If It Please the Court

Have you ever watched the news and seen video clips of city council meetings that are heated and riotous?  Meetings where the room is cram packed full of red faced, hot tempered individuals ready to spew venomous words that are either for or against a proposed issue?

Those scenes scare me.

So, last night when I was required to go before our local city council and plead a case for our upcoming addition/remodel, I was a bit nervous.  No, I didn't anticipate a room full of fuming people ready to shoot daggers at me, but I was a bit tentative of how it would all play out.  I half expected old man Gatrell from down the street to be picketing outside the meeting - disapproving our proposed exterior marble fountain feature complete with half nake-ed sculptures of Jeff and I.  

{Hey, we just think Farmington needs to work on being a little more avant garde, that's all.}

Truthfully, nobody else showed up besides myself, our contractor, the city council members, and the sweet lady taking minutes for the meeting.  They were warm, welcoming, and very kind. I am, however, on the record for saying, "I feel like I've been sent to the Principal's office" when I first approached the microphone.  I was then asked to state my name and address.  All the while the sweet lady taking minutes was typing away.  That stupid statement will be forever linked to me. Forever in history.  Oh, mercy.

Because our home is historic and in the historical district, there are certain rules and regs that we're supposed to follow when adding on.  Our plans were slightly outside some of those rules, but we were issued a Conditional Use Permit so we're good to go now.  It's taken awhile to get to this point, but we're thrilled we're finally here and that excavation is scheduled for Monday, May 10.  Huzzah!

If I planned a ground breaking ceremony, would you all come?

{What if I promised there would be food and a band?}

  

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

For me, Disneyland is like going home.

Having been born in Southern California and spending my younger years there, memories of my childhood are dotted with trips to the happiest place on earth. Most vivid are images of my brother and I running from ride to ride with our cousins, Julie and Justin.  I even remember the days when we used ticket books for the rides and E tickets were the coveted prize. I always wanted to live inside It's a Small World, grab a handful of golden coins from Pirates of the Caribbean, and loved to be reassured that Thunder Mountain was "the wildest ride in the wilderness."

While I've enjoyed sharing this magical vacation spot with my kids numerous times, I've also enjoyed being able to rekindle my youth on trips with just girlfriends.  At the spry age of 38 years old, I will hold my head up high and ignore the eye rolling and the naysayers prodding questions...."Don't you really need your kids to enjoy a trip to Disneyland?!"  

"No way, Jose!"

I will never apologize for being a kid at heart.  

{And for believing in pixie dust.} 

Day 1:  The lone giant no more!  Laura, a sister-in-law to the Holbrook gals, was a good 1.5" taller than me (how could that be?)  She was a newbie to the whole Disneyland experience and we broke her in quickly by completing a tour of the park by early afternoon.  This group moves fast!

"Clean-up in the cup of blue, please."

The only way these girly girls would go on Splash Mountain was if I'd sit in the front seat and take the brunt of the moisture.  

There are 6 of us on this ride.  Only 3 are visible because the other 3 were curled up in the fetal position willing the water to splash elsewhere.

Randee:  My twin separated by 10 years (and, oh, let's say about 100 pounds). She knows how much I love Tower of Terror and I know how much she hates it. We arm wrestled.  I won.  

As you can plainly see, Randee and her mom, Cheryl, thoroughly enjoyed their single ride on The Tower of Terror.  I distinctly remember hearing my name mixed with several curse words during the plunging and accelerating of the ride.  My arm sustained permanent damage from Randee's python grip.

Cheryl, Laura, Summer, Kristen, Randee, Paige

Summer was our golden ticket this year.  She blew out her knee about 6 weeks ago while skiing, had surgery, and was still in a knee brace on our trip. Because walking was still laborious for her, she rode in a wheelchair and was our direct link to the front of all the lines at Disneyland.  

Randee REEAAALLLLYYY wanted to take these Mad Hatter hats back to Jeremy and Jeff, but I talked her out of it.  I told her she was just getting caught up in the moment. :D

Our first ride on Splash Mountain proved to be disastrous to my hair.  Since I was banished to the front of the raft again on our second run, I was determined to be better prepared.  Notice the gift bag.  On my head.  Since I don't prefer suffocating, I rigged myself some air holes.

I was grateful for the peppy Zippity Do Da music because I couldn't see a danged thing with that thing on my head.

While on the trip, I ate a huge piece of humble pie happily dished up by Randee and Cheryl. Last year I was the reigning Annie Oakley of the group. I had some mad rifle skills at the Shooting Gallery. This year I failed miserably. Cheryl kicked my hiney big time. Randee dominated both times we rode the Toy Story ride. I walked away with my head hung low but you can be rest assured I'll be quick on my draw next year.

Grizzly River Run.  Of course, I campaigned to go on another water ride because I have no pride and don't mind looking like a drowned rat, and I thoroughly enjoy walking around in wet jeans (nothin' feels better!)  Everyone went ahead and spent $49.95 on a poncho to keep dry.

But not me.

I go for the free shower cap from the hotel.  

(It should be noted here that the free shower cap can also double as lunch lady head wear.)

(It should also be noted that, after looking at myself in this picture, I am definitely convinced that I need to do some modeling.  Seriously...)

Sasquatch and Polly Pocket.  

I found this gem in my suitcase stuck in one of my shoes. This is the exact same Donald Duck and sweet message that Taiden surprised me with last year.

"No, Randee. You can't buy that hat either."

Disney's California Adventure was hosting the Food and Wine Festival.  They had cooking demonstrations with celebrity chefs throughout the weekend.  We saw Jeffrey Saad (runner up on The Next Food Network's Star) several times during our stay.  He sat at the table next to ours at the Napa Rose restaurant (where I ate black truffles for the first time in my life) and he passed us several times in the park.

When he was on stage doing a food demonstration, we stopped to watch for a minute.  I wished I hadn't.

I know it's hard to read his lips in this picture, but what he's saying is, "Hey you....in the shower cap.... you should model!"

Déjà vu: Pushing the Pause Button Again

I feel like I've been lackadaisical with the old blog, but life has felt somewhat like a whirlwind lately and my online journal has taken a hit.  

I'm having to push the pause button again, but this time it is for much happier reasons.

See you next week!

'ello Spring!

I think it's finally safe to segue ourselves into full fledged spring.

That means spring cleaning.  Yard work.  Taking loads of unworn sweaters and long sleeves to the local D.I. and transitioning the closets and drawers to our lighter wears.

It also means lighter fares.

I've said good-bye to the comfort foods of winter.  The creamy potatoes, hearty soups, and heavier dishes that kept us warm as the temperatures dropped.  But now that our love handles need to come out of hibernation, I'm ushering in the refreshing bites of spring with a peppy, "Hiya!"  To me, spring means fresh salads and colorful dishes.  Chilled, vibrant flavors.

Last week, I made this salad for my dad.  Since he is being careful about what he eats - wants lots of veggies with no meat - this was perfect for him.  It is packed with flavor - in fact, I call it "Smack You in the Face with Flavor Salad".  If that name is too violent for you, you can simply call it Asian Noodle Salad.  It is a variation of Jamie Oliver's salad.  (I got it from my best friend that I've never met - The Pioneer Woman).  Don't you love Jamie Oliver?  He's the passionate chef with a lispy English accent.  He's adorable.  And that boy can cook!

This recipe makes a ton so it's perfect for parties or picnics.  Enjoy!

Salad Ingredients:

1 package linguine noodles, cooked, rinsed, and cooled (I use whole wheat noodles)

1/2 head sliced Napa cabbage, or more to taste

1/2 head sliced purple cabbage, or more to taste

1/2 bag baby spinach, or more to taste

1/2 red bell pepper, sliced thinly

1/2 yellow bell pepper, sliced thinly

1/2 orange bell pepper, sliced thinly

1 bag bean sprouts (or a generous handful)

1 bunch cilantro

4+  green onions, sliced, 

1 can cashews, lightly toasted in skillet

Dressing Ingredients:

1 whole lime, juiced

8 Tbsp. olive oil

8 Tbsp. soy sauce

2 Tbsp. sesame oil

1/3 c. brown sugar

3 Tbsp. fresh ginger, grated (MUST be fresh)

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1 - 2 fresh jalapenos, chopped

chopped cilantro

Mix salad ingredients together.  Whisk dressing ingredients and pour over salad right before serving.  

* I sometimes add chunks of chicken to make it a little more substantial.  It's great either way.

{photo from The Pioneer Woman website}

{Hey, P-Dub, call me!  We'll do lunch!}

Reading Between the Lines

Here's a quick update of the things going on around here:

1.  My dad is doing better.

{Read as:  He has been the recipient of 2 ambulance rides to the hospital in a one week period of time, has been a candidate for pushing daisies at least twice, and has suddenly become a devout vegan.  As trying as it's been for our family, it's been an opportunity to grow as individuals, to come together as a family, it's allowed for some relationships to start to heal, and has been a spiritual experience.  I am grateful for hospitals, for the power of the Priesthood, and for the fact that my dad is still here with us.}

2.  Shaw is getting smarter on a daily basis.

{Read as:  Kennedy is teaching him to count to 10 in Spanish and French.  Keep in mind that he's not yet two and his favorite vocabulary word is still "puppy" - which he says at least 3,892 times per day.  I guess he'll be able to count at least 10 puppies if he visits France or South America anytime soon.}

3.  We should start digging for our new addition within the next 2 weeks.

{Read as:  Huzzah!}

4.  I now have a 14 year old.

{Read as:  Teenagers are expensive.  I think all I asked for on my 14th birthday was some electric blue mascara, an Esprit shirt, and perhaps a bottle of hairspray.  I certainly did not hint for - nor receive - an iTouch. Thanks to all the grandparents for pitching in.}

5.  My half marathon is in just over 4 weeks.

{Read as:  I'm so sick of running I want to cry.  I'm ready for the race now and want it to be over now so that I can ease up on my running now. Does anyone have any suggestions of how to keep a positive vibe going when you're running for 2 hours?  My long runs aren't so physically draining as they are mentally draining.  Can you say bor-ing?  Is it possible to be too ADD to be a runner?  'Cuz I think I would fit into that category.}  

6.  My Girls' Getaway is one week away.

{Read as:  Tower of Terror, Monte Cristo sandwich, and the musty smell of Pirates of the Caribbean can't come soon enough.  This past week and a half has been emotionally exhausting and I need to get out of Dodge.}

7.  I love the sunshine.

{Read as:  Sunshine makes me happy.}

8.  I need a Chevron striped shower curtain.

{Read as:  I want a Chevron striped shower curtain.  I'm ready to redo the upstairs bathroom but the whole design is centered around a black and white Chevron striped shower curtain which I can't find anywhere.  I'm even willing to just get the fabric and somehow hot glue or fabric glue or staple one together on my own, but I can't even find the fabric.  Any internet navigators out there want to help me?  I'm considering offering a finder's reward for anyone who is willing to lend a hand.}

9.  I'm a mean mom.

{Read as:  I really do think I'm a mean mom.  I give consequences and stick to them.  I make my kids try hard things.  I make them brush their teeth twice a day and call them back after each brushing to clean out the nasty toothpaste film in the sink.  I won't do McDonald's. I make them empty the dishwasher.  I force them to give me hugs and kisses regardless of their gender or age, and I won't let them wear the same pair of pants the entire week.  See? MEAN!}

10.  Prayers are answered.

{Read as:  We have a Heavenly Father who knows our hearts, hears our prayers, and answers them according to His will.  He is there.  He listens to us. He loves us.}

14 Years Ago Today

14 years ago today, I became a mother for the first time.  On that day, I learned a whole new definition for the word love.  I had no idea that I would end up with only one daughter, but hit the jackpot with the one that I got.

Someday when I grow up, I want to be just like Kennedy.

Happy Birthday, Gee Gee!  We love you!

Pushing the Pause Button

Life has taken an unexpected turn this week and, as a result, I am pausing my blog for a few days.

My dad is in the hospital after suffering from a stroke.  Things are looking up for him but will be touch and go for a while. I've cried more today than I have in a long time.  

Miracles, in many shapes and sizes, happened these past 16 hours.  It was an awful day and a promising day all rolled into one.  

Please say a prayer for Dean.

If The Demented Easter Bunny at Your Local Wals-Mart Doesn't Scare Your Young Ones...

So THIS is what happens to the children of "It's a Small World" when they grow up.

Enjoy!

Happy Easter!

The Haircut (AKA - Pain and Torture)

Thanks, Randee!

Untitled

Sometimes I feel like I'm playing house.

Just playing house and patiently waiting for the real grown ups to show up.

Looking for someone to leave me a To Do list and a schedule for the rest of my life.

And when I stop and realize that this is real and that I'm mistakenly the one in charge, 

I get a lump in my throat.

When is somebody going to realize that I have no idea what I'm doing?

That I'm just pretending to be mature enough to raise a teenager.

That I'm really not sure that I'm tough enough to raise 3 sons.

That I'm definitely not patient enough to watch myself do this.

{That I'm still afraid of the dark.}

When and how did I get here?

My driver's license assures me that I'm old enough.

My weakened bladder reaffirms daily that, yes indeed, I did give birth to 4 children.  

My mammoth mountain of laundry reminds me that this is no joke.

And when, in just a fraction of a second and out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of myself (both naughty and nice) in my children, it suddenly comes crashing down on me that I am a real, genuine, bona fide parent.

{Gulp!}

Sometimes, when I see a piece of me in them it's exhilarating.  

And sometimes, well, it makes me cringe.  

Sure, I love to take some of the credit for their friendliness, their outgoing natures, their drive and determination.  

But, unfortunately, I also need to take some responsibility for their quick tempers, their impatience with each other, and their loud voices that sometimes bite.

Yeah, that's me too.

{Rats!}

Each morning, I put on my game face, act like I know what I'm doing, and continue playing house.  

And I pray daily that someday I'll get it right.

A New Look for Spring

Cleaning out the closets, shaking out the rugs, freshening up the dusty blog.

Happy Spring!

Impressing the 10 Year Old

Today, the gray matter in my head didn't let me down.

Taiden's class played a game in which they were asked what words like "oink", "sizzle", and "whoosh" are called.  He couldn't believe that his teacher would ask such a hard question. 

I knew the answer.

"Onomatopoeia," I said casually.  

Today I was smarter than a 5th grader.

{Whew!}

How a Mackintosh Became a Gregson - Part 2: The Canadian Roommate

{Just tuning in?  Be sure to read Part 1 first.}

After Christmas break of my Freshman year, I headed back down to the Y and was greeted by a new roommate.  Her name was Marianne Dixey.  She was a Canadian.  She was fun and easy going and looked like she could be related to Michelle Pfeiffer.  She was also very adventurous - I didn't realize that people actually bought those Clairol hair coloring kits.  She did.  She wanted her hair to be red.  She let us watch.  It was awesome. 

Several weeks into our friendship, some of her fellow Canucks stopped by to say "Eh".  She introduced us and I immediately recognized one of them.  He was the guy with the Syracuse University jacket that I had seen at the football games.  His name was Brent.  Now I had a name to go with the funny persona and hilarious demeanor.

Donning my black hat, Brent was holding onto any glimmer of hope that the Boy George look would resurface in the 90's.

Brent and I became fast friends.  He was a great guy.  The thing I liked most about him was his ability to make me laugh to the point of tears.  He had a repertoire of characters and voices that he could pull out in an instant and he was a walking comedic spectacle.  He was slightly off kilter and deviated from the norm and I loved it.  We were best buds.

Things were never dull when Brent was around.  Sometimes he pulled pranks and jokes on us that were real zingers.  One instance that I vividly recall was when he had one of his roommates call, posing as our Bishop, to say that he needed to meet with us at the Standard's Office because he knew that we had had a guy in our apartment after hours (which was true).  I remember feeling like the blood had been drained out of my body.  Breaking curfew with a guy in your apartment, while living on campus, is a BIG no-no at BYU.  We all immediately went into panic mode because we weren't sure what the consequences would be.  We were all sick about it until we received another phone call, this time from a snickering Brent, informing us that he got us good. At this point, I probably said a few choice words that definitely would have scarred my yearly ecclesiastical endorsement, but it was true - he got us good.  

I also remember baking a boxed lemon cake (those were my pre-"homemade is better" days), letting it cool while I headed to the library to study, and returning to an almost empty cake pan.  I was furious.  "WHO ATE MY CAKE?", I barked.  They told me Brent had stopped by and had helped himself to some.  "SOME?" I fumed.  "HE ATE THE WHOLE STINKIN' THING!"  

{Let me mention here that I really like lemon cake.  Even from a box.}

I called Brent to chew him out and let him know what I thought of his uninvited, overindulgence in consuming my Betty Crocker masterpiece.  He told me to look in the cupboard where he had carefully cut and plated the cake and hidden for safe keeping.  It was all there, minus the pieces that were the bait for his joke that had remained in the pan.

I returned the favor by decorating his backpack and books with a potpourri of feminine hygiene products.  Bookmarks were replaced with "thin reminders" that I was getting the last laugh. "Tassels" (of sorts) were hung from the pack's zippers to dangle for all the world to see and to show Brent, that what comes around goes around.  His backpack was stuffed and stuck with enough feminine contraband that I'm sure it smelled powdery fresh for days.

I think his practical jokes were more infrequent after that.

I'm sure you're wondering if there was any romance brewing at this point.  The answer to that question is no.  We were just really close friends.  I loved him like a zany, slightly odd, goofball of a brother.  Through the roommate grapevine, I was given information that his feelings ran more deeply, but it was never discussed between the two of us so it was never awkward.  

Freshman year ended.  I said teary good-byes to my roommates and friends and headed home to Bountiful to work for the summer.  Marianne and Brent headed back to Alberta.  I kept in touch with Brent and found out that he received his mission call to Geneva, Switzerland.  His farewell would be in August.  I begged and pleaded with my parents to let me go to Canada to bid him adieu.  I told them it would be good for international relations.

They decided that I could go.  And they would escort me.

To be continued...

6 Hours in A Darkroom

Yesterday, I spent all day on my Alma Mater's campus.

I was only slightly bugged, when I pulled into the visitor parking area, that they did not question - not even for a second - whether I was a student or a visitor. They just handed me my little slip of sticky paper with a large "V" on it to put in my windshield.  This paper meant that I was very much a visitor and too old to be there taking my general ed. classes.  Granted, it was 15 years ago that I graduated from BYU with my bachelors, but still....  Couldn't the parking lot security guy at least pretended he thought I might possibly be at least a graduating Senior finishing up her courses and trying to sneak into the visitor parking lot for free parking?

{Fat chance, ma'am.}

I loved being back on campus.  It was rejuvenating and refreshing and had such a spark of novelty that the daily grind usually doesn't offer.  I would love to go back to school.  But this time I would go back just for the sheer fun of learning.  Absorbing knowledge and information just for the excitement of it.  I don't think I fully appreciated the learning process when I was there all those years ago.   I'd love to retake World Civilization, Humanities, and American Heritage - classes that I just endured so I could get through my generals and closer to my major.  I would appreciate them so much more today.  Heavens, I'd even love doing the research papers, projects, and taking tests at the infamous testing center!

Yesterday, while a large "V" was stuck to my windshield, I headed to the Harold B. Lee library for a Discovery of Photography workshop.  The workshop was under the direction of the Curator of Photographic Archives at BYU and it was incredible.  We learned about "printing out" and "developing out" and spent most of the day in a darkroom.  We learned about how photos were developed in the early days of photography and experimented with developing our own Salt Prints and used Glass Negatives and photographic paper to develop more pictures.  It was a blast.  I even got to wear a lab coat, wear a special badge to get into the special collections area, and got silver nitrate on my hands (even while wearing gloves).  IT WAS AWESOME!

The first photo I developed was a Salt Print.  First I treated the paper with a salt solution and let it dry.  Then I treated it was a silver nitrate solution and let it dry.  Then, using an old negative from the archives and an antique glass developing box, I went outside and watched the paper react to the sunlight and develop this picture.  I then washed it in a solution to stop the processing and then washed it in water to clear out the chemicals that can cause yellowing with time.  I chose this picture to develop because I'm a mom and I love kids and, well, check out that little dog! 

The next two photos I developed were of my ancestors.  The couple on the right are my great, great grandparents.  On the left are 2 girls.  The girl on the right is my great grandma's youngest sister with her friend.  These were made with the glass negatives from the George Edward Anderson archival collection.  He took thousands of photos from the Utah Valley area and southward.  There are several glass negatives of my ancestral family members, so I was excited that the curator was willing to pull these negatives out of the "freezer" for me so that I could develop them. Using this method, we used photographic paper (that uses gelatin as the binder - this is the method used today for our photos), exposed the glass negative, then watched the picture appear by using chemical reactions in 6 different trays of solution.

I plan on framing all 3 pictures and using them in my home.

The day was topped off with a guided tour through the archives and special collections area. We saw first editions of Oliver Twist by Dickens and books that were hundreds of years old (side note - the oldest tablet writing they have is 4,000 years old).  We saw the personal writings and works of the prophets and other church leaders.  We saw Jimmy Stewart's personal reeled film collection, along with his personal papers and some possessions (his accordion) that he donated to BYU/the church when he died.  We went into the "freezer" where they store the 1.5 million photographic negatives that they have.  There was so much history - both religious based and secular.  It made my day.  It was such a unique and wonderful experience.

And it's only the start.

Anyone want to go and learn with me?

Split Personality

As I've been scouring the interweb (love that word....kickin' it old skool today) for inspirations in design and color for our upcoming remodel and addition, I've come across a lot of clever and artistic people out there.  Incredibly talented people who make interior decorating and DIY projects look easy enough that even simpletons like myself think they can do it.  These designers can assemble a room with just the right mix of old and new, classic designs mixed with punches of contemporary elements and pops of color.  Long gone are the days of everything being matchy-matchy. Hallelujah!! ("My mauve couch needs to match my floral mauve curtains that are just a shade darker than my mauve carpet."  BLAH!) My eye is really drawn to rooms that are unique and unusual yet classic and beautiful; rooms that don't scream, "I've been decorated by a Mormon housewife!"

{Let it be known that I have absolutely nothing against Mormon housewives.  I, myself, am one. However, as Mormon housewives, our homes do not all need to look the same.  We can be individuals and don't have to rely solely on Super Saturdays to give us things to be put into our dwellings.}

I think I'm going through a home decorating identity crisis right now.  I'm still drawn to the vintage and historic because my home is just that - vintage and historic. Yet, a part of me wants to branch out of that realm and experience a more contemporary vibe.  I'm sure there's a way to mix the two, but I've just got to figure out how to do it without making it look like IKEA and The Cracker Barrel had an ugly bast@#$ child.  (No offense to either business.  I love you both.) 

Basically, I want to live in a quaint, old British bookstore (with dark woods and heavy tapestries) and a New York loft (with an airy feeling and a large Chevron stripe rug) at the same time.  

See?  A decorating identity crisis, people!  

(And true to {my} form, I'm already worrying about this stuff and there's not even a hole dug yet.  Talk about putting the cart before the horse.  There's not even a danged cart nor a darn horse in my present view!!)

It's amazing I don't have ulcers.

(Deep breath.  Moving on.)

I came across this 1940's inspired paper that I've fallen madly in love with.  

I knew I wanted to use it somewhere, somehow.  I told Jeff what I had in mind. He hesitated. He doubted.  He wasn't convinced.  But for less than $20, we had a mini-makeover in our front room.  I don't pride myself in being cleverly crafty (I choose mixing bowls and saute pans over glue guns and paint brushes) but I do think I came up with something unique and pretty cool.

This may not have been in a quaint, old British bookstore but, perhaps, in a charming old mercantile?