f7eMs0GJtsy73eerHn3SwGFe83nChyZUKEAvkTfuKTGtO8Nlq8MNtgk4Hl6PY/s640/blogger-image-459756084.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oliver is working on his skate ski technique here on the dry farms. I think it's awesome.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSQoeEd4gn1qY72tVavSyX0m4Ivq6LsY2_69dhneGPtJW9DzV67CYy9oM4Gz2cZ88noMixGUBMWmua8F8AXs7ARNcKnaD_60UzfOW8O6l8GoYBCUBwL_nscG_u4LfwFNbtlHkSoAr-uU/s640/blogger-image--1167099076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSQoeEd4gn1qY72tVavSyX0m4Ivq6LsY2_69dhneGPtJW9DzV67CYy9oM4Gz2cZ88noMixGUBMWmua8F8AXs7ARNcKnaD_60UzfOW8O6l8GoYBCUBwL_nscG_u4LfwFNbtlHkSoAr-uU/s640/blogger-image--1167099076.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte is working on making Oliver pull her along as he skate skis. She thinks it's awesome. :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT34DbQTnetx81wQ7JWXWjJeEb9bVBNHf9q4Cq9cIEQw5mIFtmejSJ-xZWDydhne11GAWrnU-9JqHLNGXb8sx45aD5IQho1p5pusp3Al68fB5-xmQHgRH7THfqjnWwIYliLOdCpXMrLpk/s640/blogger-image-1178649439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT34DbQTnetx81wQ7JWXWjJeEb9bVBNHf9q4Cq9cIEQw5mIFtmejSJ-xZWDydhne11GAWrnU-9JqHLNGXb8sx45aD5IQho1p5pusp3Al68fB5-xmQHgRH7THfqjnWwIYliLOdCpXMrLpk/s640/blogger-image-1178649439.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giddy-up, Mom!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2nxx0JT_pQd4CqBOnusybgqEwgZccY3k07hsfw0U3M03aoL8ldb7VXwWnJhGs_eanoOhSAPOJRFZTN2ueeoSnoo2YA-riWmTiIQCzqgUwkOqbbytFHJ9Y-pr8SGc04wJ7t_i5RvSJOU/s640/blogger-image--235142143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2nxx0JT_pQd4CqBOnusybgqEwgZccY3k07hsfw0U3M03aoL8ldb7VXwWnJhGs_eanoOhSAPOJRFZTN2ueeoSnoo2YA-riWmTiIQCzqgUwkOqbbytFHJ9Y-pr8SGc04wJ7t_i5RvSJOU/s640/blogger-image--235142143.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The reason I like this picture is that you can get a glimpse of just how happy I am to be out with the kids on a perfect day, sharing the fun of skating. My only regret was that I missed having Jeff and Sam with us.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6OzcLB-3L8BiD4ZPlI0axB-EUCPPoJGJxji2q4b57QWzIdSUaowHXowZXbw1EWDFeeW2KdYk9ZHYjeyJZlimvwEP_5ORCBtVzHEneV6d2GxLv_JeG_EjQ013TsERnprOAufdCAGeWL0/s640/blogger-image--1704946374.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH6OzcLB-3L8BiD4ZPlI0axB-EUCPPoJGJxji2q4b57QWzIdSUaowHXowZXbw1EWDFeeW2KdYk9ZHYjeyJZlimvwEP_5ORCBtVzHEneV6d2GxLv_JeG_EjQ013TsERnprOAufdCAGeWL0/s640/blogger-image--1704946374.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eleanor urged me on with encouraging words like, "Go, Big Red! You're doing great, Big Red!" I know, my coat is orange. But my hair is red, so maybe that's where I got this equestrian nickname? I'll have to ask Eleanor about it, or maybe I'd rather not know.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-33133380656901797292013-03-11T14:19:00.003-07:002013-03-11T14:30:08.874-07:00Winter Report<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2QqdoKAhbzJEPwP2hvEoQzbjaHGjs6qM0jSfy4awlzH1ZX1z65jiolOvC0mM2NE6KaI5TSQD27vSGZpZs8HNoyvLxByMWscQJnIiM0BeZJG1YxjElLdktiyPIPyyt8qXRbs0O-Lphck/s1600/IMG_4021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2QqdoKAhbzJEPwP2hvEoQzbjaHGjs6qM0jSfy4awlzH1ZX1z65jiolOvC0mM2NE6KaI5TSQD27vSGZpZs8HNoyvLxByMWscQJnIiM0BeZJG1YxjElLdktiyPIPyyt8qXRbs0O-Lphck/s320/IMG_4021.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Jeff won the "Best Costume" award at the Spooky Cross Cyclocross Race. I think a man in a skirt is a little spooky myself. ("It's a KILT, not a skirt!" he yells in a thick Scottish accent.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Oliver ("Vector" from Despicable Me), Jeff (sans skirt, oops, I mean "kilt"), Eleanor the Medium Good Witch, Sam with his invisible Butterfly Wings (he really has them on), and Charlotte the Little Good Witch. I had a Witch's hat on, too, so I was the Big Good (good, right? not bad!) Witch. Spooky Cross Race in Victor, Idaho around Halloween time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">My cool boys on the cool winner's podiums at the Spooky Cross race. Now compare their smiles to the girls in the next photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Thank Heaven for little girls :). Aren't my little witches fun?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">After the Costume Race (they had to do one lap in costume), the real race began. Here's Jeff doing the cyclocross thing. Without his skirt. I mean kilt. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This winter's highlight: Eleanor's baptism! We are so lucky to have such a sweet and lively girl to sparkle up our lives. She's a keeper!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eleanor-the-Lamb and Charlotte-the-Chinese-Girl in the local Nutcracker Ballet. They were thrilled to put on make-up, but that excitement didn't last once they learned how irritating it can be and how annoying it is to remove. Phew! That's a lesson worth the three months of ballet practice!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I sure love my bunch. Oliver, Charlotte, Eleanor, and Sam, building forts in the forest where we found our 17' Christmas tree.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNBGAk9UZ9YTmPE7PYrl3Dy56k3B43N8r1eGFk7WmMCrdGBlqBwqs_O3VcNlawVnrWQzrAqZavJi9FUi6Vev5NHcTtKDF4BpbbpIqWBXbynPij-SjLkJh6JDWjNmbP0XLxkgDjEvlw318/s1600/IMG_4221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNBGAk9UZ9YTmPE7PYrl3Dy56k3B43N8r1eGFk7WmMCrdGBlqBwqs_O3VcNlawVnrWQzrAqZavJi9FUi6Vev5NHcTtKDF4BpbbpIqWBXbynPij-SjLkJh6JDWjNmbP0XLxkgDjEvlw318/s320/IMG_4221.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">I don't know anyone else who has ever had a pet Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. Eleanor's pet Sally (who was once named Crunch until we discovered her gender), passed away this winter. Eleanor was heartbroken.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">We crafted a coffin out of tissue paper-filled medicine cups. </td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTGc3FX8QBrS6jynfZXwqqHs48NR_Xz0kSxdnnjEsl-2oRaUn4vppOkIW-danXSM5B44ltUwUSXvfr8lyfrd0X57FZuIsyfFQDbIxxGWzc4cKuXEovqaOqEbHY6qLNveCV6NTF30gkpk/s1600/IMG_4223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTGc3FX8QBrS6jynfZXwqqHs48NR_Xz0kSxdnnjEsl-2oRaUn4vppOkIW-danXSM5B44ltUwUSXvfr8lyfrd0X57FZuIsyfFQDbIxxGWzc4cKuXEovqaOqEbHY6qLNveCV6NTF30gkpk/s320/IMG_4223.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The Funeral Procession. Eleanor's friend Lydia dropped what she was doing to run over and support Eleanor in this difficult time. Charlotte was a sweet addition, too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif5c1N5Y7NzZQ0AXzlPAHDVigHzQQ_1h8cWLVPjL10FvRDYnXWlfsCcJal59bpteCQuo8QYEc3MCrAIe0JkyoLN-Nds_CEkIqjnYtnWcw9OdUfBQ6UNhNW0KvZvBd_K3qKMJtSzYfnw7g/s1600/IMG_4224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif5c1N5Y7NzZQ0AXzlPAHDVigHzQQ_1h8cWLVPjL10FvRDYnXWlfsCcJal59bpteCQuo8QYEc3MCrAIe0JkyoLN-Nds_CEkIqjnYtnWcw9OdUfBQ6UNhNW0KvZvBd_K3qKMJtSzYfnw7g/s320/IMG_4224.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Our grow box now holds the remains of Sally (to be exhumed at a later date and disposed of). It was a very sad day at our house. Thankfully, Eleanor decided to hold off on replacing her pet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wVBuKggH69jRMsbncdsGk1it6SIeIFtHaF8e_JZB7UKV2M71HmdFRXFsAV4ibHsRTzxhCWnTnpSPSTJItze7a0_RDG80gUeGtymXjRDvik40ijM8_MCpwxw8p_AmV8JcDXYt4RnW2hA/s1600/IMG_3963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wVBuKggH69jRMsbncdsGk1it6SIeIFtHaF8e_JZB7UKV2M71HmdFRXFsAV4ibHsRTzxhCWnTnpSPSTJItze7a0_RDG80gUeGtymXjRDvik40ijM8_MCpwxw8p_AmV8JcDXYt4RnW2hA/s320/IMG_3963.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24CIY6lEYq1gNhU-KgvOz3VobqlRV_etlPDNBRr9eqi_fLZaeMbZZYkYo5AfydqhO8F1y3Dv6zXnk5Bvwnv7aAMfFJ3h8zOON__yVyA8qJwlx6RRfHDwKHjcXj7pzL1CoVhhsVmiLsl0/s1600/IMG_3981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj24CIY6lEYq1gNhU-KgvOz3VobqlRV_etlPDNBRr9eqi_fLZaeMbZZYkYo5AfydqhO8F1y3Dv6zXnk5Bvwnv7aAMfFJ3h8zOON__yVyA8qJwlx6RRfHDwKHjcXj7pzL1CoVhhsVmiLsl0/s320/IMG_3981.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For Christmas, Eleanor asked for (and received) a camping trip with Dad. They skied in to a Yurt in Harriman State Park (it was late so they skied w/headlamps), spent the night, then spent most of the day hanging out in the Yurt and cross-country skiing around. She maintains that it was her favorite present EVER</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjoCaAfkS23U_vIP68KNUT89TQgr-Qu7vjaWIGJV-RZfO9sBgpe83BrYWrw-mLjq8_aLPWArxxTR8MTML8cD4fvj5uxqQeNtiWAwNqZuNigbsM4NjrgdFpvd7nc2KKY9rRhz5zBu0JOM/s1600/IMG_3967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjoCaAfkS23U_vIP68KNUT89TQgr-Qu7vjaWIGJV-RZfO9sBgpe83BrYWrw-mLjq8_aLPWArxxTR8MTML8cD4fvj5uxqQeNtiWAwNqZuNigbsM4NjrgdFpvd7nc2KKY9rRhz5zBu0JOM/s320/IMG_3967.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eleanor in the Yurt, whittling away. Literally.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjet7ggPgOt5LF3BDXfXBiRGaFzCHWlZq5CnH7djp9lAr21Pt-bdaTBPJ_Hc2hGcABw7MN-elplzlOA6PbWm4IpdllN8SmsfncnKe_NT37I7EYMPuB_NOWCIL8Y0PHXzXwKPOnJxs_3wB4/s1600/IMG_4203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjet7ggPgOt5LF3BDXfXBiRGaFzCHWlZq5CnH7djp9lAr21Pt-bdaTBPJ_Hc2hGcABw7MN-elplzlOA6PbWm4IpdllN8SmsfncnKe_NT37I7EYMPuB_NOWCIL8Y0PHXzXwKPOnJxs_3wB4/s320/IMG_4203.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQNAWTwKROvsBSmIEibkFt8zkoDzUOKRL20DcOAzGZLYr8pNaBfgYaPcRbA6SQ2FJpr29xHvIfa1rkirA-XgcevNFx1ZY6ZSEaSfDjrvPS-8V1F6bhqwTjaSzKIIHXEYpQMetKJH7c8Q/s1600/IMG_4201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQNAWTwKROvsBSmIEibkFt8zkoDzUOKRL20DcOAzGZLYr8pNaBfgYaPcRbA6SQ2FJpr29xHvIfa1rkirA-XgcevNFx1ZY6ZSEaSfDjrvPS-8V1F6bhqwTjaSzKIIHXEYpQMetKJH7c8Q/s320/IMG_4201.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam, who is really enjoying cross-country skiing. Really. Right? Maybe just a little? Or not... And Oliver, taking off like a madman. He wasn't really mad that I made him ski, was he? Naw... </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQC43eUAOcK7r3e2Xfk2ADCkwfuAEoNWi3uti63Mwafn0QSUmYuDzZngv72rBj9jduwGo-ZiqpPrPYxKteWl5ZIkTqKRFNr8sh9ENJAHV-rHWKfwyAdmbYailWZ-USuZiO5TICxH6pNhY/s1600/IMG_4352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQC43eUAOcK7r3e2Xfk2ADCkwfuAEoNWi3uti63Mwafn0QSUmYuDzZngv72rBj9jduwGo-ZiqpPrPYxKteWl5ZIkTqKRFNr8sh9ENJAHV-rHWKfwyAdmbYailWZ-USuZiO5TICxH6pNhY/s320/IMG_4352.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlotte with her bunny ears, having a blast cross-country skiing. Maybe if we gave her brothers bunny ears they'd be happier?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgPJiQG2bQQXyYxpxODNDFQ0-xkTSg94XDt8ZDsdv0JAPO-JQDQd-2ZrpSH4hSVDHu_8LHcHPbKTgufgQfnURG0C-ko6_7BxtKcTGr2akOfcKwQmhuzUYfKFpDd9yWGRM7eUHVbWRjXg/s1600/thumb.php.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgPJiQG2bQQXyYxpxODNDFQ0-xkTSg94XDt8ZDsdv0JAPO-JQDQd-2ZrpSH4hSVDHu_8LHcHPbKTgufgQfnURG0C-ko6_7BxtKcTGr2akOfcKwQmhuzUYfKFpDd9yWGRM7eUHVbWRjXg/s320/thumb.php.jpeg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I insisted on buying a copy of this awesome picture of my awesome husband. That means I can use it on my blog, right? Jeff raced in the 25K Rendezvous Race, had a blast, and did amazing. Great form. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took the kids out skate skiing on Saturday. The snow is melting but there's still enough on the dry farms to do some "crust cruising" as our friend Randy calls it. Charlotte took this picture, tilting it to make it look like I'm really strong pulling Eleanor up a big hill. I wasn't sure what to think as Eleanor urged me on, "Come on, Big Red!". I've always liked horses, just never wanted to be one...</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-30331552732538242022012-10-13T19:18:00.002-07:002012-10-13T20:46:43.163-07:00Regarding September<b>Race recaps:</b><br />
Did I write about the RUSH triathlon? Probably not. It was fun, I finished first in my age group and either 8th or 10th or 12th overall for women (I really don't remember). The thing I do remember was the my heart leaping when I saw Jeff as I ran out of the water. He was waiting in the corral to help me through T1. His presence and support turned the day from "just another race" to something entirely different. It was a chance to include him in my goal, which, since I was still fighting pneumonia, was simply to finish happy. Well, I didn't just finish happy, I raced happy. And all because Jeff was there. Cheesy? Maybe. But I don't care.<br />
Jeff and four friends raced in the Logan to Jackson bike race known as LOTOJA. It's over 200 miles long. He and the guys registered for the relay, thereby splitting the race into about 30 mile increments. Even with Jeff's lost 12 minutes of flat tire repair, the guys finished right up in the top few (for a while we thought they were first, but with recalculating times I'm not so sure anymore). <br />
For a nice, romantic, relaxing 16th anniversary date Jeff and I rode in the AMA Challenge - a supported bike ride to raise money for diabetes. Jeff started in Ashton at 10am with the 50 mile group. I waited at the turn-off to Mesa Falls (just past Harriman) for the 11am start of the 30 mile group. At 11am, the 30 milers took off but I still waited. Within about 2 minutes Jeff came peeling around the corner, with two friends following, who were all in the lead. They stopped to pick up a banana and a drink and me, and then we were off. Jeff let me draft the entire way (except on the steep uphill where drafting doesn't work, so he just rode by my side and talked me up the hill). We rode so fast! It's a fast course, although a few uphills were thrown in. Even though I slowed us down on the uphills, with Jeff pulling me we were able to finish just behind KJ (who was the first 50 mile finisher). That made me the first 30 mile finisher! Now before anyone says anything, I need to disclose that many of the other 30 milers were quite young. As in 10 or so. And at least one was old enough to have been Jeff's and my high school seminary teacher. Oh, wait, he WAS our high school seminary teacher! It was great fun to see Brother Parker (who, by the way, was our matchmaker) riding out there with many of his grandchildren.<br />
Next race? None planned. I'm just keeping fit to keep happy. <br />
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<b>The Family:</b><br />
Sam gets his Eagle award next week. I am so proud of him. And so relieved to have that over with. Oliver got his Arrow of Light and advanced last month, then turned 11 last week. Time flies! Eleanor-the-bug-lover is in the Discovery (gifted and talented) program, as were Sam and Oliver. It starts in 2nd grade (she's now 2nd grade!?!?!?). Charlotte is a kindergarten student who reads chapter books (she just finished the 30th Magic Tree House book) and does Eleanor's homework if we're not looking. I had to start printing out separate homework papers for Charlotte so she'd stop doing Ellie's. The boys are still doing Parkour and the girls are doing ballet, and they all take piano. Add scouts to the mix (including me as a Den Leader and Jeff as the Scoutmaster) and homework and lawn mowing, there simply isn't much discretionary time. Which is why my blog is suffering with sporadic, superficial, and brief posts.<br />
One of these days I'll get back to writing thoughtful or insightful posts. In the meantime, I'm just satisfied to keep track of these things.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-84354891551902651162012-08-10T11:25:00.004-07:002012-08-15T09:35:13.111-07:00Of Broken Noses and Cold Cereal Dinners<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRjEWesYa8yXQ6ePYE5WdgvhN4dVLD4pdGKYTu_E4Y-d2AlnyzNxSaKGWawgCqfHzl5P9TLkEQfIDPd09gNSLxN9yZ-yhfIqw3Vp1rCUsHHo-EtlWmJtKhin2I9h8tdLDkyCX7azRgsM/s1600/photo-705176.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5775118277775302354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRjEWesYa8yXQ6ePYE5WdgvhN4dVLD4pdGKYTu_E4Y-d2AlnyzNxSaKGWawgCqfHzl5P9TLkEQfIDPd09gNSLxN9yZ-yhfIqw3Vp1rCUsHHo-EtlWmJtKhin2I9h8tdLDkyCX7azRgsM/s320/photo-705176.JPG" /></a>Summer is ending and what a ride it's been! Although it's been fun, I hope we are never this over-busy again. I would like to have some time to just be bored.<br />
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I wish I could recount it all, but it'd take too long. I haven't even blogged about our Ukraine/Paris trip! That's on my to-do list. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoYy1cvPoFce_87A3KUWiSMv04u32Th_pNvLYX1z_nIN7GdhvmyEi8q6A5TQI3YzXcTvhedYVkjiPXzik-D1dYumZfXzhCGvNmF7NQAqnJhIo12z2J4s_c4qcTAYpVQKRXLIfUp4bkWI/s1600/photo-732845.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5775113244472786242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoYy1cvPoFce_87A3KUWiSMv04u32Th_pNvLYX1z_nIN7GdhvmyEi8q6A5TQI3YzXcTvhedYVkjiPXzik-D1dYumZfXzhCGvNmF7NQAqnJhIo12z2J4s_c4qcTAYpVQKRXLIfUp4bkWI/s320/photo-732845.JPG" /></a>Last week we hosted two great guys (Nathan & Rhys) from Wales who had come to coach our kids (and other kids) at an all-day all-week soccer camp. They were easy to have around and were very gracious. While they were here, my kids were either recovering, in the midst of, or getting sick with flu-like symptoms. The day the coaches left, the disease hit me. Hard. Four days later, still with my fever, aches, chills, cough, laryngitis, and an excruciatingly painful sore throat and ears, Jeff left for the week to float the Salmon river with River Discovery - a camp for teens w/cancer. We dropped him off Wednesday at 11am at the Idaho Falls airport, to be flown by a private pilot who is part of Angel Flight (they volunteer their plane and piloting time for things like this). My kids, especially Oliver, have been badgering me all summer to take them to IJump, and indoor trampoline park in Idaho Falls. Since we were in Idaho Falls already, I figured I could sit and watch them in my fevered state, so we went. Within five, maybe ten minutes, disaster struck.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0362IQhIOrfYYaCkYcKJVM9mPGz9bZbWCS3W8-LSPFfHO2IIKSfwpq9304FpNbpHM-NKNutmJWu9gKBjaWXzosO3HKeMhxKq3ommCSJCgiA8_Wmi337ZyvsLsheB1BMcF4_xViU1KsJo/s1600/photo-740112.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5775113703714830050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0362IQhIOrfYYaCkYcKJVM9mPGz9bZbWCS3W8-LSPFfHO2IIKSfwpq9304FpNbpHM-NKNutmJWu9gKBjaWXzosO3HKeMhxKq3ommCSJCgiA8_Wmi337ZyvsLsheB1BMcF4_xViU1KsJo/s320/photo-740112.JPG" /></a> Sam was showing me a double front flip into the foam pit, and he sort of went in wrong, and came up with a panicked and shocked look on his face - and a whole lot of blood.<br />
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We got to the bathroom sink to clean it up and spent another 10 minutes holding his nose to make it stop bleeding. I texted Jeff, who must have been in the air by then, who sent me contact information for Dallin, a very good friend and PA that works with Jeff and was in the Idaho Falls office that day. Dallin said to bring Sam in, so I gathered the kids off the tramps and into the car, found the office (my first time at Jeff's IF office, and Jeff wasn't even there!), and managed to explain to Dallin in my croaking laryngitis fevered state what had happened. <br />
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Dallin checked the nose, which was too swollen to really tell what was going on, gave Sam some ibuprofen and ice, and said to bring him back the next day when the swelling would be down (and Dallin would be in our Rexburg office). </div>
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Back at home that night, Sam was doing better, I was doing worse and when I went to ask my dad for a blessing he was too sick himself to even talk straight. My poor dad has been as sick as me. So I called our neighbors for help and was given a priesthood blessing to assist in healing. I loved the words in the blessing that I would "eventually" get better. Well, that's better than the alternative! Better than never getting better! :)</div>
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Yesterday (the next day) I took Sam back to Dallin. He looked at it again, then said he'd like to call me back later after consulting with an ENT doc. When he called later, I could barely talk through my sore throat and laryngitis. We managed a conversation and decided that although it's most likely fractured, we wouldn't do anything since Sam's nose is still straight (we opted not to get an x-ray since it wouldn't change our treatment - ice and ibuprofen). While on the phone, Dallin suggested he call in an antibiotic prescription for me since I wasn't getting better and was actually getting worse. I thanked him for filling in for Jeff and he said Jeff would do the same for him. It's so nice to have good people around.</div>
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My kids have been so good to let me sleep as much as I can. For someone who normally gets up to workout at 5:30am, it's been an adjustment to drag myself out of bed at 10am just to go back for a nap at noon! No working out, that's for sure. I'm a little concerned since I have a triathlon next Saturday. I think I'm getting better, but I've said that every day this week. The real test is evening. Hopefully I really am getting better. </div>
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My neighbor and friend brought me bread and homemade jam (bless her!), and my sister-in-law Jill has offered repeatedly to help (thank you!) and my mom has taken the kids so I can sleep (I can't thank you enough!), but other than that I've been self-quarantiened and am beginning to feel the loneliness of it all. Maybe I am getting better, because when I'm so sick I don't even think about anything except if I can manage pouring milk for our cold cereal dinner and letting the kids have cookies for breakfast and being thankful for television. Meanwhile we've continued going to soccer games (thank you, ibuprofen and tylenol) and mowing lawns (one more to go today). I even made a trip to the store (kind of hard to pour milk for cold cereal dinners when you don't have any milk). </div>
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Jeff comes home Tuesday (I miss him!). By then I'm sure I'll be well again. I told a friend that we always get sick (or someone breaks their nose) when Jeff's gone. Honestly, I don't plan it that way, but that's what happens. He's out of cell phone range, which is for the best - there's nothing he could do and there's no point in worrying him. It'll all be a dim memory when he comes home. And if I delete this post, even I may forget this whole week ever happened. :)<br />
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Addendum: It's a few days later. Jeff came home from camp yesterday and diagnosed me as having parainfluenza followed by secondary pneumonia. Well, it's validating to know I felt/feel awful for a reason! But I'm now on the mend and just so relieved Jeff is home. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-27698252830076115232012-06-13T15:30:00.001-07:002012-06-13T17:24:59.961-07:00Half is better than whole (This time, anyway)Since I wrote such a gloomy post on my marathon, I thought I better clear things up with a good report on my half-marathon last Saturday. My Ogden Marathon blog post was therapeutic. After writing it and getting out all the frustrations of a bad race day, I felt so much better. I realized (again - this happens over and over) that gee whiz, it's only a race and not my eternal welfare at stake, and that I want to run for running's sake - and have fun doing it! Since Ogden (almost 4 weeks ago), I've returned to being a much happier runner, I'm a whole lot more relaxed, and ..... drum roll.... running is fun again! Hooray!<br />
This past Saturday I ran in a local race - Teton Dam Half Marathon - and spent the entire 13.1 miles grinning in giddy glee because I was just so happy, so incredibly happy, that I wasn't running the Full! :) I practically bounced the whole race because it was "just" the half. Don't get me wrong - 13.1 miles is a long enough distance to be a tough race, especially this race course that has four miles or more of uphill - three of the uphill miles are consecutive ("Summers Hill"). And on Saturday it was three miles of uphill into 15+/- mph headwinds (then another mile climb with crosswinds). My splits on Summers hill are a full minute longer than my other miles. <br />
My brothers Jim and Jon and Jon's wife Kristen and I started the race together. I can't even begin to tell you how funny my brothers are. If only Don could've been there, too, it would've been perfect (his back has been bothering him so we didn't want to risk having him sit in his running chair). Jim was just running the first half mile or so with us before he had to dash off to play practice, but that first half mile was enough time to have me doubled over in laughter (hard to do when you're running) which totally removed any anxieties about racing. Those boys are silly. I love running with them. My sis-in-law Kristen ran an awesome first-ever-half-marathon race. I was amazed she did so well on such a tough course, coming in well under 2 hours. Jon, who has so little time to train, beat the 2 hour mark, too. Nice.<br />
My husband and kids were at the 11 mile mark with a great big sign, "Run like a Mom!" and cheering me on. I loved it. One of them said, "Run faster!" I thought I was smiling back as I returned, "I'm trying!" But apparently it came out more like a bark and a growl, "I'm TRYING" with a glare. That was NOT what I saw on my end of things, but with earbuds deadening my hearing and a body gasping for breath, I can see how it may have come out wrong. :)<br />
Speaking of glaring, I admit that despite my cheerful attitude during the run, I found myself glaring occasionally at the young ladies (all 12 of them) in front of me. They were all in their twenties or just barely thirty. I threw my irritation at them in silent grumpiness, "Just you wait," I told them in my mind, "Just you wait until you are almost 40. Then we'll see how fast you run." Hmph. I sure told them, didn't I?<br />
All childishness aside, I was happy to run this race just for the fun of it. It certainly helped and gave me the advantage that this is the course I train on and I have run Summer's Hill in 35-40mph headwinds with gusts over 50mph, making the 15mph winds seem like a walk in the park (sort of). I knew the course and knew my capabilities. I ran smart (learned my lesson after a dumb race start at Ogden) and started slow. First mile was 8:50, next miles were around 8:10, Summer's Hill miles were around 9:10, Poleline mile was around 8:20, my last two miles were 7:29 each. I don't know if I could have run faster, but I do know I ran comfortably hard and had enough steam to run fast at the end. <br />
Turns out that I was 13th (I think) overall for women and first in my age group. I got a nice wooden "First Place" plaque. <br />
By the way, I do have a bone to pick with the race director. The volunteers were great, but.... The aid stations were practically bare, the runner's corral was bereft of post-race fuel, the schwag bag was nothing, and there were like two booths at the "Expo", and the first aid station didn't even have salt tablets! And gray shirts. Again. I have so many gray race shirts that I could wallpaper a room with them. Fifty bucks and that's what I got. But I guess the $50 was worth the healing - I needed a fun run after such a terrible time at my last marathon. <br />
I finished it in 1:50, averaging 8:26 min/mile. With Summer's Hill and its accompanying headwinds, I'm pleased. I'm pleased anyway because, cliche as it sounds, I really mean it when I say "At least I had fun."<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-43676517332932640642012-05-24T10:12:00.000-07:002012-05-24T12:22:31.431-07:00Eleanor asked for a story...Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Eleanor who loved everything about nature. On her way home from school one afternoon, Eleanor somehow spotted a baby bird stuck upside down in a bush at the end of the driveway. The little finch was still, and Eleanor thought it was dead. Gently she scooped up the tiny body, her heart breaking as her mind whirled about what to do next. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKXUeTZWXPsja3oxXq-CPUx0OTGByr_7XKYCb8fedtd-haotilI09SNw5aF4ZbpaqUkQV1gj2ynd_VDNDWfcgV_r2QxXg4GJ1caJTaYdcEH7YSskmKLhuiqM5CYM_39Y0ohQAyucXnwM/s640/blogger-image--1294278213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKXUeTZWXPsja3oxXq-CPUx0OTGByr_7XKYCb8fedtd-haotilI09SNw5aF4ZbpaqUkQV1gj2ynd_VDNDWfcgV_r2QxXg4GJ1caJTaYdcEH7YSskmKLhuiqM5CYM_39Y0ohQAyucXnwM/s200/blogger-image--1294278213.jpg" width="149" /></a>But then the bird moved! It was not dead after all, but it was only barely moving. Eleanor dropped her school bag and coat and rushed into the house, sobbing for help.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6O4QQyz9QjUSaXM-32XUKI6q2FvgEPR5ZIkpts8ECrNRGydpOW-fQVwiyRduNB28m0ZFH25AJZfxUsP2b9YdxszhVa_T6bBhnzj5c38A8IeF2s1cYdD_nxrS-zj4WM5LGVIicTcHoWgo/s640/blogger-image-1333350411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6O4QQyz9QjUSaXM-32XUKI6q2FvgEPR5ZIkpts8ECrNRGydpOW-fQVwiyRduNB28m0ZFH25AJZfxUsP2b9YdxszhVa_T6bBhnzj5c38A8IeF2s1cYdD_nxrS-zj4WM5LGVIicTcHoWgo/s200/blogger-image-1333350411.jpg" width="149" /></a>Over the next few hours, the baby bird began stirring more and more. Eleanor named it Frederick. Frederick was not hurt, only dazed, and confused. He didn't like being put down and would panic unless someone was holding him. Eleanor took the bird to a Wildlife Officer who lived around the corner and got some expert advice on taking care of a wild baby bird.<br />
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Eleanor's dad brought home commercial baby bird food and a bird cage he found on Craig's List. Frederick began chirping, a sure sign that he was hungry. He didn't understand how to eat the bird food (which resembled baby rice cereal) and couldn't figure out that it was food in the dropper. The dropper wasn't working, so Ellie's family tried other tricks - using food on fingers worked a little bit, but the best was actually feeding the baby bird with a spoon.<br />
By the end of the day, it was clear that Frederick needed feedings about every hour. The sun finally set and Frederick, Eleanor, and Eleanor's mom were exhausted. Frederick slept soundly on a hand-made nest in his cage (thanks to Eleanor, her sister Charlotte, and their friend Sadia). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkMlYWwCEQMNPTd3TYl9aC5Twv_s6REulcWMLuD_cyFJ_S2ugIE9bKxVbibz5Tsqpise9NVfmx7U88wi35zHNQ4V9uvaYnaGxvcmAjzMT5yVGmdZmefOg1DriNjibrla02YHmOZXq3_o/s640/blogger-image-2072347180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkMlYWwCEQMNPTd3TYl9aC5Twv_s6REulcWMLuD_cyFJ_S2ugIE9bKxVbibz5Tsqpise9NVfmx7U88wi35zHNQ4V9uvaYnaGxvcmAjzMT5yVGmdZmefOg1DriNjibrla02YHmOZXq3_o/s320/blogger-image-2072347180.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCF6vQevISrmkDBk3dGyfowS_iCckt-yQ54lyD2Q5goZhFfKKivtC2dxl0ynPbYFes30whMylxTeS_Z0eeqMVTfwUSfVXDqRKNLv8QnUr_HwoPzNcn1T2nztEEpS4V27hUc6ywLOtL3o/s640/blogger-image--2038852250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCF6vQevISrmkDBk3dGyfowS_iCckt-yQ54lyD2Q5goZhFfKKivtC2dxl0ynPbYFes30whMylxTeS_Z0eeqMVTfwUSfVXDqRKNLv8QnUr_HwoPzNcn1T2nztEEpS4V27hUc6ywLOtL3o/s200/blogger-image--2038852250.jpg" width="149" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLGtDEg_dcxqe2N-h65RpGjjPs12JvTRwfEm-ijccaqLtYAHt0A3Uz5iieKXbFu0eA7_LlNrJtBfWnEY8fyVCBfJe-YvI84Kc5sMgbs_m65p5rRHKmzBomJjoKiifdqxF6i_GWwQRFxg/s640/blogger-image--369806569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLGtDEg_dcxqe2N-h65RpGjjPs12JvTRwfEm-ijccaqLtYAHt0A3Uz5iieKXbFu0eA7_LlNrJtBfWnEY8fyVCBfJe-YvI84Kc5sMgbs_m65p5rRHKmzBomJjoKiifdqxF6i_GWwQRFxg/s200/blogger-image--369806569.jpg" width="149" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-dUUABwe6PYdTEjD4_xAPgl7ZkbSH0yZbc0VThmb27YBf_uF2waxhvC0ntcyK0KtyX2UgSYv4gPVv8EA-V6beTR3EEaKQM9nu9nX5Xn_65cNiolrxHDo6hRZ_ThPoOhx7-41y5gA-mM/s640/blogger-image-1840629194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-dUUABwe6PYdTEjD4_xAPgl7ZkbSH0yZbc0VThmb27YBf_uF2waxhvC0ntcyK0KtyX2UgSYv4gPVv8EA-V6beTR3EEaKQM9nu9nX5Xn_65cNiolrxHDo6hRZ_ThPoOhx7-41y5gA-mM/s200/blogger-image-1840629194.jpg" width="149" /></a>Frederick got better and better at eating off the spoon, and within a few days he was eating seeds mixed with the rice formula. The first day, he could only hop/fly a few feet. By day three, when Eleanor and her siblings Sam, Charlotte and Oliver took him outside, he was flying into the trees - but he couldn't seem to get down. He'd stay in the tree and chirp, chirp, chirp until someone offered him a hand to stand on and get him down. More than anything, he loved to stand with his feet wrapped around someone's finger while being fed. Many of the children's friends came to meet Frederick, and he was never shy or scared.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyJVBriAGzy0lTHWmwhnWgpVNXoaTckLfHWF8RMty9N_iBBDRDAD9KpmNkhRQOUp_DcqHkMkIJ4dHw9qBez7aeBB1rpOUA0SPag0OC9enwQ78UXZnjVSSr2oSKXGGgjskgnrUgFLAqBc/s640/blogger-image--1816677911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuyJVBriAGzy0lTHWmwhnWgpVNXoaTckLfHWF8RMty9N_iBBDRDAD9KpmNkhRQOUp_DcqHkMkIJ4dHw9qBez7aeBB1rpOUA0SPag0OC9enwQ78UXZnjVSSr2oSKXGGgjskgnrUgFLAqBc/s200/blogger-image--1816677911.jpg" width="149" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzc3PrQZtyyFh9pKDnsxRECLIFM4_7CGz-VApOIKgMTmRTqwvBHOCK10LCU7rn19yHq21MufMa4waRHrRIxnM-36-7lik-fuMdcIi7hSETQ1-VG1kJs95cYDUQL5YcLMZgv1AnjR3m_TE/s640/blogger-image-2027265106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzc3PrQZtyyFh9pKDnsxRECLIFM4_7CGz-VApOIKgMTmRTqwvBHOCK10LCU7rn19yHq21MufMa4waRHrRIxnM-36-7lik-fuMdcIi7hSETQ1-VG1kJs95cYDUQL5YcLMZgv1AnjR3m_TE/s200/blogger-image-2027265106.jpg" width="149" /></a>The time came to release him back into the wild - he'd been with Eleanor for about four days. His cage was set outside with a stick propping the door open, and Frederick placed on the stick. He didn't move. He made no attempt to fly away, but sat there chirping, eating (the spoon was taped on the stick with food on it) or sleeping. After more than hour, Eleanor and her mom watched as another finch (maybe his mother or sibling) came and fluttered around him. It had come to get him - the bird was beckoning Frederick to follow. Frederick flew with the bird into a nearby tree, then sat there for another half-hour or so by himself as the other bird flew off. Then Frederick flew off toward the sounds of the other bird's chirping. Following Frederick, Eleanor's family watched as he flew up into trees at the neighbor's yard. There, following Frederick's chirps and the chirps of his family, Eleanor's brothers climbed the trees and found Frederick's nest. He was home.<br />
True story.<br />
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-61352447480164007212012-05-21T07:43:00.001-07:002012-05-21T07:43:11.748-07:00Life Lessons Learned: Ogden MarathonYesterday I ran the hardest race in my life. It wasn't my slowest time and it wasn't a difficult course, but it was the toughest battle I've fought in a marathon yet.<br />
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Let me preface this by saying that the Ogden, UT marathon course is the most beautiful all-around race course a runner could hope for. The first 8 miles are a gentle downhill, so you get a good, fast start without trashing your quads and with little perceived effort. Miles 9-13 can be disheartening after such a pleasant beginning as the road turns from down to flat to rollers and you actually have to begin working to keep anywhere near your pace if you've gone out fast. You find yourself on a quarter-mile uphill at mile 14. With the reservoir to your left and mountainside on your right, and canyon walls looming ahead, it is a lovely place to see if you can remember to lift your head to look. Miles 15-18 continue alongside the reservoir until you cross over it on a bridge and begin the descent down the narrow canyon road. Green-treed canyon walls and a river on your right nestle you in the chute down to the final miles. The road is a bit steep down, which has potential to be fun if you have any energy, motivation, and muscle strength left. Out of the canyon around mile 22 you end up running on a footpath and through two dark (disconcerting) tunnels, and eventually out on to the city street. Mile 25. You can see the finish line a mile-point-two away. People line the street, cheering you on with what they think are motivational cheers, "Just seven blocks more!". But yesterday to me, that seven blocks might as well have been seven miles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MeFigtfuf7qXCWrmJxmftsnsQg-rQsGM58g6BobCdHGyCBwLQ_fbGFRLaW4Q2hJjFb5MGbBOJeW5eL3WpJKttnVI6ccPmMDtiSGY4jwUiPGgSJD0MD95g8SC7bF04yGA7fQiaByzuj0/s1600/2012-05-19_11-21-51_220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oFm3QRa_WPssTqRCPvmjREtAK132EL1fsqcIyeP8dnbEV1qAvFJb8J6jFklwSuiFd9lHeLPTGb-xSgk05m14v-IF9DDiLuSelqV_CtT2Z2ccPOQ5Lp51rOFC040yztqNQOcaPd525jI/s1600/IMG_3433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oFm3QRa_WPssTqRCPvmjREtAK132EL1fsqcIyeP8dnbEV1qAvFJb8J6jFklwSuiFd9lHeLPTGb-xSgk05m14v-IF9DDiLuSelqV_CtT2Z2ccPOQ5Lp51rOFC040yztqNQOcaPd525jI/s320/IMG_3433.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At the start: Cris and me, <br />one of our many times <br />in one of the many lines <br />to one of the many port-a-potties.</i></td></tr>
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I ran this marathon two years ago. I loved everything about it. I ran this marathon yesterday. I loved everything about it except the running part .<br />
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Unfortunately, the "running part" of a marathon is kind of what the whole thing is about. What happened? I can name probably ten variables that may or may not have ruined my race yesterday, all excuses or justifications. I could've run this 4:02 marathon a good 20 minutes faster if only... What? If only I had trained better, if I hadn't struggled all winter with chronic asthma and insomnia, if I hadn't been sick all last week, if I had fueled better, if I had hydrated better, if I had eaten more pre-race/if I had eaten less pre-race, if I had worn my lucky shirt, I had slept more than two hours the night before, if I had run less on the treadmill and more outside. Yep, that's ten variables. And I have even more, but I'll just leave it at that. <br />
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Some days you have it, some days you don't. Some years are better than others. I know that. It was an off day, it's been an off year. <br />
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I think what bothers me most, though, is that I never found my runner's high. I ran (and walked) 26.2 miles yesterday and only occasionally glimpsed on the periphery of my soul the thing that keeps me running: joy. I nearly grasped it during the first 8 miles but it was elusive. I thought I just had to be patient and then it'd kick in. I saw it again around mile 15 but that didn't last. There was a shadow of it at mile 24 but it melted. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRh3HB6Ng7DdqeWZOs3AIcalgUu4xAl-Jv9CRWveO-4dkK7YwgQ5r1DDj0YR9ZxHZEqi-7fXQdayFzdDyLQSCsE-eNPxf04706BhK9IXDavY06ZRsh61EY0ZF5YyfGoZZJQwJEdiTFp2g/s1600/2012-05-19_06-06-43_227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRh3HB6Ng7DdqeWZOs3AIcalgUu4xAl-Jv9CRWveO-4dkK7YwgQ5r1DDj0YR9ZxHZEqi-7fXQdayFzdDyLQSCsE-eNPxf04706BhK9IXDavY06ZRsh61EY0ZF5YyfGoZZJQwJEdiTFp2g/s320/2012-05-19_06-06-43_227.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><i>The best part of the day? The company of friends.</i></td></tr>
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When you fall off a bike, you get back on. When you have a bad race, you run again. So although yesterday I kept telling myself it was my last race, and that I'd never run again, today I'm registering for another race in three weeks. It might not be a marathon, it'll probably be a half, but I need to try something. I need to show myself that the elusive part of my soul I couldn't ever hold on to yesterday is still there because that's a part of me I don't want to lose. Not yet. <br />
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I drove down with three friends the night before. Cris, Tonya and Jennica, all of whom have also struggled with various and debilitating issues this past "off" year. With injuries and life stressors that nobody should have to carry, these ladies ran the marathon knowing it would be a battle. All of them are incredibly fast. We've all at least qualified for Boston: Tonya on this very course during her first marathon, Cris and Jen multiple times, and me? Well, once when I got lucky on a race. In my mind and maybe in their minds they were thinking we could do it again. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BbK-hL-CeaTwB1ZPQNDc56lFFVR0xNTWr7KSWu7p-iXhtXwsRQnUNW0M-hTaCBj0Z4fyLeJT4Y8UhXVaek_AeEOle9jaOEQP82ih0SO0lzG2Ib7OiJDWg8q6t3MqPiqLAObpK2nikaM/s1600/IMG_3437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BbK-hL-CeaTwB1ZPQNDc56lFFVR0xNTWr7KSWu7p-iXhtXwsRQnUNW0M-hTaCBj0Z4fyLeJT4Y8UhXVaek_AeEOle9jaOEQP82ih0SO0lzG2Ib7OiJDWg8q6t3MqPiqLAObpK2nikaM/s320/IMG_3437.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><i>Jennica and Tonya at the start</i></td></tr>
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I got my hopes up as I stayed with the 3:35 (3 hours, 35 minutes for finishing) pace group for the first half of the marathon. My friends had taken off and were running ahead with the faster runners. I was happy to shoot for a 3:35 and for that first half it was looking like a real possibility. It wasn't hard to keep up, although I didn't ever feel like I was light and flying (that's one way to describe how I feel the runner's high). But knowing my body and how it takes a long time to warm up, I wasn't too worried. I kept waiting for the feeling to flood my body and set my legs free. And I waited. And waited. Around mile 9 I began to suspect something might not be right - I should've switched into that "happy runner" zone by now. I wasn't there. I wasn't happy. And I wasn't getting any happier.<br />
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I began to get discouraged as the pace group I was running with slowly edged ahead. I was all alone with my playlist that wasn't motivating me one bit. My fuel (gels) tasted horrible, my legs were getting heavier, and I just wanted to quit. I remember looking around at the occasional car and wondering how I could manage a little accident where the car hit me just barely enough to twist my ankle or something equally non-fatal but bad enough to justify the race officials taking me out of the race and driving me to the finish. I didn't find a complying car, so I was stuck on the course as, by now, runner after runner began passing me.<br />
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It's usually been me, at this point, that begins to pass runners. They become goals for me to reach and the race turns into a game. Instead of being the hunter though, I was the hunted. And I got caught time after time until it just didn't matter to me anymore that people were passing. I remember thinking about something Jen had said the night before, that running can be a great time to pray. I needed a spiritual experience like I needed air, so I prayed, "Oh, please, Father, get me out of here. Or at least help me make it to the end." Within a mile of pleading for help, I looked up and saw the mile 14 hill in front of me and my friend Tonya. She ran the race on an injured, very painful foot. It was two days before the race that she finally decided she'd try, despite the injury, so she knew it might be tough. Seeing her ahead gave me someone to go to. Thank you, Father. <br />
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I inched my way toward her, slowly closing the gap, focusing on reaching her instead of focusing on my own misery. I needed her. Running with her took me out of myself and we made it up the mile 14 hill together. While I couldn't carry on a conversation, at least I could feel her strength and that kept me going. I found some more energy, caught a fleeting glimpse of joy, and ran on ahead at mile 17 to the aid station (read: potty break). There was rather a long wait as people tend to take their times in the potties sometimes, but finally a door opened and I was in and out in no time. It was another mile or so before I saw Tonya up ahead. And she was walking with an arm around Cris. Cris was spent. She has had the "weight of the world" (so to speak) bearing down on her, with moving and packing and dealing with so many things, that her body just said it was done. I felt done, too. I think we may have all felt somewhat beat before we even began - beat up, anyway, by things we can't control and that test our limits. <br />
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But she wasn't beat, she wasn't done. None of us were. Jen was up ahead somewhere, fighting her own battles as she somehow managed to run a 3:28 PR. 3:28!? Amazing. Cris, Tonya and I were struggling just as hard as everything screamed, "STOP!" Yet somehow we kept going. I stayed with Cris and Tonya as we walked and jogged off and on for a few miles. It really was akin to a spiritual experience as we mentally battled with the very loud body and mind that hollered NO! while a tiny little voice whispered, "Just try." <br />
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So we tried. I knew we were at least pointing our bodies toward the finish, which was about all we could hope for right then. Good grief, the Finish Line was still so far away and didn't seem to be getting one bit closer.<br />
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Around mile 21 I left Cris and Tonya to run ahead in search of another potty break. Sometimes that's enough impetus to make a body run. I ran, eyeing all the trees, boulders and bushes along the road in case the port-a-potty proved too far away. When I finally found an aid station, I didn't stop. I felt better, but more important was that the 4:00 pacer group had just passed me and I was not happy. I did NOT want a four hour marathon. So I kept running until I passed the 4:00 pacer. I think I stopped for a drink at the next aid station because I later saw the 4 hour group ahead of me again! How, when, what? Somehow they leap frogged me and I hadn't even seen them pass. So I did what any respectable runner should never do in a case like that: I stopped. Dead in my tracks. In my head I thought that my race was a failure anyway so why even try to do a sub-four, and I really thought it would be nice to run the last mile with Tonya and Cris. And I was tired. And I was bored. And I was frustrated. And my iPhone had run through all the songs on my playlist. Why bother with the last mile, anyway?<br />
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I waited a few minutes, pleased with myself for presumably not caring about my race time, pleased that I didn't care I was almost done and was just standing there - as if by not doing anything, I was flaunting my independence and asserting my control, by golly! (Because everyone at the race really cared if I stood there or not, right? Ugh. After that much running, I think brains are functioning on the same level as if the person were seriously drunk.) After another time-wasting battle, I finally listened to that whisper, "Just try." I pointed my body toward the finish again, picked up my feet and went, running away from the part of me that nearly quit at mile 25.<br />
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That's when I heard the crowd cheering the finishers, "You're almost there!" Or "You did it!" and I kind of believed them until I heard someone say, "Just seven more blocks!"<br />
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SEVEN MORE BLOCKS? Are you kidding!? I wanted to stop dead in my tracks again. That was so far I just didn't know if I could do it. But I knew I had to keep going. I counted the stoplights down the last mile stretch, one, two, three... I had to not count anymore, it was too disheartening. I saw the "FINISH" sign and wanted to cry because it looked so small and so far away. I finally resorted to my emergency mind trick and imagined my family waiting at the Finish and made up a story in my head that I had to get there soon or I would miss them, knowing full well they were in Rexburg (I'd told Jeff and the kids to stay home this marathon so they could go to soccer games and stuff). My little story, although I knew it was completely fictional, was enough to pull me to the finish. And guess what? I even sprinted the last two yards (wow, I usually sprint the last two miles) and passed someone at the finish (I know, bad form. Sorry.). <br />
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I wanted to vomit. I started to cry. A race volunteer asked if I was okay. Yes, I was okay. I wasn't great, but I was okay. <br />
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I saw Jennica waiting there for us. She'd been waiting for half an hour, poor thing. She said something like, "You did it!" and I just cried again. I was so miserably frustrated with my performance and my body that I was missing the miracle that had taken place: I did it. I finished. It was incredibly difficult for so many reasons and so disappointing in so many ways, but I still did it. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MeFigtfuf7qXCWrmJxmftsnsQg-rQsGM58g6BobCdHGyCBwLQ_fbGFRLaW4Q2hJjFb5MGbBOJeW5eL3WpJKttnVI6ccPmMDtiSGY4jwUiPGgSJD0MD95g8SC7bF04yGA7fQiaByzuj0/s1600/2012-05-19_11-21-51_220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MeFigtfuf7qXCWrmJxmftsnsQg-rQsGM58g6BobCdHGyCBwLQ_fbGFRLaW4Q2hJjFb5MGbBOJeW5eL3WpJKttnVI6ccPmMDtiSGY4jwUiPGgSJD0MD95g8SC7bF04yGA7fQiaByzuj0/s320/2012-05-19_11-21-51_220.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3>
<i style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Cris, me, Tonya - can you see tears?</span></i></h3>
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I waited for Cris and Tonya at the finish (Jen was in the runner's corral and couldn't come back in). I stood on my tip toes, trying to see over the finishers until I saw them. They crossed the finish then stood there hugging. Back from where I watched I again burst into tears, knowing what it took for them (for all of us) to get to this point. I was so proud of them and of Jen for each accomplishing a great feat.<br />
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I'm still not proud of myself, but writing this has been therapeutic as I realize what it took for me to run that race. Yes, it was the hardest race I've ever run. It stripped away all my aspirations and confidence, left me not just naked but bare-boned and showed me exactly who and what I was. I lost all pride and pretense, lost all hopes and dreams, and was left with nothing but my innermost part. My worst race (on the best of all race courses, no less!) taught me the most poignant lessons. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-ufmOtjmcLLnYFwwGF0iprG_eG60CcegbuK2IZKf617PRbI1SCJsTfHN7XA07QP34KIs4dFuRzcPXsV-6xYI50mB96hA60UFsIymX9WdqhvAulo03OQ8J_4kAuWpGrd9Bx4Khz0X7ko/s1600/IMG_3443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-ufmOtjmcLLnYFwwGF0iprG_eG60CcegbuK2IZKf617PRbI1SCJsTfHN7XA07QP34KIs4dFuRzcPXsV-6xYI50mB96hA60UFsIymX9WdqhvAulo03OQ8J_4kAuWpGrd9Bx4Khz0X7ko/s320/IMG_3443.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tonya, Jennica, Cris, Steph</i></td></tr>
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The battles that are hardest fought are the ones within. There are times, of course, when the best and hardest choice is to quit. The real win comes when you know yourself and conquer your fears and choose to do the best you can. Yesterday I swore I'd never run again. Today I'm planning my next race. (I have to admit, this certainly reminds me of childbirth!)<br />
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Cheers to all you who do amazing things despite amazing odds in your own life's race. People certainly are extraordinary.<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-90864698036695348942012-02-05T18:40:00.000-08:002012-02-05T19:51:18.608-08:00In Search of Winter<div>It's been a crazy winter, unseasonably warm and very dry. With the roads so clear and the weather so mild, Jeff's been on bike rides every month (although February still hasn't seen him on the road...yet!). This is the year that Jeff and I finally upgraded our 15+ year-old skate skis to brand new really nice ones. And this is the year that we have no snow to skate ski on! It's dreadful! </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1v1Bn0TUhPtnOkoJ_EzM7Csh_fZYESPeDYOV3SGU47K5MUQfOhVudN9-AXxl2KNDziOwZWZsQAFfZj8jV6vwDkJrQNMTyFlFGgpFgRnHvP7fC_XUxE2bwW5_5Th7UBBvYPSVuS5jaGXg/s320/IMG_2760.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705847321111371154" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>So when we've had time, we've gone up north to find snow. Three times we've taken the whole family to Harriman State Park (Island Park) to ski. The kids do great, even "Little Legs", our four-year-old Charlotte, makes the 3-mile round trip ski in to the warming hut and back. Eleanor stays with me, more or less, and I stay with Charlotte, while the boys go on up ahead at their own pace. When Jeff comes to spot me, then I get a chance to skate ski a while. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our last trip on Friday (no school!) was simply amazing. The warm sun and breathtaking beauty of the snow-topped trees just made us happy. When the snow sparkles, Eleanor says that the stars have fallen on the ground. The sparkling snow sure looked starry on that sunny day! Little Legs skis remarkably well, gliding and using poles appropriately, as do the other kids, but she tends to take a little - okay, a lot - more time to cover the distance. So to pass the time as we made our way to the warming hut, the girls and I took turns reciting parts of one our favorite books, "The Gruffalo" by Julia Donaldson (Alex Scheffler did the great illustrating). </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnZZH24njVVBpfcYI6wTgMOkO6CIKfk2-vEDTAvSjc6hh8Ht1f_R_eWYEcDGsDYlLC1fWxn46yieuI5vhw8x3jlLbcCMsd7RngrBj1aT_VZ8cjhPNLlVUMvladkCbzfu2tWIDkrHM4bM/s320/IMG_2709.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705848214752914610" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Eleanor narrated, </div><div>"A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood</div><div>A Fox saw the mouse and the mouse looked good." </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom (me) spoke the animal part,</div><div>"Where are you going to, little brown mouse,</div><div>come and have lunch in my underground house."</div><div><br /></div><div>Then Charlotte was the mouse,</div><div>"It's terribly kind of you fox, but no,</div><div>I'm going to have lunch with a grufflo."</div><div><br /></div><div>And so it went, on and on until we'd recited verbatim (more or less) the entire book.</div><div>Then it was on to the next book, "The Gruffalo's Child", with special attention to the parts that went, "Aha, oho, tracks in the snow! Whose are these footprints, where do they go?"</div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rGXouqoH-F7jA2A8DFwV1L7E9R7rHn0rlUatBoOExBzzWySv0AUDNGpGMR9I8hMNQJm9gSy8kXwR5J3jGhNAhEJQH5PGYmSnx-hJ6c_tVZ3Qn94Rcql-roIZ3yiNk6aDksu_4owGGlo/s320/IMG_2712.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705847957789470898" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>It was just plain fun. Samuel and Oliver, meanwhile, had found a hill up ahead and were gleefully nearly killing themselves skiing down on their cross-country skis, then up, then down, again and again. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz1FAm_Uc5kDaoBAsKyBOJAR3_Nt_kWNmUpWUH0ilA0C3XvooTF1Zru8xDv55seaAb1dJEYailW3zqWL7Zq7O7QR-1b70kiiA3G8fMIhyphenhyphen-5-UjZK4-AowysjSG1gKzfocOX56Qflbzn8/s1600/IMG_2757.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz1FAm_Uc5kDaoBAsKyBOJAR3_Nt_kWNmUpWUH0ilA0C3XvooTF1Zru8xDv55seaAb1dJEYailW3zqWL7Zq7O7QR-1b70kiiA3G8fMIhyphenhyphen-5-UjZK4-AowysjSG1gKzfocOX56Qflbzn8/s320/IMG_2757.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705847318324750754" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div>We caught up to them, then all headed up to the warming hut (which was closed this time, but has been open in the past) for a snack on the picnic table outside the hut. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz1FAm_Uc5kDaoBAsKyBOJAR3_Nt_kWNmUpWUH0ilA0C3XvooTF1Zru8xDv55seaAb1dJEYailW3zqWL7Zq7O7QR-1b70kiiA3G8fMIhyphenhyphen-5-UjZK4-AowysjSG1gKzfocOX56Qflbzn8/s1600/IMG_2757.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENnbIre0KE39_4T8BWROJVYsEOg53rEeXQYaYe7mMLpdi7AUhutZyVzbZeD1BPr4LfeKnHQ1pe6XLVhnSKk2LbsNVolAUr2Rx7n5_WKVbDNRKuOsHw2dj20UamniKIgU-NxhFL-1j4k0/s320/IMG_2761.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705847327712916338" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff was skiing with a couple of friends - Brian and Dave - who met us at the warming hut. On the way back to the car I got to take some skate skiing time for myself. I absolutely love the exhilaration, the thrill, the pure joy of skate skiing. The feeling of moving through air, across snow, gliding like flying, the sun shining, the woods deep and sleepy, it all makes me feel so alive and free... Until I get tired, then I just feel like plopping down in the snow. It's all good.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wLdoyOTDEtJ7hzSaYOUvntO_9Vnt1OPlJ76WBnoGT4Y5xckm82WHJwrHKovwrC9Z52wqgIPxTy54DFr_b2bUr3rUDoZIM7bNYuYWmkGH2RwHk0qvMbfgNXpa3PopfIHtkwvz2Hm_3l4/s320/IMG_2729.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705848224605123762" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Last month, for a Christmas present, my parents watched the children overnight while Jeff and I took a trip to West Yellowstone. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOk9NX5MijqUQeWvWbJNPbR0wAKsEljeaIzjjsaQs3cSsjBiHF7J7QjaPnW1QJWKlbtnjwVd6jE-zyjL5z_iFGD2Sy4qrRhYFpQKSSw92vl8oPY4xRhbT2tB_bcHsGD-mghz-3HyhV3lg/s320/IMG_2705.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705847945659171858" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>That has to be the best Christmas present ever. The kids love being with the grandparents, the grandparents go overboard on spoiling the kids, and Jeff and I get some time to ourselves. We spent Friday and Saturday skate skiing on the Rendezvous Trails in West Yellowstone. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VxNQ0IFxNHVs1oVgv2GKkMKxQTyV2yAZAVBfT1sAFIYQHr_l-418YvUROoXHM9IRUHvCRei5ap4y8AvzOlZeW6kI5EigLigsFoCkchpGudlXByPv7kHHCq3ayFb-D3tMLWqQpfqLSNw/s320/IMG_2704.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705847940060454178" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>That weekend were the qualifying races for Junior Nationals, so we got to watch teams from around the region compete in the skate skiing races. It was delightful, especially because I remembered all the excitement and nerves of racing on a skate skiing team when I was their age, too. I never would ever have come close to qualifying for Junior Nationals, but I did have the fun of racing. I have to admit, as fun as the memories were, I didn't envy those kids one bit. It's a lot of pressure and it's nice to skate just for the fun of it. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I've been pretty sick the past few weeks with a terrible cough that keeps me up all night. I'm trying to avoid narcotics - they make me itchy - and just endure until it ends. Thankfully all the aches and sore throat and fever are gone, so other than fatigue I feel fine. My abs have certainly had a workout with all the coughing fits! I've been swimming pretty regularly, taking a swim clinic from an Olympic triathlete and learning tons. The boys are playing indoor soccer "Futsal" and loving it. I actually think they like their neon-bright shoes as much as they do playing. The girls are considering a gymnastics class, but I'm still on the fence with that. The three older kids take piano, the boys have scouts, I'm on the PTO board, Jeff's a scoutmaster...it just seems like there's already too much to do. Plus I'm supposedly beginning training for my May marathon (being sick hasn't helped). Anyway, I'm grateful for the life we've been given and the many many many blessings God has given us as a family - especially that of being a family. </div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz1FAm_Uc5kDaoBAsKyBOJAR3_Nt_kWNmUpWUH0ilA0C3XvooTF1Zru8xDv55seaAb1dJEYailW3zqWL7Zq7O7QR-1b70kiiA3G8fMIhyphenhyphen-5-UjZK4-AowysjSG1gKzfocOX56Qflbzn8/s1600/IMG_2757.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tosnSDNhKsxhtrLCUf9De7Iy2TUwT-ptrktiJLzaWkuc-0iSmPqnVnJ8GLP8gGr9N0b0Y78dBdUxczGyUh13VlvEDac9oKajsSVh2_ZzrSnh_lNGeDX1MzDulgwYeFXCdCQmTfO3S_c/s320/IMG_2722.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705848217823513122" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-73006543605003067522012-01-05T18:54:00.000-08:002012-01-05T20:00:28.266-08:00Mommy Days<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgI4dBLi-4iWPSjFf5DpkEqlrXBtPYzFutFAf-jiN_IGQmPWiphe-gKtA6E-Qhmtjdbs9T97v1JAhjW8e-mXRs5CE729I0Cn7SHW_MrqaFtG8INxMy1IRgqAxgZ8Mh5QFUpUXnLebilN8/s1600/IMG_2467.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><i>Heads up: this post is just some ramblings on, things I want to remember and feelings I hope to hold on to when the inevitable and all-too-frequent tough days of being a homemaker hit. :)</i></div><div><br /></div>I wish my kids would slow down. They're growing up too fast. And although I find each new phase and stage delightful and amazing, I still want to just hold on to how things are right now. I want to hold my children and just be as we are for a lot longer than I'm given. It's exciting to see the adventures of the days that unfold before us, but I feel the loss of the days that are gone and cannot be recovered. But I am thankful for the days I have and the memories that are mine.<div>Yesterday was a Mommy day for my four-year-old. Charlotte has those sometimes - in fact, each of the kids have them sometimes (even my older kids). She wanted nothing but to be with me. She followed me around the house, and when she couldn't find me, she'd yell out in a bit of a panic, "Mom, where are you?" I was there. She said she wanted me to stay where she could see me. So I did. </div><div>On Mommy days, I get to have a little shadow. I love it. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjM9-EWEHcmB55VXWE9erXrLEKoipSysLxfHsjXPbmxoyySR50FD63Hp48scPnmnWZaXSUApDUTPOuqRWS7ValO39mDtNPAzaXzxOZQbzYPe2frfwZktF8vz30QhGYStiNFw2mMpG8EQQ/s640/blogger-image--1057240340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjM9-EWEHcmB55VXWE9erXrLEKoipSysLxfHsjXPbmxoyySR50FD63Hp48scPnmnWZaXSUApDUTPOuqRWS7ValO39mDtNPAzaXzxOZQbzYPe2frfwZktF8vz30QhGYStiNFw2mMpG8EQQ/s640/blogger-image--1057240340.jpg" /></a>We baked dinner rolls together, then we traipsed off to the library to get "just a few books, right?"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMru5l3Ztk8LAgK4sYwT_cBMnaWkp7wOJYIdeUm0VMNWG4zVhYx90eTEfo9V-aC3tFUC7ffa6uoz0frEv3TsojnZk64Y-4U_9ExWZ5KEyi5B4061VhTi_nT3a-hw0XEA1nxJ14JNcX2w/s640/blogger-image-326409743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMru5l3Ztk8LAgK4sYwT_cBMnaWkp7wOJYIdeUm0VMNWG4zVhYx90eTEfo9V-aC3tFUC7ffa6uoz0frEv3TsojnZk64Y-4U_9ExWZ5KEyi5B4061VhTi_nT3a-hw0XEA1nxJ14JNcX2w/s640/blogger-image-326409743.jpg" /></a> Forty books later, we waddled back to the car (those books are heavy!), then popped off to the store. Back home, we had lunch then cuddled up on the couch to read some of the treasures we unearthed in the library. Naturally, I fell asleep reading, bitten by the sleep bug. Sweet Charlotte agreed to "watch something" so I could nap for a good long 20 minutes - just enough to satisfy the sleep bug. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8smPaCylKGSaexGgVL4pal-YLCRRdWH4R8lNvv-DG5yiVwx_lpDLbZbP12BFjHur1NCoiPTzBPY47CABDJ7V-t4iZiPvbFeWkzhgsk_qUQAxFPTF4js4sShzaZvWSbZUVbyk1mv2bJ0/s640/blogger-image--652942649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8smPaCylKGSaexGgVL4pal-YLCRRdWH4R8lNvv-DG5yiVwx_lpDLbZbP12BFjHur1NCoiPTzBPY47CABDJ7V-t4iZiPvbFeWkzhgsk_qUQAxFPTF4js4sShzaZvWSbZUVbyk1mv2bJ0/s640/blogger-image--652942649.jpg" /></a>The rest of the afternoon we played board games then took down Christmas decorations. When she got bored with that, she found some toys and played literally at my feet (that girl has an astonishingly deep well of imagination, by the way!). Then it was back in the kitchen to cook dinner while we waited for Eleanor and the boys to come home from school. My little helper chatted away the whole time, interrupted only by spontaneous hugs and kisses from both of us to each other. Oh, my heart...how my heart did smile. Charlotte needed me, and I was there. Turns out, I needed her, too.</div><div>That's how it works. Our hearts are turned to each other and we both end up with our proverbial buckets filled to overflowing.</div><div>I thanked Jeff last night for supporting our family so I could be home. I remember how hard it was to leave my baby to go to work, even though I knew we needed my income and even though I enjoyed my job. I admit that occasionally I wonder where I'd have been in my career had I kept it up, but then Mommy days like these wipe out any twinge of longing for worldly success and accolades. I wouldn't trade a Mommy day for anything. I may not be a "real" lawyer anymore, but to one little girl yesterday (and to three other sweet little people), I was everything that mattered, worth more than the world itself. It's nice how that works - I get to be their world, while they, and especially my husband, are my world. Cheesy as it may sound, there's nothing more real, nothing deeper, nothing truer, and nothing more liberating than the ties that bind husband and wife, and parents and children. I am thankful for Mommy days, and so very grateful that I was there. </div><div>I just wish I could freeze days like those and exist in a perpetual Mommy day. Somehow I'd have to arrange it so all four kids had a Mommy day on the same day, and I had enough of me to divvy out without being overwhelmed...Ah, yes, reality hits. Well, I'll just enjoy what I have when I have it and be grateful that I can be there. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgI4dBLi-4iWPSjFf5DpkEqlrXBtPYzFutFAf-jiN_IGQmPWiphe-gKtA6E-Qhmtjdbs9T97v1JAhjW8e-mXRs5CE729I0Cn7SHW_MrqaFtG8INxMy1IRgqAxgZ8Mh5QFUpUXnLebilN8/s320/IMG_2467.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694363862832969842" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Oh, speaking of being there, wanna know the best part about this past Christmas vacation? Having my husband and kiddos around for days at a time. Would that it were months at a time, or even eternity... ;)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-78329705019380488752011-12-18T12:58:00.000-08:002011-12-20T09:45:51.855-08:00Disneyworld/ Harry Potter (Universal Studios) - Late November<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAd4kTKRgtmhX2bA2qC_g5wZxlUqcPw9UflsQNRBE4_nG9XZFFBJSbRBbTBnzSV7gBGyVMKb8n9mYUZHH4h-v-kRQhB5EtTMdCIyGsMTLVVXm-Fjqfw5vPPf1Lf9yvv379Kh8hykVEDg/s1600/IMG_2312.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div>I'm not going to write about each picture (I don't have time), so here's a general re-cap of our Florida trip the week after Thanksgiving:</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWgReDDaHis1_Xakew2cpVFK7ZmmTBumw20E1j3xkionXEST-_BGYY6modzXJQ7lvdvS9U9vJEsOpi_gswRImOC6fuF-Gf51UnOfRpiUyEuEMNqsbk9JBVyy5upjX0odBIeW7uZBd7ko/s320/IMG_2578.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687587432456074290" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Charlotte's favorite rides included E.T. (save the alien!), the carousel (rip-roaring fun) and the flying triceratops (we hopped between Disneyworld and Universal Studios during our 5 days of park-time). Charlotte clung to Daddy's leg or hand most of the time - she was definitely his little buddy or shadow or something like that.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAd4kTKRgtmhX2bA2qC_g5wZxlUqcPw9UflsQNRBE4_nG9XZFFBJSbRBbTBnzSV7gBGyVMKb8n9mYUZHH4h-v-kRQhB5EtTMdCIyGsMTLVVXm-Fjqfw5vPPf1Lf9yvv379Kh8hykVEDg/s320/IMG_2312.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687597865297106770" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Eleanor - well, what can I say? We flew clear across the country and she found her favorite place at Disney's Animal Kingdom: a petting zoo. Of course. And, just to add icing to the cake, there was a caged display of exotic creatures, including (drumroll....) a giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. She was in heaven. She also LOVED the Hippogriff ride at Harry Potter's theme park. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXus8FTyeE6NWxT9kmfNxtIf-xrKThoQh6_BUO391lACMJlYQwKflq-XgvFmCwtrxP-efLAaFG9LX7egjubz5y8vxuOu98_zE9ZLk_yDEMIo2aj7_1m0atqhyGNTUUtKNec4opCjqrlUQ/s320/IMG_2290.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687586632099698466" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span><div>Oliver's favorite part of the trip (this child is a FOODIE!) - an Indian restaurant that we ate at in Utah on our way home! Okay, but for the Florida part he loved the butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks and Hogs Head cafe. He decided he does not like pumpkin juice, though. He also loved all the scary rides that I refused to ride. I did join Oliver and Sam for two memorably miserable rides (Everest in Disneyworld and Dragon Challenge in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter).</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgexzXamV8IvwO_IpmfVznzjilZf7B5sz5CKgoX5xkH2UjAZz3ya-VJzm1yk_UxeI0YtRVL1iLr0ATCiMLQrlt-hYEXmVfdt0w3TZnO_mthDcKa6y5ugt2lZ-fPHqtAnQqWl1pLdFRB94/s320/IMG_2424.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687579724914716642" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_EJDbTPJeu0pPiw_7UHYH82yH5-_prPydgzBaqa3DYYq2W44jZyYQ4oHBC3Gu7pvgvEoTbF5vkGpPXKA0hX6H93C6dVmxBQJzWOxGQdheUIyE4UgapD2r-Q2W_xZa0fHMhceA3Y6h38/s320/IMG_2446.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687578129880567698" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Samuel was picked as the guy to get a wand testing done at Ollivander's wand shop. It was actually pretty amazing and Sam was on cloud nine. We all loved it. He, like Oliver, actually had fun on those fast, upside down feet dangling in mid-air, rides. They're crazy. They got me to do one of those rides and it wasn't really that bad, but I wouldn't consider it FUN. (I LOVED the ride through Hogwarts, though). </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_H7n3wC95ookkTbWnvrsqYOu099T5HwTWFYgzbKIzgFm0B8T_0PEfzpZAnmxySUFYOjtnHEvunTBXfWB2TcP1zwqED19tn75UNiY0TQ7FbQjzjZPmbRMXmUosgciaG1qIX1V4KYNYRo/s320/IMG_2397.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687586201858241282" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Sam and Oliver were ridiculously hard to get good pictures of - they kept dodging the camera or making funny faces, but I did grab of few keepers. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_2rJuIWgdrSjUBzh6ZJEL08XPEAaiE1AmnFK8AvdcmfHvsmsGwEEywYajMT77_5RabbJeGT1iyLFd7PcCDWQKwVVaUb9AXnf_8k2Crh7iUi3YpDTW9QrsQAVkWNmrPdrYlgpD9KlLLU/s320/IMG_2516.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687586638569507858" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div>Jeff was the general sheep herder, keeping us on track and the little 'uns in tow, and searching out palatable and healthy foods (what a nuisance! Not a lot of good food and drink options, and the drinking fountains spewed forth the nastiest water I've ever had). He had some cool apps on his phone that told us the current wait time at different attractions, as well as the predicted crowds for the upcoming days. Thankfully, there weren't very many people in the parks anyway. So the low numbers plus the phone app plus using our child swap and fast pass options made it so that we literally walked straight on to most of the rides. Our longest wait was 20 minutes for the thrilling, extremely popular, crazy Small World ride. (Hey, it's a Disney classic so it was worth the wait, right?) :) </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMtWL_i-VvQ_RzdItaLYdWn2k89TVdhtK6ZJDrYVQ63TQvBBcw3NZaDoalrBjwmeGWPv3sz6RHYojcspViUad2UqrFNQpOF7VNXcFG_Qqpt0SiryrV0oNbKh-dQUbaRSTYmZMDy1Mw1D0/s320/IMG_2275.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687576643964165378" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span><div>Jeff also made I.D. tags for the kids with their picture, written descriptions, and phone numbers on each tag. Thank you, Jeff! Although we didn't lose anyone for more than a few seconds (and it was almost always Charlotte, who would then run back to cling to Jeff's leg), it was nice to know they had at least that info on them. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was the Great Picture Taker (of mostly NOT great pictures, but great subjects!), trying to capture memories on camera. I actually took a lot of pictures of the queues because they were empty! "This is a picture of the line that wasn't."</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoHF1MOHWNPOtXQ8a8RYA6c7WtPbWP6N52wt846-zvae23NL1sUdbGA7uyDfXprvenTHqeLDqjP3BMHx_qm3SpWg27x6ZQcapaHPDExt3sN9Jau048_Sk3b4W20z3UITdE7Q2J0hMBNE/s320/IMG_2545.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687580020148959346" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG4f6_bhZHAeRRb0M0buWyVmyB4j62hj0CXn8zunD6jKUpc8UgZdnyDOD6JTwxOgOjwBIdGZ9N6KwcF4CRLJR_WIhLBPCofTxCW027MGoxaLwOqUMnPy7UumR0x9W9UtIymvjY0q0V4IE/s320/IMG_2358.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687586216815277186" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div> It was so nice not to have crowds around us and little to no wait time. Of course, Jeff and the boys also took pictures, but it seemed I was always the one saying, "Look at mom, now SMILE!". No trouble smiling - the trip was a delight. When we came home I suffered serious withdrawal. I really really really missed being with Jeff and the kids 24/7. And reality hit when the kids went back to school after having missed a week: homework ad nauseum. Poor kids. Eleanor took two days to catch up, Oliver's work took four days to catch up, and Sam's took six. And that was straight homework from the time they got home until bed (with the exception of piano lessons and scouts). But since this was the time when Jeff could get away, this was the time we went. It was worth it. </div><div>I was also the one who kept falling asleep on my feet the first day or two. I didn't sleep a wink on the flight there (I do NOT recommend red-eye flights!). The first evening I took the girls back to the hotel early and we all crashed while Jeff and the boys got in some more park time at EPCOT. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, a word about the final picture. Charlotte found a little red leaf and turned it sideways on her lips. It looked so cute that each of us with a camera (Jeff, Oliver, Sam, me) took a picture.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWgReDDaHis1_Xakew2cpVFK7ZmmTBumw20E1j3xkionXEST-_BGYY6modzXJQ7lvdvS9U9vJEsOpi_gswRImOC6fuF-Gf51UnOfRpiUyEuEMNqsbk9JBVyy5upjX0odBIeW7uZBd7ko/s1600/IMG_2578.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VUDDfcLqa8gHajIcz0bH7OC-gd0HyJDDk0p8cOIHmWfIKLGKCCRwEP7b_1Ihqdo9NVlkVqMaB3JX2ysFhYN4-jrcSn5ig8BDNkDQ19daU6xQPVmV7C6Webn7kucA2-lymO1smWUWVg4/s1600/IMG_2282.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VUDDfcLqa8gHajIcz0bH7OC-gd0HyJDDk0p8cOIHmWfIKLGKCCRwEP7b_1Ihqdo9NVlkVqMaB3JX2ysFhYN4-jrcSn5ig8BDNkDQ19daU6xQPVmV7C6Webn7kucA2-lymO1smWUWVg4/s320/IMG_2282.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687587429032304450" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cJnPFcKrn7kxSI_dwb_BT4E5GeXrFW5EeXs0IVq7gS6B9rWLNdCEs1exsvTbRzHxGSOPjjKzYQPwoCVmTSAo60GhYoaIyNIAEGxc387mwS5Hu2s0dN3j6Ura8zueLAbFZSgZWI5tT6E/s1600/IMG_2434.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cJnPFcKrn7kxSI_dwb_BT4E5GeXrFW5EeXs0IVq7gS6B9rWLNdCEs1exsvTbRzHxGSOPjjKzYQPwoCVmTSAo60GhYoaIyNIAEGxc387mwS5Hu2s0dN3j6Ura8zueLAbFZSgZWI5tT6E/s320/IMG_2434.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687587050574203746" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20l8gV9n7tlrooy-oFd7s5AAIYI9Fabvu-TbuSoJXgNlUejar6w4hW-93JpflYmBbku7MlzVIgKx8fgRvu0c6u1gS16Wapyq26tpcA8g7TUsnpxLOqh8UFzYE0X8U3qsvGA9KLMZ0TFI/s1600/IMG_2284.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20l8gV9n7tlrooy-oFd7s5AAIYI9Fabvu-TbuSoJXgNlUejar6w4hW-93JpflYmBbku7MlzVIgKx8fgRvu0c6u1gS16Wapyq26tpcA8g7TUsnpxLOqh8UFzYE0X8U3qsvGA9KLMZ0TFI/s320/IMG_2284.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687587046034929138" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYloxDp3vRqXU5DE6jNKJL7V_1dqLAMiys6ItbNUUVjD0FYsAUB_KJlYKu51_ApfDuVAsM3Ao2NkYKk_ONuS5JbN58mz8ywOlvvaxcx51lIn1BjR0T73FBPbxuQ8PbIs9OiUhotri68Y/s1600/IMG_2289.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguF9KJ4bUBPNW_dpuMC9rVSrZqDiIf-4tabnpaeu7hP_K8tzZRL-GXlvmt6oAqTze_LDyr-kBf7IQfhwTbMBw2EHXd2pofRiCI0Os2G5zvVzmqigJLKKn3xdMOP45So8ZDMPT-ws1kRlc/s320/IMG_2443.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687577700289496898" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OIua0Mpv2HZ5oYDSVo2NYfQNklREh3UBo40Ku8o5qAMKuVeAjqsAQT61Ob4MU4bADVLpN6mafaPk8cfCEIr2quaPsVnyavMrMLuJSb15QrvBQ5Hv_Iu20NTsl3iMUIfeWl7u7VlOTIo/s1600/IMG_2275+2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OIua0Mpv2HZ5oYDSVo2NYfQNklREh3UBo40Ku8o5qAMKuVeAjqsAQT61Ob4MU4bADVLpN6mafaPk8cfCEIr2quaPsVnyavMrMLuJSb15QrvBQ5Hv_Iu20NTsl3iMUIfeWl7u7VlOTIo/s320/IMG_2275+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687577311484397106" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintPJXosdnrzMgBmGiFQQmtRfFh5I60EX4P_fmdifiJcQegHbBdm6gh8wb9VpJliImnd3jjFi6LIWEoD2JHXJLEAwDrHYZnfbEoTteuXBCnWq278EJU3hTpbBykFN0NQFGMzVZAi8KOy8/s1600/IMG_2268.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintPJXosdnrzMgBmGiFQQmtRfFh5I60EX4P_fmdifiJcQegHbBdm6gh8wb9VpJliImnd3jjFi6LIWEoD2JHXJLEAwDrHYZnfbEoTteuXBCnWq278EJU3hTpbBykFN0NQFGMzVZAi8KOy8/s320/IMG_2268.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687577308307136658" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMtWL_i-VvQ_RzdItaLYdWn2k89TVdhtK6ZJDrYVQ63TQvBBcw3NZaDoalrBjwmeGWPv3sz6RHYojcspViUad2UqrFNQpOF7VNXcFG_Qqpt0SiryrV0oNbKh-dQUbaRSTYmZMDy1Mw1D0/s1600/IMG_2275.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UZJr_GdNPp6HWCMYIe7lvWkd6eOfTrX0tLiJOycq2hJd9cWkz7g7531NwuIoRmV12DsT0hEqDIT1TXOFuPboovsT5r1pbk2pNLsq994vMRKGQk91jrrALZ_jJB3jBrdzVy-rximqbUQ/s1600/IMG_0294.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UZJr_GdNPp6HWCMYIe7lvWkd6eOfTrX0tLiJOycq2hJd9cWkz7g7531NwuIoRmV12DsT0hEqDIT1TXOFuPboovsT5r1pbk2pNLsq994vMRKGQk91jrrALZ_jJB3jBrdzVy-rximqbUQ/s320/IMG_0294.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687576639749623314" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2ra4G_8dSAFVyPRQHoSr7J4zRxUhQPWu6cUl6Ky6fBNqmoq1ikug8fxWzYFkbEB9Wpb533wU93diKQ84F-0BrsiIe1VH44_LzWtIqahFOPiySmgHUH1xTMfRvXITWEHd8IyypFp_AsQ/s1600/IMG_2252.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2ra4G_8dSAFVyPRQHoSr7J4zRxUhQPWu6cUl6Ky6fBNqmoq1ikug8fxWzYFkbEB9Wpb533wU93diKQ84F-0BrsiIe1VH44_LzWtIqahFOPiySmgHUH1xTMfRvXITWEHd8IyypFp_AsQ/s320/IMG_2252.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687576260431102914" /></a><br /><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-6631942192670777782011-11-20T15:34:00.001-08:002011-11-20T16:02:28.030-08:00Bits and Pieces<div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfzELC1CU3ntBaar9aUG-Dr29W98c5XITJ7_pXM15F2e9iHxsm5fLt_dxujSCd1OsIjMYW4kiqYxyZB76XtKd466lrQA_nOK3fU64y2lT18G84nyYn3zZZjMaYqI_24dp5RZ3tdhZOwU/s640/blogger-image-886359985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfzELC1CU3ntBaar9aUG-Dr29W98c5XITJ7_pXM15F2e9iHxsm5fLt_dxujSCd1OsIjMYW4kiqYxyZB76XtKd466lrQA_nOK3fU64y2lT18G84nyYn3zZZjMaYqI_24dp5RZ3tdhZOwU/s640/blogger-image-886359985.jpg" /></a>I can't believe I'm beginning this post with a picture of a cockroach. Make that two cockroaches. If you've been reading along, you'll remember that last month our neighbors kindly gave Eleanor a cage with two Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches. Everybody needs great neighbors like that :). Honestly, they were very careful to get my permission beforehand. Anyway, I asked them (twice) if the roaches were both male or both female, and not one of each. The first time I asked they assured me they were both boys. I wasn't entirely convinced. The second time I asked, they replied that they were "pretty sure" they were both boys. </div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Hmm. Well, in the picture you can see we separated both "boys". Wanna know why? Because one day two weeks ago we found a surprise when we came home from the Dollar Store (where Eleanor had gone in search of plastic cockroaches to keep her real roaches company - of course Eleanor did that! Charlotte went in search of a coloring book...). </div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Yup - the "boys" had left us an egg sac. Ugh. </div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">I separated the two -pretty sure that "Minnie", the smaller of the two, was the mom. So I kept her and the egg sac together. "Crunch" - the big daddy - stayed in the original cage. Our neighbors came to the rescue and returned Minnie and babies to the cockroach colony from whence they came.</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Eleanor cried at first, heartbroken and inconsolable, as her little Minnie was being taken away. I felt bad, but not bad enough to turn our house into our own Roach Colony. When our neighbors promised Eleanor that she could go visit Minnie and babies, she instantly returned to her bubbly excited self. Then she said something that brought dread to my heart, "Wow, so when Crunch dies I can just go get one of the babies and get a new cockroach! And when that one dies, I'll just get a grand baby cockroach! And when that one dies..." You get the picture. We are going to have a pet cockroach in perpetuity. That means forever. (Do I get points in heaven for this?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">True to their word, the following week our amazing neighbors (he teaches biology at BYU-Idaho, she used to teach kindergarten and loves opening the world of nature to kids) took us down to campus to visit the Cockroach Colony. I admit, it was fascinating, in a creepy kind of way. </div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLziyvJkZgmjkGRIey76VoJQC1Wr6OBNeRFPFx92XKX9zvXRLEXkJQHeLh-fXG6iB1J7ZxhErVfoFQdFUBBQ2aM6ROQZmghuLqqxGa6zdfZc7p-0BbNzOYqT0pQrDysyuZO76WE5PPbSY/s640/blogger-image-891550419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLziyvJkZgmjkGRIey76VoJQC1Wr6OBNeRFPFx92XKX9zvXRLEXkJQHeLh-fXG6iB1J7ZxhErVfoFQdFUBBQ2aM6ROQZmghuLqqxGa6zdfZc7p-0BbNzOYqT0pQrDysyuZO76WE5PPbSY/s640/blogger-image-891550419.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUA35vHnqnzEeOD-AEXP0Lzn4aqGYiLL6SZ2EEaMC28b_utYsPLvWJB-vsnhLqzdjSvA4DOB5moj0BxqJhPsPlGQTUghXVVt8-3TT3uywlgSyMCAkH8xCgrss58sR9Ky8k4SNSyjsCHhQ/s640/blogger-image--1245852896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUA35vHnqnzEeOD-AEXP0Lzn4aqGYiLL6SZ2EEaMC28b_utYsPLvWJB-vsnhLqzdjSvA4DOB5moj0BxqJhPsPlGQTUghXVVt8-3TT3uywlgSyMCAkH8xCgrss58sR9Ky8k4SNSyjsCHhQ/s640/blogger-image--1245852896.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Halloween featured a BYU Cheerleader, a BYU Football Player, a BYU Coach (Mendenhall), a Clone Trooper, and of course, a Naturalist. Oh, and I was a witch, as always. (Wait. Always? Like, even on non-Halloween days? Uh-oh. My poor kids!)</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jys2kiOOeDsubwMfQVkQlO1CBMpN9yfmjZ5CQGk4RQ4JWwKDSTeSPynquNjyGTE5MSEvLLA-39lX5Qs8zoJgGbrVDrrdXODh8SoJI73xwtR_m6SooLRsvi5rA1xLWK6IX7TLycVhaY4/s640/blogger-image-1903901811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jys2kiOOeDsubwMfQVkQlO1CBMpN9yfmjZ5CQGk4RQ4JWwKDSTeSPynquNjyGTE5MSEvLLA-39lX5Qs8zoJgGbrVDrrdXODh8SoJI73xwtR_m6SooLRsvi5rA1xLWK6IX7TLycVhaY4/s640/blogger-image-1903901811.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm adding this picture of Charlotte's eye make-up because I was so amazed that something creative that I did actually turned out! Woo-hoo! (I followed the instructions very carefully).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYm3hRTUCxjQJ_4wHYnkeNvdFqzV5iIDaACk7ZVcJjUqAE5Cv0R3e2g1UBpSPzKZ3q3M4tKwBxcjsrQMDGDnFyzoKFU4WEyP2m7kqrTxcD_-24pAfC1z5nnJ21QBFZyN2n0nN6Pvv6hjI/s640/blogger-image-791622743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYm3hRTUCxjQJ_4wHYnkeNvdFqzV5iIDaACk7ZVcJjUqAE5Cv0R3e2g1UBpSPzKZ3q3M4tKwBxcjsrQMDGDnFyzoKFU4WEyP2m7kqrTxcD_-24pAfC1z5nnJ21QBFZyN2n0nN6Pvv6hjI/s640/blogger-image-791622743.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0MZuyM0O5PQAJHk2BePjdMeu_EJKV07q50fJnokolHSyFiR2_J2iJWgSlbq3GvPfeOK70-itghJ_WrHeJeTzNYdFqf2wfrVzhiMNo1XZqjiRT-RyZt162UOjOquvZtCTaZPqIBaCV5M/s640/blogger-image-84158496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif0MZuyM0O5PQAJHk2BePjdMeu_EJKV07q50fJnokolHSyFiR2_J2iJWgSlbq3GvPfeOK70-itghJ_WrHeJeTzNYdFqf2wfrVzhiMNo1XZqjiRT-RyZt162UOjOquvZtCTaZPqIBaCV5M/s640/blogger-image-84158496.jpg" /></a>Jeff raced in the local cyclocross series (the Cube). On the final race, the weather began as a light, cold wind, and ended with a hail/snow blizzard. Imagine riding your bike in that kind of weather? CRAZY! But fun. We were on the course the whole race and had fun cheering him on, and then came home to a crockpot full of soup, some sourdough bread, and hot chocolate and hot cider. It was that kind of day.</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbreczAmAYi5CaSd5nSjTyFFQGTbzBZgShFuMEhlCAD6DM4ZOr49qurCoEIf8YlrF3KqK5iyovM3O_-fR9IPKYQNqF6Hp9-r8PQQrqyI_Q__SrUh7HM__Z3-YQFZWUaJe752RMuOHXNs8/s640/blogger-image--1786973074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbreczAmAYi5CaSd5nSjTyFFQGTbzBZgShFuMEhlCAD6DM4ZOr49qurCoEIf8YlrF3KqK5iyovM3O_-fR9IPKYQNqF6Hp9-r8PQQrqyI_Q__SrUh7HM__Z3-YQFZWUaJe752RMuOHXNs8/s640/blogger-image--1786973074.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Winter has come to stay. We went out Christmas tree hunting yesterday to try to beat the snowy roads, but ended up stuck in the middle of nowhere. Jeff shoveled for more than an hour, but we were high-centered. Just as I was giving the sheriff our GPS coordinates (luckily we had cell phone reception), some hunters drove up behind us and pulled us out. We went somewhere else to get the trees. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmmNyNqnh1SQi8RxwBjlvOHE1ykTZNXLFeoi2lDd1SzWTb2pO7HQGRStGT-rGaU9yaAouxVxr3o7MIuZTPlWkaakFEBOnxnGjsPUiCbAU1BV3QL7A6zRk1vPnaKVNUmsEBRCd-DvQL3M/s640/blogger-image--1240979483.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmmNyNqnh1SQi8RxwBjlvOHE1ykTZNXLFeoi2lDd1SzWTb2pO7HQGRStGT-rGaU9yaAouxVxr3o7MIuZTPlWkaakFEBOnxnGjsPUiCbAU1BV3QL7A6zRk1vPnaKVNUmsEBRCd-DvQL3M/s640/blogger-image--1240979483.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Big news in our house - we bought a cow! And a pig! And a chest freezer to store them in. Ewww - that sounds icky. Anyway, we've stocked up on our meat for the next two years and are very grateful to our friends for raising grass-fed beef and good pork.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKkUmYgJlT3lQUu5ib9w0gUj9iWHRtkGROjm1wx31SRCO9s8z1Zuv6Fojfw1_vCZVCkF70bkOBBHJrUA7xpZVyRWXJ0tFvdmxpU59c0JRLOHakNt3q1VkAtkWPDIpmyPaNjWUECZgCKc/s640/blogger-image-1211911516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKkUmYgJlT3lQUu5ib9w0gUj9iWHRtkGROjm1wx31SRCO9s8z1Zuv6Fojfw1_vCZVCkF70bkOBBHJrUA7xpZVyRWXJ0tFvdmxpU59c0JRLOHakNt3q1VkAtkWPDIpmyPaNjWUECZgCKc/s640/blogger-image-1211911516.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Speaking of bulk foods, try growing a Sweet Meat squash sometime. It'll keep you fed for a very long time. You might want to invest in an axe to open it up, though. I counted that as my workout for the day. Took two ovens to cook it once I'd opened it and cleaned out the seeds. The cooked squash then just fell out of the shell and was ready for freezing (and for the soup I made).</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLW-N1UEEP3lR_ZwuyMVcVN3kZ2neLUL7wa8E4SLdMDBWbhCHuC7TsnaGjRwRfLuVzSaGoaxTQ371EVA7Ng7Gqt9B6gGYguTJJIGJLJxpQchK5nzw_NbLfxeTzvB2bY4RJZUOANbk0Hg/s640/blogger-image-745684787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLW-N1UEEP3lR_ZwuyMVcVN3kZ2neLUL7wa8E4SLdMDBWbhCHuC7TsnaGjRwRfLuVzSaGoaxTQ371EVA7Ng7Gqt9B6gGYguTJJIGJLJxpQchK5nzw_NbLfxeTzvB2bY4RJZUOANbk0Hg/s640/blogger-image-745684787.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC54er__3wE9K4nD8Gl6DmrGh9grQ1l_IOB24Yn2szKz5XLp2Ed9PnVQXRGL3cT4tJY6iMZ9-rIM_D11w48N8Ke87qw6v9g90hZuqo3oLoktvBZL5P6-feQrwz7SlBAT0BfgEE5ivoS18/s640/blogger-image--481251558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC54er__3wE9K4nD8Gl6DmrGh9grQ1l_IOB24Yn2szKz5XLp2Ed9PnVQXRGL3cT4tJY6iMZ9-rIM_D11w48N8Ke87qw6v9g90hZuqo3oLoktvBZL5P6-feQrwz7SlBAT0BfgEE5ivoS18/s640/blogger-image--481251558.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1J8sU9pPJQSyPpi3ECV7QnGm5di0Lk5G7rYc8GAHDTuHUaXF2kdL1K9G6636pvPyOjYSh8Iz5E51JnCeRCXdFWLIzOB-WGS9DDILyd1z3cktDCoSpMIcw2Q0-KKjH5km85PF3TP_KNY/s640/blogger-image-1857060201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1J8sU9pPJQSyPpi3ECV7QnGm5di0Lk5G7rYc8GAHDTuHUaXF2kdL1K9G6636pvPyOjYSh8Iz5E51JnCeRCXdFWLIzOB-WGS9DDILyd1z3cktDCoSpMIcw2Q0-KKjH5km85PF3TP_KNY/s640/blogger-image-1857060201.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJsyIw0OhWwU6gKabqcKmPZOyGKDT-ODY2kHg0rqBxPX-IGc35Rnjaq73OdYHzKR84qFQm3lBoDeuqZ6fPvJdDPnuD91tB1WIDUKnLgfkrejRl-T2d_MOTDa968AOephvDMx8Zz9yXZE/s640/blogger-image-2127986584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJsyIw0OhWwU6gKabqcKmPZOyGKDT-ODY2kHg0rqBxPX-IGc35Rnjaq73OdYHzKR84qFQm3lBoDeuqZ6fPvJdDPnuD91tB1WIDUKnLgfkrejRl-T2d_MOTDa968AOephvDMx8Zz9yXZE/s640/blogger-image-2127986584.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-71693038564949661332011-10-28T11:41:00.000-07:002011-10-28T17:55:19.232-07:00Making it through the month<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSj6b2xYawWeA0ZduhtrYE7ESlIo9GriPoKtEFSfvpsXhfYpy_Z5ASkYTH1lsA_-4Nn0AFetzb2cYVNuF4zd4lyZ-aJjkZ0yqjxo06mz9jvdrySHZ2Of5Zl8I5M4jgCLzKYMV4ftPIWTA/s1600/IMG_2689.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrl5ja9Gd1zfvZbhU94gOSwAyX2aRuCatpxr7PMB22Ne-zOKb07xm0Ub_ZjhFrkifunmWSt4boA7GiivIdffsqUQ4vArNUFlkhyphenhyphenEpPfTYe28vTfJjsQXCMiFp-XSyLTFOuwl2L7_h5PwM/s1600/IMG_2346.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrl5ja9Gd1zfvZbhU94gOSwAyX2aRuCatpxr7PMB22Ne-zOKb07xm0Ub_ZjhFrkifunmWSt4boA7GiivIdffsqUQ4vArNUFlkhyphenhyphenEpPfTYe28vTfJjsQXCMiFp-XSyLTFOuwl2L7_h5PwM/s320/IMG_2346.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668628133442141618" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwfmvwBHhKs5USpNYOgoZZAtqMOOLkhTlD4HTGLjZ1Gm4SVD4WHhvAL-eM1amjCvUyxkhvoNO_hVIVkXNfNFVJbwHyNSsRoiCriBSrxgN7rtWZnHrqAlW4eHohJoGzfhw2NKL8BF2VMI/s1600/IMG_2635.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_8EUjKtlxfgbXMoV_RIPN03Vaxyy2UEjELJX1hQ_ra0IaA1N5EQbz0-bvKY9dIy9S7_Y2b9xB7wxDrCcsOn0mUk2Jj6EtJtfGMjewnyIhYLVQxmn41iGgBf9H_3TmsyobA3jk0EX4hw/s1600/IMG_2702.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div><div>I haven't posted in a while, so here's a quick summary:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Jeff and Steph:</b></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkQdquGRpQbSkb9H8ggI7ftZjTQ0eWZsjXte5WacvnITGteBQyhnbdJw8x-fS1_BlMYACwqrq2XKWdEC_wJ8yux-Cqazoga7Ot4YA3UgNKY1d4JMhfS4JB90nnfl_MptlDARtFmAkZT4/s320/IMG_2658.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668619754871683474" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span>For our anniversary, Jeff and I rode through Grand Teton National Park, making a nice 46 mile trip which included a not-nice piece of riding up a 14% grade mountain (no, not the Grand - it was Signal Mountain). Gorgeous ride and the best company.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwfmvwBHhKs5USpNYOgoZZAtqMOOLkhTlD4HTGLjZ1Gm4SVD4WHhvAL-eM1amjCvUyxkhvoNO_hVIVkXNfNFVJbwHyNSsRoiCriBSrxgN7rtWZnHrqAlW4eHohJoGzfhw2NKL8BF2VMI/s320/IMG_2635.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668627941263524018" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> I love that Jeff of mine.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Family:</b></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx7p4zlz2AgaoIgKiFGHhN0Zl7cJKPLLbtmC6hh-MbEkHRLm5iyBihlDNytJR8_7WAd06F1LlaUV-ru89j2AR-iToUaXK6HGCnSNrdypCdBiXS5ysYSlz9wxgvbxTkXcTygccW6TaGGs/s320/IMG_2677.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668619759817340722" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span><div>We attended a BYU football game as a family, which was super stressful and awful until the last two minutes when BYU turned things around and won at the last second (or two). </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_8EUjKtlxfgbXMoV_RIPN03Vaxyy2UEjELJX1hQ_ra0IaA1N5EQbz0-bvKY9dIy9S7_Y2b9xB7wxDrCcsOn0mUk2Jj6EtJtfGMjewnyIhYLVQxmn41iGgBf9H_3TmsyobA3jk0EX4hw/s320/IMG_2702.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668620904586775874" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div>We went to a Straw Maze that featured a real live camel! In Idaho! Pretty cool. The girls and Jeff and I stuck together, while Sam and Oliver tried to conquer the maze on their own. We made it out, then waited for the boys. And waited. And waited. And finally Jeff went in to find them. The boys were still wandering around near the entrance when dad rescued them. It was pretty fun.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Samuel:</b></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirC-hnYIE2cbUDDsOKgKSbnCKOXWhIs5QHqvGgv26Mr3LHSfnwLylkg8CFrgz-UgokUTLHD1SJt3H79kM8fh86g7rTScvDDlCef1hPOAkxKw9T0o_GPb0QR4zLbqNDUMqPzrwUiYNrpSI/s320/IMG_2485.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668620596669162210" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /><div>Sam finished up his first season of cross-country running. It was a fun experience and he hung in there. His race times got better and better. Mostly he enjoyed hanging out with his teammates.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRbxXFOVFnxz2blFZu-qxR2E626xCqYdU0XNNNwhN7ka5J0WqhwtFcPJg1pJwqWWwlEashEPiTHiYeT6m4qc9v_VCFvX-fjZ5I81kIHiPbOYn9v35mUtD80h2ia6jpRoyvOsZsYbKCCQ/s1600/photo-777037.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRbxXFOVFnxz2blFZu-qxR2E626xCqYdU0XNNNwhN7ka5J0WqhwtFcPJg1pJwqWWwlEashEPiTHiYeT6m4qc9v_VCFvX-fjZ5I81kIHiPbOYn9v35mUtD80h2ia6jpRoyvOsZsYbKCCQ/s320/photo-777037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668625729503558930" /></a> Sam and Oliver started an athlete conditioning program at the high school. Pictured above is Sam on your right (it could just as well be Oliver, too!), pulling a parachute in sprints. I think I'll change his name to Flash. And Oliver can be Flame. Or maybe not.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Oliver:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of Oliver, Oliver had a birthday party. And another birthday party. And ANOTHER birthday party! Once on his birthday with just us, once on a Sunday evening with cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and once after school with friends. I won't be doing that again! Still, it was fun and he's definitely worth it. Turning 10 years old is, after all, a bid deal.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG279z0PSprewc0IfeFb7MR1jCXMwJPdmmK-XI1arKmgZCO9uFeIER7G0vbbJuVfJsIUSJmJ8Ks47wyANHFVNJEBj9FleKHMHDYjRHu7jRM1TfZbXME5bn-h_dB5bGUj0tUcoH5NVDLM/s320/IMG_2754.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668619770128751970" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is Oliver with a giant New England "Whoopie Pie" that he requested. He's donning a policeman outfit he got for the first of his three 10-year-old birthdays.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't resist this picture of Oliver doing his homework with the help of "Witchy" - the library puppet that we've checked out twice now (Charlotte has claimed her as a best friend, but shared with Oliver).</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBl9Gs7kRFfPJQfI3sPO09f01UUc9wZcCli1CCVxM8tqEiRysfKxEaLOWdFuc2QuNpVqPDPVOZCAWITddXFERwpU9z070AHXnbaFzmzf1i9s2gcSqzI6qMqjRv5JvA8j8yC2S8lA_D2k/s320/IMG_2482.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668620594365278098" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Eleanor (and Charlotte): </b></div><div>And we (Eleanor, actually) are now the proud owners of two Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches. Ewwww. Eleanor is in heaven. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMmrcfL5QxBvbkCCU2beR-7PBg-YZsC9LgIarRRJ3bAjaK_tFQ3r0IejxTpyTbpNP7fimxhF7T-IC6qqB21bYHwpvAddRjT_yU37uqIm597Sc-ffBPNdCYMHISRo5lrnUnlh5d7Y7xbY/s640/blogger-image--372260933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMmrcfL5QxBvbkCCU2beR-7PBg-YZsC9LgIarRRJ3bAjaK_tFQ3r0IejxTpyTbpNP7fimxhF7T-IC6qqB21bYHwpvAddRjT_yU37uqIm597Sc-ffBPNdCYMHISRo5lrnUnlh5d7Y7xbY/s640/blogger-image--372260933.jpg" /></a>She was completely surprised when our neighbor showed up at my parents' house, bugs in tow. She's been begging for Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches for months. Jeff said sure, she could have them. I kept quiet, hoping she'd forget. She never forgot. One Sunday at church she talked with our neighbors about her dream pets. The very next day...well, sometimes dreams come true, I guess!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqzBi54nVUIxUsCkDM4OOtEh8c23TYG1I5x1arJ7V_YdMrkLpYTPJqYLXJNVlkrhmuh4T_fWykV5qCMlfVOTeFysMRa0HdghV-DwVg7mgorg0zrC5L-6J_qtPeNMqvpZPXOKCQb6bNUo/s640/blogger-image--2057721249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqzBi54nVUIxUsCkDM4OOtEh8c23TYG1I5x1arJ7V_YdMrkLpYTPJqYLXJNVlkrhmuh4T_fWykV5qCMlfVOTeFysMRa0HdghV-DwVg7mgorg0zrC5L-6J_qtPeNMqvpZPXOKCQb6bNUo/s640/blogger-image--2057721249.jpg" /></a></div><div>Our neighbor's husband is a biologist at BYU-Idaho and had some connections to these "exotic" bugs. Ellie calls them Crunch and Minnie. The day after the two creatures moved in I called our neighbors in a sudden fit of panic. "They're not male and female, are they?" No, she reassured me, they're both boys. Even Minnie. Phew!</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><b>Charlotte (and Eleanor): </b></div><div>Charlotte loves Witchy, but also has a soft spot for the giant Dora doll. Here she is on her way home from preschool.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmKst9WXIwtQr0g9h9Boj828fTjGXt9GvIxpTmmCYSc3Ve-llbxcr0KXr-o69381m3LELBgoeYN6onALJDjaTdJ-qVxoEn1rixkElqCCiR4-HGdOauxhEoEkyGvoKe04mCar-VZ1UExs/s320/IMG_2494.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668620897295463458" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>While the boys were at a football game, we had "girls' day" which included playing with cousin MJ and Aunt Annmarie, a bike ride, feeding ducks, playing at the park, going out for ice cream, a visit to the library, a movie, and - the highlight for the girls - a visit to the Animal Shelter where the girls volunteered. They got to take a couple of (small!) dogs on walks and spend some time socializing kittens (read: playing!). It was sweet, although it also makes me sad... Those poor animals. Hopefully we helped them have a happy day.</div><div><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWloipaJbiZlaFMPfCpW_5rwgB7w-wbcKfslLkDMS0oJ3-piTbnMGcGXaVa02YCkIcaMmjh2SXy3ZUgR4nqYuzXnHX3dNW3g7hFcQB3XoPuiiWz_3pTSz-Zoz6NQDn0dyiy-yNXh8u6M/s1600/photo+1-729325.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWloipaJbiZlaFMPfCpW_5rwgB7w-wbcKfslLkDMS0oJ3-piTbnMGcGXaVa02YCkIcaMmjh2SXy3ZUgR4nqYuzXnHX3dNW3g7hFcQB3XoPuiiWz_3pTSz-Zoz6NQDn0dyiy-yNXh8u6M/s320/photo+1-729325.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668630678398009394" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CfuavH-AADG9WVnlDs5xxxt2VrKBlVzAwkPGmhloqOGNtMWJ4BVAj8ghL-5t8lbJkgSinOhXA7hNnPNuEfnk4Nxf2BN9bfCJu1U4ZxYKaeVmRlz03MqSdf32lxAKJpoPvpVsZlv-k6A/s1600/photo+2-730311.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CfuavH-AADG9WVnlDs5xxxt2VrKBlVzAwkPGmhloqOGNtMWJ4BVAj8ghL-5t8lbJkgSinOhXA7hNnPNuEfnk4Nxf2BN9bfCJu1U4ZxYKaeVmRlz03MqSdf32lxAKJpoPvpVsZlv-k6A/s320/photo+2-730311.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668630683625068674" /></a></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Home: </b></div><div>And a new piano now sits where we'd planned it to be years ago when we designed the house. It's beautiful.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvz_cSax6Q8djGJsv4hL0kGMRcOs-rLZjo8p3VXVXJa66hC7Cfv_fIu7-LYuYchsWdAfZRCwCCOd7QwOpffE-23XhsT7m84G5q-X17_KQL0nLKywNQDcjCbp8mP2XLMPa5KTWr7kxQ-c/s640/blogger-image--1687785876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvz_cSax6Q8djGJsv4hL0kGMRcOs-rLZjo8p3VXVXJa66hC7Cfv_fIu7-LYuYchsWdAfZRCwCCOd7QwOpffE-23XhsT7m84G5q-X17_KQL0nLKywNQDcjCbp8mP2XLMPa5KTWr7kxQ-c/s640/blogger-image--1687785876.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I spent a few days canning this month. And grumbling. And wondering why in the world do I give up my days for a few bottles of fruit. But, like last time, when it's all over I'm proud of the results. But, like last time, I don't know if I'll ever do it again. :) <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7iwaC_5aU-mOismTGLMTubO9Ki07ECFT62xCgjtVhC_HWt6SscO1qEyy9v3ZFmFbCcIucuXwiyxLIdJqmqmfHvOpabVCxaHIUeyLE8UcC5HZG8LCrDqi2eDotWzzpl83HBnCgrMgr5o/s640/blogger-image--1423312899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7iwaC_5aU-mOismTGLMTubO9Ki07ECFT62xCgjtVhC_HWt6SscO1qEyy9v3ZFmFbCcIucuXwiyxLIdJqmqmfHvOpabVCxaHIUeyLE8UcC5HZG8LCrDqi2eDotWzzpl83HBnCgrMgr5o/s640/blogger-image--1423312899.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That's all for now. How thankful I am for the ties that bind us. My family, you can see, is everything to me.</div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-70574282203223795252011-09-17T07:06:00.001-07:002011-09-18T21:00:34.590-07:00It's in our Nature<p class="mobile-photo"></p><p class="mobile-photo">Lots of Nature related things are going on around here, as usual. That, and some running and some good food, pretty much sums up the theme of this post (and many other posts). I like to post these rather mundane things sometimes to keep a journal of our lives and to keep my in-laws (who are in Kyiv, Ukraine for another year) and friends & family posted on our exciting lives (who doesn't think grasshoppers and huckleberries are exciting?). So I apologize for boring anybody, but <i>c'est la vie.</i> </p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The Love Bug</span></b></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGRaGqKIAgaLxXAkEYWDqQUANJIn6NcHpFoX_-_adW7WTZpQ_qjJjPDOel4e2RKHMmpmwXZGm0n5bQHLVVc5gQInOZqXHUTPfy1e9m03o7fhehWzQPHYZbsE9ZRUydxgB7rULhSwqfnk/s1600/photo+2-799881.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGRaGqKIAgaLxXAkEYWDqQUANJIn6NcHpFoX_-_adW7WTZpQ_qjJjPDOel4e2RKHMmpmwXZGm0n5bQHLVVc5gQInOZqXHUTPfy1e9m03o7fhehWzQPHYZbsE9ZRUydxgB7rULhSwqfnk/s320/photo+2-799881.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653329734846315298" /></a> Eleanor's pet grasshopper lived with us for about 4 days before making his way to the Great Beyond. Grassy had some health problems when Eleanor rescued him from the sidewalk - he couldn't walk, hop, flit, or flutter about. Eleanor was a doting nurse to the poor guy (or girl?). She fed and watered him regularly, and discovered that Grassy really liked the rose petals from our flower bed. It was an incredible experience to see her usually holding him in one hand and feeding him with the other. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotCMLl6x3JfqWhQRJYgg-488Y2gd9F1gCRURImu2wiq54NmZNUlT5zvRGf_8VnjfRuEhpdOyZ3dY313reeMsJ_iazxnnOdVeWYxSY79gXXh-rKp3z3PVGbfi3hr7EdC2YxGFR22vBhbw/s1600/photo+2-768589.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotCMLl6x3JfqWhQRJYgg-488Y2gd9F1gCRURImu2wiq54NmZNUlT5zvRGf_8VnjfRuEhpdOyZ3dY313reeMsJ_iazxnnOdVeWYxSY79gXXh-rKp3z3PVGbfi3hr7EdC2YxGFR22vBhbw/s320/photo+2-768589.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653824377194173250" /></a>Grassy ate voraciously, regardless of his position, whether lying on his back, lying in Ellie's hand, or stretched out on the walkway. When Eleanor placed drops of water in the flower petals, Grassy slurped up the water like a puppy. I never thought I'd get attached to a grasshopper, but Grassy won us all over. Cute little thing. He's on to greener pastures now, hopefully with his hoppers back in order.</p><p></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The Great Outdoors</span></b></p><p class="mobile-photo"> We took the kids on a hike around Horseshoe Lake last week, then made the extra little jaunt over to Cave Falls (Yellowstone). Last time we came to Cave Falls (4 years ago), there was a cave. It has now collapsed and the large cavern is just a pile of rocks. The Falls are still as lovely as ever.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BdQDeHj_0f0wZsQcoz2smxdxaTOQ01yCeD1vzKsyaPOsiJnEiHm-540-AFZJBPYxI8xq8pd_twvfqW6fG_YZxQ2I1t6wtJlOiWIWi92yyPp2qpf6hQdfQQJnnRa13E6J42nG8ird0MI/s1600/photo+3-701093.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BdQDeHj_0f0wZsQcoz2smxdxaTOQ01yCeD1vzKsyaPOsiJnEiHm-540-AFZJBPYxI8xq8pd_twvfqW6fG_YZxQ2I1t6wtJlOiWIWi92yyPp2qpf6hQdfQQJnnRa13E6J42nG8ird0MI/s320/photo+3-701093.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653329738621431042" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><b>Huckleberry ice cream</b></p><p class="mobile-photo"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dYNV5WdP4AR4VI8VVU7brlAkeSVnivBDpCC84o78uECiqPSYiDfrft6-WuJ22wlnMsZ3_SQ379mTlwpCd-xHSN_BQNMtguWa6OsZLRc9dDS0XtVYv57SypKJKSdC8CaI0-_OFiOD7K4/s640/blogger-image-1642188086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dYNV5WdP4AR4VI8VVU7brlAkeSVnivBDpCC84o78uECiqPSYiDfrft6-WuJ22wlnMsZ3_SQ379mTlwpCd-xHSN_BQNMtguWa6OsZLRc9dDS0XtVYv57SypKJKSdC8CaI0-_OFiOD7K4/s640/blogger-image-1642188086.jpg" /></a>Oh, as an unexpected surprise while hiking around Horseshoe Lake, we came upon tons (I exaggerate) of wild huckleberries (are there such thing as cultivated huckleberries?). It's somewhat bewildering that it takes 2 hours to pick 2 cups of the little gems (okay, I'm exaggerating again - but it did take a long time). Turns out that two cups of the berries is just what you need to make about 1 1/2 quarts of delicious, fresh homemade huckleberry ice cream. </p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"> </p><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><b>A Tale of A Tail</b></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Oliver arranged a Lizard-catching Expedition last week. All I had to do was provide transportation, food, and moral support. Jeff and Sam were on another overnight campout, so the rest of us, along with Oliver's friend Ethan, climbed the "R" Mountain in the heat of the afternoon. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0kk73czuLxk2vVC6hmkqRJf3pZUIZ4kNmT8mqVf1lsCCUNwTstuv_ZCoz9nV_PU_UpLHNaLEUiXDGy_CH9nQy3CegP3yiggtarqkKOuOHXzxyjkOAhzQ0SAYwW171w5lDo3inIjgqnUU/s1600/photo+3-769195.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0kk73czuLxk2vVC6hmkqRJf3pZUIZ4kNmT8mqVf1lsCCUNwTstuv_ZCoz9nV_PU_UpLHNaLEUiXDGy_CH9nQy3CegP3yiggtarqkKOuOHXzxyjkOAhzQ0SAYwW171w5lDo3inIjgqnUU/s320/photo+3-769195.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653824381200895218" /></a> It's a short but steep hike, and everyone did great. Except for the poor lizards we caught. I still feel awful about "Rocky" who lost his tail, then died hours later. :(</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Kids and lizards<b>. </b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFAa46u_Y8ykDQiPRQU708QPrG9S-qyWpM0yCU2DUcKAYTz6KpRObYmuGp8dAFv1S8FYvbcgv_sb406QmVFfgxnKQEppNixFijO8EyoxxgWRHMrnisaKmeVkve2AoTFyArZzt7e79xhQ/s640/blogger-image-1588912840.jpg" />Charlotte is the only one with my kind of sense here - she's holding a paper flower instead of the slippery creatures the others are handling.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b></b></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Since we couldn't bring home a lizard, (Mom said!), Eleanor wanted to bring home a lizard's tail. She wasn't happy when I said no. No. No. No. Absolutely not. We compromised by taking a picture of the nasty thing. Still, she wasn't happy to leave it behind...(no pun intended!).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiQ0ZwBFnaMSzdL5dLj4hwGyBlYeti0R60FERK-ihIUfX8XJZhQk73f9kYYxeDIJi_JK2U67Kd2cw2IrLfnVUn6zeH9UmWft9QpKeCkqakPHvBSnZ1RQDjpdeWgiXlyhY-spfw6jIZ14/s640/blogger-image--609954618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiQ0ZwBFnaMSzdL5dLj4hwGyBlYeti0R60FERK-ihIUfX8XJZhQk73f9kYYxeDIJi_JK2U67Kd2cw2IrLfnVUn6zeH9UmWft9QpKeCkqakPHvBSnZ1RQDjpdeWgiXlyhY-spfw6jIZ14/s640/blogger-image--609954618.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Which Witch</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Charlotte and I have been enjoying each other's company while everyone else is in school, but I think she gets tired of me sometimes. We checked out this Witch Puppet from the library, and the Witch quickly replaced me as her buddy. Hmm. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Charlotte has been carrying her new little friend around with her ever since, even dressing to match. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLc1VMZY6rFTpdAUAyWUA0N6mr12eWrxO3VyfG5ZM17V_5Iksm4cGvoruHatAaEeapZu7gYEsdgnTuwl-ZrC28OD5dqScTxBtOf8SvOgrwR5E4voBRmisuMjrF_kKF7PL_4ktBwBnKdM/s640/blogger-image--1676601350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLc1VMZY6rFTpdAUAyWUA0N6mr12eWrxO3VyfG5ZM17V_5Iksm4cGvoruHatAaEeapZu7gYEsdgnTuwl-ZrC28OD5dqScTxBtOf8SvOgrwR5E4voBRmisuMjrF_kKF7PL_4ktBwBnKdM/s640/blogger-image--1676601350.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's going to be a sad day when we have to return Witchy to the library.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW53BqjhImV6B6BKPRW6TvT2yoqVc6XOGBQ4k23XATuP4rSVZvYpQAXQSJy4EqKUvA8ucVcskcRA30dVyUZm621VuH_s7weAE_J_KlvXC9csX-5EEuVbGhy8ySHD-yeG65_mQt5YJp9bA/s640/blogger-image-1262861477.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW53BqjhImV6B6BKPRW6TvT2yoqVc6XOGBQ4k23XATuP4rSVZvYpQAXQSJy4EqKUvA8ucVcskcRA30dVyUZm621VuH_s7weAE_J_KlvXC9csX-5EEuVbGhy8ySHD-yeG65_mQt5YJp9bA/s640/blogger-image-1262861477.jpg" /></a> But then I'll get my Charlotte back all to myself. No, I'm not jealous. Not jealous. I am not. Really. Not a bit. (Poor me...)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: center;clear: both; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Running and Running</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqG2ep3Nr34UREXu686h5TPNAi8KqxRawYcgN0gyRBLfc-z3tcF_dDf50phnZgljU6LjFncdDpNOYs0NS6RhU7S074mT4dUJrOtasrr1kcMjpYrW6IDDwCgWavSc0uCxiy3cKjthLf6Y/s1600/photo+1-767827.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqG2ep3Nr34UREXu686h5TPNAi8KqxRawYcgN0gyRBLfc-z3tcF_dDf50phnZgljU6LjFncdDpNOYs0NS6RhU7S074mT4dUJrOtasrr1kcMjpYrW6IDDwCgWavSc0uCxiy3cKjthLf6Y/s320/photo+1-767827.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653824377698879074" /></a> Sam's on the Junior High Cross-Country team. It's been fun to watch him race, although I do have those Mommy moments when I worry if he's having a good time, if he ate enough, if he's staying hydrated, if he's safe, if he's.... "Oh, Mom'" Sam groans, "I'm okay!" Okay.</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Speaking of races, as a last minute thing I ran a local 10K a week ago yesterday. It was a fund raiser for Make-A-Wish. The course was all hills - long steep hills up the first half, then down the same hills the second half. Luckily these are the very same hills I train on, so I knew what was coming and I was conditioned to them. Somehow I ran my fastest 10K yet at an average of 7:38 minute miles (I took full advantage of the fast downhills to get that average - my uphills were like 8:30 minute miles). The race was tiny (like 30 people), and I finished 3rd overall for men and women, and 2nd for women. Oh, and I finally figured out the RUSH Triathlon times (silly me - you have to actually click on your name to get your splits! Who'd have thought?). </div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: center;clear: both; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Fall<i>(-ing for)</i> Food</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Autumn is visiting today, so it was a perfect day for soup and bread. This <b>Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup</b> is one of my favorites. You make the soup in one large pot, and the cream sauce in a smaller pot, then combine in the large pot.</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIGxjb3E_n_QsSixsW3bMzIXDmJ7OE_EqV6D57moM_8IdEeHQCXyjcecKYPZ5jgVt4Py9p5IOR9GLD4w_Mo26UL8jynCQ6RW4ai1IefIBg3njysrRB08NqFccrR2KNFQZ03bA2BuSf20/s640/blogger-image-1773001119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIGxjb3E_n_QsSixsW3bMzIXDmJ7OE_EqV6D57moM_8IdEeHQCXyjcecKYPZ5jgVt4Py9p5IOR9GLD4w_Mo26UL8jynCQ6RW4ai1IefIBg3njysrRB08NqFccrR2KNFQZ03bA2BuSf20/s640/blogger-image-1773001119.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><b>Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup</b></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">4 Cups cooked chicken, cubed</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">4 Celery stalks, chopped</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">4 Large Carrots, sliced</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1 Med. Onion, chopped</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1 scant tsp. celery salt</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1 scant tsp. onion salt</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1 scant tsp. garlic salt (OR 3 Tsp. any salt)</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1/2 tsp. Poultry Seasoning</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Chicken broth or bouillon to cover above (about 8-10 cups)</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">2-4 cups Dry Egg noodles</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Combine chicken, salts, poultry seasoning, celery, onion and carrots and broth to cover; boil, then add noodles. Cook 15 minutes or until done.</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">Make <b>Cream Sauce:</b></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">3/4 Cup butter, melted (or melt in pot)</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">3/4 Cup flour</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1/2 tsp. salt (optional)</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">3/4 tsp. pepper</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">1 qt (4 Cups) Milk</div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; ">In a large pot, combine melted butter and flour, mixing until smooth and thick. Add milk gradually, letting it thicken a little at a time, stirring often. Stir in salt and pepper. For a thicker soup, let the cream sauce cook (stirring often) until thickened. Add to soup once the noodles are done.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="text-align: left;clear: both; "><b>Garlic Pull-Apart Bread</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo-2o7ArckGYy3HDX3bRerFT8A0I3iievtyClyFDhewbeq377cnETItGUjiYEM8NzyKG6UdxeEzAPeXSjwYiyd8gDcY3e_KnKfNrT5AM0pGdzj_S7yLLt9-VT1OcLlL2shEdgQDm1y50U/s640/blogger-image-227438670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo-2o7ArckGYy3HDX3bRerFT8A0I3iievtyClyFDhewbeq377cnETItGUjiYEM8NzyKG6UdxeEzAPeXSjwYiyd8gDcY3e_KnKfNrT5AM0pGdzj_S7yLLt9-VT1OcLlL2shEdgQDm1y50U/s640/blogger-image-227438670.jpg" /></a></div></div>This is the perfect bread to go along with the soup. First I make a regular <b>bread machine rolls recipe:</b><div>1 cup Milk (warmed on high in microwave for 1 minute)</div><div>1/2 cup butter (softened in the microwave in the same cup I warmed the milk in)</div><div>2 large eggs, lightly beaten (I whisk them in the same milk/butter cup)</div><div>1/4 cup sugar</div><div>3/4 tsp. salt</div><div>4 cups Bread Flour</div><div>1 Tbs. Instant Yeast</div><div><br /></div><div>In bread machine, combine in order given. Set to dough cycle (You can do this in a regular Kitchen Aid or Bosch type mixer, too - just make dough and let rise). </div><div>Using abou<b>t 3/4 of the dough, </b>I make the Pull-Apart Bread. (I use the other 1/4 to make 6-8 regular rolls).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Garlic Pull-Apart Bread</b></div><div><blockquote type="cite" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><div style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Melt 2 Tbs. butter in a small skillet over medium heat. Add 2-3 tsp. minced garlic and saute 3 minutes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> Roll dough into an 8 x 12 inch rectangle. Spread garlic mixture over top of dough. Cut into 4 strips vertically, then horizontally to get 16 (3x2 inch) pieces. Place pieces in a greased 8 1/2 x 4 1/2 inch loaf pan. (The arrangement will look like an accordion pleat.) I tip the loaf pan up a little to help stack the rectangles, turning each one with a corner up opposite to the rectangle before and after so it alternates. When I'm done, I set the pan down and move everything to fill the pan evenly. Cover with a cloth and let rise in a warm place until slices fill pan, about 1 hour.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> Preheat oven to 375 F.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> Bake about 30 minutes, until golden brown, <b>placing foil on top after 10 minutes</b>. Immediately invert bread onto a wire rack; cool slightly. Serve warm. Makes 1 loaf. Serves 8.</span></div></div></blockquote></div><div><div style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b>Pumpkin Pie Cake</b></span></div></div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHOHgceUXffVlF1w5zjzwzQBQ4Ft5ipLBzyFeQQx6CX1uqDm1Azw0NPfpzPetN0bNfnfiWmQbXvUIr9G4SOwyx3RpYfqfZmJXgRXELS2Tb0NmCIQEgscq4OffUV1eQEmDB7Z1iu2nKEA/s1600/photo-708866.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHOHgceUXffVlF1w5zjzwzQBQ4Ft5ipLBzyFeQQx6CX1uqDm1Azw0NPfpzPetN0bNfnfiWmQbXvUIr9G4SOwyx3RpYfqfZmJXgRXELS2Tb0NmCIQEgscq4OffUV1eQEmDB7Z1iu2nKEA/s320/photo-708866.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653843877614539714" /></a> To round out the comfort food dinner tonight, I made this easy and low-calorie (KIDDING!) dessert.</div><div><br /></div><div>1 can (15 oz) solid pack pumpkin</div><div>1 can (12 oz) evaporated milk</div><div>3 eggs</div><div>1 Cup sugar</div><div>4 tsp. pumpkin pie spice</div><div>1 package (18 1/4 oz) yellow cake mix (white cake mix works, too)</div><div>3/4 Cup butter or margarine, melted</div><div>1 1/2 Cups chopped walnuts (optional)</div><div><br /></div><div>In a mixing bowl, mix pumpkin, milk, eggs, sugar, and spice. Pour into a greased 9x13 baking pan. Sprinkle with the dry cake mix, then drizzle melted butter over the top (it's totally fine if there are dry patches). Top with walnuts, if you want. Bake at 350F for 1 hour or until knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Serve with ice cream or whipped cream if you want.</div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Juicy Apples</b></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCywzlV1FdZUIcvR428WxGKNuFSDmoTV8oB1D7X0_s5iWK1_XZcXyQC_UCuPgyi-_o6nDdfHg6Sxuv82nHDCb3wRYxLp9jimcv9nVjStMe4cAtFO39_r4MaydfkVKoE78UKlklXOjN-E/s640/blogger-image-1495519925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGCywzlV1FdZUIcvR428WxGKNuFSDmoTV8oB1D7X0_s5iWK1_XZcXyQC_UCuPgyi-_o6nDdfHg6Sxuv82nHDCb3wRYxLp9jimcv9nVjStMe4cAtFO39_r4MaydfkVKoE78UKlklXOjN-E/s640/blogger-image-1495519925.jpg" /></a> Not the best pictures, but you can get the general idea of how our apple juicing is coming along - it's fun and everyone can help. Charlotte was off playing with the witch puppet, but she could've helped if she'd wanted.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-44047172071029784102011-09-05T20:03:00.000-07:002011-09-05T20:36:06.591-07:00Family History Begins & Continues<span class="Apple-style-span">When I was a little girl - like, elementary and middle school age - my mom would occasionally take me out of school for the day to accompany her to cemeteries and records places throughout New England. </span>She would walk me through really, really old cemeteries, checking out headstones and writing down names and dates. <span class="Apple-style-span">She had me fill in information on unbelievably large pieces of papers that had to be folded just right or you'd lose track of where things belonged. I learned to put rolls of film on readers and scroll through them over a light box, looking for something legible and pertinent. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We were doing genealogy. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A few years later, I got it into my head that doing genealogy was for old people (like my mom who was probably a good 40 years old at the time - quite ancient), and that it was a symbol of the end of one's life's work, so therefore it meant - da da da daaaa (drum roll) - DEATH. And not the deaths of the millions of names recorded already, but a new and very personal end of someone's life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Mine.</span></div><div>Superstitious as it may seem, I was convinced that the moment I agreed to delve into records again, that would be the moment that signified my own imminent demise. And, believe it or not, I didn't want to die. Not yet.</div><div>So as sort of a one-sided bargain with my ancestors, I agreed (in my mind) to do their genealogy as soon as I was old and ready to die. They'd just have to wait for me to feel comfortable with wrapping up my life.</div><div>My mom's been very patient, and has prodded regularly, but gently, as she invited me to join her in this older-person's pursuit (now that I'm close to 40 I have to think she must have been an anomaly to join the elderly genealogists at so young an age...). My genealogist-neighbors who are near my age then must also be an exception to the age-rule. (I'm beginning to wonder where I came up with that rule, anyway?)</div><div>Well, I'm a believer in dreams. Whether they're products of our mind's workings or sometimes thoughts sent our way from God, often they truly are instructive.</div><div>I dreamed last week that I was in an office building with my husband and kids, and we were gathered around Jeff who sat at a computer. I dreamed that a man in old-fashioned clothes walked in to the office we were in. He was representing an entire group of people, and as their representative it was his job to question how things were going and what was I doing with the information. He pointed out four manila envelopes, full of papers, I presume. He was in a hurry and didn't stay to chat, but I could tell he was trying to not let his obvious irritation be so obvious. I was disappointing him, he was trying to be understanding but was a little miffed at my reluctance, but thankfully there was still time to get things done.</div><div>A creepy puppet showed up in the dream, trying to distract me with fear, trying to chase me in the halls. But my family and I told him to go away, and he did. Was that an embodiment of my silly superstitions? </div><div>Well, long story short, I got on to the New Family Search the next evening and decided to at least get acquainted with my family. While I was there I figured I'd add in some missing information - and promptly ruined family ties. I called my mom in a panic, and with her help I managed to unlink people I'd accidentally linked (am I even using the right words?). </div><div>And the following day, my mom called me over to her house where she patiently walked me through online research of old census records. I'm not sure what I did, but at least I started. I mentioned to my mom that this was kind of depressing, looking at the deaths of all these people. Well, I could see her thinking as she kind of looked at me askance, that's kind of what genealogy deals with, you know. There's that "D" word again...</div><div><br /></div><div>I told my dad as I walked back home (he was outside - we live just across the street) very proudly that I'd been working on his genealogy. </div><div>Dad laughed, "It's YOUR genealogy, too, you know!" Oh, right.</div><div><br /></div><div> Nothing like a good haunting to get you out of your comfort zone. I'm going to start on this genealogy phase - I'd rather not be visited by disgruntled ancestors anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>So if I end up dying in the near future, it's because I'm doing genealogy. Or maybe, just maybe, only when I STOP doing genealogy does that signify the end of my life's work... I'd better get (and keep) going!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-89744067755580294702011-09-05T19:34:00.000-07:002011-09-07T16:07:54.491-07:00The Amazing Homemaker - Laundry editionI'd like to think that after so many years of being a homemaker, that I'd qualify as at least a bit of an expert. <div>Hah. </div><div>Two months ago I went to the store to get new laundry detergent. Being the frugally-minded type, I first looked at price tags. Seeing a name-brand bottle on sale at the same price as the generic brand, and also being the it-better-be-worth-it type, I avoided the generic brand and pounced on the name brand. I toted it home, my prize from the hunt, and proudly placed it in the laundry room cupboard.</div><div>I used it that very day. Oooh, it smelled so good and so fresh. I toyed with the idea of gathering more of these lovely bottles (on sale) and stocking the cabinet with my treasure. I was quite proud of myself.</div><div>I ought to taken it as a sign that something was not right, ought to have realized something just might be amiss, when the good and fresh scent in the laundry room grew daily until it sickened me just to pass by the door. Laundry day came again and I had to brave the smell. Lo and behold, when I opened the cabinet there was a good half-inch thick layer of the liquidy stuff. The bottom of the cupboard had bubbled, the wood trim had turned color, and it dripped steadily out the open door. It was not a good omen.</div><div>I cleaned up the mess, saving some of the gooey smelliness and washing the rest away. So much of it had dripped straight down into the open washing machine that I had visions of the next load of laundry bubbling over and filling the room. So before Jeff and I went out that evening, I pulled the boys in secretly to the laundry room (who wants the world - or our husbands - to know our mistakes, right?) and showed them how to turn the washing machine off...just in case. I told the kids to call me if anything funny started happening. </div><div>The boys called me. Maybe I scared them into over vigilance, but the moment they heard the washing machine rock a bit, they ran in and shut it off. I checked it when I got home - thankfully everything was okay.</div><div>But everything was not okay. Still, during the next two months, our clothes just got so soft, softer than they'd ever been. It was lovely. I was delighted with my purchase, delighted how wonderful everything felt and (now that the mess was cleaned up and not overpowering my sense of smell) how fresh everything smelled. So soft, so very, very soft...too soft. The towels stopped toweling, and the wash cloths stopped washing. I said to Jeff once that they almost felt slimy-soft.</div><div>This past Saturday night Jeff started a load of laundry. He asked where I kept the detergent (sometimes I change cupboards, depending on the size of the box or bottle). I pointed it out and turned to leave.</div><div>"Um, Steph?" </div><div>"What?"</div><div>"Is this what you've been using?" He held the name-brand super-sale find I'd patted myself on the back about every time I'd done laundry the past two months.</div><div>"Yes, why?" I waited for some answer about how he didn't like the smell - maybe it was too girly or something. </div><div>"This isn't laundry detergent."</div><div>"Huh?" I didn't believe him. "It was in the laundry detergent aisle, Jeff." That explains everything, right?</div><div>"No, look - this is fabric softener."</div><div><br /></div><div>For two months I've "washed" our clothes in Snuggle Fabric Softener. Our clothes have looked clean enough, and have definitely smelled clean enough, and have certainly been the softest they've EVER been. But...whoops.</div><div><br /></div><div>Did you know you're not supposed to wash towels and dish rags with fabric softener? They get coated with the stuff (which makes them soft) and can't absorb water (thus the slimy feeling). Actually, did you know you're not supposed to wash anything with just fabric softener? </div><div><br /></div><div>You're supposed to use detergent.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>There's probably something to be said for laughing at yourself. I'm still not laughing, though. I'm in shock. </div><div><br /></div><div>But Jeff is laughing. I think I'll try a baby powder scent on his clothes and see who laughs then! Just kidding. I'm guess I'm laughing, too. Sort of. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-85272171977874185332011-08-30T15:43:00.000-07:002011-08-30T16:03:14.960-07:00Various and Sundry<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAoucnKEh8WB-dwCDhavVDPNCv4ZF6fV-KlIK5RcM0Dm5aVon_KE8MmpZxt__8mkE9-8r9FbAvXVFrV8u_J81CeRjersgWwdJPzA7HWHcJYMUeNLDaVv-pUguWyWuGu2xaxhi8GA5b94/s1600/photo+1-773804.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAoucnKEh8WB-dwCDhavVDPNCv4ZF6fV-KlIK5RcM0Dm5aVon_KE8MmpZxt__8mkE9-8r9FbAvXVFrV8u_J81CeRjersgWwdJPzA7HWHcJYMUeNLDaVv-pUguWyWuGu2xaxhi8GA5b94/s320/photo+1-773804.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646784949782342498" /></a> The girls looked so colorful, I couldn't help taking the picture. We're on our way to church.</p><p class="mobile-photo"> Oliver surprised me this week with a cool trick. He made a candle, lit it, then when it had burned out, HE ATE IT! I was taken aback, to say the least. (The candle was a piece of a cheese stick with a slivered almond for the wick). <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZwyA8eUyntQmEtmlbQFXprqzroXS-vu7mUvAaTRoXB2UfvX3M0AUjOT3zsuGu-9AoJ7KmNbuqe2CiQZ8unMwKvj69D-OEcRJfQRoocD3hFn-biiMjb20jcoJfEKEY2dxEvwLF9iHvAI/s1600/photo+2-776160.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZwyA8eUyntQmEtmlbQFXprqzroXS-vu7mUvAaTRoXB2UfvX3M0AUjOT3zsuGu-9AoJ7KmNbuqe2CiQZ8unMwKvj69D-OEcRJfQRoocD3hFn-biiMjb20jcoJfEKEY2dxEvwLF9iHvAI/s320/photo+2-776160.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646784963110228802" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo">
<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1_qX_87DsAnYNWkHFW7Z7yj20GPOBUbnK1xkZcjscUyp0xJfobQckqOZnEJc-JelUt2bo3jokJnWu79pKEdOAhkkpKLFF4CGJtUYnBEddGoxUJLey_04UcmTRACcuovTIJ_wZEKtNL4/s1600/photo+3-777946.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1_qX_87DsAnYNWkHFW7Z7yj20GPOBUbnK1xkZcjscUyp0xJfobQckqOZnEJc-JelUt2bo3jokJnWu79pKEdOAhkkpKLFF4CGJtUYnBEddGoxUJLey_04UcmTRACcuovTIJ_wZEKtNL4/s320/photo+3-777946.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646784973152961074" /></a> Yum. These cookies turned out great. I'll add the recipe in a bit. They're a chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. So good.</p><p class="mobile-photo">
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<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nWqfo2AsrNq4PudbP_17zL2gAnnPLFYOHnFz1_IfaIw39X0xoBLDwlyjEAn-hoTFr0vC1rHWQWyhUHxq9UG9vpWqr2ZKs-7pcKCNldcpfQHkZKsUhiwQWBDd7TE-tJoBZUnT-FMVLRY/s1600/photo+4-780017.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nWqfo2AsrNq4PudbP_17zL2gAnnPLFYOHnFz1_IfaIw39X0xoBLDwlyjEAn-hoTFr0vC1rHWQWyhUHxq9UG9vpWqr2ZKs-7pcKCNldcpfQHkZKsUhiwQWBDd7TE-tJoBZUnT-FMVLRY/s320/photo+4-780017.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646784995218228738" /></a> Well, in case anyone doesn't know, my Eleanor loves bugs, and has taught Charlotte to be a Bugger, too. Hmm, that's not exactly the right word, is it?</p><p class="mobile-photo">
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<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEszEYlxiQGGUlvEyUmWywtjaM6kmUvwFQlqR42kKnoP0wPKKSCgGqPdL8IgSwUhDa2dbxtkBcXQEzkdtSqHMiX5cEZCrQcNfqxi2KDf3XQ7EYfpv6rQ35SeZZR8wWxv5uquz2adsdFFI/s1600/photo-707982.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEszEYlxiQGGUlvEyUmWywtjaM6kmUvwFQlqR42kKnoP0wPKKSCgGqPdL8IgSwUhDa2dbxtkBcXQEzkdtSqHMiX5cEZCrQcNfqxi2KDf3XQ7EYfpv6rQ35SeZZR8wWxv5uquz2adsdFFI/s320/photo-707982.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646783376376125058" /></a> Saturday's harvest was a pleasant surprise. Jeff gathered these lovely veggies from the garden we (he) had planted and then practically ignored the rest of the summer. Nice of the food to grow for us. But now we have to eat it all... That's not a bad thing, despite what Charlotte's face may suggest.</p><p class="mobile-photo">
<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKltOlnddZxwxvDO7PovfmbBjnNYfCQk0W__5Pv7Y0G5xnZHNuu85TlRAU3lKTMzkiLC3Di3utIhUriKIcY1A5R7OpIn3T5_2N4lzK6SJKox3woBfI6NS3u8ucy7VI6J1rS3QE_lVvLJc/s320/photo-780721.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646783692661973026" /></p><p class="mobile-photo"> There's no such thing as too much love. Or is there?</p><p class="mobile-photo"> Jeff's a patient papa.</p><p class="mobile-photo">
<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo">The boys have had a lot of fun playing hockey on the driveway. Cute little goal cages, coupled with the mini sticks (it's only the ends of sticks they're using), makes a perfect drive-way size hockey rink. Field. Whatever. Notice Oliver's Vibram 5 Fingers that he bought (that's where his lawn mowing money went this year - poor kid will probably outgrow them by next month). <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrlUc4MRAkok8t4bI3DR_VccZ8sog0vM1XbRFvYjiyEf0l7gBZ_LK3bWx_SyLHOqTShF_b2__C-42U7i_eBnnb5hpmEk7idOT8Cm80n4-cu9fcOpqy5p_-h_L79li2e-jBOXK2nS3tB4/s1600/photo-779862.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrlUc4MRAkok8t4bI3DR_VccZ8sog0vM1XbRFvYjiyEf0l7gBZ_LK3bWx_SyLHOqTShF_b2__C-42U7i_eBnnb5hpmEk7idOT8Cm80n4-cu9fcOpqy5p_-h_L79li2e-jBOXK2nS3tB4/s320/photo-779862.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646783684823333330" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo">
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<br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi6SR5vP3mRpIwGp0jTy1Q1fcJxzWwpNUWm0j1vg0IRt8p_iNPWJNEcZ0tuzLgQLNf6UANj-IAQX_cLPzPs4zheTIPdRZ6brRLhA8KO1v5SUBdiK4bpjIgAIrABIwiGjOYxDtwDrmh_o/s1600/photo-720392.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi6SR5vP3mRpIwGp0jTy1Q1fcJxzWwpNUWm0j1vg0IRt8p_iNPWJNEcZ0tuzLgQLNf6UANj-IAQX_cLPzPs4zheTIPdRZ6brRLhA8KO1v5SUBdiK4bpjIgAIrABIwiGjOYxDtwDrmh_o/s320/photo-720392.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646783858256038146" /></a> Yes, I am the mother of four monkeys. What does that make me? Busy, that's what.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-3697633130409386502011-08-21T13:42:00.001-07:002011-09-02T16:15:06.736-07:00A Tale of Two Tri's: River Rock Youth Tri and RUSH 2011<div><b><i>Triathlon #1: River Rock Youth Triathlon</i></b></div>While Jeff took Samuel and the other scouts on an overnighter in the Tetons last week, I took the other kids to a triathlon. The River Rock Youth Triathlon is now a family tradition (does two years in a row qualify for being a "tradition"? Sure!). Poor Charlotte still has one more year until she is old enough (she's only four now), but that gives her a whole year to train! (Can you imagine a four year old "training"? I was just kidding on that). <div>Oliver, like last year, zipped across the water with no problem, shed his wetsuit, hopped on his bike for a quick ride, then ran through the course without batting an eye. He's a natural athlete, although he doesn't really care if he finishes fast or not. He did get a little winded on the run, but just for a moment. And by the time he crossed the finish he was hot, sweaty, and oh-so-thirsty. He did great. But the thing that made me proudest was still yet to come, when he went to the rescue of his little sister.</div><div>Little sister, Eleanor (age 6), has come a long way. Last year the water was freezing and she still had a huge water phobia, so she skipped the swim and just did the bike (on training wheels) and the run. What a difference a year makes! This year she swam (warmer water and no screaming in fear) and biked (sans training wheels! Woo-hoo!), and (sort of) ran! I'll tell you about it.</div><div><i>
<br /></i></div><div><i>Eleanor the Naturalist, Carole the Great, and Oliver the Rescuer: </i>I was worried how she'd respond to open water, so the night before I swam with her in the pond. Race day morning I put her floating swimsuit on her (what are those called? You know, the kind of suit that has foam floats sewn into the body?) and sent her to walk around the pond to the 5-7 year-old race start. That, in itself, was an act of faith because - knowing Eleanor - I wasn't sure she'd actually make it to the starting gate or if she'd get distracted by all the bugs in the grass along the way. Luckily she made it in time. </div><div>But then while Eleanor waited for her wave to start, she (while looking for bugs) found a snail shell at the water's edge. Unwilling to abandon her treasure for a mere race, she clung to the shell as she entered the water. Thankfully my friend and neighbor, Carole, was in the water, lifeguarding. Eleanor latched onto Carole, asking Carole to hold her snail shell, and asked if she'd help her across. Carole said she'd be right next to Eleanor, and she just needed to tell her when she wanted help. Apparently as soon as Eleanor's feet couldn't touch anymore (which was like two seconds), she cried out, "Help!". So sweet Carole swam next to Eleanor across the pond, holding Eleanor's shell in one hand while her other hand was under Eleanor's tummy (Ellie could float just fine, she simply needed the "Dumbo's Feather" assurance that someone was there). I watched Eleanor, who was oblivious to anything that had to do with "racing", chatting with Carole (who was grinning) all the way across the swim. When Eleanor got to the other side, she ran out of the water, stopped, turned around and ran back to Carole, who returned the shell while laughing kindly at Eleanor's priorities. I managed to convince Ellie to hand over the shell to me so she could pull off the floaty suit (whatever it's called) and put on shorts and a t-shirt over her regular swimming suit. With shoes and socks and bike helmet on, she was ready to ride. </div><div>Eleanor has balked at riding without training wheels for some time. Just within the last month or two she finally agreed to take them off, but hasn't had much practice. So I wondered how she'd do - if she'd crash or give up or whatever - and she surprised me (oh, me of little faith) by doing great. </div><div>But then came the run. Eleanor is a great runner. I had no worries about that, until I saw her on the opposite side of the pond, dragging her feet and staring down into the grass. She couldn't have moved any slower without actually coming to a complete stop. Charlotte, by this time, had had it and was cranky. I couldn't drag her around the pond along with the wetsuit and floaty-suit (I'm just going to call it that) and bike helmets (I was trying to put things away). So I watched, feeling rather helpless, as my daughter inched her way along the course, unaware and uncaring at all the kids passing her. </div><div>Then I realized Oliver was missing. He'd already finished and had been watching with me, and then he just wasn't there. I looked around for him, then back at Eleanor. Oliver had appeared by his little sister's side (did he apparate?), walking by her side as she told him about her side-ache and as she looked for bugs. Somehow he re-instilled the idea that this was a race and she really ought to run... He tells me he did it by spraying her with his water bottle and she ran away. Whatever. It worked. She was still going slowly, though, but as soon as she was in hearing range I yelled out, "RUN!". She finished, running strong, but indifferent to how she finished, unhappy with the side-ache and wanting to go back to look for grasshoppers. </div><div>She did great. She's never been competitive, though, so I'm not sure I see a future for her in races. Oliver was the lifesaver that day. Sometimes we all need someone to squirt a water bottle in our face, I guess. </div><div>One of the post-race festivities was a dance competition. I saw a new side of my often-reserved Oliver. He boogied with the best of them, and won! It was a good day. Hopefully next year Sam will be there so all four of our kids will race together. And maybe I can convince Eleanor that she can look for bugs AFTER the race. If I'm lucky.</div><div>
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<br /></div><div><b><i>Triathlon #2 RUSH Triathlon (Sprint Distance)</i></b></div><div>I've been in a training slump off and on all summer. My goal over the last few years - the goal that kept me running - was to qualify for the Boston Marathon. I qualified last September and promptly lost all desire to race. I still run because I just like running, but I'm not as motivated. And sometimes I get a little too excited, go a little too far or too fast, and suffer a mild case of burnout. Last week that mild case turned a little more severe than usual, and I was not happy. I knew I had a triathlon coming up and I had absolutely no desire to do it or train for it. I lost my appetite (the slump), lost a few pounds (bad timing - I need the energy reserves for racing!), and lost motivation (nothing like being apathetic to ruin a race). With four days until race day, I was seriously considering withdrawing. </div><div>Then my friend Cris came to my rescue. She dropped off a frosted, candy- and caramel-topped chocolate cupcake from the local cupcake shop to cheer me up. I thought about divvying it up between my kids and just taking a nibble, and I tried saving half of it for Jeff, but I ended up eating the whole entire thing all by myself. All of it. In less than an hour. During that hour, Jeff stopped in for a moment from work and I told him I'd saved half for him. He asked why I got the cupcake, and I told him Cris brought it because I'd been kind of down. "You have?" he asked, bewildered at the news. Yup. I have. Jeff isn't around very much so he wasn't aware that anything was amiss. (And I'm not going to text him, "Hey, I'm in a slump, bring me a cupcake"...but maybe I should.) Jeff told me to eat the whole thing - which is what I secretly was hoping he'd say. </div><div>So I did. Right then and there I polished it off. </div><div>And it was just what I needed. </div><div>I think it was the combination of friendship (thank you, Cris!), calories (I lose my appetite when I'm stressed or down), and love (it really did take a lot of love from Jeff to surrender that second half to me) - oh, and chocolate (the great cure-all) - that made the difference. </div><div>Over the next couple of days I took myself out on a bike ride, joined my friend Janeese for a great swim (she was letting me beat her, and I told her a few pointers Carole had given me - and then on race day Janeese finished the swim 2 minutes faster than me. I hope the pointers were what made the difference because it'd be fun to take credit for her fast swim :) Naw, she's just a great over-all athlete), and then I took my kids out on to the running trail so I could practice on it while they (<i>read</i>: Eleanor) looked for bugs. </div><div>I knew I wasn't as fit and fast as I could've been, but by Friday night I'd come to terms with it and realized that this wasn't a race for me to win. It was - as I talked with Carole, Janeese, and Cris - simply a race for fun. If it isn't fun, then what's the point? (Okay, sometimes a race has a point other than fun - like just to see how well you can do - but I wasn't prepared for that, so I switched gears and goals from "Fast" to "Fun"). </div><div>And I had fun. It really was a great race. I made sure I was fueled properly (a green smoothie made of spinach, berries, soy milk, Greek Yogurt, Agave nectar, Protein powder) for my 5am breakfast, Hammer Race Caps Supreme supplements, Sports Legs, Electrolytes on board, and by 7 am had consumed nearly an entire Zipvit gel (our new favorite energy gel - it's smooth and gentle on the innards). I had everything set out to make this a successful race. I had my tri suit on under my wetsuit, ear plugs (the cold water gives me vertigo otherwise), anti-fog solution on my goggles, my swim cap, cheap flip-flops to get me to the start through the weeds, and ibuprofen in me. At my first transition, I had my sunglasses waiting in my helmet, my water bottle and a second bottle with Hammer gel and Fizz (mixed with water), my arm warmers if needed, and my race belt. I had a towel to stand on and an extra towel just in case. At my second transition I slung a towel over my spot, with my running shoes, running cap and a Hammer flask underneath (I always get dried out in the middle of the dirt trail on the run). I was so ready. <i> (As an aside, I had consumed enough calories and taken enough energy supplements to see me through the entire day yesterday and most of today without needing much more to eat. Maybe I'll go a little easier next time - but at least I had plenty of energy for the race and for the entire day!)</i></div><div>The Olympic distance racers started an hour before us Sprint distance racers. So I got to watch with my friend Natalie as some of our friends started the Olympic swim. Natalie is a Boston Marathoner runner/qualifier several times over and is the nicest person you could ever know. These triathletes are such good, real, amazing, and kind people! Our friend Lana was in the Olympic distance race - she's actually come to my house to give me swimming lessons - and she is probably the strongest swimmer I've ever met. She's amazing and very very very patient with me and with my over-adoring Eleanor (Ellie loves her). We also cheered on our friend Mike (my husband bikes with Mike sometimes) who ultimately won the Olympic distance flat-out with minutes to spare. (He's on his way to the World Championship Half-Ironman competition this fall). I stood with Mike's son Nathan (he's 12) who was waiting to start the Sprint race, too. Nathan and my Samuel are friends and run on the cross-country team together, which is not a good thing because now Samuel thinks he'd like to try the RUSH also and his mom (me) is not too keen on that... It's hard to let my kids grow up!</div><div>Fifteen minutes before the race began, I got in the water. After opening the neck of my wetsuit so water could rush in, I walked back on the shore to let the water flow out of the arms and legs. This lets the wetsuit settle and fit itself to you. I had to do it a couple of times before I felt it was all set. Then back in the water for a ten minute swim to get used to the cold, get my breathing rhythm, and convince my brain that although I felt like I was being constricted, my lungs were still able to breathe (being out of breath while open-water swimming in a tight wetsuit can cause anxiety attacks if you're not prepared!). </div><div>I positioned myself off to the side next to Carole, away from the pod of swimmers, to avoid being kicked in the face, pummeled, and swum over (this has happened to me in the past and it isn't fun). I saw Janeese near the front of the pack, which is where she stayed the whole race. She did great. Finally 8:05 a.m. came (the men started at 8:00) and the race began.</div><div>I reminded myself as I started the swim that I was doing this for fun. So I settled into my rhythm and thought about my form as I swam around the edge of the lake. It's supposed to be a half-mile swim, but when I mapped it out it was actually a little more (like .65). I remembered to sight every few strokes - which is kind of hard when you're swimming into the morning sun - and was careful to stay close to the buoys. </div><div>The thing I like about a good swim is finding the "flow". You don't chat with fellow swimmers, you don't even really watch them - you can be in a lake full of people but when you're swimming you're in your own little world. Isolated from the feeling of competition (hard to feel like overtaking someone when you're not aware they're even there), and covered by a clear blue sky and surrounded by a tree-lined shore with rippling water in between, you can find yourself removed from the cares of the world, even in a race. And then when you let yourself glide through the water with the movement of your body propelling you through, you get a glimpse of what if must feel like to fly, or to swim like a fish. It truly is both invigorating and relaxing at the same time. Like last year, I wanted the swim to last longer. I was having fun. </div><div>I ran out of the water, got my wetsuit pulled off, and ran to my bike, waving to Carole who had been out of the water a full minute before me and was already leaving the transition. She is such a fast swimmer (and you should know she has 11 kids and is 12 years older than me and is my hero). I wish I knew my transition times, but the race company didn't post them. I felt calm and quick, though, so I think I did okay as I pulled on socks and bike shoes, put on my cool sunglasses (see my previous post for more on my cool sunglasses), snapped on my helmet and ran out of the transition to the pavement where I could mount the bike. I was warmed up enough from the swim that I didn't need to wear arm warmers. </div><div>The bike course isn't easy, and I had to gear down several times to make it up the long, steep hills. I started passing people on the hills, but by the time I got to the flat on top, I was pretty much in a dead space. It was an odd feeling to know I was in a race but to hardly see anyone around. I couldn't gauge how fast I was going compared to other people, but that was good. It took away the temptation to race people and let me focus on just racing myself. I watched my bike computer and adjusted my speeds based on what I knew I could comfortably do. Speeds ranged from 9mph (on the uphills) to 30 mph (on the downhills) and I averaged around 17mph. I passed a volunteer who was waving people on and he shouted out to me, "Cool glasses!" That was the first thing I told Oliver when I saw him at the end of the race (once again, you have to see my previous post to understand why that is significant. Oliver - your mom is not too old to have cool glasses! :) Really!). </div><div>At T2, I was most surprised that my legs switched from bike muscles to running muscles so quickly. I'd done some drills this summer to train my muscles to do that, since the last few triathlons I've been pretty uncomfortable for the first several minutes of the run. I ran my bike to the rack, switched to running shoes, took off my helmet and put on my hat, grabbed my flask and was off. </div><div>I wasn't running fast - I could probably use a lot more drills ("bricks") - but I wasn't miserable. It was just a few moments before my muscles really relaxed out of bike-mode and I was able to get into a comfy running pace. I still wasn't fast, but that was by choice. I knew what was coming and I wanted to be prepared. Just as I was leaving the run my friend Tony was finishing his run. Right behind him was my friend KJ. Those two took 2nd and 3rd overall for the Sprint race. Amazing.</div><div>I slowly started passing people on the run. Every time I passed a lady I thought, "Wow, you must be a great swimmer and cyclist - you passed me on the swim and/or on the bike." I'm so impressed with these athletes. Every one of them has their own battles and their own obstacles, and I know every one of them has put some serious effort into getting ready for the triathlon. How some people find the time or the motivation - or stay motivated - is beyond me. How they can not only start but also finish is always inspiring.</div><div>The Great Dirt Hill was looming before me. Looking up into it, I saw people staggering up in a semi-run, or walking, or just simply stopping. It is a challenge to run that hill. I've been on it enough to know I can run it fast and have absolutely nothing left in me, or I can take it slower and finish strong. </div><div>It was a smart move for me to take it slower at the beginning. The two tracks are deep and full of hot, soft, powdery dirt. It's like running in hot flour up a steep hill lined with thorny thistles that scrape your leg. With the sun beating down and reflecting off the dirt, it was a tough run. I knew the heat would be an issue since I always train in the early morning, which is why I made sure to have on sunglasses and my running cap. If the world looks a little darker and the brim blocks the sun, it somehow tricks my body into thinking it's not as hot as it really is.</div><div>As I neared the top of the hill, I knew what was left of it and of me, so I sped up, didn't stop at the top, turned down the paved road, and slowed again a bit - but didn't stop - until I caught my breath. Part-way down the road I was able to pick up the speed again and started passing more people. I always hate passing people because I know how disheartening it can be and I don't want them to be discouraged. I tried to cheer on people I passed (something like "we're almost done" - hopefully not too irritating, but still hoping to alleviate the sting). </div><div>Less than a half mile from the finish I saw my family waiting for me on the sidewalk. Talk about motivating! Seeing my husband and kids waiting, watching, and cheering for me was the sweetest feeling of the whole race - even better than the flow of the swim, the speed of the bike, and the satisfaction of the run. "Go, Mommy, go!" rang in my ears as I entered the final quarter mile of the race. The race ends at the Junior High track, with the last part actually run on the track. At the gate to the track I saw my mom and dad and brother Don also waiting for me, taking pictures (they weren't very flattering) and yelling for me. That was cool. A few friends lining the race course also cheered for me (thank you, guys!), which makes me want to go to every race and cheer on everybody there - it's just plain nice to have the support!</div><div>I ran directly behind a lady who I decided was my unsuspecting pacer. She was going at a good clip and I was pretty sure she wouldn't let me pass her (and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to, anyway). I figured if she heard me breathing down her neck (not literally) she wouldn't slow down, and that I would keep myself with her so I wouldn't slow down. Kind of a symbiotic relationship, I guess. I kept her going, she kept me going (I'm not really sure I kept her going, but it made me feel valuable to think so). </div><div>As fun as the whole thing was, it was a relief to round the final edge of the track and see the finish line not far ahead. At the last minute, a guy (I think he was actually Natalie's brother) sped past me, which was fine. I had passed him as we entered the track, but he'd been in front of me most of the race so he really deserved to be in front of me at the end. </div><div>So when I finished, I was happy. It was a fun swim, a fun bike, and a fun run, and I felt strong and elated instead of spent and discouraged. There was a brief moment when I felt a little deflated (when I saw my time compared to everyone else) and I knew I could have done it faster. But, I realized, if I'd pushed much harder I wouldn't have had as much fun. And, after all, that was my goal this time. </div><div>Janeese greeted me at the end - she's a madwoman! That girl has a special gene that switches on when she's racing (my friends Jennica and Cris both have that mutant gene, too. I want one.). She speeds through like it's nothing! Janeese came in second overall (the gal that finished first beat the old course record by a whopping 9 minutes, was wearing a Wisconsin state Swim Team jersey - and probably doesn't have four kids...). I can't really tell from the race results what my place was (it looks like one of the finishers was a male but is in the female category). I though I was 8th overall, but maybe I was 10th or 11th. I did get first place for my age group and my friend Natalie got 3rd in our age. She'd pretty much taken the entire summer off after her Boston Marathon this past April (and had finished that Marathon in a qualifying time for next year's Boston!), so she wasn't expecting much - but lo and behold she did great without even training! Some people are so gifted and, unlike me, can just get out and go like it's nothing. Not me, nope. I have to train my reluctant body to even get to the point of considering doing a race! </div><div>The nice thing about yesterday's race was that it was fun because I ran (and swam and biked) my <i>own</i> race at my <i>own</i> pace just for the sake of doing it. First place in my age was an unexpected bonus. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>And at the awards, it was very cool to see Janeese, Jill and her parents (her dad is a crazy-fast cyclist), my old teacher and friend Scott, Natalie, Lana, Jennica and her brother, KJ, Tony, Carole and her son Steve (who, by the way, finished this as his first tri and finished first in his age and 8th overall! Some people...and some people's kids! So talented!), Mike, Nathan, and sons of our neighbors, and so many other people out racing together and having fun. Kind of like good ol' fashioned community field days or something. It was really gratifying (and not surprising) to see Mike win because Mike is the kind of person you just want to be the winner. He's humble and encouraging and happy doing the sport. As his wife Jeni says, he's an addict! If you're going to have an addiction, might as well make it a good one and then spread the bug (he's one of the two people I blame for getting Jeff back into cycling - and I love that he's doing it because it makes him (and thus me) happy). </div><div>Happy trails, everyone. </div><div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-38566233386138221842011-08-05T08:39:00.000-07:002011-08-12T06:57:52.843-07:00Oliver - you're out of the Will! (Just temporarily though)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJWqC-br0m7veCK0td_6KLw1bZf0ZFqJdL2FHcu5TtqgS19W76545aiMiH2865-jUvMK8MPSPGjcMDXZBarGAKLyJ6n7-Y5g1KISsCtQjFZbJb_UonR-DDnSOEyZ7mOkB06a1MIyMF9E/s1600/IMG_2323.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcipH1rmkuEgMNXeY842h_IgLN8vaCJZ5cnqZ-92gZLqo_aAWoRxbtpiclGMN7tqNxra37qt7QhxyADTOHfv5xRVD2jO1cTqyOsMjB-hAuwN_0F3frG9EIXQ9bFLyX6tpqr-Gfc190J8w/s1600/DSC_6975.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KQY1oeJz2tDM25GzfkiDpi5hFdijziEdykpl-RGaEwQGcOq3VAozZ82dnOJgTp_K5IZIRPORcsWZC9nUJZ4u_gulGPQGSN7c-OHvQ6C4zlIS8bPGOQRHm9Qdvd6bgPsG19DoTVSrLpg/s1600/DSC_7037.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuO9h-dNSK3DjYqON0KRLQQE7_JIxtjcV8OwNjctu2AjSMJF_RSNN_j0X7wB-ewpfUY0Oy6PXuXT2aiKF6Pp8HWLDKw_Le-EZ7Zpy5bFOnkpSaCThepXZI6ikXDpgnAcunwdzpNPgm4Ek/s1600/DSC_6695.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTeDI0PoLgX3pHjxWeJWHiu-tkgiCRnXY40bny1N_tOkqurYb_BFGjvBr5-0pljXdtWz6aZIkOouYuUDRmb8OiMWZSlSQ8xnNvjQqKmr1Qch0GIi03ow3Drhwvm5XyE92VtdNngclG-E/s1600/DSC_6966.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfnsn51P5Y4JVZ0tNGAIXB24YCjP0Qqgv7afoGpFVYLVwBd2BErELcVju56vOj-PerzTSvIExT6p0cQkZ3PbOcw1XZ8u4pd_2-VLQ-SH6f3_sla2oTU9H4tLeC5muAV-ASjE5Fxb1-Q0/s1600/DSC_6983.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfnsn51P5Y4JVZ0tNGAIXB24YCjP0Qqgv7afoGpFVYLVwBd2BErELcVju56vOj-PerzTSvIExT6p0cQkZ3PbOcw1XZ8u4pd_2-VLQ-SH6f3_sla2oTU9H4tLeC5muAV-ASjE5Fxb1-Q0/s320/DSC_6983.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638980767987158594" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; font-size:85%;" ><i>(My friend Heather took this picture and the one at the end of this post)</i></span></a><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br />There's nothing like conversations with your kids to get you laughing. This week I'm spotlighting Oliver.<div>
<br />I think it's great to be healthy - for my family to exercise and get good nutrition. I guess there's a limit on what my kids will tolerate. <div>
<br /></div><div>"Ew, I HATE V-8, Mom!" said Oliver with a grimace.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"I understand," I replied, trying to be diplomatic and mature about the whole ordeal. "I didn't like V-8 either until I got older. Maybe you'll like it when you grow up."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Oliver looked up at me in disbelief and disgust, "Growing up means you start liking icky food? No thanks!"</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Growing up means liking icky food... He's right, you know. I laughed about that for days.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>The other interaction didn't really leave me laughing. And he was lucky I didn't tackle him for his cheekiness. But it was cute (sort of) so I'll share it anyway.</div><div>See, I bought myself some new sports glasses. (I actually bought a pair, returned it the next day, bought another pair, didn't like it either, and finally kept my third pair.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJWqC-br0m7veCK0td_6KLw1bZf0ZFqJdL2FHcu5TtqgS19W76545aiMiH2865-jUvMK8MPSPGjcMDXZBarGAKLyJ6n7-Y5g1KISsCtQjFZbJb_UonR-DDnSOEyZ7mOkB06a1MIyMF9E/s320/IMG_2323.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639967917177048722" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span><div> That's pretty much shows how indecisive I am.) These glasses are sweet, stylish, hip, whatever the current word is ("bad"? "sick"?). Whatever. They're great. I can use them while running and while cycling. Nice.</div><div>So I had my new sunglasses on (Oakley somethings), along with my running cap, </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div>trying them on for the kids' approval. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div>They all gave me the thumbs up.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;">
<br /></span><div>Except Oliver.</div><div>I couldn't figure it out - what more could I do to impress my 9 year-old boy? Sports glasses, running cap, the whole sha-bang. Where was I falling short?</div><div>I made the mistake of asking him. While there's something to be said for being honest, I still wish he was maybe a little dishonest just this once. He didn't really have to tell me the truth, did he?</div><div>Oh, do you want to know what he said in his disapproving way? </div><div>
<br /></div><div>"Mom, you're just too old to look cool."</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTeDI0PoLgX3pHjxWeJWHiu-tkgiCRnXY40bny1N_tOkqurYb_BFGjvBr5-0pljXdtWz6aZIkOouYuUDRmb8OiMWZSlSQ8xnNvjQqKmr1Qch0GIi03ow3Drhwvm5XyE92VtdNngclG-E/s320/DSC_6966.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638980773723064962" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">
<br /></span></div><div>There you go. According to the Wisdom of Oliver, his old mom eats icky food and is way past her "cool" prime.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Good thing I love that boy.</div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-27349515931041384892011-07-29T20:39:00.000-07:002011-07-29T21:12:06.963-07:00Don's Talk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9F2t5xHBD6TQVmblDflUyNZN6aqnM32BYv-K19oNSQMgJzckWjThsc21wajgtqycIFJsM8rSOEH6gqEgg8kNkQZDuVOmTtxYG4acWPJ2z9ut_QHO-q5Q26l1FjOJw_SeB3C7tOpnrnbU/s1600/IMG_1735.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9F2t5xHBD6TQVmblDflUyNZN6aqnM32BYv-K19oNSQMgJzckWjThsc21wajgtqycIFJsM8rSOEH6gqEgg8kNkQZDuVOmTtxYG4acWPJ2z9ut_QHO-q5Q26l1FjOJw_SeB3C7tOpnrnbU/s320/IMG_1735.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634993193389794546" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">An earlier post mentions that my brother Don (who has Cerebral Palsy and is quadriplegic) gave his first talk in Church two weeks ago. Don's 41 years old. It's about time we got to learn from him! </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">He and my dad give a presentation each semester in one of the classes on campus at BYU-Idaho, so he's accustomed to an audience. I admit I was more nervous for him than he was. I kept giving him unsolicited (and conflicting) advice, like "Picture everyone wearing pink bunny suits" or "Just don't look at anyone" or "Just look at me and pretend we're having a conversation." He took it all in stride and let me be anxious for him (it was the least he could do for his over-protective sister). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">But he didn't need my advice. He was perfect. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">We, the audience, sat in silent attention, concentrating on listening to his voice as we read the words projected on the large drop-down screen behind him. Line by line, the words would appear so everyone could understand every word he said. More important than the words, however, was the hush that fell upon us as we felt the warmth of his spirit speaking to our own. Imagine my brother humbly reading the following words through the voice of a struggling body, but in a soul that stands tall, straight and strong:</span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><span style=" ;color:black;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><span style=" ;color:black;">Brothers</span><span style=" ;color:black;"> </span><span style=" ;color:black;">and Sisters, it’s good to be here today.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><span style=" ;color:black;">This is my first sacrament talk so I hope you’ll be patient with me as I talk about patience.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;">I think that all of us at times become impatient either with others, with ourselves, or with our own situation.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;line-height:90%;mso-pagination: none;tab-stops:28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="line-height: 90%; color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">President Monson said, “Our problem is that we often expect instantaneous solutions… forgetting that frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;line-height:90%;mso-pagination: none;tab-stops:28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="line-height: 90%; color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">Does being patient mean that we just sit around and wait for something to happen?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;line-height:90%;mso-pagination: none;tab-stops:28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="line-height: 90%; color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">President Uchtdorf said that patience is “the ability to put our desires on hold for a time.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it is not “passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">“Patience means to abide in faith, knowing that sometimes it is in the waiting rather than in the receiving that we grow most.”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;line-height:90%;mso-pagination: none;tab-stops:28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style="line-height: 90%; color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">In Hebrews we read, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Heb. 12: 1-2)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">It seems like God has a personal education plan for each one of us, tailored to us individually and designed for our best good.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But we don’t always recognize that, do we?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mother Theresa once said: “I know the Lord won’t give me more than I can handle.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:-32.8pt;margin-bottom: 7.4pt;margin-left:30.2pt;text-indent:-27.0pt;mso-pagination:none;tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">I hope you’ll be patient when you’re talking with me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Some people with cerebral palsy </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;">have to take a little longer to say the words that we want to say.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s not that we don’t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>understand you, it’s just that our words have to go a different route to be expressed than yours do.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Back to patience- Can you think of times when it was hard for you to wait patiently? We pray and pray for something we really feel we need, or want but it doesn’t happen.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Perhaps later what we want will happen, or it may never happen.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The Lord knows when, or if, we need what we want.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We need to have patience and trust in the Lord that He loves us and wants only that which is the best for us.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Elder Maxwell once wrote that too much opening of the oven door and the cake falls.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">May we all increase in patience and faith,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen</span></span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-41561164312471073342011-07-24T19:33:00.000-07:002011-07-25T06:30:46.984-07:00Race Day - St. Anthony Pioneer Days RaceHere's a quick report on yesterday's Pioneer Days Race:<div><br /><div>5:15 am - I woke up and got things ready.</div><div><br /></div><div>5:30 am - I woke up the boys and got them ready.</div><div><br /></div><div>6:00 am - I woke up...oh, wait, I was awake. But I sure wasn't feeling awake. Still sleepy, but functioning. The boys and I made the 15-20 minute drive to St. Anthony for the race check-in.</div><div><br /></div><div>6:20-6:55 - Pre-race jitters. Talk about family bonding time!</div><div><br /></div><div>6:55 - Sam and I left in a race official's car to drive to the 10K start. I did NOT like leaving Oliver behind all by himself. Luckily I knew a few of the other 5K racers and asked them to keep an eye on Oliver. That was tough, though. Jeff was home with the girls still because he was in charge of the Boy Scouts' Holiday Flag putting-up (what do you call that anyway? It was a holiday so the Scouts were putting up flags for the neighborhood). </div><div><br /></div><div>7:10 - The 10K started (a little late, but okay). Sam let me run behind him for a few minutes, then I caught up to him and told him to slow down. I started in on my mothering-coaching lectures then zipped it. I realized he's a big boy, this was his race, and I'd best leave him be. He told me to go on ahead. I knew he'd run better on his own, so I picked up my pace to race-pace. I'd strapped a phone on his arm so he could call if he needed anything (oh, yeah, I'm a protective mom). I ran behind a college kid and used him as my pacer. </div><div><br /></div><div>7:30 - The 5K started. I looked at my watch, knew Oliver was just beginning, and hoped he was doing okay. My unsuspecting college-kid pacer started slowing at around mile 4. I told him to keep going because I needed him to pace me. He made a valiant effort and kept our 7:40 pace until somewhere into mile 5, then he lost steam. I felt bad running past him, but I think he was okay with it. He just wanted to finish.</div><div><br /></div><div>7:58 - I finished the 10K with an average of 7:46 minutes/mile. Since I've been recovering from injury over the last month and have only run once in over two weeks, I was okay with that time. Still, I kept thinking I could've run faster. I came in first in my age group and third overall. Since there were like less than 10 women, it wasn't that big of an accomplishment. Still, it was a pretty race. </div><div>My parents and Don (my brother) were there at the finish to cheer me in. It was great to have that support. Jeff was still stuck at home. I turned around to run back on the course and find Oliver. I found him just a little ways away from the finish, looking so good.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:03 - Oliver finished. I ran a little bit with him, then he told me he was okay (I got the point - Let me run, Mom!). He sprinted SO fast at the finish. Awesome time, kiddo. I left him with my parents and brother, then turned back on the race course again to go find Samuel. I found him two blocks from the finish, running strong. I ran in with him a block, then he told me he was okay, too (once again, Let me run, Mom!). I short-cutted over to the finish to cheer him in. He also sprinted in the last bit.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:19 - Sam finished his first official 10K. He's run that distance before (he's run a half-marathon before!) but this was the first race. He was great.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mom, Dad and Don left once they saw we were all in. It was wonderful to have them there. Right after they left, Jeff and the girls showed up with donuts and milk. They made it in time for the awards.</div><div>Oliver got a finisher's medal (I think he was the second kid to finish the 5K, maybe first - we'll know next week when results are posted) and Sam got a placing medal (for first in his age group in the 10K. He was the only kid, and he passed some of the adult 10K runners), and then I got a medal for placing. I'm just happy that the boys did it and had fun. I'd be just as proud of them even if they'd come in last, or if they couldn't finish but had tried. The point is, I'm proud of them for doing their best. And I was happy that I was on my feet again after such a long time not running.</div><div><br /></div><div>So it was a good race. My leg hurt, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. I'm in new shoes that are supposed to help me (apparently I over-pronate pretty badly, which I never knew). They should help me run without getting injured so often. I hope!</div><div><br /></div><div>We went home not to rest, but to get on with life. The boys had lawns to mow, Oliver had soccer practice, the girls and I picked the first picking of raspberries, Jeff weeded and tilled the garden, and then it was lunch time. After all that, the kids and I rested with some afternoon reading and games, then outside play and yard work, while Jeff went on a bike ride. We finished the day with the kids getting to watch a show while Jeff and I went on a date. </div><div>What a great day.</div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-17783812597425469042011-07-17T20:49:00.001-07:002011-07-17T21:26:33.575-07:00Buck up, Steph!Jeff's at cancer camp this week as the camp doc. He and the camp kids and other staff get to float down the Salmon River all week. I wonder what it's like right now for him with the sun just setting and the day cooling off. I wonder if their campfire is burning low and if he's strumming his guitar while the river's flow sings in accompaniment. I wonder if the mosquitoes are buzzing, if the food tastes marvelous (doesn't it always taste better outside?), if the canyon walls have darkened their day early. I wonder if the kids feel the wonder of life and living, the beauty of the world around them, and if their senses (like mine) are heightened in the wild. I imagine the day was spent with laughter as the river carried them downstream, and the night is spent with stories and song as their bodies sink into rest. <div>I miss my Jeffrey. Funny how my daily living is really not that different with him out of town since he's so seldom home anyway, but just knowing he's out of reach makes me want to find him. I hope he's happy and helping the camp kids make great memories.</div><div>Meanwhile, life goes on here. Swimming lessons, soccer practices, soccer games, piano lessons, Cub Scouts, 11-year-old Scouts, birthday party (Sam's turning 12!!!!!????), and a race to get ready for Saturday. </div><div>A race? Oh, yes, a race. Oliver is running the 5K, Sam's registered for the 10K (although he may change his mind and do the 5K instead), and I'm signed up for the 10K. Not a big deal - except that somebody (me) is injured (again) and can't run. I haven't run for a week. That might not seem like a big deal to others, but it is to me. My sweet running partner is a Physical Therapist and has been helping me. My rotten leg, however, has not been cooperating. I've been on my bike more in the past two weeks than I have in the past two years as I try to maintain my fitness without ruining my leg. I admit that I now really like cycling. My longest ride (it's nothing compared to my husband's rides) was a 30 miler this week - and if I had had time I would've kept going. I've also had some good swims (including an open-water swim in my new wetsuit, which I don't like - I prefer my old one) and also am getting strength training in, and yesterday went roller-blading around the park so I could keep up with the kids on their bikes. </div><div>Still, as much fun as that all is, I do miss running. A lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>So there you go. I miss Jeff. I miss knowing he's near enough that I could call if I needed. I miss having him come home to help tuck the kids into bed. I miss hearing the garage door open when he turns into the driveway.</div><div>And to a lesser degree, I miss running. I miss feeling my legs move me up a hill and my stride change to meet my goals. I miss watching the sun rise over the farmer's fields as I run run run. </div><div><br /></div><div>Guess who's feeling melancholy?</div><div><br /></div><div>My brother Don gave the most amazing talk in church today. Don is quadriplegic. He was born with Cerebral Palsy and has never been able to walk, use his arms, or speak clearly. Nobody has ever invited him to speak in church before. But Brother Kelly broke the unspoken rule and asked him to do it. What a wonder it was.</div><div>"This is my first sacrament meeting talk ever," he began, "so I hope you'll be patient with me as I talk about patience." The congregation was hooked. You could have heard a pin drop during the next few minutes as Don's spirit spoke to ours, even when his voice was difficult to understand. He sat up front, off to the side, with his computer to read from and my dad holding the microphone for him. Fortunately, his words were projected onto the drop-down screen at the front of the church so we could read along, one line at a time (power point is awesome!) as he talked about learning patience, including how he has to be patient with his body's limitations.</div><div>Patience with a body that doesn't work and a mind that knows, and a life destined to be single until the next life...</div><div>I suppose I can be patient with my leg that hurts a little. I suppose I can be patient with missing a spouse that I at least have home sometimes. I have every reason to be grateful for what I have.</div><div>Oh, my, I have so much to learn.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-22433719422662813402011-06-07T07:53:00.001-07:002011-06-07T13:26:27.916-07:00Running Happy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnytShL-l0hrndyxvtHU_umRx1-ERxqHBA2XqYYsY-9LP7nEffLw_sZOrd8POkgebdQ5LzbdummoNBxOyiBIFPlUCE7F39VfNbAHRvKJ8trQF7K-D4vas6nRy9n_4hIBq2RsZJTnJWrA/s1600/IMG00317.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75KRSs8INxemBe2VbKLuaHwzSuxDMeBhQDUzqGwDQ-c1MwpoaQFOHcST_xXO4T7MQCOUQQF8BmFGLegd_YIxVciJluVcInPrTAwFd951-FOoZ4o6hS-2CbNCjRnfsXcZ6Zrfo9iT0n6E/s1600/IMG_1037.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75KRSs8INxemBe2VbKLuaHwzSuxDMeBhQDUzqGwDQ-c1MwpoaQFOHcST_xXO4T7MQCOUQQF8BmFGLegd_YIxVciJluVcInPrTAwFd951-FOoZ4o6hS-2CbNCjRnfsXcZ6Zrfo9iT0n6E/s320/IMG_1037.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615492586346381618" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcgoEoM2uBwsu3aoAq5kKm5YkkVRDG4kQEdryFlkITM4zp82G4vWRZRW4ryMQJnlv89AvuQg-aKBVfz2Mwb5EObMR0C3rnlqBJ-E-Gf7NxYBtUeqE7ElVl4yqTC1Mq_2E7-QuUnVm9Ww/s1600/IMG_1054.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">For the past two years, my boys have raced in occasional 5Ks (that's 3.1 miles). Sam, who is the ripe old age of 11, told me yesterday he wants to race in the St. Anthony Pioneer Days 10K (and that's 6.2 miles) race. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Being the supportive Mom I am, I said no way. Nope. Uh-uh. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Okay, not unless you do some training first. So I suggested he go out on a little run, maybe get two or three miles in to start training. He begged that I let him run around town instead of just around the neighborhood. We looked at a map and set the parameters of where he could run, and I told him he had to be home in an hour (I'm all about letting the kids loose - as long as it's in an enclosed area and time limit :) Hyper-vigilant? Maybe. But I'd rather be too careful than have something bad happen.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"> He was so excited to be independent. He used my armband to hold the phone and use the Nike+ app, and I sent a Hammer flask of water with him. He got his playlist going, ear buds in, water in hand, and set off on an adventure. After 45 minutes with him gone, I began to get a little anxious. At 55 minutes I was thinking of grabbing the keys and the other kids to go in search of Sam. But then he appeared, red faced and grinning with the Runner's High. He had just run 6.26 miles in 57 minutes. That's a 9 minute mile on his first run out.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">Alright, I guess I can let him run that 10K race now.</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">We're both still floating on the high of his unexpected successful run yesterday. He's been adamant about signing up for football this fall and I've been trying to talk him out of it (his lean body just isn't built for it!). Now he's seriously considering cross-country instead. Hooray!</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcgoEoM2uBwsu3aoAq5kKm5YkkVRDG4kQEdryFlkITM4zp82G4vWRZRW4ryMQJnlv89AvuQg-aKBVfz2Mwb5EObMR0C3rnlqBJ-E-Gf7NxYBtUeqE7ElVl4yqTC1Mq_2E7-QuUnVm9Ww/s320/IMG_1054.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615491481231317458" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">And while we're talking about running boys, I need to extol Oliver's (he's 9) running talent, too. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3rkAJRg5oJ7gh7ZdtT-uQseSS01jl1TpL8TAqnnjfYuGuIcspVgn6v4g1CsojylCazPIeqYWcVoMivGHFxpDJM-F_Jod-e2zIyaNAGtKZbxFA_Q3-kKJT2CoostkWLC2aA-UuXHCmAg/s320/IMG_1052.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615491466301290338" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 306px; " /></span><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">That boy can sprint. Holy cow, he's fast! On a short sprint, I can't keep up with Sam, and Sam can't keep up with Oliver. Right now Sam has speed and stamina, and Oliver has speed and speed. Me, I just have stamina. This is where life's not fair (after all, I'm the one doing all the training) but I could't be happier about it. </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoao5HQkxlIneVz33Q4g2GAoXhyphenhyphen8wYJCG4_DQE7VyqgNgzx6gV2ZZtcSsx_GANIkPGYgC7xuZTh6vV05lOXsgMxplR50h68yn0FrzCGjbuUxKE-3l8tW3mdt4AmfWXma0U6zXMCaHBVnk/s320/IMG_1177.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615492636433350914" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">I'm tickled that my guys are faster than me and I can see my girls are well on their way to beating their </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikhaTkmxHHwxCEBynND8a2C6vTp3KvtrLzoS7iE-lxs8lnQMgcqQXQe5jS_9eD_JyZJB4vSfBvIfhVt6phTtIT7OWqH-ppXvhhUy0yRErqMfV83bCsauUdyaTzs_ISENJu4rlOPjITAo/s320/IMG_1438.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615492782870216610" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">dear ol' mom, too. Yippee! (Honestly, though, if they don't want to be runners, that's fine. There are plenty of other things to do, too - not sure what, though). </div></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPLlvsRgfeK_bYEQfq6oxjZOuQjLrMfYo5GYcRJ0SgtwQZoi0knBSZ_12cDSDcum27uzIXCsjZ3MqWmm5AY2JV-WyQ1cn-BSlAx7cx9kh7U_doe4luCHmEjxSk3hlt8uGFpkEovtW9RKs/s320/IMG_1297.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615497489928930978" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: medium; ">Oliver told me yesterday that he thinks he might be more of a cyclist, like Dad. Bet that's just fine with Pops. :)</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnytShL-l0hrndyxvtHU_umRx1-ERxqHBA2XqYYsY-9LP7nEffLw_sZOrd8POkgebdQ5LzbdummoNBxOyiBIFPlUCE7F39VfNbAHRvKJ8trQF7K-D4vas6nRy9n_4hIBq2RsZJTnJWrA/s320/IMG00317.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615497502429912370" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-23691466757483671132011-06-06T08:43:00.000-07:002011-06-07T13:54:50.795-07:00Runner Steph, Meet Cyclist Steph (she's a stranger 'round here)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb1U8o2jrSpSQ-xspb8UJHGa4jd5PIaFOAWPXeyaqgaP9GvZzLyuYn01BYITG-Bpz5I0iyYSFYv8pBKNGXy4gnkGxcjgZx7WDN944Gnutm5Uq0MsMFZ0H95ZwirEv8Y7XtRtgK0dsiCNg/s1600/IMG_1169.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb1U8o2jrSpSQ-xspb8UJHGa4jd5PIaFOAWPXeyaqgaP9GvZzLyuYn01BYITG-Bpz5I0iyYSFYv8pBKNGXy4gnkGxcjgZx7WDN944Gnutm5Uq0MsMFZ0H95ZwirEv8Y7XtRtgK0dsiCNg/s320/IMG_1169.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615498850471458594" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLdC376XGD1dMrJSoXBmUHe0pJgHWMKv8TKRBPdOOXWT5soYl2ncBTsWyS_YFaqQx9W5GOWv13xnBH85qls2CYGLHS_zqeCh9ncKfyPpKLV9giS0NTg4QU6MYOcItbjWivHkr3Foq8GM/s1600/IMG_1170.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLdC376XGD1dMrJSoXBmUHe0pJgHWMKv8TKRBPdOOXWT5soYl2ncBTsWyS_YFaqQx9W5GOWv13xnBH85qls2CYGLHS_zqeCh9ncKfyPpKLV9giS0NTg4QU6MYOcItbjWivHkr3Foq8GM/s320/IMG_1170.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615308024776747026" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_DRBSIVKZG2_AHv_oSURdubw9FFvdXS1Mb1DwmilUnDlq7OoNj1JAuYsSG_SqPtkMNMNKXiEuvV3jWvuzOn4WSpUutusQLOj4-EofbRN5Yh3ZZTsAfmkTQB_yOm7Lg0LfyCLL67bb0g/s1600/IMG_1438.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOz9Av9YIwiTOs8I2AeZfduCH5XLYQdEYAqpfoB2Xvu0HrX68UqrPpEsC4OL5FWU6pUSeFRnKFvmpEX50jszj7LSbIadBWt9bTxBBGGR6VUXqEnb-BmE0Dw0AkFMiAZ0BB3FYTJgViW0/s1600/IMG_1100_2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOQSBd4sIxy5padQAj4FD2rHWOy6vv1N080q4nK1idBCwQBza0BJhLuYJkEwMohrMap0Z_u80VJpIHLGFh8FygujbsM0bv5u4gVLQy-fbw5yZ8HuSoKOKF52DajEIroQgOuc-1LcL364/s1600/IMG_1033.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJ3BEKk8cxdyqe07ayH4Y4wZBT4JWhzdZFMs20U0Zs3tzpW8UWB8S_SM-f0UiXT_G0RPtRniK0R6KD1NU0wGbamrZAGDmWNRtK263_-Kfp3_eDX1ddTLY-sTyWB3GH-WsDYXphSiwlnU/s1600/IMG_0974.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAulboTilZzbfMVsJQQA42pxw8fOHjVnZvV94bQ9g1dabWa2ITt5vIOS_O_3qHSVofI1pkFw_3x5w_WOUWNN6adVV9Zcgb4-QuSbS9PwKAzHSHTWDoCaTpUOSlChX_lQP_ntoOYnJgDo/s1600/IMG_1095.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>Last Tuesday I met up with some friends to go for an early morning bike ride. I am a runner, not a cyclist, but every once in a while I try to get out on my bike. It kind of helps to have ridden a time or two each summer before my annual triathlon...<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>(<i>A flat on a previous ride, but same friends I rode with on Tuesday)</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I want to learn to like my bike, mostly because I feel obligated since I have it, but also because Jeff rides and I'd like to join him sometime when I feel comfortable on the bike. I keep thinking that I'll never learn to like riding unless I actually get out and do it. So I resolved to join the ladies on Tuesday and prove to myself that riding really wasn't as painful as I remembered.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><div>It really was painful. </div><div><br /></div><div> Worse than I remembered. I was out of breath before I made it to my neighbor's driveway. I was more out of breath as I tried to carry on a conversation and act as if nothing was wrong. I was miserable by the time we crested the hill. And finally at a whopping 2 miles out, I was done. Done. I couldn't believe I was saying it, but out came the words, "I have to stop. I can't do this." And completely out of character, I peeled off and headed the whole two miles back home like a dog with its tail between its legs. </div><div>I never quit. No matter how I'm feeling, if I start something I just don't quit. I spent the entire day Tuesday puzzling over my actions, wondering what brought on this odd behavior, and feeling like a complete and utter failure. I even cried more than once that day because I was so frustrated. I couldn't keep up. Sheesh, I could barely even start! I wondered if I should just give up on the bike. I could sell it and get some new running gear, couldn't I? I sobbed to Jeff, "How in the world can I ever learn to like cycling if I keep having bad experiences!?"</div><div>Jeff is very level-headed. He is as steady and logical and reasonable as they come. And kind, too. He just smiled at me and said, "You need to just go out on your own sometimes and have fun - don't worry about keeping up with anyone, just do your own thing." </div><div>I realized that a huge part of the problem was the stress and anxiety I get when riding (or sometimes even running) in groups - I worry that I won't keep up, that I'll hold people back, that I'll ruin their ride or run. At my two-mile turn back point on Tuesday I was struggling to keep up and terrified of the potential suffering in the upcoming hour. So I quit.</div><div>Jeff reminded me that I was sick and had been sleeping way more than usual as I fought off the cold and sore throat. And I remembered that I'd not eaten much for several days (sickness makes me lose my appetite), so there were definitely valid reasons for quitting, but if I had been running I don't think I'd have quit. Sure, I would have had a miserable run, but I wouldn't have stopped.</div><div><br /></div><div><div> I know myself as a runner.</div></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOz9Av9YIwiTOs8I2AeZfduCH5XLYQdEYAqpfoB2Xvu0HrX68UqrPpEsC4OL5FWU6pUSeFRnKFvmpEX50jszj7LSbIadBWt9bTxBBGGR6VUXqEnb-BmE0Dw0AkFMiAZ0BB3FYTJgViW0/s320/IMG_1100_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615306033035150370" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">I don't know myself as a cyclist.</span></span></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#000000;"><i><br /></i></span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAulboTilZzbfMVsJQQA42pxw8fOHjVnZvV94bQ9g1dabWa2ITt5vIOS_O_3qHSVofI1pkFw_3x5w_WOUWNN6adVV9Zcgb4-QuSbS9PwKAzHSHTWDoCaTpUOSlChX_lQP_ntoOYnJgDo/s320/IMG_1095.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615303196081050594" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div>Runner Steph, meet Cyclist Steph. She's a stranger and you don't know what she's capable of. That makes me wary and a little unconfident. Okay, a lot unconfident. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">(Me & my friend Heather, whose husband helped fit both my old bike (pictured) and my new bike to me.)</span></span></i></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Being the compulsive type, I decided to take Jeff's advice and go out again the next day (you know what they say, just get back on the bike when you fall - or <i>fail</i>!). I went on a solo ride and spent some time getting to know Cyclist Steph. It wasn't the ideal morning for a ride with 20+ mph headwinds the first and last 6 miles and crosswinds on other parts of the ride, but I didn't have to worry about my speed, didn't worry I'd be slowing someone down, didn't need to save my breath for talking, and could focus on the ride. </div><div>I'm so glad I did it. Tuesday: 2 miles of fatigue and anxiety until I turned around. Wednesday: 20 miles of strength and relaxed riding. I wasn't speedy - the winds certainly had something to do with that. Overall I averaged 15mph, which included the snail-pace 7mph ride on the uphill (I can RUN up hills faster than that! Oh, this is pitiful!), but also included topping out at 38mph on the downhill. THAT was cool. </div><div>So cool that this morning (now Monday) I chose to ride my bike instead of running. I rode the same route, this time with very little wind, and finished the 20 miles six minutes faster. It was another solo ride - trying to get my conditioning up to where I can ride with friends again. (I did join a 20+mile ride with some friends a few weeks ago, in rain and wind - they let me draft. I told you I'm not very good at this, but I'm trying!)</div><div>So anyway, it's coming. Tomorrow I'm doing my favorites - running and swimming. I have a half-marathon race on Saturday so technically I'm tapering this week and won't be doing too many workouts the rest of the week. But I bet I'll be on my bike again soon.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJ3BEKk8cxdyqe07ayH4Y4wZBT4JWhzdZFMs20U0Zs3tzpW8UWB8S_SM-f0UiXT_G0RPtRniK0R6KD1NU0wGbamrZAGDmWNRtK263_-Kfp3_eDX1ddTLY-sTyWB3GH-WsDYXphSiwlnU/s320/IMG_0974.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615303202900596962" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div>My husband (I could also call him my therapist, couldn't I?) regularly rides twice, thrice, four times the distance I'm at (and in a LOT less time). He's definitely inspiring me. And encouraging me. I love that he expects me only to have fun and has no pre-conceived notion that my running fitness would translate to cycling prowess. I don't think I'll ever be great, or even good - just mediocre. After all, I'm first and foremost a runner. But I'm a runner that is learning to (almost) love cycling.</div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Post script: I now know that I won't be racing the half-marathon on Saturday. There will be other races, but there will only be this one time to attend Grandpa Rasmussen's funeral - a great, good man, one of the very best.</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-63000846152919093612011-05-28T22:55:00.000-07:002011-05-30T17:23:13.650-07:00Memorial Day Weekend<div><p class="mobile-photo"></p><p class="mobile-photo">I'm beginning this post on Saturday, May 29th. Midnight. And not sleepy. I already went to bed, already went to sleep, and already even dreamed before I woke up an hour later (now). Wide wide awake. What better time to get a few things done, like write a blog post (and eat some ice cream)...</p></div><div><br /></div><div>First, a quick report from <b>Saturday</b>:</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBgvcxXIzni-IkOYPXYeSnYQSpgeiH7dsOH3YmlWeNgBNRlWB6cJSRIur-QrEFD2Qfnulb1D6ei5qXNUhEtqJbK4L1x5SAcy3EyQ0HDm79lw1jZGm18UmeHYDFU2BqCFb7w6Xs0QN6no/s1600/photo+3-704327.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBgvcxXIzni-IkOYPXYeSnYQSpgeiH7dsOH3YmlWeNgBNRlWB6cJSRIur-QrEFD2Qfnulb1D6ei5qXNUhEtqJbK4L1x5SAcy3EyQ0HDm79lw1jZGm18UmeHYDFU2BqCFb7w6Xs0QN6no/s320/photo+3-704327.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612332140361555202" /></a>Can you spot the moose? This is at the cabin.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBgvcxXIzni-IkOYPXYeSnYQSpgeiH7dsOH3YmlWeNgBNRlWB6cJSRIur-QrEFD2Qfnulb1D6ei5qXNUhEtqJbK4L1x5SAcy3EyQ0HDm79lw1jZGm18UmeHYDFU2BqCFb7w6Xs0QN6no/s1600/photo+3-704327.JPG"></a>A nice neighbor by my in-laws' cabin <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8J7cog_Ig_Ho8tSz4FxztXFAvlFQhlTNJvWXyU0YuCRTOC-8rQE0XoNT6w77eDIQUHP3YULBJ4ZlhzYD-SkntEovF0dsh2_PJ5NhjAuA1s8Z_vW_fD6MLgu-xNsXIta_GaQKa9570AA/s1600/photo+1-791326.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8J7cog_Ig_Ho8tSz4FxztXFAvlFQhlTNJvWXyU0YuCRTOC-8rQE0XoNT6w77eDIQUHP3YULBJ4ZlhzYD-SkntEovF0dsh2_PJ5NhjAuA1s8Z_vW_fD6MLgu-xNsXIta_GaQKa9570AA/s320/photo+1-791326.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331656158419458" /></a>volunteered to keep an eye on the rising river, so Jeff felt safe leaving the cabin for the day - which meant we took a spur of the moment trip to Yellowstone today. <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tL-OL1cIv4rZVDB1AACg8qESYM8XQwfoR6_43-WXS_83JLdiOygPe9Kgr3cspqU86qifI_rYPKfCu-GH5TuOU9b_6BlC6BblIHXYrt1F42BKHoV5NCA07qmh_VnPLAXs061zwV4xWyI/s320/photo+3-793238.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331664344215858" />I love living close enough to Yellowstone (and Grand Teton Nat'l Park) that we can do day trips.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGibrGLzADyKAbpqrrnHeBm2s21D36its2Dje6lg9ebnh2IUTwfsvKVBlWV7Rq1bPX7P-u35WIftdWTG80dQixMJyZLWoZfKBteH9x1_DNfCghti5QGbK0eJZtXdGOpqsIziP9q4yVEo/s1600/photo+2-792549.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGibrGLzADyKAbpqrrnHeBm2s21D36its2Dje6lg9ebnh2IUTwfsvKVBlWV7Rq1bPX7P-u35WIftdWTG80dQixMJyZLWoZfKBteH9x1_DNfCghti5QGbK0eJZtXdGOpqsIziP9q4yVEo/s320/photo+2-792549.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331657614010098" /></a>The new Visitor Education Center at Old Faithful is now open, so we took the kids there, </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2l-IBYPXOuOy_J_w3lG1m8SftqXsNLajHZMoiP8Gwl6FSIqS74MiUXHeAMLSMzbyi8Cq2oQ6JUZFKdDb4-uFa30bguKRyGDyh3AUDa5ELEIr6uijYUZfgHLByVOdxswnj9Fw3ShsFfs/s1600/photo+4-794508.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2l-IBYPXOuOy_J_w3lG1m8SftqXsNLajHZMoiP8Gwl6FSIqS74MiUXHeAMLSMzbyi8Cq2oQ6JUZFKdDb4-uFa30bguKRyGDyh3AUDa5ELEIr6uijYUZfgHLByVOdxswnj9Fw3ShsFfs/s320/photo+4-794508.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331668199293154" /></a>followed by a boardwalk tour of geysers, hot pots, steam vents, and a spectacular show put on by Old Faithful herself (himself?). <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4eBqTWN45pTOded-oq3_nHT9mBSAfTnjdV_SjXOlmTw39F0YMkapI63eR6rNZdmUJ35sUNaRZgRzWQEmd0hcrpFm8rhMzBRwSIsnqIhDfN7DN2UXx9ko7tm1ZcS5WOfiYBjRQUagerGw/s320/photo+5-795366.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331673054590354" />We ended the evening with dinner in West Yellowstone and a play at the Playmill Theater (High School Musical - we loved it).</div><div><br /></div><div>And home by 10pm. Asleep by 11. Awake by 12. Bother.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Family</b>:</div><div>And snippets from my children's lives:</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAFX3OukKaYgFi2E7AMSvAPM5Azw4e8xKREPghohgvLEM9iTRmS1jtEVrY2GCaLzjZ4nfmPsi7deVD77pxwoqijWj7dvVYqC3NPw4zlMZe2Ktj34w9Aibu_rY6_RsVKih9mWhwnsMyLg/s1600/photo+5-747190.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAFX3OukKaYgFi2E7AMSvAPM5Azw4e8xKREPghohgvLEM9iTRmS1jtEVrY2GCaLzjZ4nfmPsi7deVD77pxwoqijWj7dvVYqC3NPw4zlMZe2Ktj34w9Aibu_rY6_RsVKih9mWhwnsMyLg/s320/photo+5-747190.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331899493060274" /></a>When we arrived in Yellowstone today, <b>Charlotte</b> asked a question I'd never considered, "Where is Purplestone?" Hmm. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2d5yTodFswn7xSLllzZ63ROdE1CGBVeB_-ZpZUZspgqGrPU-DqwvDMDfDjwdvc8nCQtNovPpr1Yn7m2Y-HvuNbH5oijR4GfthWawcJRHO3riHU8s4zw2RH_m9u14zfuOFl-5L4xtDTyk/s1600/photo+1-793916.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2d5yTodFswn7xSLllzZ63ROdE1CGBVeB_-ZpZUZspgqGrPU-DqwvDMDfDjwdvc8nCQtNovPpr1Yn7m2Y-HvuNbH5oijR4GfthWawcJRHO3riHU8s4zw2RH_m9u14zfuOFl-5L4xtDTyk/s320/photo+1-793916.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297720914182482" /></a>When I told <b>Eleanor</b> it was going to be cold and snowy in Yellowstone, she informed me that she was warm-blooded. Yes, and warm-blooded little girls need to wear coats to <i>keep</i> warm. </div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYFnXZfaD0_Z4Z4SN38DFmJlKryCK9uDwvByR1eNVW0ne9gDb9dgy5RWI3PzKfmxoCjMCy8HaiU51pyipzWTdSz6Ut0oouq6niIeCqJFKguh9HLYu1E-FJu-acm-x9t00TNL-xDdVr84I/s1600/photo+2-795481.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYFnXZfaD0_Z4Z4SN38DFmJlKryCK9uDwvByR1eNVW0ne9gDb9dgy5RWI3PzKfmxoCjMCy8HaiU51pyipzWTdSz6Ut0oouq6niIeCqJFKguh9HLYu1E-FJu-acm-x9t00TNL-xDdVr84I/s320/photo+2-795481.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297729277486146" /></a></span>Oliver</b> has been speed-reading through the Harry Potter series for the, what, seventh time? Funny kid - when I told him he'd have to either clean his room or owe me housekeeping money, he found some coins and asked me how much. He just doesn't really care about having, keeping, saving, spending, or losing the stuff. Or keeping his room clean.</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvslc_zDNrvo56OeCocH6AOl22sIreJcEBaznB5WmXRE3IRKKAZ8ubx9vTpB28SaB6KHPC7esU2klQlxNVs3531cPclNAbg5gun2mdKwx6yEw81vG7V2eBJ5gZZxwIcKQYsvVNYt8ZNU/s1600/photo+3-796855.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvslc_zDNrvo56OeCocH6AOl22sIreJcEBaznB5WmXRE3IRKKAZ8ubx9vTpB28SaB6KHPC7esU2klQlxNVs3531cPclNAbg5gun2mdKwx6yEw81vG7V2eBJ5gZZxwIcKQYsvVNYt8ZNU/s320/photo+3-796855.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297736914293506" /></a></span>Samuel</b>, on the other hand, has been working every chance he could and saving every cent he earned to finally get enough money to buy a new DSI (handheld gaming device, for those who don't know). He's also a funny kid - he already has a DS. I guess it was his money, but I wouldn't have bought something that essentially replaces what I already have. Still, he has a great work ethic so he can do what he will (within reason) with his money.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Running and Reading</b>:</div><div>I'm reading a running book or two, so that's why this is combined. I had a breakthrough run on Wednesday and found myself running long (2 miles each) intervals at a speed I didn't think I'd ever find again. My running partner pushed me through my barrier, but I tell you what - I've been recovering ever since! </div><div>The books are "Brain Training for Runners" (it's all in your head - just kidding, there's a lot lot lot more to it than that), and "Run Less, Run Faster" (doesn't that sound like having your cake and eating it, too? You can!). </div><div>Speaking of cake and reading, I went to a book group gathering this week (discussed "The Help" which I LOVED) and had the very best cake I've ever ever ever had. I begged for the recipe and will give it a go when it comes (and post it if I don't mess it up). </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Ruminations</b>:</div><div>Wouldn't it be nice if I actually had something to say? I honestly wonder if my creative juices flow only every other year or so. I want to say something, but I'm just too tired and too busy. So there goes any semblance of talent, now long hidden away under piles of laundry, peanut butter sandwiches, and thriving weeds - and withering away as quickly as if I'd sprayed round-up on my once-emerging flower of writing. </div><div>So busy, yet I have time to run. Hmm - priorities? I run at 5:30am so I can be home by 7 to be the mom. Would I write at 5:30am? Goodness, no - I'd fall asleep! It's hard to fall asleep when you're running, so perhaps that's why running happens and writing doesn't. </div><div>Of course, there's always the chance that a midnight blog post will revive the dead or dying writer in me. (Is this what they call burning the candle at both ends?)</div><div>I'll post some pictures of our trip later. Not like later tonight, but later tomorrow. Oh, wait, it is tomorrow. 12:40am. Bed. Again. And sleep again. For more than one hour, I hope.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"></p><div>And now for May 30th, <b>Monday:</b></div><div>We decided to stay closer to home so we made a morning trip to the Zoo after Jeff got back from a 40 mile ride. (The group he rode with kept going - Jeff turned off early - and they finished their ride at the same time we got back from the zoo. By then it was raining and snowing. Maybe they should've gone to the zoo, too.) </div><div>We had to go to the zoo. Really. Eleanor has been begging for a year to go back and we needed to satisfy her (so we could have a little peace :) Just kidding). When we told her we'd go, she practically jumped through the ceiling with joy. She and sweet little Charlotte (who follows big sister everywhere) packed up their backpacks with nature books, put on "nature shoes" and Eleanor donned a pink Cowgirl hat (I guess she thinks that's Naturalist garb). She has wanted to be a Naturalist before she even knew the word. A trip to the zoo helped her along that path (although she was somewhat disappointed to end the day still not being an official Naturalist). </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXqOHL3llbDtHeBNwgT4JHkuyb__e_wFZXEzinnFTRB3-lz0lDiq-D88Nfl-7WkqoTv8ium7Dug9Fqh9ylbCrfSVCkBFv2_0FTOj3Q4S4mCFvyqCk1i74DDZAD81aZB9-osnFBdVRj_0/s1600/photo+1-797342.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXqOHL3llbDtHeBNwgT4JHkuyb__e_wFZXEzinnFTRB3-lz0lDiq-D88Nfl-7WkqoTv8ium7Dug9Fqh9ylbCrfSVCkBFv2_0FTOj3Q4S4mCFvyqCk1i74DDZAD81aZB9-osnFBdVRj_0/s320/photo+1-797342.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612623310353643218" /></a> My bunch. Cute, eh?</p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGVenbfAHBxJ0L-RTghWidq9k2-i-lYEEX5T1upg-sL4Is3dXvJZ1SukLWfySSdhCy6myqswSajzNroFlhI9PNfxfF6Wpz8-KKsAvMQ6LUS0i9Ro5p40UQZNjvUylbUpOYT52myAwalw/s1600/photo+2-798518.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgGVenbfAHBxJ0L-RTghWidq9k2-i-lYEEX5T1upg-sL4Is3dXvJZ1SukLWfySSdhCy6myqswSajzNroFlhI9PNfxfF6Wpz8-KKsAvMQ6LUS0i9Ro5p40UQZNjvUylbUpOYT52myAwalw/s320/photo+2-798518.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612623313358105186" /></a> The boys had just as much fun as the girls. I wish I'd taken a picture of a certain monkey (no, not my child) that buddied up to my boys. We'll just have to go back and visit their new pal sometime. </p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsASKRJf3SsBDsprSLtXck-G_t57-qOMvuUfOojnrZOdkvCJmBYhyIdwWBQDehAzjlge9JElq-r-XGyblJAWqbPgumS_B_EMcTF4x5Dti88KNhDonqel8cHKprDRtwjfxgp7D3VlPtIkg/s1600/photo+3-799389.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsASKRJf3SsBDsprSLtXck-G_t57-qOMvuUfOojnrZOdkvCJmBYhyIdwWBQDehAzjlge9JElq-r-XGyblJAWqbPgumS_B_EMcTF4x5Dti88KNhDonqel8cHKprDRtwjfxgp7D3VlPtIkg/s320/photo+3-799389.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612623315923711234" /></a> Best seat in the house - Dad's shoulder.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtihS7bKEopDeDflWKOt-HHGXeeNlAJh1p1oxZU3TKD-Ul3ODi4SmewDTFECbAbqCLzqIKmMPoJxlo_axutTna90D-RImDirIi8_ow9VHgspqxYvPHGf-2BcZ6t7kVGljdcJMRTCfKmRs/s1600/photo+4-700412.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtihS7bKEopDeDflWKOt-HHGXeeNlAJh1p1oxZU3TKD-Ul3ODi4SmewDTFECbAbqCLzqIKmMPoJxlo_axutTna90D-RImDirIi8_ow9VHgspqxYvPHGf-2BcZ6t7kVGljdcJMRTCfKmRs/s320/photo+4-700412.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612623320395976834" /></a> Eleanor, Charlotte, Samuel, and Oliver. And a fake tiger. </p></span></b></div><p></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo">My parents' house is in full bloom. I couldn't resist posting the pictures of spring colors (it's about time we had spring, since Summer is theoretically just around the corner). My mom does a marvelous job with her flowers, which we all enjoy.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6VF7gOByyiGQgmDwXPl_Mr8a9aH3TBBNBF-_u_UZPq_HPK0D0i6Xb2k1k9gwqxaVn4nZAjGFMY33uWHxci3hZZwQ-g9JRYUDpfc_M4CbUpPFqbrmZuoEeeytN98P8iF0VUqycL3YDZe0/s1600/photo+1-737550.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6VF7gOByyiGQgmDwXPl_Mr8a9aH3TBBNBF-_u_UZPq_HPK0D0i6Xb2k1k9gwqxaVn4nZAjGFMY33uWHxci3hZZwQ-g9JRYUDpfc_M4CbUpPFqbrmZuoEeeytN98P8iF0VUqycL3YDZe0/s320/photo+1-737550.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331855076141762" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrDQKGLh7M4xftkf0tXV_GBfEdLGVhMmIL66Hnuyo-S1ww5HARkD4aqlL7z1yBIWpBL7C2qtE1OCyY-09868p35TQ2L-uxdwVJShBS8XGH8IHZfptB22syvvz9jICrAixlHXpX6cn9Ks/s1600/photo+2-739263.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrDQKGLh7M4xftkf0tXV_GBfEdLGVhMmIL66Hnuyo-S1ww5HARkD4aqlL7z1yBIWpBL7C2qtE1OCyY-09868p35TQ2L-uxdwVJShBS8XGH8IHZfptB22syvvz9jICrAixlHXpX6cn9Ks/s320/photo+2-739263.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331870808249410" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><b>Recipes</b>:</p><p class="mobile-photo">I made <b>frozen yogurt pie</b> last week. The crumb crust was made from cinnamon cookies I'd made that nobody liked - so I crumbed the cookies, added some graham cracker crumbs, and some butter to make it stick. So easy. Then I mixed about 2 cups of plain yogurt with a small carton of Cool Whip (gently so it stays nice and fluffy). I had crushed up strawberries and added sugar (Eleanor calls it "Strawberry Mush"), so I stirred in the strawberry mush to the yogurt mixture, spooned it all into the crust, popped it into the freezer, and voila - a delicious dessert.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEfmk5fsSoZkPCg7TFMrJtQMabgNlbl4WHPF1dJuNe0QEBfW0wp0CiSAtlOT68VtFIL2h_5WSQvPtF5cUio-pJQW0SY6ArZcCKjpQhb4VGP_KnLBYf-QDqDFpGFoZ7_asC6MhGiNTD2A/s1600/photo+3-742161.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEfmk5fsSoZkPCg7TFMrJtQMabgNlbl4WHPF1dJuNe0QEBfW0wp0CiSAtlOT68VtFIL2h_5WSQvPtF5cUio-pJQW0SY6ArZcCKjpQhb4VGP_KnLBYf-QDqDFpGFoZ7_asC6MhGiNTD2A/s320/photo+3-742161.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331876568513426" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo">Oliver (my gourmet guy) has been begging me to try a recipe for blueberry muffins. The recipe is printed on a hand towel that has been hanging on the cabinet handle for some time now. The batter turned out quite thick, almost like cookie dough, and I was worried it'd be a waste. But they baked up nicely and turned out more like scones than typical muffins. Jeff raved about them, and when Jeff likes something you know it's good. The only drawback was they didn't taste as good the second day, so eat 'em fresh! The recipe says baking "powder" then the directions say baking "soda" - I stuck with the baking powder (more biscuity and it was tasty!). </p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrYgv9v9U69EiIbbP80nAVnDXUDwFdVxusYbN85EbWgwDLh7DyRXh1REyD8VdL02JOC-wtoR_04GU-jUx8vCR12mscb_7kVp9qEQ3rcqOUucU93vHJNU0BdDQx4HuuefvnQTUsT9HT-Q/s1600/photo+4-744718.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrYgv9v9U69EiIbbP80nAVnDXUDwFdVxusYbN85EbWgwDLh7DyRXh1REyD8VdL02JOC-wtoR_04GU-jUx8vCR12mscb_7kVp9qEQ3rcqOUucU93vHJNU0BdDQx4HuuefvnQTUsT9HT-Q/s320/photo+4-744718.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612331891915689666" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrYgv9v9U69EiIbbP80nAVnDXUDwFdVxusYbN85EbWgwDLh7DyRXh1REyD8VdL02JOC-wtoR_04GU-jUx8vCR12mscb_7kVp9qEQ3rcqOUucU93vHJNU0BdDQx4HuuefvnQTUsT9HT-Q/s1600/photo+4-744718.JPG"></a><b>Blueberry Muffins from the Hand Towel</b> (I doubled it for my family, but here's the single batch recipe)</p><p class="mobile-photo">2 Cups Flour</p><p class="mobile-photo">1/2 Cup Sugar</p><p class="mobile-photo">1/2 tsp. Salt</p><p class="mobile-photo">1 Tbs. Baking Powder</p><p class="mobile-photo">1 1/2 Cups Blueberries</p><p class="mobile-photo">1/4 Cup Milk</p><p class="mobile-photo">1/2 Cup Butter, Melted</p><p class="mobile-photo">2 Eggs, Beaten</p><p class="mobile-photo">In a large bowl, combine flour, sugar, salt and baking powder (the is where the hand towel says "soda" - never trust a hand towel)</p><p class="mobile-photo">Add 1 Tablespoon of flour mixture to blueberries, tossing to coat.</p><p class="mobile-photo">In a small bowl, combine milk, butter and eggs until blended. Stir into flour mixture just until moistened. Fill in blueberries. Spoon evenly into greased or paper lined muffin cups. Bake 10-25 minutes at 400. Makes 8-10 muffins.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><br /></p><p class="mobile-photo"><b>Lasagna Soup</b></p><p class="mobile-photo">(Warning: this uses fake food, but it's good when you're in a rush). I actually made this in a Dutch Oven on the stove, then later put it in a crock pot just before dinner to reheat.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsf1X_jSm4u2VEWQQ2HxBJA8C0qo55VIP4mZlqYHQgPxiojYgHCbWBp1BDAONQBbXdzHemDZG4Q98xaHD_R0wDvIoZBlNM3E76QxJwudjainimZDdcCsy5pMrshY2wYbnKTRfRuH3N8lk/s1600/photo+1-702933.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsf1X_jSm4u2VEWQQ2HxBJA8C0qo55VIP4mZlqYHQgPxiojYgHCbWBp1BDAONQBbXdzHemDZG4Q98xaHD_R0wDvIoZBlNM3E76QxJwudjainimZDdcCsy5pMrshY2wYbnKTRfRuH3N8lk/s320/photo+1-702933.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612332135232479506" /></a></span></span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">1 lb. ground beef</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">1/2 C. chopped onion</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">1 pckg (7 3/4 oz) lasagna dinner mix (This is where I'm embarrassed - using a box. I had bought some when on sale for food storage and needed to use them up, so today's soup was a triple batch)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">5 cups water</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">1 can (14 1/2 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained (I used tomatoes from my in-laws' garden that I'd canned - don't know if I'll ever can again, but it was good to have in storage)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">1 can (7oz) whole kernel corn, undrained (I used corn from my in-laws' garden that I had frozen last year)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">2 Tbs. grated Parmesan cheese</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Any veggies you want to add. I sauteed green peppers and celery, threw in some canned mushrooms (no, I didn't can them from my in-laws' garden :) hee-hee), And at the end you can put in zucchini, summer squash, etc.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">In a Dutch oven (which I used) or soup kettle, cook beef and onion over medium heat until no longer pink, drain. Add contents of lasagna dinner SAUCE MIX (not the noodles yet), water, tomaotes, corn, other vegetables (but not soft veggies, like the zucchini or summer squash), and Parmesan cheese (I forgot to put in the Parmesan this time, it was fine).; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the lasagna noodles and zucchini or other squash. Cover and simmer for 10 minutes or until noodles are tender. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Makes 2 1/2 qts (10 servings). </span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8l5AvWafdYsoiC16wKAfBOe_imLw4PM8guq6AbvnD4V6dQXdSJZqdZQhPvQGHdrxz11M0TXWsK2dV2T9RSQ6MV6mFpAG_zo2yQLP7UIEElZTjvBZv_cb6ZMIKyOCeDq_HywX4o28GVIQ/s1600/photo+5-705793.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8l5AvWafdYsoiC16wKAfBOe_imLw4PM8guq6AbvnD4V6dQXdSJZqdZQhPvQGHdrxz11M0TXWsK2dV2T9RSQ6MV6mFpAG_zo2yQLP7UIEElZTjvBZv_cb6ZMIKyOCeDq_HywX4o28GVIQ/s320/photo+5-705793.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612332141927222898" /></a> Speaking of Dutch Ovens, I made our chicken in one this week because the grill was out of gas and I like Dutch Ovens. In the background is some asparagus from my in-laws' garden. Tasty! </span></span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKIJYbC7Rxowvu632bw_g1YyOXtM8mbkRckIm03WKeFkxwztdwGQUTmBX6IeStu9tOaiPm2mfXqqr9sZX7hj8Hx-Ni9IZphmfgIhpHNNmJEaCp0n7IdfDVJrYTROqphtXJ2VqlrOLrn0/s1600/photo+1-733757.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKIJYbC7Rxowvu632bw_g1YyOXtM8mbkRckIm03WKeFkxwztdwGQUTmBX6IeStu9tOaiPm2mfXqqr9sZX7hj8Hx-Ni9IZphmfgIhpHNNmJEaCp0n7IdfDVJrYTROqphtXJ2VqlrOLrn0/s320/photo+1-733757.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297037965594354" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaP5bRJARs2jFly1UuIOSzhNTT96VS4c2BH__hdLQNDwn-NRlw2hndZFy60lOqGmo4nLSxTUypWPnC6ez9kRoyHjWvyh4NmOzE0j5h9HoGMa7uGaXvTXIuZ6kZI09PbF94l6uaGKWU-o/s1600/photo+2-735494.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCaP5bRJARs2jFly1UuIOSzhNTT96VS4c2BH__hdLQNDwn-NRlw2hndZFy60lOqGmo4nLSxTUypWPnC6ez9kRoyHjWvyh4NmOzE0j5h9HoGMa7uGaXvTXIuZ6kZI09PbF94l6uaGKWU-o/s320/photo+2-735494.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297040689231314" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTuKI8SrhM6ETom199-NG6CDOGypKfZBUVxGN2-BTAW8kE9Q4YBipbMRjRXPpTNAA23nIw-lPXkIff-Tw6eOc3yP2M9eqt_K_R6rDRPwLMFRSctN8inT723sh6UxOI-2gOO6dbMbqTloM/s1600/photo+3-736777.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTuKI8SrhM6ETom199-NG6CDOGypKfZBUVxGN2-BTAW8kE9Q4YBipbMRjRXPpTNAA23nIw-lPXkIff-Tw6eOc3yP2M9eqt_K_R6rDRPwLMFRSctN8inT723sh6UxOI-2gOO6dbMbqTloM/s320/photo+3-736777.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297048240422018" /></a> Besides asparagus, chicken, fruit, & cottage cheese, here is also baked sweet potato fries (my favorite!). Cut sweet potatoes into strips, brush with olive oil, sprinkle with coarse salt, and bake at 400F on a baking sheet for about 40 minutes, stirring occasionally. </p><p class="mobile-photo">And the <b>trick to asparagus</b>, by the way, is this:</p><p class="mobile-photo">Cut off the woody ends, rinse, then soak in a pan of ice water. Meanwhile, bring a large skillet of water to a boil on the stove. When boiling, add chilled asparagus to the water, then let the water return to a boil. As soon as it begins to boil, remove the asparagus and return it to the ice water pan (you might need to add more ice). The asparagus is perfectly cooked. Sometimes I then grill it a little (brushed with olive oil and sprinkled with salt). Sooooo good.</p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReaVlK8MSydlmv4Uq0PpULqSq8PFVuFie_wTyLFr6noUcHNP-hIf5YusWy3mbZtgOtJZzjxS4jmxm9D4KYajMQpDH9GYrO0CaPddW6kv-zDpeRt2In28RwxlT5gydcs8sbjXb_cXsrLc/s1600/photo+4-738028.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReaVlK8MSydlmv4Uq0PpULqSq8PFVuFie_wTyLFr6noUcHNP-hIf5YusWy3mbZtgOtJZzjxS4jmxm9D4KYajMQpDH9GYrO0CaPddW6kv-zDpeRt2In28RwxlT5gydcs8sbjXb_cXsrLc/s320/photo+4-738028.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586297055024106018" /></a> The wrap was so pretty I had to take a picture. I used Italian Flat-Out bread, alfalfa sprouts, lots of lettuce, carrots, and left-over chicken, and mustard for flavor.</p></span></span><p></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="mobile-photo"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLSQURbaRtcokjKxxzd0uTgWlVpqE9F5U16eC_SXP6gB5NuxQdcS2cNZIrA033YwdkGl8ZwR1Ta0HjHQj04hVUAjCsEEk3RLqd2-8_2ocR5_uWxPOgBvIEGeDCN0i70Ejz5LsTN8PTH8/s1600/photo-726197.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLSQURbaRtcokjKxxzd0uTgWlVpqE9F5U16eC_SXP6gB5NuxQdcS2cNZIrA033YwdkGl8ZwR1Ta0HjHQj04hVUAjCsEEk3RLqd2-8_2ocR5_uWxPOgBvIEGeDCN0i70Ejz5LsTN8PTH8/s320/photo-726197.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587003527726882018" /></a> I made these bran muffins a while ago. I'll add the recipe later (the kids are going crazy with me on the computer). The nice thing is that you make the recipe, bake up what you want, and keep the rest of the batter in the fridge - then bake new muffins as needed. Scrumptious.</span></span></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4234474589015691064.post-76453768602552029162011-05-27T00:07:00.000-07:002011-05-30T08:40:57.432-07:00Water water everywhereSummer vacation began with a windchill of 33F today, winds up to 50mph (gusts), clouds, and chance of rain. Gotta love Rexburg.<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYZAoL8pMVYsorW0mUUk7AsQLBcrXRK-XjGpydapo6rNkuvDH7IgbeuLPL1nMlP-1Yq6Nr7yQx2lRTj8Qz92To2YQGvIRl3R7jTaNqp_iLA0he7jMkf-90QfErcKxf8g9lnuCq5LXsD4/s1600/photo+2-703654.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYZAoL8pMVYsorW0mUUk7AsQLBcrXRK-XjGpydapo6rNkuvDH7IgbeuLPL1nMlP-1Yq6Nr7yQx2lRTj8Qz92To2YQGvIRl3R7jTaNqp_iLA0he7jMkf-90QfErcKxf8g9lnuCq5LXsD4/s320/photo+2-703654.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612332134050337346" /></a> This is a view of the watered valley from the top of the Menan Butte (the "R" Mountain) on an early morning run last week. There's even more water now. <br /> <div>Jeff's been at his parents' cabin most of his free time this week (and the week before, and the week before that). The river runneth over, and so he has to tend the pumps. He's keeping the water at bay, but just barely. I guess we should be grateful for cool temperatures so that the snow pack doesn't melt too quickly! I suggested taking the family to the cabin so we could spend time together, but Jeff is worried about safety with the water so high and so fast. So what to do for Memorial Day that will keep us sort of close to home in case the water rises? I don't know. Go bowling, I guess.</div><div>It's 1am so I'm going back to bed, but I did want to remember a cute Charlotte story. She opened a fortune cookie this week and had me read it to her: "There is a pleasant surprise in store for you." She was thrilled and wanted to go immediately to the store to get her pleasant surprise! She was not happy when I tried explaining to her that there wasn't really a surprise at a store... Personally, I think 3 year olds are too young to have their fortunes told.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2