The Clampetts Get Caught in a Mini-monsoon

My husband made a purchase a few years ago, one that I willingly signed off on.  Years later I've often lamented it as one of the biggest mistakes of my life.  You see, I've always had a taste for the finer things in life.  Which is a shame seeing as I don't have the required dinner jacket and evening dress attire to make it into the restaurant.  I like the looks of a BMW, an Audi, dare I confess a Range Rover.  I give you exhibit A:

You see that darling little girl in the puffy lilac colored coat and handsome man next to her that may or may not be in need of a shave?  Ignore them.  Look to the left.  That snow covered vehicle is the subject in question.  Make: International.  Model: Scout II.  Year: 1978.  You may have seen it featured in such films as Fools Rush In with a gorgeous Selma Hayek behind the wheel, as well as Hope Floats with Harry Connick Jr. romancing Sandra Bullock in his convertible "truck".  I mistakenly thought when we bought the Scout that we'd keep it a few years until we had more children and then sell it for a more practical family vehicle.  Like the time my husband highlighted his hair blond, I thought it was a temporary thing.  You know, after a few years it will be out of his system.  I was so wrong.  My husband loves it, with the same sort of passion I have for Red Vines Licorice. 

I have a love hate relationship with it myself.  I even brought it up in marriage counseling to which I was sorely disappointed as our therapist gushed on and on about how much she likes them and how a friend of hers has one.  "So what's the problem with owning the Scout?" She asked me as if I was being difficult.  "Well, he spends a lot of time fixing it.  A lot of time," I replied.  "So it's a hobby for him.  I can't see the problem with that," She declared.  "But...but...but...." I stammered.  Anyway, you get the picture.  The thing is I get the appeal.  I even like seeing my man pull up, engine roaring, thick dark hair blowing in the breeze with the top down.  I don't even mind that he smells like he's been snowmobiling all day.  The thing is the Scout is made for warmer climes.  It feels so nice in the summertime.  The wind in your face, hair flying crazily about as onlookers check out your ride.  In the winter it is cold, leaky and unreliable.  Which in Utah means eight or nine months out of the year.  That's my problem. 

Also...I feel like a bit of a...dare I say it?  A hillbilly.  Like I said, the finer things.  Anyway, Tuesday we were just headed out of Costco as dark clouds closed in swiftly around us.  We got the girls buckled in just as the first rain drops fell.  By the time we drove the block down to the stoplight it was pouring down.  We pulled the canopy of Brielle's carseat as much over her body as we could.  Her poor legs and feet were left out in the rain.  Ava on the other hand had no protection.  It was then at the first stoplight in a series of a dozen on our way back to the east side of town that I started laughing.  I had on sunglasses hoping to keep water out of my eyes.  They were soon fogged over.  Massive amounts of hair gel used to tame the mane streamed into my eyes.  And still I laughed.  We got stopped at every stoplight.  Ava and Brielle were both crying.  It was beyond an adventure for Ava anymore.  She was wet and cold.  I tried to stop laughing.  I really did try.  I even took out the shovel in the back seat and held it over her head to try to block the rain which only served to push me over the edge into hysterics.  My husband couldn't help it, either.  He started laughing.  And there we were, lined up at 13th and 7th waiting at a stoplight while the man in the truck next to us snickered and our two girls howled and me holding a hillbilly umbrella laughing my head off.  As we finally pulled up to our house I said still chuckling, "There is a puddle in my pants and I'm not entirely sure it's from the rain."  It was the most fun I've had in a long, long time.  Thank you, Scout.  Maybe I misjudged you.  Maybe.

Perrier Song

If you're like me and don't have a DVR in which you can fast forward through commercials then you may have noticed a commercial of late that's been circulating.  It's a Perrier commercial in which it's so hot outside everything is melting.  I love the song that accompanies it.  I decided to google it and found out that the woman who sings it is a French artist named simply Camille.  Apparently she's a big deal in France.  I'm so glad I found her.  I took a long strange, slightly absurd trip on youtube yesterday watching all her videos.  She's extremely talented and delightfully strange.  So if you're bored and feel like some entertainment I highly recommend her.  Below is her performing the aforementioned song "Waves".  Enjoy.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa!

The Tanglewood Tree

I've always felt a very deep connection to nature.  At times the feeling of peace is similar to some of the most sacred experiences I've had in my spiritual life.  A moment in the redwood forests of Northern California my ears were filled with silence as if all of nature held its breath in awe of those old giants.  One day at the top of a mountain in Jackson Hole I wandered off the path and sat next to an old twisted cedar bent, no doubt, by the constant wind that howled up there.  The vista was filled with gossamer gray clouds hovering over windswept crags.  Up above the timberline, few things grew, making the land seem bleak and tough.  And yet if there were ever a place that God would linger in His creation it struck me that it would be there.  Many of my poems focus on aspects of nature. 

There is a tree next door that has grown wild and tall and twisted in the middle of the city.  It fascinates me.  I've spent hours watching it.  It seems menacing in winter, when its crone-like branches seem to reach downward as if to snatch an unsuspecting passerby.  The color of the leaves in summer are such a vivid green, like a neon sign announcing its vitality.  When it storms the old tree creaks and groans and thrashes it's limbs as if in pain.  In my mind I imagine it in the story of other peoples lives.  Only most times it is not in the middle of a city, but in the middle of a medieval forest.  As you can see I'm enamored of it.  And so, like many people and things I have loved in the past, it got the old poetry treatment. 

Dreaming Beneath the Tanglewood Tree

I run on legs so swift and nimble, run toward the Tanglewood Tree

Bright green buds alight so softly, decorating a maze of limbs

Like the winter birds returning from across the summer sea

If you listen as a child does the forest sings it springtime hymns:

Come and dance and sing around me

Come hear the wind whispering softly

Come braid the daisies in a chain

Hope that in your heart a portion of spring will yet remain

  He takes my hand and leads me onward, onward to the Tanglewood Tree

On a carpet of pure white blossoms we dream together, a lover’s dream

Brash sunlight burns my skin as it filters through the canopy

We stand and make our way back home, flowing together like a stream

Come and rest your back against me

Come be wild and young and care free

Come and see my lofty branches sway

Linger on with me throughout this hot summer day

Two children run before me now, a baby I carry upon my hip

In search of autumn berries we enter a forest Mother Nature has set ablaze

I pause and ponder what the aging tree can offer when its foliage, winter does strip

With a restless heart within me I hurry on through dusk’s growing haze

Come and gather my dying leaves I generously drop at your feet

Come remember the love that was born here in the summer heat

Come see autumn’s final glory, feel winter’s breath on the air

Hold your children close against you, all the love within you share

  The Tanglewood Tree looms barren in the light of a midwinter’s moon

We see that there’s beauty in bleakness, silence and tranquility

I smile knowing we’re both thinking of that long ago afternoon

The vital roots buried below us are waiting, dreaming beneath the Tanglewood Tree

Come and kneel together beneath me, a prayer of thanksgiving to give

Come lay the pain of old sorrow by, there is life before you yet to live

Come see how storms have bent my bows and yet they did not break

Rejoice for times the sun shone down, what a dazzling life it did make

- Denise Cooper Smith

 

Things That Must Go

When I used to take Ava to preschool in the mornings I would listen to a local radio station's morning show.  They have a segment on there once a week called, Things That Must Go which is basically a list of complaints they compile.  While I've been trying to focus on the positive lately I think I'll have to descend into negativity for just a few minutes.  There are a few things that have been, well, bugging me.  Indulge me.

My list of Things That Must Go -

1. Websites tailoring their ads to what I've been looking at on the internet.  Anytime I look at almost any retailer online the next website I go to, like KSL or my homepage has the exact same piece of furniture/shoes/dress that I was looking at.  It reminds me of that movie Minority Report with Tom Cruise where it's set in the future and when he walks into a shopping mall all these ads pop up addressing him.  I feel violated.  I know it's just a chaise lounge or five inch stilettos I'll probably never wear because I've never gotten used to walking in heels, but it bothers me that "Big Brother" is watching.  I'm moving to Washington and stocking up on the ammo.  I'd rather live next to Sasquatch.

2. Nursing Bras.  Skip this one if me talking about my decolletage makes you uncomfortable (I know I do it often).  What is the deal with nursing bras?  You've never had bigger boobs in your whole life but these bras have NO support.  When I bought some bras from my local "Lactation Station" (true story, that's the name.  Made me think of pulling up and have milk pumps instead of gas pumps.) The fitting expert discouraged me from buying under-wire because she was afraid it would hurt my milk supply.  I'm sorry but that cotton/spandex band at the bottom of this "bra" is not going to cut it.  I might as well wear a tent because there's no way I'd want to go out in public looking like that!  When I told her that she made me feel vain, like I was putting my vanity ahead of what was best for my baby.  I've nursed before.  I know I am not going to have a problem with my milk supply lady.  

3. Ladies making you feel guilty about nursing/not nursing/duration of nursing.  It's a personal choice.  Nursing basically takes over you life.  I can understand why it's not appealing to everyone.  Likewise, people getting uncomfortable when your baby is hungry in public.  Personally I use a nursing cover, because I'm not comfortable letting it all hang out.  I was at the park the other day with my friend, who also has a young baby and the kids were hungry so we nursed them both using our Hooter Hiders. This older lady leaned over and said, "I really commend you women for covering up.  There was a woman here last week, she was European, and she just nursed her baby out in the open.  She had no decency.  It was disgusting."  I was pretty cool toward the woman and didn't say much because it made me mad.  First of all lady, nursing is a totally natural thing.  We are mammals and thus provide nourishment for our young through lactation.  That's right, boobs aren't just for ogling.  I can understand how someone might feel uncomfortable, but you don't have to look.  Get up and move if it bothers you.  If my baby is hungry and screaming I'm not going to make her wait until I get home or nurse her in a filthy, disgusting public restroom.  Our society is so messed up when it comes to boobs.  I promise that's my last one about boobs.

4.  What's New Scooby-Doo?  My daughter loves Scooby-Doo.  I used to watch the older ones and was interested to see what the new ones were like.  I'm not a fan.  The Velma and Daphne characters have been totally sexualized.  (Which is ironic since the old series was from the sixties.)  It floored me for a kids show that even at that young of an age our kids are getting messages about women as objects.  In one episode entitled Camp Scare, the gang goes boating.  The "camera" zooms in on Velma and Daphne as they emerge from the dressing room in their swimsuits and then it cuts to Freddie and Shaggy slack-jawed with lust.  In another episode Freddie has gotten his shirt caught on some hook that in turn hoisted him up to the ceiling.  He asks Velma and Daphne for help.  Daphne (the "pretty" one) struggles with the controls and can't figure it out.  Freddie cries out in frustration, "Surely, Velma (the "smart" ie ugly one") can figure it out!"  Velma it turns out, can't figure it out either.  Maybe I'm just being sensitive, but it bothers me that my five-year-old is being fed this through a cartoon.  I guess it's time to put my foot down about Scooby-Doo.  Pretty sad that a kid can't watch a "cartoon" intended for them.

5.  The smell in our apartment.  Sometimes it's a gross sewer smell coming up through the drains.  Sometimes it's over powering moth balls.  Sometimes it's stinky ethnic food filtering through the vents from our neighbors.  Oh and the fish smell.  Our neighbors eat a lot of fish.  I've tried every known good smelling scent to combat it.  Nothing has touched it.  It's time to move.

6.  The skinny jean.  Not everyone is skinny.  Enough said.

7.  Me thinking that dilemma was spelled with an n as in dilemna.  I swear I was taught this in elementary school.  Likewise, blond.  I've always spelled it with an e on the end.

8. My husband's dumb "smart" phone.  It is the proverbial other woman in our marriage.  He's always playing games, or surfing the web on it.  What do I have to do to get your attention?  Draw a tic-tac-toe board on my stomach?  You want to play games?  Let's whip out Clue or Uno.  I guess I'm old school but I don't see the appeal of the smart phones unless I'm somewhere I'm not familiar with and need to find a specific location.  Annoying.

9.  Kids running into your legs in a crowd.  Including my own.  I'm always telling Ava to pay attention.  Before I had kids this used to bug the crap out of me.  I know, I know, I sound like a grouch.  I guess it's a jungle of legs out there for them but I can see the looks of annoyance when Ava walks wherever and nearly gets run over by a shopping cart of a fellow customer in a hurry.  I feel like I'm wrangling cattle sometimes with that girl.  I can only imagine having a bevy of children.

10. I read online recently of a celebrity that was getting "scary" skinny as the article noted.  It posted several pics in which, yes, the celebrity was looking to my eyes like she might have an issue.  I then read the comments, which I never should do on any article on the internet because inevitably it becomes a free for all and people are just mean.  What struck me was that in the media there is always women being attacked for gaining too much weight or on the flip side losing too much weight but I've never seen an article like that about a man.  It's such a double standard.  I guess the message being portrayed is do what you have to do to be skinny because being fat is gross, but don't get carried away because then you might look gross too. 

11.  I'll end on a positive note if anyone is still reading after boobs and lactation and me getting my feminist dander up over a cartoon.  Things That Must Stay: Strangers coming to the rescue.  I've been having some issues with my car.  It's died several times leaving me stranded with two kids in the back seat.  There were two times my husband was at work and I didn't have a lot of options.  Both times within minutes at least two people came over to ask if they could help.  I'm not a very trusting person.  I always assume someone being nice to me has an ulterior motive.  I don't know why I'm this way.  It's not a very open way to live one's life.  But I was so grateful for the men who helped me out.

I guess if I just cut out all technology in my life it would solve 4 of my 10 problems.  I've blogged about the appeal of Mennonite lifestyle before, maybe I'll convert.  Or else you'll find me packing heat up in the Pacific Northwest.  

Summer Lovin'

 

I haven't been able to get that song from Grease out of my head for days.  As I was laying in bed last night with it repeating over and over again I started to contemplate the deeper meaning of that show.  Yes, Grease is what I choose to dissect.  Basically the message of the show is that if you want the man of your dreams to love you, you better shimmy into your skin tight body suit and put on twice as much makeup.  Then he's yours forever.  Anyway, we've been enjoying the warm up (finally!) and here's what we've been up to...

I'm enjoying the relaxing mornings now that Ava is out of preschool.  Ava likes to pick out Brielle's outfit for the day and it usually ends up matching hers in some manner. 

Swim lessons.  They weren't my favorite.  It's an indoor pool and I was definitely wearing too many layers.  I kept looking around at the other mothers trying to determine if they were sweating as much as I was.  It was a sauna in there I tell you. 

Ava on the other hand loved swimming and cried the last day of class.  She's a tender heart, my Ava. 

Playing Chop, Chop, Timber!  The teacher chops their legs while they're standing poolside and when she says timber they have to jump in.  I was proud of Ava.  By the end of the two week session she was jumping in without worrying if her head was going to go under. 

Her teacher Erika.  She was so sweet and patient with the kids.  I think Ava was only one of two children who didn't cry on a regular basis when asked to try out a new move.  She had her work cut out for her.

This past weekend we drove up to Cache Valley to help my older brother move.  Here is the girls on the front steps.  My job was to keep the girls occupied while the men did the heavy lifting.  We had a blast.  I painted all the girls toe nails and finger nails Rock Star Pink. 

Ava and Ellie played so well together.  The twins are just so adorable, even though they are everywhere and into everything at once.  I was slicing watermelon for lunch and between the two twins I found that they were eating it almost as fast as I was slicing it. 

Running through the sprinklers here at home.  We've been struggling lately finding things to fill our days.  Ava seems like she needs constant activity or else she is bored. 

I realized I have a photo of myself at this age with a swimsuit that is so similar.  I will have to try to post it later, if I can find it.

 My cheap Foster Grants had a slight accident. 

 Weird.

 Weirder.

 Weirdest.

Brielle was a little fussy yesterday.  I don't know if she is struggling with her teeth coming up through her gums or what.  But you couldn't tell she was fussy from the picture.  My smiley girl.

With crazy hair, might I add.  Her expression here looks just like her Daddy's when he smiles big.  Life is pretty good.  I do miss Cache Valley like crazy...still.  I wonder if I'll always miss it.  For those of you lucky enough to reside there drink it in.

Dads

Growing up I bemoaned having the strictest father I knew.  I always had to tell my parents every possible detail of each and every social outing I ever went on.  Who would be there, what we'd be doing, what time I'd be home.  I should have typed up an itinerary and just handed it over before I went out, it would have saved a lot of explaining.  We didn't always see eye to eye on things.  We still don't.  Let's just say politics are not something we can discuss with one another.  As I've gotten older I have realized what a blessing his over protectiveness was in my life.  I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there were many times when I thought twice before doing something because I'd imagine having to face the wrath of Dan. 

I've learned a lot of things from my dad.  He taught me how to ride a bike.  He taught me how to drive.  He taught me how to check a car's oil and how to change a tire, although I've never had to actually change one by myself.  He's come to my rescue on numerous occasions.  He taught me to never give up on yourself.  In the basement of my parents home there was a handwritten note attached to the freezer for many, many years.  In my dad's clear, upright handwriting he had written three lines in bold black marker  I will.  I can.  I am.  To me it's always been a recipe for progress.  He put it in a spot where he'd see it each day when he was training for a cycling event, or a marathon.  More than that though, I think he's used it as a blueprint for his life. 

He is the product of depression era, working class parents.  This means he is frugal and hardworking.  He once took my mom to a high school dance.  At the time he could not afford to go out and buy a new pair of black shoes to match his tux.  As my mom tells it he showed up at the door in a tux with his brown pair of shoes painted black to match.  There is something very sweet and touching about the gesture and it says a lot about what kind of a man he is. 

My dad worked full-time while finishing his degree at Utah State.  At the time he had two children and a wife to support.  I can't imagine how hard it must have been for him.  I so appreciate what that sacrifice meant to our family.  Although we weren't wealthy by any means, I never lacked for anything I needed.  I think, for the most part, moms get all the glory.  Because traditionally they have been the ones caring and nurturing full-time.  My dad woke up every morning for thirty plus years and put in 8 - 10 hours.  As a child I didn't really think anything of this.  This is what dads do, right?  Never once did it cross my mind that there were probably a million other things he would have liked to be doing.  He did it because he wanted to take care of us.  He sacrificed a lot of his wants for our needs.  I understand it more now and am grateful for a man of that caliber to be my father.  I love you, Dad. 

I can't let Father's Day slip by without giving a shout out to the man who gave me my two beautiful daughters.  When I met and fell in love with my husband I didn't give any thought as to what kind of a father he might be.  Heck, I didn't even ask him if he wanted kids!  In hindsight I'm sure that's a big one.  Kids, talk to your prospective mate about how they feel about fathering your babies.  As Martha says, "It's a good thing."  Obviously my hormones were making the decisions back in 2002.  Tall? Check.  Dark?  Check.  Handsome?  Check.  I do. 

As a couple, our journey has been well documented.  Probably more than he would like.  He's a very private man.  I don't think he talks to near strangers about awkward honeymoon nights or intimate, though very obvious body parts you wished you could get surgically reduced.  Yes, just the other day I found myself talking to a woman in our neighborhood about boobs.  It's who I am I guess.  In many ways we are opposites.  In some ways it's been a blessing, especially as two people trying to parent our girls. 

He is patient when I am flustered.  He is calm when I'm freaking out.  He is firm when I'm so tired of hearing it I'd just rather give in.  He is in control when I feel overwhelmed.  He's a man who loves his children deeply.  I don't doubt for one second that he'd protect them with his life.  Having given birth twice, my favorite part of the experience besides meeting my babies for the first time was watching his face when he saw them and held them for the first time.  And for me it never gets old.  I still love watching him interact with our children.  One day I hope my girls will fully realize how lucky they were to be raised by him.  Although I'm sure this post embarrasses him for me even mentioning him I'd like to stand and bare/bear (Which is it?  I've always wondered.  Is a testimony something you bare...like throwing open the bathrobe on the truth beneath?  Or is it something you bear, like something you carry around with you?  Will someone get back to me on that?  Random tangent over.) my testimony of my husband's devotion to being such a wonderful daddy.  Happy Father's Day, Sugar Britches!  (Embarrassing enough for you?)