Brother Brigham Had the Right Idea

I wonder if, when he decided to make Utah's Dixie his winter retreat, Brigham Young had these things in mind:

Endless climbing for his rambunctious boys.

Uneven surfaces and tipsy toddlers make for worried mothers and wives.

Standing downhill from an 8 year old boy is definitely not the right place.

{How many shadows do you think his family cast?}

Climbing down the crack in a rock leads to discussions about cracks in other things.

Snow Canyon displays nature's version of fluorescent colors.

It is possible to tolerate more than one teenager at a time.

{Love you, Brock!}

Evidence of alien life in Southern Utah.

{Not us....the  WALL, people!}

Never underestimate the power that sunshine and unstructured roaming has on a 21 month old.

Busy boys are happy boys.

Sand in shoes is part of being a kid.

Sand down the back of your pants is part of being a boy.

Stopping a son for a photo op is not always an easy thing to do - sometimes you have to squish them up against a rock to get them to hold still.

What goes up must come down.

Everything is not always as it seems.

Was Pres. Young aware that pioneer tagging was going on - on the walls of Snow Canyon?

Boys are awesome.

Exploration of canyons that swallow you up whole is a humbling experience.

***

Yes, Brigham Young had the right idea.

Salt Lake in the summer.

St. George in the winter.

Smart man.

Meet Amy

Perhaps you remember Brent.

A younger brother of Jeff.  A crazy uncle to our kids.

A man who provides continuous comic relief to any situation.

And a sex kitten who can, obviously, work a sassy apron and red pumps like no other.

I love Brent.

But Brent is more than just a vessel of percolating amusement.  He is a loyal friend.  A hard worker.  A great dad to 3 cute kids (who are also funny).

And he is the husband to Amy.

Amy.  Talented beyond compare.  She is a seamstress, a painter, a blog head designer.  She's a decorator, a writer, a puppy dog lover.  She's a butcher, a baker, and candlestick maker.  

She's also helping me out while I'm in my writing slump.

Thanks, Amy, for rescuing me today.

You're a saint.

{And speaking of saints, I'll be visiting the saint known as George for the next several days. Slightly warmer weather, blue skies, In-N-Out Burger, Christensen's department store, and a hot tub.  I can't wait.  Oh, and I'll be able to run outside - as in NOT on the treadmill - for a couple of days.  Thank you, St. George, for providing us clean air to breathe.)

And....

now....

Amy...

***

A Day in the Life of a Potential Juror

Today, for the first time in my life, I had jury duty. Now, I've been called in the past and had it excused because of my children (nursing, etc). Today I had no excuse. And I served. Here is what my day looked like:

9:45 -- Leave my house thinking I'm going to be WAY early and make a good impression. (On whom I would be making that impression, I'm not sure. Turns out I was simply one among the herd of cattle they had gathered in today. But it's nice to be prompt.)


10:15 -- Thanks to my lack of familiarity with the downtown area I pull into the parking lot just minutes before I am to report. Lots of anxiety. Can't see the shuttle I'm supposed to take so I decide to walk to the courthouse.


10:25 -- Going through security. Thank goodness I'm not late. Explain Brent's consecrated oil on the key chain to security x-ray lady.


10:30 -- Squeeze into what looks to be the only remaining seat and wait. Laugh silently at people coming in behind me who have to stand. Should have been as prompt as me.


10:40 -- Many names called and numbers handed out. Not mine. Feel a little inferior. If only I had left home earlier. Maybe then they would have wanted me for their stupid jury. Begin texting flirtatiously with Brent.


11:20 -- More names called and more numbers handed out. Still not my turn. What is wrong with me??? Anxiety heightens, but I get to move to a more comfortable seat. Small victories.


11:30 -- Released for lunch. Must be back by 1:00. Go outside and wander aimlessly with the rest of the herd.


11:45 -- Run into a lady I recognize from the gym. We eat salads together. Surprisingly, not as awkward as I anticipated.


12:45 -- Head back to juror assembly room. Explain Brent's consecrated oil to another security x-ray lady. Seriously, it's not a bomb, folks.


12:50 -- Oooh! Hitch is on. I lost my comfortable seat, but new one is almost as good.


1:30 -- Four more groups called in quick succession. Nobody wants me. Mope and try to read.


1:40 -- They send a bunch of people home, including my new friend from lunch. Sadly, I remain. Not good enough to make the cut, Not lucky enough to get sent home.


1:50 -- Consider laying on the floor for a nap, but decide the "tacky factor" is too high for me. Look around the room and marvel at the many and varied interpretations of the business casual dress code.


2:05 -- Finally my name is called!!!!! To go home!!! Yeah!!!!!


2:30 -- Waiting in line for shuttle, I decide to just walk back to parking lot since I made it OK before.


2:35 -- Realize I parked in the wrong lot (maybe that's why there wasn't a shuttle in the a.m.) and the lot I have chosen has a 2-hour limit. Sprint to car praying that I haven't got a ticket on my windshield.


2:36 -- Sigh of relief . . . no ticket. Drive home.


End of story for 18 months. It was an interesting day. Hope yours was fun, too.

***

You can check out Amy's blog here.

My Kennedy Has Resurfaced

{While begging Kennedy and Jeff to be my guest bloggers last night - since all of you are too shy and don't dare step forward to the blog-ophone with a personal essay - Kennedy batted her glittering eyelashes at me and said, rather coyly, "You could write a post about your sweet, darling daughter." She's been the topic of many conversations between Jeff and I lately so I thought I would share.}

***

I feel like I've finally got my daughter back.

Last year, as she entered the dark abyss of jr. high - with its tides of teenagers scrambling for solid ground, experiencing the discomforts of change, the evolution of friendships, and the ebb and flow of self esteem, we felt like we lost a part of Kennedy that made her, well, Kennedy. The spark of youth and its carefree shine. 

We had friends who told us it would happen.  Those innocent 12 year olds enter a world whose hallways are plastered with just about every diagnosable mental disorder out there.  And you know what?  Every one of those naive panic stricken 7th grade newbies will experience these at some point - paranoia, split personalities, depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, mood disorders, irrational thinking, emotional hemorrhaging.  We try and arm them with pep talks, parental guidance and advice, pat them on the back, drop them off at the doors, and say, "Good luck!"  

It's amazing any of them survive the first day.

The lighthearted and talkative and happy girl that we had lived with for 12 years fell below the surface for awhile.  Actually, the whole year.  She was still our Gee Gee - kind and compassionate with a firm foundation of who she was - but her spirit was just less buoyant. There was more of a heaviness to her.  Like she was spent.  She had good friends and was secure in a supportive network, but the daily task of making it through the mind games and foul language and questionable values of others, made for an exhausting 7th grade experience.  

This year has been a completely and totally different ride.  She's no longer a "sevey" - at the bottom of the food chain.  Being an officer has expanded her horizon, allowed her to work with some truly amazing kids, and has kept her positively involved in school activities.  She's more aware of who her true friends are and feels more secure as her circle continues to expand. She's had to learn to step over the adolescent garbage and ignore those who would rather tear down than uplift.

And she's back!

She moves like a girl who knows she has found her niche despite the mayhem. She has come through unscathed and walks with her head firmly on her shoulders.  She has watched and she has learned and has decided who she wants to be. She continues to hold her standards high and surrounds herself with friends who have equal respect for themselves. She smiles and laughs because she finally has fresh air in her lungs.  It was a long haul but she did it. She doesn't seek popularity nor the praise of others.  She has seen what it sometimes takes to be the uber popular.

And she's not interested.

She is loving school this year and comes home each day talking a mile a minute. She, being her mother's daughter, gives very detailed and descriptive recounts of her daily dealings.  I love it. She is energetic and peppy and loves life.  

The gray clouds of 7th grade have blown through.  

Thank goodness for the blue skies and sunshine.

:D !

HELP!

Seriously, people, I can't think of anything to write about.

I've hit a wall.

I can't go over it, and can't go under it, and I can't go around it.

My nose is just smashed up against it.

And it's quite uncomfortable.

{And horribly unflattering.}

SO, until my writing mojo is retrieved from the lost and found, I'm asking for your help.

Yes, help is needed from you and you and you.

{I know it's rude to point, but I just pointed at you and you and you.}

I'm looking for guests to post something on my blog.  It can be about anything you want.  It just has to be clean and appropriate for a PG-13 audience.  

I don't have to know you personally nor do you even have to have a blog of your own.  You can write up a savory tale or tidbit for all of us to enjoy, or compose a sticky sweet story about something that is meaningful to you.  It can be funny.  It can be sad. It can be eyebrow raising as long as it's not mean spirited. Anything goes. It can be something current or something you've written in the past.

I'd love to hear from my friend(s) in England.  Whoever you might be.

Any takers?

Leave a comment or email me at kmgregson@yahoo.com.

Can't Get the Right Words Out

I think I'm feeling a bit of writer's block lately.

A nasty disorder in which I have a tangled mess of thoughts in my head but no way of verbalizing it and unweaving the untidy mental clutter.  

Sorry for the weak posts lately.  No great writing, I know.  Just kind of a mediocre splash of poor skills on my part.

I'll blame it on the January after Christmas blues.

Are you feelin' it too?

Or maybe the lack of sunshine or clean air to breathe.  Ah, gotta love Utah's inversion. Stuck overhead until at least Wednesday, they say.  I ran outside for 4 miles yesterday.  Came home with a smoker's cough.  Great.  Trying to be healthy - coming home with dirty particles in my lungs.

Anyway, again, I'm sorry for the poor showing of much creativity in the verbal department lately.  Just can't gather my thoughts and express them like I want you to hear them.

{Please be patient.

And stick around.}

So, here's to not getting it right.

And fumbling over the words.

Simple Mathematics

At first there were 2.

{As in Jeff and I.} 

Then we added 1.

That made 3.

Then we waited.

3 went by.

{As in years.}

We added another to make an even 4.  

Skip along past 2.5.

And our number rose to 5.

The 2 were then outnumbered by the 3.

We waited.

And cried.

Was 5 the final answer?

No.

6 was our lucky number.


Our sum.

***

Many thanks to Jeff's sister, Daina, who took the time to take these shots of our family while in town for Christmas.  Thanks, too, to her sidekick and one-man-comedy-act, Sherman. Thanks to our kids for cooperating so well on such a frigid afternoon.  Thanks to Shaw for not letting his frozen hands fall off.  Many thanks to Jeff for keeping his eyes open and a heartfelt "merci" goes out to butter for making me who I am today.  

If anyone is in the Seattle area and wanting some great photos from an awesome gal, give Daina a call.  You can check out her website here.

Have a Box of Kleenex Nearby

This was hauntingly beautiful. 

If you're wondering if your tear ducts still work and if your emotions towards your fellow man are still in check, rent this movie.

{See a glimpse here.}

The Pretzel Girl

As a parent, I'm always glad when my kids have good examples around them. Good examples in the form of friends, family, teachers and sometimes even strangers.  Kids watch and learn. They don't miss much.  

But I think sometimes they learn even bigger lessons when they see bad examples.  Examples of how not to be or how not to act.  Good examples are sometimes subtle and gentle.  Bad examples usually carry their own spotlights and resonate loudly.

Case in point - the Pretzel Girl.

When we were in Florida back in October, we spent a day at Disney's Animal Kingdom. It was the afternoon and our stomachs were growling. We decided to grab an $18.00 pretzel from one of the street vendors to hold us over until dinner time.  The family ahead of us in line placed their order and the mom asked if they sold any cheese sauce for the pretzels.  The vendor informed her that, no, they did not.  At this point, the daughter who was probably around 9 years old, started wailing.  "No cheese sauce?  MOM, I WANT MY CHEESE SAUCE!!!!!!"  She then proceeded to throw a full on tantrum right in front of us.  It was unbelievable.  The humidity wasn't helping the situation - her face was beet red and she was sweating profusely due to her hissy fit.  The glittering butterfly that had been painted on her entire face was melting and dripping away because of the enormous amount of twisting and morphing taking place on her young she-devil mug.

Unbelievable.

"Cheese sauce!  Cheese sauce!  I want my cheese sauce, MOM!"  She clenched her fists, stomped her feet and squinted her eyes.  A masterful display of a diva in the making frenzy.

I looked around for the hidden cameras because this had to have been a joke.  

The mom, of course, coddled her cherubic child and kept apologizing to her that no cheese sauce was available and that she would make it up to her somehow.  She kept trying to console her but to no avail.  

It was either get that kid some cheese sauce or enjoy hell for the rest of the day.

That Pretzel Girl left a lasting impression on my kids.  Even now, if one of them ever starts to whine over something that is ridiculous, we all chime in, "I want my cheese sauce!"

And the whining stops immediately.

I appreciate the lack of parenting in situations like this.  The cowering and overindulging and spoiling that some parents do makes my job easier.

Kids watch and learn.  They don't miss much.

And that portly cheeseless Pretzel Girl at Disney's Animal Kingdom (October '09) taught my kids how not to act and how not to be.

And I didn't have to say a single word.

Doh!

New Year's Eve 2010.

Teenagers and toddlers co-mingling is a dangerous sport.

Shaw took a ball to the back of his head.

His forehead then had a close encounter with a ping pong table.

Luckily, after the swelling subsided a bit and his Rocky profile was reduced by half, we realized that nothing was broken, no stitches were required and that no trips to the emergency room were needed.

Our first miracle of the new year.

After spending the night at the Turner's and perfecting our Beatles Rock Band skills,  we came home today and successfully packed and put away all of the Christmas decorations in one evening.

Our second miracle of the new year.

But I realized something.  Right there in the middle of packing away the Santa's and stockings and shepherds.  I stopped dead in my tracks...my mind's memory file sputtering out unplanned thoughts.

Because Jeff and I were half-baked with sugar this holiday season and because we were determined that child #3 would not foil another Christmas surprise, we accidentally forgot to give Shaw one of his Christmas gifts.  

Dumb, I know.

That's what happens when you're an overachiever and start hiding gifts too well.

As in too well that you, yourself, can't even find them.

Somehow, my memory was hidden under the blankets and shoved to the back of the cupboard along with Shaw's Racin' Ramps Garage.

So, Shaw, with nose bulging, beaten, and battered, received a surprise and almost forgotten gift on New Year's Day.

Hopefully, this sets the tone for the rest of 2010.  

Buried treasures.

Help Wanted

I have 3 problems at the moment.

Could you come to my rescue?

First, I need help breaking up with sugar.  It has courted me the entire month and I happily swooned in its presence.  But now it needs to go home.  I've danced with it in all forms - brown, white, powdered, granulated, superfine, and cane.  I've also kissed its cousins - honey, molasses, and corn syrup.  But the honeymoon is over, the sugar induced coma has set in, and my mind is spinning in sucrose soup.  Even Jeff, the healthiest eater of our bunch, has fallen victim to the addictive effects of  cocoacaine and has developed an insatiable appetite for all confections.

Help is needed immediately.  I need concrete answers.  DO NOT send any psychobabble using the words self-control, will power, or mind over matter. Just send me the recipe for a detoxing casserole.  Or perhaps a movie with subliminal "sugar is your enemy...sugar keeps you hostage" messages throughout.  Maybe a special lotion to rub on my earlobes that will instantly cause all the cravings to cease and desist?  I'm begging you...

{And I'm writing a letter to my Congressman tomorrow.  I think sugar, in all of its vast and evil forms, should be a controlled substance.  Kept under lock and key.}

Second, I look like an idiot playing the Wii.  Grandma and Grandpa Mackintosh gave us one for Christmas.  The kids love it.  I look like an ignoramus.  Taiden and Jeff were getting their kicks last night as I exhibited my lack of Wii grace.  I about threw my shoulder out while playing Toy Story Mania and my quads were on fire due to my awkward stance that I think was way too wide.  

Any suggestions on how to avoid getting my mommy groove on every time I take the controller?  Are there community classes I can take?  Perhaps some self-help courses?

Third, is anyone willing to come take all of my Christmas decorations down, box them up alphabetically in their 2,500 totes, and put them away nicey-neaty in our storage room (which requires the agility of an acrobat to reach)?

Please?

Pretty please?

With sugar vegetables on top?

The Way to a Mother's Heart

Christmas '09 has come and gone.

The presents have been opened, the cookies eaten, the egg nogged, the house destroyed.

It was a wonderful time.

The anticipation leading to Christmas is what it is all about.  I love the build up, the electricity in the air, the wondering and questioning, the traditions that are ironclad.

The aftermath leaves me a bit sad though.  

Sad that it is all over.

And that another year of Christmas memories has come and gone so quickly.

Too quickly.

And that my children are yet another year older.

Sigh.

Thankfully, my kids all gave me homemade Christmas presents this year.  I will be able to see these gifts all year long and remember the moments we shared on Christmas morning.

I'm a sucker for kids' handmade gifts.

Yes, there were a few tears spilt.

Which is what they want and shoot for.

Tears from mom = Victory.  

Kennedy gave me the spring and summer paintings from her Seasons Series. She did winter for me last year and I've been asking her to do the others.  I will rotate them throughout the year using the same frame.

All I need now is the fall painting and my Kennedy Ann Collection is complete.

Taiden made a 2010 calendar for me.

Not only is he saving me the hassle of having to go out and find a new calendar,

but he has given the upcoming months a personalized touch.

Ah, that sun would feel good right now.

Brittan and I have an ongoing Christmas connection - we both cry when he gives me his Christmas gift.  My tears are more abundant, his are more of a mist.  But, for him, Christmas is complete only when we share this moment together. 

He gave me several gifts this year.  The first was a book of things he has been collecting for a very long time.  It includes things like photographs, cards on animals, and drawings that he and Taiden have done.  It even has a printer test sheet in it.  This was his own personal book that he decided to give to me.

He also gave me a self illustrated copy of The Night Before Christmas and some hand picked (from the dollar store) silk flowers for my bedroom.  He was so excited about the flowers.  I put them in the vase he gave me last year.  

They will sit on the bookshelf next to my bed.

Not matching in color to anything I have in my room.

But we moms are sometimes colorblind.

When it comes to our kids and their heartfelt gifts.

To All of Our Deer Friends and Family

Merry Christmas...

from our herd to yours!

A Dash of Gibberish and A Pinch of Gobbledygook

It's the Monday before Christmas.

I'm feeling nothing but randomness.

No lengthy strains of coherent thoughts.

Just specks of nonsensical fluff.

You've been warned.

Turn back now.

Last weekend, Jeff and Taiden hit the slopes.  Jeff took this cool picture with his iPhone.

Is it Taiden ridin' a rail on his board?

Or is it a sighting of Big Foot?

{I'm calling the National Enquirer today...}

A yearly tradition - jump in your PJ's, get in the car, and ride around looking at Christmas lights on a Monday eve.  We always love to head up to ritzy neighborhoods on the hill where the classy light displays are abundant.  But there's also a place in my heart for chintzy, hyperactive light shows. Such is the case up at Layton's City park.  The line up of cars is worse than any In-N-Out Burger grand opening.

The light tunnel should probably post a warning sign similar to those of video games - a warning to parents about the possibility of seizure inducing effects. Our kids came through unscathed, but I had a headache.  Also, nothing says "Christmas" like animated lights showing gorillas cracking coconuts, bears clawing at jumping fish, and unicorns playing along side a knock-off of Ariel and her other under water friends.

I never get sick of seeing this.

***

We pause here for the most annoying Christmas song ever written.

Thanks, George.  And thanks to the radio stations who play it over and over all month.

Click here.

Cringe. 

***

Christmas toys are way overrated.

Simply enjoy a bean and cheese burrito from Rio Grande.

The stringy fun can last for hours.

I think Santa's scratching his head over this one.

Naughty or nice?

This week, he's teetering. 

:D

Everyone should enjoy a Christmas cuddle.

***

We pause now for the greatest Christmas song.

Go to the sidebar and click on the Holly and Ivy.

Why am I so obsessed with those lyrics?

***

Jogging on crunchy snow is not a wise thing to do.

My ankles are angry at me today.

***

My right hand's ring finger will never be the same.

A birthday gift from a friend.

Thanks, Rand!

See this movie.

{It makes me want to be a better and more generous human being.}

Up With Linzer Schnitten, Down With Consumerism

No I didn't just swear in the title of this post.

In fact, Linzer Schnitten is a word that is spoken with respect and reverence in this home.

{in a spirited English accent - much like Oliver Twist} "Mum, may I have some more Linzer Schnitten? Please, dear mum, may I have even just a speck more of Linzer Schnitten?"

Starting in October, the advertisers of the world band together in their great and spacious buildings devoting mountains of money to the effort of channeling into the minds and wants of our little ones. Anyone out there in Christendom knows what a challenge it is to keep the focus on our Savior and not on the latest gizmo or gadget that will soon end up in the bottom of the toy box.  It really is a hard parental task.  Harder still when you, as the parent, get caught up in the excitement of what Christmas morning can bring.  

That's probably why Kennedy ended up with an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas when she was only 3 years old.

This year, I really wanted to try and shift our energies to our traditions and family time leading up to December 25.  By easing up on the self inflicted "must do's" on my rather frantic holiday list, I've allowed for more time to spend with Jeff and the kids.  For 2 years in a row, there will be no Christmas cards sent from this address.  Horrifying, I know. I'll admit that my heart thumps for a minute or two when I get a card in the mail.  I LOVE getting Christmas cards.  Then I second guess my choice of postal silence.  Eventually, I relax and realize that, once again, the world is still spinning on its axis and that the universe can and will go on without the Gregson family picture and yearly update circulating.

{I just hope the Postmaster General doesn't think that I'm breaking up with him.}

So, the traditions and family time have been bounteous this month. Concerts and nativities, music and movies, lights and Christmas books.  It's been a rather cold month so there have also been several stops for Maverik's Hot Chocolate (with French Vanilla creamer).  In the word's of Rachel Ray, "Yum-O!"

The first weekend of the month, I started a new tradition:  The Gregson Clan's Baking Marathon. In short, we measured and mixed and stirred and boiled and rolled and cut and blended and baked for hours.  I mean hours.  It was a two day affair, and at the end, we produced 6 different types of cookies (roughly 21 dozen), two types of fudge, and licorice caramels.

Can you guess how many pounds of butter we used?  

Here is the menu that is accompanying our simple brown craft boxes tied up with red and white baker's twine:

from the gregson kitchen

french buttons

simple, buttery cookies rolled in crystal sugar

reindeer oatmeal crispies

shortbread-oatmeal wheels dusted with powdered sugar

ebenezer's gingerbread cookies

these old fashioned babies definitely aren't stingy with the fresh ginger 

bavarian mint fudge

swirly, twirly minty goodness

belgium chocolate fudge

you're welcome

lump o' coal licorice caramels

you might want to be naughty just so Santa brings these

mini gourmet caramel kringles

these aren't your mom's rice krispie treats

linzer schnitten

jeff's favorite christmas cookie: a unique german recipe

lemon shortbread bites

delicate and lemony and hard to resist

The Christmas music was playing.  The mixers were humming. The flour was flying.  The kitchen windows were fogging.  It was a fun and exhausting 2 days. The kids were proud of their mass production of sweets and I was happy to have them in the kitchen with me.  The freezer is full and ready for company that stops by and the boxes are being assembled for teachers, colleagues, neighbors, family, and friends.

Another tradition has been added to our Christmas season.

***

{And it was 10.

As in 10 pounds of butter.}