A Case of the Heebie Jeebies

Brittan is a human defibrillator.

Late at night, when all is calm and still, he'll jump start your heart with a violent jolt of skin prickling peculiarity.

Perhaps you remember this?

He did it again last night.  Different location, same effect.

He fell asleep on the couch but woke himself up later and headed for his bedroom.  I bid him goodnight, he mumbled something about me being the most spectacular mom in the whole wide world (not really), and groggily climbed the staircase to his room.  45 minutes later I did the nightly check the children routine.

Check the children.  (to be read in a raspy, thin voice)

I suppose the laundry basket in the bathroom would be a soft place to land.

What does this experience teach me?  

First, it teaches me that Brittan has to have a personal escort upstairs each and every night. Tucked in tightly and secured in his own bed.  

Second, I have a lot of laundry to do today.

Looking for a Diagnosis

May 27, 2010

Dear Doctors, Nurses and General Smarty Pants of Cedar Sinai, John Hopkins, and Mayo Clinic,

 

I am writing to you because my kids are medical anomalies.

I'm sure their condition is rare and unheard of in most medical communities. I'm not sure how 3 of my kids ended up with this disorder, but there is no dispute that they all are carriers and show varying degrees of being affected. The earliest signs and symptoms started at around age 5 but have progressively become worse over the years.  It's become so bad that I decided to seek professional help.  That is the purpose of this letter.

Brittan has it the worst - we see manifestations of it on a daily basis -  followed closely by Kennedy. Taiden has the most mild case - it comes and goes at times. I'm truly hoping that Shaw has not been infected with it but only time will tell.

I've researched their symptoms on line, but have come up empty handed.  To put it simply and in layman's terms:  there is a chronic connection between my children's bladders and their assignments to do dinner clean up.  Doctors (and nurses and general smarty pants), I'm at a loss of what it is.  Our daily routine is generally the same.  They play outside, or practice the piano, or do homework without bladder issues. Then they're called in for dinner.  Again, no bladder issues.  They eat, chat, laugh, blow bubbles in their milk without a single indicator that there is trouble.  But the minute that the chart is checked and the clean up assigments are made, an overwhelming urgency comes upon each of them.  My poor children.  I'm sure it must be terribly inconvenient to have such pressure and discomfort upon their wee little bladders at a time when they so desperately want to be sweet and obedient children.  Children longing to fulfill their duties and pull their weight around here.   

The connection is uncanny - this peculiar disorder sweeps down on them in an instant and hits them full force.  I would say that the lag time between the job assignments made and the persistent bladder pang is less than 30 seconds. Sometimes, poor innocent souls, there is a deeper and more intense throbbing that coils them into cold sweats and an acute BM dance.  

I'm sure you can understand my concern.  Any direction for a cure or remedy would be greatly appreciated.  Because, as a family, we have been living with this for years, I feel I may have developed a callused attitude towards the whole issue.  It is extremely difficult for me to show sympathy to my children during these times.  In fact, do I dare say that sympathy of any kind is non existent during these moments of squirming and hopping around?  I direct them to do their jobs and then escape to the WC, bathroom, lavatory, or comfort station. Their agonies intensify and they say they may have accidents, explosions, or other eruptions.  I tell them that is fine - they can clean that up as well - just as soon as their job is done.  To date, there have been 0 incidents.

{You may want to investigate mean mom syndrome as well.} 

Any help or guidance would be wonderful.

Sincerely,

Kristen

P.S.  I know this is genetically linked. I, myself, had this exact same condition in my youth.  I got better with time. I'm just hoping that you can give me a remedy that can expedite the road to recovery.

House Project 2010: Week 3

The early pioneers used rocks for their foundations.  Jeff assures me that if our home has remained sturdy for 150+ years then it should be good for another 150 years.

But when I see the modern foundations of today, I start to have doubts.

The wise man built his house upon the rocks, but the wiser man built his house upon concrete slabs.

Basically, when the big one hits, we'll all be running for the new addition.

Footings.

This back door/stoop will soon be torn out to make way for our extended kitchen and enclosed breezeway.

They had the foundation framed, poured, and finished within 24 hours.

First glimpse of our future carriage house.

{And by carriage I mean car.}

Finale

It is with heavy hearts and minds full of questions that we ready ourselves for the final episode of LOST tonight.

Jeff is dressed for the occasion.

And to think his obsession with the island all started with a silly New Year's Resolution. 

No more Sawyer, Hurley, Jack, Kate, Ben, Sayid or John?  Jeff may cry himself to sleep in his bunker tonight.

{By the way, Kennedy and I are holding out hope that Mr. Eko returns during this final episode. Hey, a lot could happen in 2 hours.}

A Timeline to the Finish Line

{This post is intensely lengthy.  Hey, this experience was 5.5 months in the making.  

It deserves its fair share of blog space.}

November 2009:  Sign up for the Ogden Half Marathon.  13.1 miles of pavement.

December 1, 2009:  Reacquaint myself with running after taking a 5 month hiatus.

December 2, 2009:  Curse myself for taking a 5 month hiatus from running and form a deep and immediate abhorrence for the treadmill.

January 15, 2010:  Run outdoors in St. George and make a formal declaration that I will never run on a treadmill again.  Ever.  Ever.  Never. Ever. Never. 

January 17, 2010:  Never.  Ever.

February 8, 2010:  Frozen sweat.  Gross.

February 27, 2010: Run 8 miles for the first time in my life.

March 6, 2010:  Run 9.5 miles for the first time in my life.

March 20, 2010:  11 miles.

April 10, 2010:  Evaluate damage done to toenails.  Pleasantly surprised that only 1 nail will be lost this time around as opposed to 5 during my Ragnar training. 

April 12 - May 10, 2010:  Run.  Run.  Run.  Try and keep my negative "I'm-not-cut-out-for-this-stuff-and-I'm-more-of-a-shuffler-than-a-runner-and-What-the-crap-have-I-gotten-myself-into-and-Can't-I-just-sleep-in-today-and-Why-did-I-use-1o-pounds-of-butter-during-my-Christmas-baking-and-Running-is-for-idiots" thoughts at bay.

May 10, 2010:  Sore throat starts developing.  Kids have been sick and I've gathered several of their germs.  Mentally will myself to stay healthy for just a few more days.

May 11, 2010:  Mother Nature delivers a gift. Superb.

May 12, 2010:  Kaboom!  Race anxiety hits full force.  Life stinks.  Body is fighting a full-fledged cold.  Would anyone notice if I didn't show up at the starting line?  

May 14, 2010:  Mind swirling with cloudy thoughts of self doubt.  My body is extremely tired from the mental stress and physically drained from fighting off sickness.  I pick up my race packet in Ogden.  See my running hero, Rita. Quick hug and words of encouragement. Go home and kneel in sincere prayer. I've worked so hard for this.  Mind is calmed and put to ease.  Dad brings over huge pot of his famous spaghetti.  Carb loading is delicious.  Phone calls to Chadwick and then Mindy - friends who will be running too.  Realizing that there is only one way to get past this experience and that is to run through it. Jeff gives me a priesthood blessing that assures me everything will be fine. I finally feel at peace.  Take an Advil PM at 7:30 p.m. to help me sleep restfully. In bed by 9:00 p.m.

May 15, 2010:  Race Day

3:15 a.m. - Advil PM wears off.  I am wide awake.

3:25 a.m. - Still awake.  Try counting porta-potties to get back to sleep but that just makes me need to pee.  

3:26 a.m. -  Pee.

3:45 a.m. - This is ridiculous.  If I go to sleep now, I'll have one more hour of rest before the alarm clock goes off. 

4:45 a.m. - Must have fallen back to sleep because it seems like just 5 minutes pass, when 4 alarm clocks go off.  2 in our bedroom.  1 on the kitchen stove.  1 on the toaster oven. Pat myself on the back that my propensity for being slightly OCD does come in handy at times.

4:46 a.m. - Call sister-in-law, Carene, to make sure they're awake and will be to my house on time.  Take a quick shower, pass on the make-up, dress in running gear.  Take a minute to reassess toenail damage.  The final count of toenails to be lost is 4.  Will I ever have normal feet again?  Eat a yogurt. Take 2 Pepto Bismol tablets.  Just. In. Case.

5:15 a.m. -  Leave my house in Farmington headed towards the starting line in Eden.  Choke down a half of PB & J sandwich and breakfast drink.  Feel mostly excited and only slightly nervous and surprisingly wide awake.

6:00 a.m. -  Arrive in Eden.  The energy is awesome and the realization of the day hits me.  I'm about to run 13.1 miles with 2,000 people!  So proud of my niece, Chante, and her friend, Lindsey, for committing to and training for this race.  Both are students at BYU-Idaho so their lives are busy.  Glad they're here with me.

6:20 a.m. - Hit the porta-potty.  Bump into Kennedy's friend, Grey, who is also running the half.  Give him a big hug, but then realize - by the look on his face - that 14 year old young men don't necessarily expect (nor want) hugs from their friend's moms. Oh, well.  I'm a huggy person.  Chat with friend, Chadwick.  Head to the field to stretch.  Hit the porta-potty one last time.  

6:55 a.m. - Head to pace section of the starting line (where's the 11 minute mile flag, people?!) and pass Mindy, Melodi, and Ned. Give quick hugs and then get to our spot.

7:00 a.m. - Race starts!  Can't believe that I'm here, fulfilling a goal in an area that I really feel quite inept.  5 1/2 months of training.  261.6 miles run since January 1.  Hours spent doing something completely out of my natural comfort zone and not altogether enjoyable for somebody like me, yet coming away from it a stronger person both physically and mentally.  I can do hard things.  My perfectionistic tendencies make me want to shy away from things where I don't feel like I shine - things that I don't excel at.  But that's exactly why I need to be up in Eden on an early Saturday morning.  To do something hard for the sake of doing something hard and being OK with just finishing.  Being perfectly imperfect and forcing myself to learn to be content.  Coloring outside the neat and tidy lines that I have drawn in my mind.  

Miles 1 - 4 went very quickly and I was so caught up in the friendly smiles of the locals and race volunteers.  These miles were spent running around Pineview Reservoir.  At mile 4, we crossed the dam and headed down Ogden Canyon. Miles 4 - 10 were downhill and I appreciated the aid of gravity.  The scenery was gorgeous, the people were amazing and it made perfect sense why people get so addicted to this sport - race day is an incredible experience. Consumed a GU at mile 4 and 8 and was happy that I didn't gag.  At mile 6 some teenage punks were riding down the canyon on skateboards. I asked one of them if I could have a ride. Lost track of Chante and Lindsey around mile 4.5 but rejoined them at around mile 7....I think.  Miles 5 - 8 were a blur. At mile 9, I think I regained brain power because I remember telling Chante that we only had 4 miles to go.  My motherly instinct kicked in and I knew that I had to be strong for Chante (who was starting to pose doubts). Miles 10 - 13 took me to the fun game of mental running.  At this point I was really quite done with the whole thing and just wanted to be finished for the day. My legs kept moving, albeit substantially slower than before, and I just kept telling myself not to stop.  The last half mile was on a city street in downtown Ogden.  I knew I had 5 blocks to go. I kept counting the stop lights but I swear I was in a nightmarish time warp because they didn't seem to be getting any closer.  That seriously was the longest half mile of my life.  I remember the race announcer calling my name as I approached the end, waving to the crowd, and then crossing the finish line.

My time was 02:26:44.  This running time, I'll have you know, is about the speed that molasses flows in the dead of winter, but it's my time and I'll take it. I wanted to be under 2.5 hours, so I met my goal.  I've never claimed to be fast or even moderately quick.  I am slow but I am a finisher.  I ran 92% of the time (that is a mathematical fact) so I'm proud that I didn't just fake it - I really did run a half marathon.

Once I crossed over the finish line, I heard my family shouting my name.  They were off to the left just past the finish line so I tearfully wobbled over to them, said, "I did it.  I'm tired.", then gave Jeff a quick hug.  I found Chante who crossed the finish about a minute ahead of me, and who, by the way, threw up just after crossing the end (along with a whole lotta other people).  I think that is awesome! It's not cool because of the puking part, but because she pushed herself to the point of physical exhaustion, kept it together, sprinted to the end, and finished.  

Be so glad there is no smell attached to this picture.  My, oh, my!

I trained.

I ran.

I finished.

And feel very content with doing so.

House Project 2010: Week 2

Before.

Farewell to our shed.  Picture taken through an extremely dirty window but I refuse to wash any of them until all of the construction is done.

WHAT HAVE WE GOTTEN OURSELVES INTO?!

Boys assessing their new playground.

Shaw's front row seat.  He likes to growl at the excavator each morning.

Living on the edge.

Big hole.   

Trying To Get My Head in the Game

I don't do very well with positive mental imagery.

I remember taking Lamaze classes before our first child was born, and trying to really capture the essence of "standing in a field of wheat, a gentle breeze swaying the golden grain...back and forth....slowly....all the while taking you to a place of tranquility and inner peace."  I couldn't wrap my mind around it.  I would start to inwardly laugh (with my eyes closed - as directed by the teacher) and think about how horribly itchy a field of wheat would feel and how there might be grasshoppers ready to pounce.  

Call me a pessimist or a realist.  Either way, I struggle with the positive mental imagery thinga-ma-jig.

Just days away from my first half-marathon race and I should be loading my head with visions of strength and endurance. With hydration and energy.  With power and accomplishment.  I should be envisioning myself lengthening my stride, running a personal best, and crossing the finish line with tears in my eyes because I accomplished something challenging and because I have felt the love and support of family and friends.

Move over, Encouraging Notions.  Good ol' Mr. Worst Case Scenario wants a piece of the action in my subconscious.

This is what my brain keeps recycling over and over again.

And DON'T try and tell me that this kind of thing doesn't happen, because OBVIOUSLY it does. Why else would I have a picture of it? And when I hear stories of people downing Imodium to prevent terribly smelly accidents like this, I know that it is real.  And another thing I've realized about myself, is that my stomach starts rumbling at around mile 10.

I've got my running pack ready with water bottle, GU, iPod, and timer. There is absolutely no room left for wet wipes.

I don't care about my time.  I know I can finish.

But can I run a clean race?

** Post note:  My lovely and terribly supportive friend, Patricia, sent me this picture last year before my Ragnar race.  What a dear.  Thanks for planting those seeds, Patricia.  My bowels will be forever grateful to you.

Unburying My Talents

I've been tickling the ivories for 32 years.

{Imagine what that number would be in dog years!}

12 years of piano lessons in my youth.  Mrs. Holbrook and I had weekly dates going over scales and arpeggios.  She taught me the classics for which I will be forever grateful.  It was during my adolescence that I fell in love with Mozart. His music took me to a different place and time and transfixed me.  He still remains my favorite composer and Amadeus remains one of my favorite movies.

{Couldn't ever convince Jeff to use the name Wolfgang though.}

Over the years, people have approached me about teaching piano lessons.  I always said "no" because it never felt right. Life was busy, my heart was elsewhere, and it didn't feel like a good fit.

But now it does.

A friend mentioned to me several months ago that she was looking for a new piano teacher and wished that I taught.  It got me to thinking. Why not?  I love music.  I've played since I was 6 years old.  I graduated with a degree in education, taught school, I know how to work with kids.

I'm going for it.

I'm not going to come up with some snooty, upper crust name like Kristen's Piano Academy for Musical Proteges or Kristen's Studio for the Future Pianoforte Masters of the Universe.  No, it will not be nearly that formal or courtly.  It will simply be me doing my best to instill a love of music and an appreciation for the piano in my students. Learning to play is a lifelong skill that I'm grateful to have and I look forward to sharing.

{I should probably thank my mother at this point.  Thanks, mom, for all of those years of piano tuition, for the reminders to practice, and for not letting me quit as a teenager.  Thanks to my dad for being my chauffeur during my high school years.  6:30 a.m. lessons were early for both of us, but you willingly drove me and waited patiently out in the car.}

My imaginary "Yes, We're Open" sign is in place.  If you or someone you know is in need of a piano teacher, please keep me in mind.  I'll teach both children and adults.  I'll be starting with 10 students and 2 of those spots are already filled.  

Thanks for your consideration.

{I'm off to practice.}

click to enlarge

When Your Name is Shaw and You're 2 Years Old...

You're a mover, a shaker, an afternoon nap taker.

You like to think the world is at your disposal.  You point at something and a sibling scampers to get it for you.  You speak in garbled tones, that only you can understand, and another sibling runs to your aid.  You say "peeze" while flashing your one dimpled smile and everyone is putty in your hands.  You know you're so stinkin' cute and you work it. 

You are working on expanding your vocabulary .  You particularly struggle with your knowledge of animal classifications. For you, every animal - every bird in the sky, every furry creature great or small (domesticated or not) - is called a "puppy".  That still remains your favorite word and is spoken with such enthusiasm and spark that mom and dad are half tempted to run out and buy you one.

{And it can live at Grandma and Grandpa's house.}

Your cheeks are constantly pecked and you don't mind it (much).

You shake with excitement when told to go get your "shooooooze" because you know it means you get to go outside (your favorite part of the house).  

You know that look on your brother's face means, "su bola es mi bola".

You love the whole monkey see monkey do phenomenon.  Taiden flexes his muscles, you flex your muscles (in your shorty McShort PJ shorts). Kennedy dances like it's 1999, you do the same.  Your dad kicks the ball, you kick the ball.  Brittan shoots his Nerf guns and suddenly you're Rambo Jr.  

Mom empties the dishwasher, and then finishes the job on her own.

{Why doesn't anyone like to play my games?}

You love and adore and can't get enough of mom from 9 - 5, Monday - Friday. The rest of the time you have eyes for dad and dad only.  You won't even let mom hold you at church during Sacrament meeting. {Perhaps you've already realized that dad is a wee bit more lenient than mom?} 

You don't mind that you get homemade strawberry pie (with shortbread crust) rather than the traditional birthday cake.  Your discriminating palate likes all forms of dessert equally.

You don't know exactly what a golden birthday is (the day when your age matches your birth date) but you soon find out that with that special day, grandparents, presents, and a whole lot of singing comes your way.

House Project 2010: Week 1

The new lawn ornament.

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!"