Blushing...

Welcome to the grand month of July!  This is the month of my birth, which makes me partial to it.  Also, I thoroughly enjoy celebrating 2 holidays AND my wedding anniversary.  It's a good month.

Last week I made the trek down to visit my sisters in St. George.  My mom came along with me.  I can't really say she was my navigator - because she is seriously challenged in this area (perhaps I could dedicate a blog posting to this some day!).  I would, however, cheerfully refer to her as my trip nanny.  She graciously handled all kid needs while I drove.  No wonder The Hubs always wants to be the driver on road trips.  The driver seat is a pretty cushy place to be!

The wise person would suggest trips to St. George be limited to the months of October through April.

I've never professed to be wise.

It got up to 112 degrees while we were walking around the temple grounds.  'Cause we're smart like that.  With any luck I lost 5 pounds of water weight while there.  I refuse to weigh myself and find out.

Most of the grand kids at the temple.

Anyhow, one night when us oldies managed to stay up past 9:30, my sister Em was kind enough to remind me of an embarrassing moment I had in the early days of my marriage.

I decided that maybe I should dedicate a few blog posts to the highlights of embarrassment in my life.  Emily and Mom were totally on board with that.  Even though most of my dear readers probably already know these stories, they are classic enough to get a chuckle on the retelling.

Today's Tale:

Tippy Chairs and Straight Faces.

At one point in my illustrious career I was the receptionist / sales processing/ shipping invoice person for an obviously small company.  My desk was at the front of the building, where visitors to the "store" would be greeted by me.  However, it was also up against a wall so that I could shove shipping invoices through the wall to the warehouse.

I took the liberty of drawing this super fabulous picture below to give you a bird's eye view and help you fully visualize the story.

Please take a moment to ooh and aah over this artistic rendering.  Don't worry, I know there's no money in selling kindergarten level artwork as an adult!

One day a coworker's husband came in to take her to lunch.  He came quietly in the front doors and walked up to the counter top on my right, where he proceeded to lean.

All the other employees worked behind the wall that I faced while working on my PC so after smiling at him, 'cause I am FRIENDLY, I called his wife over the sweet loud speaker system that I had total control over.  We waited a few minutes while the only sound was my computer keyboard.  She didn't appear.  I called again over the speakers.

Please keep in mind that he hadn't said a word to me yet.  I just recognized him from pictures she'd shown me.

I kept cheerfully clicking on my keyboard.  No coworker.

Finally I glanced at him and said, "Where could she be?  Is she coming yet?"

Then I made the fatal mistake that led to the blushing.  I rolled my chair backwards a bit and leaned back to try to see both over the counter top and past the wall.

The only thing I saw was the sight of my feet flying up over my head as my desk chair tipped completely over backwards.

OH, friends, we aren't done there.

As if that weren't bad enough, I had been leaning to my right at the same time, so I was shot off to the right and somehow miraculously fell under the counter top shelves.  I landed on the floor, facing the front side of the counter top, lying on my right side.

Still more, people....

Somehow my chair landed directly behind me in a way that had me trapped between my chair and the counter top facade.  Under a shelf.

I started laughing.

He didn't.

I tried to get out but I was kind of wedged.

He didn't come around to offer assistance.

I ended up kicking the chair donkey-style out of my way so that I could then scoot out from under the counter, still on my side, shuffling backwards like a little worm, before finally gaining freedom.

Still nary a chuckle, word or offer of help from the husband.

I laid there for a minute laughing hysterically and thinking he must have left by now or else I'd have heard some sound from him.

I stood up and was shocked to see him still standing there, no sign of his wife, him just staring at me.  I started blushing like crazy and kind of giggling.  I'm sure I said something about a "wild ride".

His response to all this?

He raised his eyebrow at me.

With disdain.

I was so humiliated.

While blushing and feeling a little shaky I had to wrestle my desk chair back up and I try to gracefully sit back down.  I then silently got back to work on my computer.

This is when coworker wifey finally showed up and they left for lunch.

I told her the story later and she thought it was strange that he didn't laugh or offer to help me.

I think he was a robot alien sent from another planet to destroy my pride.

Some Randomness

Friends,

Never fear.  I am indeed alive.

I regret that it's been so long since I've had a chance to blog, but I've been so busy trying out adulthood that I haven't had a chance to sit down and write.  Turns out being an adult is a major bummer, so here I am.

We've been pretty busy so far this summer.

First week of summer vacation I took off to Girl's Camp with my ward.  Yes, I work with the young women.  I, too, often question my suitability as a role model for youth, but we laugh a lot and hopefully they'll at least come away knowing that even though things can go down the crap shoot with crisco faster than you believe, there is always something worth smiling about.  I loved camp.  I think it may have saved my life.

The Leader's Posse at camp

Directly following camp, my sweet Cadie Lou broke her arm.

Surprise... she chose pink!

The next day Ms. Els had 4 teeth extracted.

Trying to keep a stiff upper lip

I'll let you guess who handled things better.  And I'll also let you guess which one said to me, "It's not MY fault I cry.  I just feel the emotion of the situation!"

This past Saturday morning The Hubs and I had a long financial discussion and decided to make an effort to get ourselves in better financial order.  This is hard for me... mostly 'cause I don't care about banks.  They're totally boring and dream-killers.  I just want to order books on Amazon and eat shakes from DQ and assume that there is money available for me to do those things.  I don't ask for much.

The Hubs believes my attitude may eventually lead us to a place of financial ruin wherein we find ourselves literally living in our van down by the river.

I say, "Don't sweat the small stuff.  My parents have a basketball court where we can park our van!"

He never laughs at these things.

We decided to be grownups.  (Incidentally, I just realized that the first syllable in the word grownups is "GROAN".....)  After talking about areas where we can skim some cream off the top and put that money to better use in paying off student loans...blah, blah, blah... we decided to trade in our van for a more "modest" model.

I say this just makes our future lifestyle as van dwellers slightly less comfy.  But I'm all for keeping my future bright.  So I agreed.

Plus my new van is blue.  Which is sweet.

Blue Steel

Now I find myself avoiding packing for a trip down to St. George to see my sisters.  Another GROAN-up activity is packing bags for children who are doing nothing but watching My Little Pony and eating DQ sundaes.  It's good to be my kid.

So, friends, now you're caught up on the happenings at our house.  You can see why I'm taking a break out to blog.  Or maybe you can't.  Maybe you realize it's nothing but a time waster....

Wait!  I have a sundae waiting in the freezer for me.

Later Gators!

The Rage Fest

Friends,

I have to honestly say that I'm not sure I can do this story justice on the pages of my blog.  I'm not sure my words can paint a vivid enough picture.  I think this is one of those stories where you need to see my hand gestures as I reenact the violence of the scene.  You need to hear my tone of voice as I describe my level of angst.

The other night I was telling my Mom this story while gesturing wildly during my reenacting.  And at the end of it we were laughing at the absurdity of it all.  I realized that I wasn't sure I'd shared this story with my friends.  I shot off a quick email to my DC ladies and it turns out that some of them do have a vague recollection of this occurrence.  But they wanted a refresher.  I promised to share it with them at our next monthly dinner.

However, after thinking about it, I decided that I want this story written down because despite the horror of what I'm about to share with you, I am pretty dang proud of myself.  I may be feisty and sassy, but that's usually where I draw the line.  I don't like real fights.  They make me edgy and I tend to just walk away.

But one day, in 9th grade, I didn't walk away.  No, friends, I faced the beast head-on.  And I lived to tell about it.

I don't really remember why I didn't like *Eric (obviously NOT his name!) before 9th grade.  I just remember that I didn't.  At all.  By some crazy twist of fate in my 9th grade year I ended up having 5 of the 7 classes with Eric.  I was devastated. To add insult to injury, we also lockered next to each other.  {SIGH!}

I also can't really give you a specific example of something Eric did to make me angry.  I just remember that I had come to deeply hate him.  I remember avoiding the locker when he'd be around because he'd kind of taunt me and pick at me.

One day, Eric pushed me too far.  We were both at our lockers getting out our books for science class - Mr. McClurg for you CJH alumni - and he'd been doing his taunting thing.

Now, I need you to understand that in 9th grade I think I'd finally attained my full height of 5 ft 4 in.  But my weight was significantly lower than it is now.  Like, TONS lower.  Eric was much larger than me.  In my mind's eye I remember him being one of the bigger guys in school.  I admit that may  not be the case.  But he seemed huge to me.

Anyhow, I had my science book in my hand and Eric bent down to a kind of squatting position to get something out of the bottom of his locker.  He'd said something that had me glaring at his back.  And I snapped.

I still distinctly remember lifting my science book above my head, holding it tightly in both hands, and swinging down with all my might until it connected with the back of his head.  As you can imagine, the force of that blow knocked him off balance and started him falling into his locker.  But I "helped" him along by kicking him in the - ahem - buttocks.

When Eric was fully head first into his locker - bum sticking in the air, feet still on the floor - I let go of my book with one hand, grabbed his locker door and began slamming it into his side.  Repeatedly.

As he began to scramble back out of the locker I kept slamming the door using my hand, but then I added my foot to the scuffle.  Hand on the top of the locker, foot down at the bottom of the locker.  Eventually he got out enough that my foot and hand were slamming the locker door right into the side of his head.

Repeatedly.

I was a raging lunatic.

He finally managed to get to a position where he was able to put a hand out and stop the beating.  Then he  looked me in the eye.

Friends, I saw death in that glance.

I immediately released the locker and began running as fast as my legs could carry me down the hall, hugging my science book to my chest, with my backpack slamming against my bum.

Eric roared to his feet and gave chase.  At one point I remember looking back and seeing him with his science book raised above his head, set on retribution.

This was between classes, so the hallways were full.  But students heard his raging from a ways away and parted to let us through.  However, I do have to wonder why no one tried to stop him from killing me.

Due to the speed with which we'd been flying through the hallways, we made it to science before pretty much anyone else, including the teacher.  Once in the classroom we began zig zagging around desks, playing cat and mouse.  I was the mouse.  I'd been the cat.  It was a cruel twist of fate.

I just remember him screaming at me, and his face was all red, carrying that book around like an instrument of torture.

Finally a couple guys who I was friends (ish) with came in and told Eric that you can't hit girls.  (About time, fellas!)  Eric said something about me attacking him first.  But they didn't really care.  They kept him away from me until the teacher came in and told us to take our seats.

The funny thing is that I don't remember anything after that.  Obviously the science class was of no consequence.  The only thing I remember about that class is losing my earring back one day.

I don't even remember how Eric and I went forward from that moment.  But I do know that he didn't give me guff any more.  And we kind of just avoided each other.

You know, maybe the reason I walk away from fights is because on that day, so long ago, I saw a shadow of the violent beast I could become if I let the rage free.  So, you're welcome world.  I'm really doing you a favor by keeping her sedated with chocolate.

However, don't push your luck!

Then & Now

I'm writing this post for completely selfish purposes.

See, I was attempting to write down some information the other day while on the phone and couldn't - for the life of me - find a pen with any ink or a pencil with a sharpened tip.  I thought to myself, "I USED to have plenty of pens and pencils neatly organized next to the phone.  That was then, and this is now..."

It got me thinking about how much my life has changed in the 9 1/2 years I've been a mother.  And in a spurt of bad attitude I started making a mental list of all the things that I miss from my pre-parenthood years.

There are a lot of things on that list.  I'm sorry, but it's true. 

It wasn't exactly making me bask in the joy of my calling as mother.

The "nows" kinda seem like a bummer when compared to the "thens" of life.  Lots of sacrifices, tears and prayers, and feeling in over my head as I try to raise 4 children.

But that's the crazy thing about being a parent.  You see those little faces, and well....

Then I had:

Plenty of computer paper

Pens and Markers with ink

Sharp, non-sticky scissors

Staples in the stapler

Now I have:

Reams of paper with one small picture drawn in  the middle

Dry pens and markers, broken pencils

Dull scissors with yogurt smears

Staplers stuck in my feet rather than in the stapler

And them

Then I had: 

Clean windows, mirrors and sliding doors

Toothpaste free sinks and counter tops

Plenty of toilet paper

Towels hung on their hooks

Now I have:

Finger prints, lick marks and crayon art on all my glass

Blue and red toothpaste drizzles 

Empty toilet paper rolls

Crumpled towels on the floor

And them

Then I had:

Salmon and steak dinners

Lindt truffles

Capitol Theatre

Olive Garden

Now I have:

Macaroni and cheese and hot dogs

Lindt truffles still... but eaten in the privacy of my locked bathroom!

Netflix and Redbox

McDonalds

And them

Then I had:

Mesquite and Las Vegas

New Orleans

Seattle

Jackson Hole

Moab, Moab, Moab...

Now I have:

The elementary school

Smoot and Founders Parks

Hogle Zoo

Dreams of Moab...

And a family.

So future Aspen, when the days are hard, the dishes are piling up, the garbage is stinking up the place and the phone won't stop ringing, read this post.  And bask in the "now". 

Paper Saves Lives

So I try to do my best to not kill off Mother Earth.  I recycle - even if my kids occasionally throw some food in the little white bin.  I fully support other people riding bikes or walking rather than driving.  I try to reuse... stuff.  Oh, oh, and I never litter!

But I had a little epiphany this past week.  See, it was a busy week with field trips and school programs and ear infections.  Typical family life, really.  So I decided that something had to give.  And it was going to be dishes.

I busted out the paper plates, plastic utensils and cups.  I only ran the dishwasher when absolutely necessary.  (Translation:  When some rogue family member thought they were allowed to use a dish or drink from a cup during what was clearly a paper week!!  Get with the program people!)

As I threw away paper plate after paper plate smeared with pbj, ketchup, marinara etc...

* because you can't recycle it if there's food on it... which makes NO sense!  I'm not going to wash the paper just to recycle it.  The entire point of me using paper is to avoid washing.  Honestly..... *

I had little pangs of guilt over how much waste I was creating.  I was adding to the wasteland of an earth that my poor children and grandchildren will have to inhabit.

And then it hit me... paper saves lives!

See, 'cause this past week if I'd have had to add dishes to my list of things to do I would have snapped and gone all Wolverine on the kidlets.  And they maybe wouldn't have lived through all the growling and slashing and muscle flexing.  And if they're dead than it really doesn't matter what the state of the earth is.

Are you with me?

So, really, I used paper, it kept them alive, and now thanks to my sacrifice they will live to enjoy the earth for years to come.

Someday, when I'm sitting in their beautiful new home, I will look back at this past week and be grateful that I used paper and saved lives.  And I'll never tell them that we're sitting on the front porch of an old landfill.

A Better View

So, in a follow up to my last post, The Hubs and I decided to make some changes to our family's sleeping arrangements.   We moved the girls upstairs to "Joely's" room and moved the boys together into the "nursery".  It's squishy and crowded... and somehow cozy.

Yes, it was a bit of a juggle.  And the first night Ms. Els came down to tell my that her new room is really warm.  Wh...??!!  I gave her the stink eye and she said, "Never mind... goodnight."  Good little lamb!

But here is what it comes down to...

All joking aside, one of my jobs as a mom is to make sure my kids feel safe.  And even though sometimes my gut reaction is to suggest that they "put on their big girl (or boy) panties and deal with it", I could learn a thing or two by showing more compassion and empathy.

I was 11 when I got my own room and was no longer on the same floor as my parents.  I remember feeling scared a time or two.  No, I didn't go running to my parents.  But that isn't my personality.  I've always been somewhat self contained in that respect.

But I can't expect Ms. Els - or any of my other three hooligans - to see life through the same lens that I do.  They are individuals.  Their emotions are valid.  Even if I don't understand them, that doesn't give them any less value.  That's not always an easy thing for me to process.

I'm trying to remember to not see them as extensions of myself.  While they were carried in my womb and given life by Hubs and I, it's more true to say that they came "through" me and arrived as a whole person, completely separate from me, ready to experience life.  Pretty amazing.

While thinking about this I heard someone say that life is always easier when we are focused outside ourselves.

I know I could benefit from thinking less about the frustrating affects that motherhood can have on my life.  Rather than thinking about how big a hassle it was to spend an entire Saturday rearranging bedrooms, I can think about the fact that I've shown Ms. Els through my actions that her needs and worries are important to me.  I've also shown my other children that we can all pull together and work for the benefit of one family member who needs an extra season of comfort.  

I hope they understand that when it's their turn, we'll work just as hard to take care of them too.

Snuggly Kiddos

I don't think for a moment that there won't be absolutely ridiculous moments (or hours, or days, or weeks), where I'll forget my resolve and have a meltdown moment.  Nor do I believe that I'll suddenly stop having the desire to read a novel rather than make dinner.

But maybe, just maybe, if I can try to see my life through the lens of serving those I love, then my view of life will be that much better.

I'm willing to try.  And I may not even need chocolate to get through this one!

Ms. Smart

Let me tell you a little tale about a girl who was born a pansy, lived her toddler-hood in pansy form, progressed through preschool as a blooming pansy and continues to thrive in the sunshine of pansiness.

Her name....

Ms. Els.

I sometimes think that if she didn't logically understand that a shadow was a reflection of herself, she'd run screaming from it, just sure it was going to pull her down to the place where nightmares dwell.

Every year the elementary does "helpful" fire drills, earthquake drills and evacuation drills.

Every year Ms. Els can't sleep for a week after the event.  She lays in her room, just sure she hears the cracking of a fire starting or the rumble of an earthquake.  I try to tell her that all she's really hearing is the crinkling of candy wrappers and Daddy passing gas.  She doesn't believe me.

Don't even get me started on the "safety" discussions they have at school.

The other night she wouldn't go to bed... for the 5 millionth time.  By 11:00 she had resorted to stalking Hubs and I.  She stands just inside our doorway where the bluish green glow of the nightlight makes her outline look just like the monsters she's afraid of.

Soon she's sobbing and mumbling.  She knows better than to speak loudly lest she wake the baby and incur the wrath of her mother.  We send her back to bed.  We've been doing this little dance since 9:00 p.m.  - on the day she turned 2.  Honestly.

By 11:30 she's back again for the 3rd time, lurking the shadows, whimpering.  This time I hear something that sounds like "Elizabeth Smart".  I bite.

"What about Elizabeth Smart?" I ask.

"She was abducted from her bedroom." Shivering, wiping her eyes.

"How do you know about that?"
 **See I NEVER tell Her Pansiness about such things because it always ends in irrational fear**

"There was a presentation about it at school last year" ... pause while I emphasize the fact that this happened a YEAR ago..." and I've been worried ever since that I'll be abducted from my room".

Els continues: "I know that those types of things are rare on our city.  But you still have to be careful.  And I'm trying to be careful, but Elizabeth Smart was probably being careful too."

Hubs pipes in.  "You aren't going to be abducted."  Then he whispers under his breath to me, "she obviously has forgotten about the alien abduction that messed her up in the head."  We chuckle softly.  She doesn't like it.

"Don't laugh at me.  This is serious stuff!" She raises her voice.

Hubs and I shush her in tandem.

"Fine," I say, "go sleep on Joely's top bunk"

"It's hard."

"What's hard?"

"His mattress."

"So, you'd rather be abducted than sleep on a hard mattress?" Now my voice is raising a bit.

"I thought you said I wouldn't be abducted," her sobbing renews.

{SIGH}

Hubs:  "You have two choices.  Go sleep on Joel's bunk or go to your room."

"Neither is a good choice," she whines.

That's when I snap.  See, 'cause sometimes I think that if I'm scarrier than any would-be abductor that things will work out just fine.

I "gently guide" her into Joel's room where she scales the ladder and begins screaming like a banshee on the top bunk.  Joel wakes up.  Shocker.

Long story short, Joel starts laughing because his big sister is afraid, which whips her into a crazed frenzy.  I threaten to take away her stuffed animal for a month if she doesn't come to grips with her emotions.  Elizabeth Smart's name is bandied about a bit more, a door slams and I'm back in bed.

It's midnight.

Hubs's last words to me as we drift off: "I'm glad that Elizabeth Smart was rescued and all that.  And I'm glad she's trying to educate people about being safe.  But I'm gonna kill whoever is telling Els about her!"