Memories in a Mixing Bowl

Yesterday, Jeff made cookies.  Not a typical behavior for that husband of mine, but he was itching for something sweet.  On lazy Sabbath afternoons, our sweet teeth usually make a house call.   And it would be rude to shut the door on them, I imagine.

Jeff had one thing on his mind.  He made a beeline to the cupboard containing a lonely box of dates.  Dates that had been bought back in December but that never got used during our marathon baking weekend.  Sadly, they have sat silently next to the jello and pudding boxes waiting for someone to take notice. Jeff did notice and to him dates are meant for one thing and one thing only.  

His Grandma's Oatmeal Date Filled Cookies.

As he creamed and mixed, mashed and stirred, the ingredients came together as they should. He rolled out the dough, cut out circles, and baked them to near perfection - next time he says they'll be slightly thinner.  The filling was dark and rich - just as it should be.  He was proud of his efforts.  He was pleased that his cookies were near replicas of what he remembered from his childhood.  But during that time spent in the kitchen one thing happened that he didn't anticipate.

It made him miss his grandma.

Grandma with Brittan - Summer 2002

Recipes have incredible powers to round up memories.

A lovely friend once gave to me

A most delightful recipe.

Each time its used, I feel I spend

A precious moment with my friend.

Each and every time I use a recipe someone gives me, I think of them.  It's a brief, fleeting, almost subconscious recognition, but it is there nonetheless. Every time I make seasoned tacos I think of my sister-in-law, Carene.  When I make Turkey Tortilla Soup I think of a cousin's wife, Leslie.  When I make Pres. Nixon's chicken, I think of Chris - a friend. Buttermilk Ranch from Sandi. Banana Chocolate Chip cookies from my mom and grandma.  Mustard Ring from Ann.  Fresh Salsa from a sister-in-law, Jen (I miss you).  BBQ Spare Ribs from Aunt Wanda. These recipes are synonymous with these people.  I can't help but have their images flicker through my mind as I mix the ingredients to their culinary gems.  It's quick and momentary, but it's very much there.

Wonderful recipes.

Wonderful people.

  

Someone in the Advertising Department Deserves a Raise

These commercials have started airing lately and I laugh every time I see them.  

This gal doesn't need celebrity endorsements to catch her attention.

Just clever writing and plenty of tongue in cheek.

Check them out here and here.

Shuffling Towards the Gold

This week, our family has really enjoyed watching the Olympics together.  The guys have leaned more towards anything involving moguls, snowboards, speed and aerials.  The gals of the household have loved the figure skating.

In honor of the Olympics, I've searched the video archives for this never before seen clip of our own homegrown pair of skaters.

Synchronization at its finest.

(And not a sequined bodysuit in sight.)

:D

How a Mackintosh Became a Gregson - Part 1: Going Away to College

Since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I would share with you the start of a love story.  About a blonde girl from Bountiful and a crazy Canuck from up north.

{But since I have a propensity to be long winded and since I want to not leave out any details, this may take awhile - as in, several posts.}

picture source

It was the fall of 1990.  I headed down to BYU for my Freshman year with high hopes of transforming into an adult overnight.  Being on my own was an exhilarating thought but what I didn't really comprehend was that being on my own at this point really meant only waking myself up each morning, getting to my classes on time, studying on my own, and somehow getting nourishment into my system.  See, my parents paid for everything. EVERYTHING. Housing, food, clothing, tuition, books and supplies, trips to the candy counter at the bookstore.  I thought I was big and mature and experiencing life in a world of academia , but I was just playing grown up at college on my mom and dad's dime.  I thought it was fun to write checks for the first time in my life, but didn't make the connection that most people have to earn the money that goes into their accounts.  True, I did go home on the occasional weekend and work at our family owned video store (can I hear a shout out for Adventureland Video?) but financial stressers would not be a part of my regime for the time being.  Yes, I was a privileged kid off at college ready to experience every detail that higher education had to offer and, because I didn't have to hold down a job, I had the time to do it.  

Boy did I have fun that Freshman year.

Go ahead and say it.  Go ahead.  (Whisper - " She looks so young!")

Yes, I was young.  18 years old. 

That was 20 years ago friends.

With only classes to (occasionally) attend, homework to (usually) do, FHE brothers to (always) flirt with, and roommates to (continually) entertain, it was a rip roarin' (mostly) squeaky clean party for those first 8 months of university life.  My roommates and I stayed up entirely too late every night and talked, and laughed, and did parodies of SNL skits.  We got a hold of my parent's video camera and made our own horror movies (complete with ketchup-blood in the shower), commercials on feminine hygiene products, and had plenty of get togethers with those cute FHE brothers.  Times were fun and for once in my life I completely let loose and threw caution to the wind.

That's why I got a 2.4 my first semester.

I had been a student with impeccable grades up until that point.  A high school graduate who toted high honors and a cumulative 3.85 GPA.  The mistake I made - initially - with my whole BYU experience was thinking that I could make it to 8:30 a.m. classes.  Heavens, I had started high school at 7:30 a.m. so having classes an hour later would be a luxury, right?  But alas - my good intentions for rising early in the morning to be a studious student were debunked by my need to watch and analyze and dissect every new episode of 90210.   Or create the next masterpiece theater home video with my roommates.  Or prank call those cute FHE brothers. Or bake brownies at 2:00 in the morning in effort to keep up with those Freshman 15.

This girl needs more than 5 hours of sleep a night to succeed in college.

Don't ask because I have no answers.  I guess we were playing dress up.  Apparently, I was the horse riding pirate streetwalker, Jen was the Amish woman, and Michelle was doing a deodorant ad.

So succeed in school I didn't, but live life to the Freshman fullest I did.  With fall came the football season and my roommates and I bought season tickets.  Our group of seats moved from one section to another with each home game, but we generally moved around the stadium with the same group of people sitting around us.  In front of us, there was usually a group of Freshman guys who were quite entertaining to watch.  They were completely absorbed in the games and were not shy about verbalizing their sideline expertise.  There was one guy who stood out from the rest.  Yes, stood out because he was the loudest and most obnoxious and most vocal amongst his friends.  I remember he wore a Syracuse University jacket.  

In a sea of BYU blue, he wore a Syracuse University jacket.

It was several months later that I finally learned his name.

And no, his name was not Jeff.

***

To be continued...

I Love You

I have hijacked Kristen's blog to make a global announcement.  Thanks to Kristen's international audience I can say "I declare my love to you for the world to hear".  I remember the day like it was yesterday when I met that beautiful blonde bombshell on my lawn in Canada.  Yes, it was love at first sight, and I've been learning for the past years why I fell instantly in love.

They say a picture says a thousand words, so I created a video.  I hope this shows all the love and beauty we have shared together.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love,

Jeffrey Jay

That's a Fact

It's Thursday morning and this is what I know:

1.  It's snowing outside.

2.  After 3 days of being sick, Brittan is finally well enough to head back to school.

3.  I have the cutest toddler in the world.

4.  I'm cabin fevered.  (see #2)

5.  Girlfriend (AKA adopted sisters) getaway is exactly 10 weeks from today.

6.  Taiden needs to get out of bed and get going for the day.  I need to hurry with this post.

7.  Per Brittan's animal report that we've been working on, I know that male crocodiles are called bulls and females are called cows. (feel free to act like a smarty pants and use this bit of trivia in a conversation today)

8.  When you cook up bacon, you smell like a breakfast meat for the rest of the day.

9.  We're preapproved for a construction loan, have met with our contractor and draftsman, and are well on our way to our dreams of more living space. Oh, and can I mention that my nasty, gross carpet - that I determined would be gone within the first year of us living in our home (almost 11 years ago) - has less than 6 months to live.  HUZZAH!

10.  I am blessed.

What I'll Do to Avoid the Treadmill

It's no secret.

I HATE the treadmill.

I'd rather peel off my toenails than run on it.

I loathe it that much.

So, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

This morning it was 22 degrees when I went out for this week's inaugural run.

Geared with fleece jacket and cap, gloves, and iPod, I quite enjoyed my brisk and frigid 4 mile jog.

But when I got home, Taiden greeted me with the most puzzled look.  He was studying my hair.

"Don't worry.  I'm not going to hug you."  

{I know my boys get grossed out by how much I sweat when I run.}

He continued to stare.

"Taiden."

Stare.

Then he pointed.

I looked in the mirror.

Holy Schmoly. 

Ice.    

So, now I know that sweat has the same freezing point as water.

{Good information to have handy.}

Go Give Your Sister a Hug and Tell Her You Love Her

I grew up in a house with 2 older brothers.  

That's it.

And to this day I feel completely and totally jipped that I was the only girl.  I lamented this fact when I was young but I think the sting of solitary female isolation in the family tree has grown worse as I've gotten older.  I envy and covet sisterly relationships that I see around me.  It makes my heart ache at my lack thereof.  What I wouldn't do to have memories of fighting over clothes and talking late into the night rather than just simply going to sleep.  How fun would it have been to share a room?!  In the 80's, I sure could have used some help in getting my blue eyeshadow to stay looking electric all day long and it would have been nice to have a sister with good reasoning to tell me NOT to double pierce my own left ear on a boring Friday night (or maybe she could have done it for me). :D 

Today, I think of the talks that a sister and I would have.  I think about what it would be like to have someone - a sister - who loved my kids almost as much as I do.  Someone whose home would have an open door for my children and a hug ready at a moment's notice.  Someone who would offer advice and support and listen to my parenting angst from time to time.

What I wouldn't give to have that.

I watch and listen and observe friends around me and hear their stories of growing up with sisters.  And it makes me sad.  I wonder what a sister of mine would look like.  Would we have similar personalities and taste in things? Would her kids look like mine?  Would we call each other everyday on the phone?  I don't know... 

I really do think that, in a case like this, the grass is greener on the sister side.  

Females need females.  I think we're just wired that way.  Females process things by talking things out and sharing all of those touchy-feely emotions with other females who understand. Let's face it - we females can be peculiar and perplexing.  I think we are the only ones who really understand each other.

Jeff would concur.  Married almost 17 years and he still scratches his head at my female antics on a daily basis. 

Thankfully, Heavenly Father has surrounded me with wonderful girls/women throughout my life.  Yes, I've had to outsource my need for sisterly love.  I do have a stepsister and, although we weren't raised together and have usually lived several states away from each other, I know she always has my back and would do anything for me if I needed her help.  I have a sister-in-law, Carene, who has been like an older sister to me for 24+ years.  She is my hero and I aspire to be like her in word and deed someday.  I have other wonderful family members - both on my side and Jeff's - who are remarkable women and who I truly love.

I've always had great friends.  Since childhood, I've had strong, talented, beautiful sisters who have influenced me for good and helped fill that void.  For this, I am grateful.  I cherish the friends I had when I was a kid.  I love my friends I met in college and through my courtship with Jeff.  Those early years of being newlyweds brought with it more connections.  As a parent, I've met some wonderful women through friends and activities of my kids.  More sisters.    

Just last night, I gathered with a group of friends for our monthly Foodie Night.  It originally started out as a way to get together, eat delicious food, and share recipes with each other. While it has definitely served this purpose, it has gone beyond it as well.  As a few of us were lingering towards the end of the evening, we started sharing stories and experiences of our less than stellar mom moments.  Moments that would definitely not nominate any of us for a mother of the year award. As we listened and sympathized, laughed and teared up with one another, I realized that I have been blessed with sisters all around me.  No, we may not have shared the same family history, but we share the same struggles and trials as mothers, wives, and women. We don't look alike but we have struggles that are alike.  We don't share the same family traditions but we share the same prayers for our families.  We understand each other - we've been there.  We can relate - we've felt that.  We can empathize - we've done the same thing.  We're different - and we're the same.  

We talk and open up with one another and keep it real.  What a comfort. 

While I may not have photo albums filled with pictures of a sister who went on the same family vacations, ate the same Christmas dinners, and laughed at dad's same jokes over and over again, I have come to appreciate the influences of women that have come into my life.

I love you guys.

(gals)

And please don't ever let me double pierce my own left ear again.  With a safety pin.  On a boring Friday night.

It hurts.

A Son's Term of Endearment

At the breakfast table this morning:

Brittan:  "Mom?"

Me:  "What, Britt?"

Brittan:  "It's not just because you make delicious muffins, but I LOVE YOU."

Me:  Smile and chuckle.  "I love you too."

A Question For You on This 1st Day of February

Hi.

We're friends, right?

And friends should be open with each other.

Right?  

And friends shouldn't keep secrets.  And friends should be sympathetic and helpful.

Right?

And friends should be there for one another and be supportive and uplift.

RIGHT?

So, I've got a question and I'd love for you, MY FRIENDS (known or otherwise), to please answer.  So that nobody is embarrassed or gets befuddled or rosy in the cheeks, I'll whisper it softly.

So come close.

How much do you spend a week on groceries?

There.  I asked.  Am I too nervy to pose such a personal question?  I hope not because I really do need help in this area.

Every month I type out our monthly budget.  And every month, I mean EVERY month, I absolutely and positively do not stick to it.  We have set expenses that never or rarely fluctuate - cable, phone, city, piano, violin, house, gym membership, utilities and the like.  But the miscellaneous and grocery budget throw us off kilter every single month.  Without fail.

So I started to analyze my grocery expenses.  What I realized was that our grocery budget hasn't changed for the past 4 years.  As in -  4 years ago when Kennedy was 9, Taiden was 6, Brittan was 4 and Shaw was still jumping on clouds and playing a harp.  Those were the days when we lived on leftovers because our family didn't finish up a cooked meal in one sitting.  The kids were smaller, ate less, and we had no need to purchase paper pants for little bums. At that time my budget was $150.00 per week. I guess I've been holding out hope that I could still make that amount work even as my kids have matured and grown into healthier appetites.

I HAVE FAILED MISERABLY.

We no longer do leftovers.  My kids eat enough that if there is any food left after dinner, it carries over to lunch for Shaw and I the next day.  (But this is rare.)  My kids are ravenous after school and eat a healthy snack to hold them over until dinnertime.  So, on any given day - come 3:40 p.m. - and 3 yogurts are gone.  Or 3 bananas.  Or 3 glasses of juice.  Or 3 small bowls of cereal. Add into that Shaw's continuous toddler grazing throughout the day.  Egads! I can't imagine what will happen when they're all teenagers.

So, what am I doing wrong?  Or am I doing anything wrong at all?  I know my budget needs to be increased but by how much?  What is a reasonable dollar amount for a family of 6? 

Keep in mind that I am somebody who likes to cook and uses fresh ingredients when possible. Right now in my kitchen, I have fresh butternut squash (2nd week in a row!), brussels sprouts, green beans and asparagus for upcoming meals. I have fresh strawberries, avocados, blueberries, blackberries, apples, oranges, pears, and bananas for breakfasts and lunches and snacks.  In addition, I have lettuce, yellow and orange bell peppers, onions, potatoes, green onions and carrots - these are things I usually have on hand. Buying fresh ingredients is not always the cheapest way to cook.  But it's the only way I like to cook.  I'm not one to buy frozen foods and feed my family meals out of a box.  I try and cook healthy, well-balanced meals that require minimal processed goods.  

And FYI, I tried the coupon thing, but most of the coupons are for unhealthy foods and cereals so I stopped doing that.  Even if I can get a bag of cookies for only $0.25, it's still a bag of cookies.  I don't want my cupboards stocked with that stuff because my kids will obsess about it and I will sneak into it.  Why can't they do coupons for things like broccoli and cauliflower?  

So, drum roll please.

What does your grocery budget look like? 

Remember, we're all friends here.  No judging.  No snickering or evil cackling.

{And bonus points will be given to those who tell me I need to stop buying butternut squash from Costco because my budget can't support such healthy habits.}

  

  

It's 4:55 p.m. and All is Well

The house is very quiet this Friday afternoon.

As usual, Kennedy is off with a group of girlfriends.  Because of past experiences when our home has hosted her gaggle of BBF's, I know that - right now - they are probably doing each other's hair, painting nails, gushing over Taylor Lautner, and prank calling their good buddies. The room they are in most definitely smells of Lovespell from Victoria's Secret.  I'm sure there is laughing and music and discussions of things that are "SOOOOOOOOOOOO" this or "SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" that.

{Teenage girls turn short words into long words.  This is the method for emphasizing they like to use. They also, occasionally, throw in the same word multiple times to get the same affect. Like, "It was very, very, very, very, very, very, very boring." or "It was so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so embarrassing!"  Jeff's ears are still trying to adjust to this form of young female linguistics.}

The baby is asleep.  He missed his regularly scheduled 1:00 p.m. nap because Jeff and I went to a funeral.  The delay in nap time will most definitely cause a delay in his 8:00 p.m. bed time. It's OK. It's Friday.

The boys are up at G'ma and G'pa Ehman's house.  My mom has been introducing them to old black and white movies lately which my boys LOVE. Turn the afternoon date into a late night with dinner, a big bowl of air popped popcorn, a little Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, an ice cream cone on the ride home, and you have two very happy boys.

{I think you also have two very happy grandparents.}

Today, my mom told Britt that she's been using her DVD-R to record some of the movies that she thinks they'll really like.  Britt told her, "It's OK, Grandma.  We like them all."

As someone who grew up watching old flicks and musicals, I'm glad that my kids appreciate movies that aren't critically acclaimed for their special effects or computer animation.  I'm glad they can find humor in slapstick, catchy tunes, and witty writing.  

With the house so quiet, Jeff and I are in trouble.  I don't even think we'll be able to carry on with our 9:00-p.m.-fall-asleep-on-the-couch tradition.

I give us until 8:17 p.m.

Daily Marks

In Brittan's class, his teacher sends home a daily agenda.  It shows us what the 2nd graders in his class are learning and working on each day.

It also shows how his behaviors are.

At the top of the page, below each student's name, is a box for tally marks.

Tally marks aren't good.

Tally marks mean that several reminders have been given.  Changes in behavior need to happen.  Improvements in one's attitude, treatment towards others, taking responsibility for oneself, listening and ability to follow directions, interpersonal abilities.  It indicates excessive talking, being unkind and impatient with others, and not using an inside voice.  It is a reminder of the importance of focusing and sticking to the task.

Basically, skills they'll use for the rest of their lives.

    

It got me to thinking about what my tally box would look like on a daily basis.

How many marks would I receive indicating I needed a change in my behavior?

Improvements in my attitude.

My treatment of others.

Taking responsibility for myself and my actions.

Listening and my ability to follow directions (perhaps to the spirit?). 

Interpersonal abilities.

Not excessively talking.  Gulp! 

Being kind and patient with others.

Using an inside voice.

Focusing.

Sticking to the task (even when it's hard).

Brittan's box usually comes home empty.  Good.  He is learning and living these skills.

My box may not always look so blemish free.

I'm still working on that inside voice thing.

{Among other things.}  

"Delicious Brussels Sprouts" in Not an Oxymoron

Let's discuss veggies today.

Specifically, Brussels sprouts and butternut squash.

I hate to admit it but neither have ever been cherished and beloved in my book. The thought of Brussels sprouts evoked images of bitter nuggets of retching leafiness that somehow always reminded me of miniature brains.  Yes, they look like brains to me.  Growing up, my mom would cook them for Sunday dinner and my brother and I renamed them so that we didn't even have to utter their 3 syllable names.  Instead, we called them strawberries.  Strawberries took us to happier times - summer and cream and a light sprinkling of sugar. Visual imagery to help ease our pained palates.

(My mom also used to serve us liver.  But I won't discuss that at this time.  It's taken a lot of years to suppress those memories.  Even now, as I type the word liver, my eye is starting to twitch.) 

And butternut squash? Stringy orange mush slopped on a plate that not even a thick pat of butter could nurse back to flavor.  Dare I use the H word to describe the history of feelings towards these two? 

Hate. 

But as a mom, I've tried to be the adult in the kitchen.  Moms should cook their families a variety of vegetables and serve them with a cheery whistle.  A good mom winks at her kids as she dishes up a hearty helping of vitamins A, C, and E for herself.  A noble mom resists the urge to gag as she places the guts of a gourd into her mouth.  Smiling and reluctantly swallowing without the tell tell signs of wanting to plug her nose.

I've played the charade.  I've fed them their recommended daily dose of bright colored fruits and vegetables.  I've even put up with their complaints and silently agreed with them in my mind.

But no more.

Today I will share 2 recipes with you.  One will contain Brussels sprouts.  The other will contain butternut squash.  BOTH are delicious and semi-gourmet without the effort and hassle of actually being gourmet.  BOTH are packed with flavor.  BOTH are my new favorite things to eat.

Who'da thunk?

 

Me and Brussels sprouts and butternut squash.  Friends at long last.

TASTY BRUSSELS SPROUTS (as in, NOT bitter):

Brussels sprouts

butter

1/2 c. white cooking wine

1/2 c. chicken broth

salt and pepper

Wash Brussels sprouts, cut off stem and cut in half.  Saute - flat side down - in a small amount of butter until light brown in color.  Pour on white wine and chicken broth, cover with lid, and cook until liquid is absorbed.  Serve with salt and pepper.

If cooked with this method, these will not be bitter at all.  These are so good - my kids love them and even take second helpings!   

***

Butternut Squash Ravioli:

This recipe actually cheats a bit because the squash is in a store bought ravioli but it is decadently good.  Tastes like savory candy, to be honest.  The glaze is my own creation - a spin off of a dish I ate months ago at a restaurant.  Don't be scared to try this.  Your taste buds will thank me later.  My kids also LOVE this.  Fancy enough for guests and friendly enough for kids.

butternut squash ravioli (Monterey Pasta Company at Costco*)

1/2  cube butter (or more)

few shakes of balsamic vinegar

Cook ravioli according to package directions.  In a saute pan, melt butter and keep it on heat until it is browned.  Add a few shakes of balsamic vinegar and cook until slightly reduced and thickened.  Pour over ravioli and serve with a sincere smile.

(*I noticed this ravioli for the first time at Costco last week.  If you decide to make this recipe and Costco is sold out, it's probably because I went and bought up their entire stock.  It is THAT good.)

Jeff Saves the Day

I really wanted the title of this post to be Puppies and Pee but that didn't sound very ladylike.

But then I remembered that I'm usually not very ladylike so I should have just used it anyway.

Next time.

So, onward we go.  Yesterday, Jeff redirected fate twice.  As in two times. That's quite an accomplishment for someone who is chronically tired due to endless nights of rib kicking and nocturnal head butting from a certain toddler that roams these parts.  A certain toddler that takes full advantage of our lack of personal space and insists on sleeping in between Jeff and I. Jeff was exhausted and worn out and still managed to assist in 2 potentially catastrophic events.

{We pride ourselves in being overachievers.}

First assist.  He was driving on Shepard Lane - a busy street several miles from our house. Because of local businesses and the freeway on/off ramps, it gets quite hairy during rush hour. While driving home, he noticed a young girl darting in and out of traffic chasing her little white dog.  She had tunnel vision - completely oblivious to her surroundings - and was only aware of her need to capture her little Toto.  Jeff could see the blaring potential danger of the situation. Because he's a dad and just a really great guy, he pulled over and told her to stay put on the side of the road. He then proceeded to play Frogger with traffic and ran across the street to get her dog.  

Argyle sweater, khaki pants, and a fluffy white mut.  Now that would have made an excellent 80's arcade game.

2nd assist.  Because of our miniature dwellings, our 3 boys share one room. Above mentioned toddler doesn't like his crib.  Every night, we let him cry it out for an hour until he finally zonks out from sheer exhaustion.  The 2 older boys fall asleep in our bed so that they can do just that - sleep.  It's not a good situation especially since Shaw will flip on the light in the middle of the night and wake them up.  That's when he's usually rescued to come downstairs with us and the sleepless saga continues.

{Now you better understand the eye baggage, huh?}

So, last night, Shaw cries it out and the boys fall asleep in our room.  When we turned in for the night, Jeff dragged the boys out of our bed and pushed them in the direction of their bedroom. Because Jeff is a recovered childhood sleepwalker himself, he knows not to trust them to make it all the way upstairs on the first try.  His instincts are 20/20 - he found Brittan,  in the kitchen, garbage can pulled out of the cupboard, his personal firearm locked and loaded and ready to discharge.  IN THE GARBAGE CAN!  IN MY KITCHEN!

Did I mention it was MY KITCHEN GARBAGE CAN? 

Luckily, Jeff caught Britt before his shooter was shot, had him reholster it, and directed him towards the bathroom.

Jeffrey Jay.  The man.  The legend.  The urinal director.

You can hang up your cape for a day or two, honey.

Post note:  I really should work on being more ladylike.  Perhaps "The Pooch and A Potential Puddle of Piddle" would be better?

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.