It has been much longer than 24 hours since the fabulous stylist got her hands on my hair, so it is now a far, far cry than what state she had it in. Taking a picture now would not even do it justice.....though it would prove my point entirely. Thanks to all my dear friends who are anxious to see a new and improved michelle. i really should have taken a picture, because I did NOT look like me. Today, I look very much like me. In fact, I am sporting the bobby pins, wearing my hair curly, and it is pulled back into a --- GASP --- ponytail. please don't tell Danielle on me.
How about I try really hard sometime before the weekend is over to do my hair and I'll have Kyle snap a shot of it? That might motivate me to try harder. I will say her cutting my hair was not in vain. I still love it. It's not as heavy, and it's smoother. I have no regrets. I just don't look like I did, that's all.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sometimes something as simple as a haircut makes you wax a little philosophic...or just blow a lot of hot air
I love the feeling of a fresh new haircut. Even if it lasts for just 24 hours, I feel pretty. Someone professional, qualified, and driven insofar as the cuticles on my head are concerned has washed, cut, and styled my hair.
There is also a slight fear I have to overcome in order to go through with the scheduling of a hair appointment. Well, several actually. I fear that I won't convey excactly what I want and walk away with less money in my pocket, and far less hair on my head than I'd bargained for. I fear that the hairdresser will cower and instead of telling me how I should do my hair (because she knows best, not me), she does what I tell her I think I want, and she grumbles under her breath that I'll look like a fool when she's done with me. I fear that the hairstylist doesn't have enough experience and just wants to make a buck so she won't try very hard on my hair. Ironically enough, the ultimate fear is that the hairdresser will work miracles on my hair; that my hair will look great, feel great.... and that I will never be able to repeat it.
For the last couple of years I have gotten my hair cut by good friends. It has worked out well and cut out most of the fear and anxiety that I'd previously endure over a hair appointment. I'd get in an hour-long chat with a gal pal, and also a hair cut at the same time. It's always been for a bargain because my SAHM salon girlies never charge enough, so I can tip generously and they think I am a saint. Meanwhile, I'm still saving a bundle on my hair and not getting sucked into purchasing hundreds of dollars on hair care prodicts. Win-win, right?
When we moved here to Idaho I still managed to find another SAHM gal-pal to cut hair. I mentioned I needed my hair trimmed and thinned, she had her next morning free, so it worked out great. We chatted while she snipped away, and I came home with a much lighter head.
However, I have slowly creeped into a rut of what I like to call Mom-Hair. Moms with great hair probably take offense to this title. I'm not a mom with great hair. I'm a mom with Mom-Hair. And so it was that this morning I found myself in the most awful pit of dispair with my mother hair. It was dry, full of split-ends, and didn't even look good in a pony-tail for goodness sakes. How can you be a mom and not even get away with a pony-tail? It was bad. So I considered my options. Call one of the gals I know that cuts hair out of her home, or pay the big bucks and get an appointment with a --- gasp ---- salon? I finally decided it wouldn't hurt to have a stranger get her hands on my hair. After all, if she was brutally honest about my hair, there would be no outstanding relationship to ruin. I took a shot in the dark and called the hoity toity salon down the street to see if there was an opening this morning. I know, mistake number one. If a stylist has an opening the very same morning that must mean she is no good, right? I decided to go for it anyway. Anything done to my hair had to be better than the head of Mom-Hair I was impossibly trying to tame. Right?
So I showed up and the fancy salon desk ladies offered me water to drink from a fancy champagne glass. Noticing around me all the fabulous-looking ladies, I was was silently relieved that I'd managed to get fully dressed for the event. I remember reading once in a magazine that you should always show up to a hair appointment looking your best. Showing up in a pony tail and sweats dwindles your chances of getting a great cut and style if they think that's all you're going to do with yourself anyway. So, even though that's probably what I would end up doing anyway, I picked out a non-mom outfit, put on my make-up for the first time before 10am this month, and attemmpted to do my hair despite the odds against me.
Danielle led me to my little station where I parked my purse. She took and hung up my coat and offered me more water. Fabulous service, I thought. Then she sat me down and started running her fingers through my hair. I always wonder what is going through a sylist's mind when she touches my hair and examines what I have attempted to call "styling" it. I cringed a little and took a deep breath. She asked me what I wanted so I said,
"I need a trim. Really badly as you can see." She asked about the bangs I had clipped up in my bobby pins and I didn't have an answer. Was I growing them out? I don't know. Did I want to have bangs? Well, yes, but not all the time. And so far I haven't been able to get them to lay just right against my forehead, so I always went with the bobby pins. Then, almost as if she were waving a magic wand, she pulled my bobby pins out and with a gentle swipe of her comb, she had solved the mystery of the impossible bangs.
You're parting your hair on the wrong side, she told me. It was that easy. She hand't known me for more than 20 seconds and she had solved a mystery that I have been unable to solve for the last 20 years of my life (yes, regrettably, I have been attempting to style my hair since I was 6. I do give full credit to my mother for allowing me to do so at such a young age to give me my independence. Of course I cringe because she gave that independence to me. I looked terrible). All I needed to do is part my hair on the other side and all was right with the world. Or so it seemed in that very moment. I smiled.
We were off to a good start. She gently mentioned it looked like it had been a while since I had a cut. I've much gone longer before getting a hair cut, but it was no use trying to defend myself. After all, the proof was in the pudding. Or on my head, rather. Then as she's washing my hair, which is my favorite part, I remembered I really wanted a deep conditioning treatment on my hair. I wondered if it's too late to mention, if she even has time to do it or......
"I need some moisture in my hair" I blurted out. She agreed and offered a deep conditioning treatment. I nodded and took a deep breath. Good, she had time. So I sat under warm lamps and read about Sulley the heroic pilot of Flight 1549.
I was sad when my time under the warm lamps was over, I was getting cozy. Danielle led me back to my chair and we eased right back into our conversation.
After she sat me back down in my chair and began cutting, I got a little pit in my stomach. It looked like she was cutting off an awful lot. I sneaked a look at the floor, because that's how you really can tell how much is coming off your head, you know. The floor was covered with my hair. All I wanted was a trim. A trim. This looked like it was turning out to be more than a trim. I was too afraid to say anything, and chose to continue enjoying our stimulating conversation about books, movies, and our children. And it kept raining hair on the floor.
{ kyle is asking me if I am still writing about my hair-cut. Yes, dear, I am. A haircut is a monumental event in a woman's life. It means you have time enough to steal away and get your hair washed by someone else. A beautiful thing. Blogworthy even.}
The end result was shocking. As she blow dried my hair, and snippity-snipped some more I could not believe what I saw. Even more, I couldn't believe what I felt. I kept running my fingers through my hair-- something I haven't been able to do for a long time. Because it had been too dry, too tangly. She showed me how to style my hair, and what products did what. By the end I could hardly believe what I saw.
I liked it. And I still had a lot of hair left. She artfully mastered the craft of thinning my hair, styling it, and keeping it the treasured length my husband says he loves so much.
And so it is.... I will get to bask in the next 24 hours of a freshly cut and styled mane after 2.5 hours of one-on-one attention. I may not be able to replicate it ever again, because, let's be honest. I won't be spending more than 20 minutes on it. But for now I will run my fingers through it over and over again, swish it back and forth, and smile knowing that for at least one day this year, I did not have Mom-Hair. And that is worth facing the fear that it won't look like this ever again.
Thank you, Danielle. You managed to pull off a miracle.
There is also a slight fear I have to overcome in order to go through with the scheduling of a hair appointment. Well, several actually. I fear that I won't convey excactly what I want and walk away with less money in my pocket, and far less hair on my head than I'd bargained for. I fear that the hairdresser will cower and instead of telling me how I should do my hair (because she knows best, not me), she does what I tell her I think I want, and she grumbles under her breath that I'll look like a fool when she's done with me. I fear that the hairstylist doesn't have enough experience and just wants to make a buck so she won't try very hard on my hair. Ironically enough, the ultimate fear is that the hairdresser will work miracles on my hair; that my hair will look great, feel great.... and that I will never be able to repeat it.
For the last couple of years I have gotten my hair cut by good friends. It has worked out well and cut out most of the fear and anxiety that I'd previously endure over a hair appointment. I'd get in an hour-long chat with a gal pal, and also a hair cut at the same time. It's always been for a bargain because my SAHM salon girlies never charge enough, so I can tip generously and they think I am a saint. Meanwhile, I'm still saving a bundle on my hair and not getting sucked into purchasing hundreds of dollars on hair care prodicts. Win-win, right?
When we moved here to Idaho I still managed to find another SAHM gal-pal to cut hair. I mentioned I needed my hair trimmed and thinned, she had her next morning free, so it worked out great. We chatted while she snipped away, and I came home with a much lighter head.
However, I have slowly creeped into a rut of what I like to call Mom-Hair. Moms with great hair probably take offense to this title. I'm not a mom with great hair. I'm a mom with Mom-Hair. And so it was that this morning I found myself in the most awful pit of dispair with my mother hair. It was dry, full of split-ends, and didn't even look good in a pony-tail for goodness sakes. How can you be a mom and not even get away with a pony-tail? It was bad. So I considered my options. Call one of the gals I know that cuts hair out of her home, or pay the big bucks and get an appointment with a --- gasp ---- salon? I finally decided it wouldn't hurt to have a stranger get her hands on my hair. After all, if she was brutally honest about my hair, there would be no outstanding relationship to ruin. I took a shot in the dark and called the hoity toity salon down the street to see if there was an opening this morning. I know, mistake number one. If a stylist has an opening the very same morning that must mean she is no good, right? I decided to go for it anyway. Anything done to my hair had to be better than the head of Mom-Hair I was impossibly trying to tame. Right?
So I showed up and the fancy salon desk ladies offered me water to drink from a fancy champagne glass. Noticing around me all the fabulous-looking ladies, I was was silently relieved that I'd managed to get fully dressed for the event. I remember reading once in a magazine that you should always show up to a hair appointment looking your best. Showing up in a pony tail and sweats dwindles your chances of getting a great cut and style if they think that's all you're going to do with yourself anyway. So, even though that's probably what I would end up doing anyway, I picked out a non-mom outfit, put on my make-up for the first time before 10am this month, and attemmpted to do my hair despite the odds against me.
Danielle led me to my little station where I parked my purse. She took and hung up my coat and offered me more water. Fabulous service, I thought. Then she sat me down and started running her fingers through my hair. I always wonder what is going through a sylist's mind when she touches my hair and examines what I have attempted to call "styling" it. I cringed a little and took a deep breath. She asked me what I wanted so I said,
"I need a trim. Really badly as you can see." She asked about the bangs I had clipped up in my bobby pins and I didn't have an answer. Was I growing them out? I don't know. Did I want to have bangs? Well, yes, but not all the time. And so far I haven't been able to get them to lay just right against my forehead, so I always went with the bobby pins. Then, almost as if she were waving a magic wand, she pulled my bobby pins out and with a gentle swipe of her comb, she had solved the mystery of the impossible bangs.
You're parting your hair on the wrong side, she told me. It was that easy. She hand't known me for more than 20 seconds and she had solved a mystery that I have been unable to solve for the last 20 years of my life (yes, regrettably, I have been attempting to style my hair since I was 6. I do give full credit to my mother for allowing me to do so at such a young age to give me my independence. Of course I cringe because she gave that independence to me. I looked terrible). All I needed to do is part my hair on the other side and all was right with the world. Or so it seemed in that very moment. I smiled.
We were off to a good start. She gently mentioned it looked like it had been a while since I had a cut. I've much gone longer before getting a hair cut, but it was no use trying to defend myself. After all, the proof was in the pudding. Or on my head, rather. Then as she's washing my hair, which is my favorite part, I remembered I really wanted a deep conditioning treatment on my hair. I wondered if it's too late to mention, if she even has time to do it or......
"I need some moisture in my hair" I blurted out. She agreed and offered a deep conditioning treatment. I nodded and took a deep breath. Good, she had time. So I sat under warm lamps and read about Sulley the heroic pilot of Flight 1549.
I was sad when my time under the warm lamps was over, I was getting cozy. Danielle led me back to my chair and we eased right back into our conversation.
After she sat me back down in my chair and began cutting, I got a little pit in my stomach. It looked like she was cutting off an awful lot. I sneaked a look at the floor, because that's how you really can tell how much is coming off your head, you know. The floor was covered with my hair. All I wanted was a trim. A trim. This looked like it was turning out to be more than a trim. I was too afraid to say anything, and chose to continue enjoying our stimulating conversation about books, movies, and our children. And it kept raining hair on the floor.
{ kyle is asking me if I am still writing about my hair-cut. Yes, dear, I am. A haircut is a monumental event in a woman's life. It means you have time enough to steal away and get your hair washed by someone else. A beautiful thing. Blogworthy even.}
The end result was shocking. As she blow dried my hair, and snippity-snipped some more I could not believe what I saw. Even more, I couldn't believe what I felt. I kept running my fingers through my hair-- something I haven't been able to do for a long time. Because it had been too dry, too tangly. She showed me how to style my hair, and what products did what. By the end I could hardly believe what I saw.
I liked it. And I still had a lot of hair left. She artfully mastered the craft of thinning my hair, styling it, and keeping it the treasured length my husband says he loves so much.
And so it is.... I will get to bask in the next 24 hours of a freshly cut and styled mane after 2.5 hours of one-on-one attention. I may not be able to replicate it ever again, because, let's be honest. I won't be spending more than 20 minutes on it. But for now I will run my fingers through it over and over again, swish it back and forth, and smile knowing that for at least one day this year, I did not have Mom-Hair. And that is worth facing the fear that it won't look like this ever again.
Thank you, Danielle. You managed to pull off a miracle.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Fishing Trip to Salmon, Idaho
Last Saturday a couple of friends invited me to go Steelhead fishing near Salmon, Idaho. I consider myself an amateur angler and not much more. Being from Idaho and having never gone Steelhead fishing it was a very easy decision for me to make. It was different than any kind of fishing than I have ever done.
We basically used only drift casting the entire day. That is where you rig up your line with some neon foam balls, add something shiny, tie on a feather and toss it in upstream. Then allow the setup to bounce along the bottom of the river all the way down until it reaches the 2 o'clock position. Expect snags. About 1 in 10 casts results in a snag and a complete retying of the entire setup. (This becomes a bit expensive)
We fished all day caught 6 Steelhead between the four of us. It was much more difficult than I thought. They kept saying they felt bites/nibbles al day and I couldn't tell the difference from a fish biting and the bait rolling on the bottom of the river. I was lucky to catch one fish though thanks to the help of my buddies who knew what they were doing.
Monday, March 16, 2009
My promotion
While temping as a round the clock nurse has been rewarding and fulfilling, I have accepted a promotion in which I get to oversee school projects. The pay is the same, I will have more work and receive less credit. The upside is that there is no puke or poop clean-up. Check out Cade's leprechaun trap:
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Just some updates
My Monday morning meeting with Cade's preschool teacher went well. It was good to have the weekend to really take the edge off my frustration so I didn't approach the teachers with flames bursting out of my mouth and darts shooting from my eyes. Unfortunately, Miss Ursula (she was the teacher present during the whole ordeal) was unavailable to meet with me, so that kind of bugged me. But, here's the low-down of Miss Laura and I's friendly little chat.
It has been interesting going from a pre-school in Chicago which focused more on socializing and teaching the kids how to interact appropriately with peers and then moving to a pre-school in Boise where they are so focused on learning and prepping for kindergarten.
At this point, I feel healthy peer interaction and socialization is the most important tool my child can learn. Though I can't complain that Cade has made tremendous progress over his interest (or lack thereof) in writing his name and letters. I figured that would come eventually in Kindergarten, but I guess it doesn't hurt for him to have some practice.Which would you prefer for your child?
---
Snowboarding was great. Tuesday was the missionaries' P-day, and ironically they had just received special permission from the president that previous week to go to Bogus Basin (it's out of their area) so they were able to come with us. They couldn't board or ski (mission rules) but they had fun sledding. Being able to bring up a Brazilian and Texan who had never seen snow was a hoot. Plus, it was nice giving them a lift up there so Kyle and I didn't have to feel completely selfish for going.
I was shocked Kyle borrowed his brother's snowboarding gear (thanks, Jason!). Kyle's very first time boarding was back in 2001 up in Rexburg. It was also my first attempt at snowboarding. We were dating at the time and Kyle was a miserable grouch. I had a blast and was very much reconsidering our status in the relationship after that date. Come to find out his bindings were set at such an angle that they were digging into his calves, thus making snowboarding down the mountain pretty painful. Hence the grouchiness. I am glad I didn't dump him after that. Even still, Kyle swore he would never try boarding again.
But he finally did and he is a natural. Kind of makes me sick. I don't think I was expecting anything different, but I had to take an entire semester of snowboarding to get where I'm at (which isn't anything special), and we are pretty much at the same level after Kyle went down the mountain 3 times. And as an added bonus for the day, Kyle and I both got off the chair lift smooth and easy every time. My sister Melody has experienced quite the opposite. When she and I hit the slopes together a few weeks ago, it got ot the point that she had to be pretty blunt with anyone who asked to ride in a chair with us. She'd answer, "Sure you can ride with us, but it's at your own risk. My sister here is pretty dangerous getting off the lift, so just steer clear of her as best you can."
I did make a few mistakes. My first one was going snowboarding the day after I tried out a new class at the gym that worked on the abs. Oh my. I was told to do things with my body I was pretty sure was not humanly possible; only they were humanly possible to everyone else, what with their washboard stomachs and all. I was grunting and gasping and trying with all my might and come Tuesday morning I could hardly get out of bed. Yeah, buckling my boots into my bindings after getting off the lift was pretty painful.
The second really terrible mistake was just my sheer stupidity. Kyle was hanging out at the lodge with the Elders, and I was meandering my way down the slopes alone exploring different trails. I came across a little snowboarding ramp park and noticed a cute little boy (couldn't have been any older than 8) jumping a ramp. I thought it was adorable. He landed smoothly and went on his way. So I decided to pick the smallest one and try the same.
Oh it was bad. I landed flat on my back and let out a big "UFF" The snow in Boise is not soft and friendly like the powder in Utah. It hurt. It really, really hurt. I laid frozen on the snow with the wind completely knocked out of me. I stared at the sky thinking someone was going to have to drag me to the bottom on a stretcher. I couldn't move. Finally after about 5 minutes, I decided to try and get up. No ribs broken, back worked fine, legs and arms were all miraculously pain free. It was a miracle and I felt like a dope. Won't be trying that again.
The kids adored the babysitter (how wonderful is it to leave your kids in the care of a someone-for SEVEN hours and not have a single worry about their well-being? That, my friends, is priceless.) I had to laugh about the comment Emily S. made about me assuming if the babysitter is homeschooled that meant she was't doing anything and she could babysit my kids all day. Yeah, that was pretty funny. I was afraid of coming across like that so I approached her mom about it first. Cade keeps begging me to call her to play again tomorrow. I think that's a great sign. There just might be more snowboarding in my future.
----
And here we are today....
Kyle enjoys working away his weekend four-wheeling and catching up with the Bodells while I get to fulfill my maternal role and clean up my two favorite things:
Poop and puke.
Eccchhh. Oh well. Play hard and work hard. Don't feel too sorry for me. I assure you I will find myself down in St. George at a luxurious spa soon. In the mean time, we'll stay in so you don't catch this gnarly bug.
- Miss Laura agreed there was no way it could not have happened. She said she wanted me to get the story from Cade first, and then she was going to proceed to talk to whomever was involved.
- Miss Ursula did try (somewhat) to get the story from Cade and the other boys involved right after Cade approached her with his complaint but was unsuccessful . She didn't know who or what happened. (don't think she tried very hard.)
- My primary concern was that Cade's complaint wasn't heard or addressed. I worried that Cade felt his complaint was ignored. Initially it sounded like Cade was blown off. Miss Laura pulled him aside Monday and praised him for telling the teacher and told him to always do that, he did the right thing, etc.
By the end of class Monday, Miss Laura was able to figure out what excactly happened and who was involved. Miss Laura talked with the class that day about personal space, when to tell a teacher if someone is touching you or getting in your space, so I finally feel like it was appropriately addressed.
Thanks to all of you for giving me your thoughts on the issue. It was really helpful to decide how to best approach the teachers with my concerns.It has been interesting going from a pre-school in Chicago which focused more on socializing and teaching the kids how to interact appropriately with peers and then moving to a pre-school in Boise where they are so focused on learning and prepping for kindergarten.
At this point, I feel healthy peer interaction and socialization is the most important tool my child can learn. Though I can't complain that Cade has made tremendous progress over his interest (or lack thereof) in writing his name and letters. I figured that would come eventually in Kindergarten, but I guess it doesn't hurt for him to have some practice.Which would you prefer for your child?
---
Snowboarding was great. Tuesday was the missionaries' P-day, and ironically they had just received special permission from the president that previous week to go to Bogus Basin (it's out of their area) so they were able to come with us. They couldn't board or ski (mission rules) but they had fun sledding. Being able to bring up a Brazilian and Texan who had never seen snow was a hoot. Plus, it was nice giving them a lift up there so Kyle and I didn't have to feel completely selfish for going.
I was shocked Kyle borrowed his brother's snowboarding gear (thanks, Jason!). Kyle's very first time boarding was back in 2001 up in Rexburg. It was also my first attempt at snowboarding. We were dating at the time and Kyle was a miserable grouch. I had a blast and was very much reconsidering our status in the relationship after that date. Come to find out his bindings were set at such an angle that they were digging into his calves, thus making snowboarding down the mountain pretty painful. Hence the grouchiness. I am glad I didn't dump him after that. Even still, Kyle swore he would never try boarding again.
But he finally did and he is a natural. Kind of makes me sick. I don't think I was expecting anything different, but I had to take an entire semester of snowboarding to get where I'm at (which isn't anything special), and we are pretty much at the same level after Kyle went down the mountain 3 times. And as an added bonus for the day, Kyle and I both got off the chair lift smooth and easy every time. My sister Melody has experienced quite the opposite. When she and I hit the slopes together a few weeks ago, it got ot the point that she had to be pretty blunt with anyone who asked to ride in a chair with us. She'd answer, "Sure you can ride with us, but it's at your own risk. My sister here is pretty dangerous getting off the lift, so just steer clear of her as best you can."
I did make a few mistakes. My first one was going snowboarding the day after I tried out a new class at the gym that worked on the abs. Oh my. I was told to do things with my body I was pretty sure was not humanly possible; only they were humanly possible to everyone else, what with their washboard stomachs and all. I was grunting and gasping and trying with all my might and come Tuesday morning I could hardly get out of bed. Yeah, buckling my boots into my bindings after getting off the lift was pretty painful.
The second really terrible mistake was just my sheer stupidity. Kyle was hanging out at the lodge with the Elders, and I was meandering my way down the slopes alone exploring different trails. I came across a little snowboarding ramp park and noticed a cute little boy (couldn't have been any older than 8) jumping a ramp. I thought it was adorable. He landed smoothly and went on his way. So I decided to pick the smallest one and try the same.
Oh it was bad. I landed flat on my back and let out a big "UFF" The snow in Boise is not soft and friendly like the powder in Utah. It hurt. It really, really hurt. I laid frozen on the snow with the wind completely knocked out of me. I stared at the sky thinking someone was going to have to drag me to the bottom on a stretcher. I couldn't move. Finally after about 5 minutes, I decided to try and get up. No ribs broken, back worked fine, legs and arms were all miraculously pain free. It was a miracle and I felt like a dope. Won't be trying that again.
The kids adored the babysitter (how wonderful is it to leave your kids in the care of a someone-for SEVEN hours and not have a single worry about their well-being? That, my friends, is priceless.) I had to laugh about the comment Emily S. made about me assuming if the babysitter is homeschooled that meant she was't doing anything and she could babysit my kids all day. Yeah, that was pretty funny. I was afraid of coming across like that so I approached her mom about it first. Cade keeps begging me to call her to play again tomorrow. I think that's a great sign. There just might be more snowboarding in my future.
----
And here we are today....
Kyle enjoys working away his weekend four-wheeling and catching up with the Bodells while I get to fulfill my maternal role and clean up my two favorite things:
Poop and puke.
Eccchhh. Oh well. Play hard and work hard. Don't feel too sorry for me. I assure you I will find myself down in St. George at a luxurious spa soon. In the mean time, we'll stay in so you don't catch this gnarly bug.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Found: Gold! *updated with pictures
What do you do when you discover one of the Young Women in your ward is homeschooling this semester?
You hire her for the afternoon and go snowboarding of course!
Very excited folks. Should be a fun day.
You hire her for the afternoon and go snowboarding of course!
Very excited folks. Should be a fun day.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
A Lighter Dish: a taste of Southern Living. Destination? Huntsville.
Last night's post was pretty heavy, so I thought I should go for something a little on the lighter side. [note: lighter unfortunately does not mean shorter. But hey, at least there are pictures!]
Standing inside a big bubble
Look at those eyes! This is Jennie's youngest. He is the cutest baby I have ever seen. Just a year old and weighs more than Savannah, who is twice his age.
----
Another highlight was introducing Kyle to Unclaimed Baggage in Scottsboro. This is where all the unclaimed baggage goes and is sold for cheap, or it used to be. My cousin says they've gotten pretty proud of themselves and now the deals aren't as great, but it is still fun to see what sorts of things people left behind (or the airlines didn't try very hard to return). Wedding dresses, canoes, strollers and everything in between.
It was also amazing to watch my close-knit relatives gather together. All my life I've lived away from extended family. It was neat (and hilarious) to watch my cousins interact and get a small taste of what it would be like to have a Sheppard family compound. My cousin, Jennie, really gets superwoman of the year. Mother of three (ages 1, 2, and 3 I believe), and pregnant with her fourth, at the ripe age of 25, and she's currently serving as the Relief Society President in her ward. And you'd never guess who the bishop is. My Uncle. You know he would never have called her to serve in such a capacity unless the Lord wanted it. She is amazing. And each of her sisters pitch in and help her carry the load, just as any sister would. I'm so mad I didn't take a picture of all of us, but we did get a few shots of the kids and some others. Next time I suppose!
Meet Trouble. Jennie's second boy. (not his real name. had to clarify) He has a very mischievious grin.
We got to be spoiled one last time by the Grandparents, who treated us to an all-American dinner at a restaurant on our way out. Cade got his Mac and Cheese and Icecream, which was perfect. Otherwise I don't think we could have bribed him back in the car. Leaving behind all those friends and toys was almost too much for him to bear.
Once upon a time, I was waiting to sell my house. I was living in a sea of boxes [sidenote here. has there been a post since the move that I have not mentioned it? probably not. i apologize for beating it to death, but clearly it affected me to a devistating degree.] and it was driving me crazy. I was getting anxious to start our new, albeit shortlived, life in Idaho.
Then I turned on the radio. Wait, I didn't. It was packed. So let's pretend I turned on the radio. This is what the weather forecast issued for the next few days. Ugh.
Then I turned on the radio. Wait, I didn't. It was packed. So let's pretend I turned on the radio. This is what the weather forecast issued for the next few days. Ugh.
... Wind chill watch remains in effect from Wednesday evening through Friday
morning... A wind chill watch remains in effect from Wednesday evening through Friday morning. Dangerous wind chills are likely following our next storm system overnight tonight and Wednesday. Strong north winds will lower air temperatures below zero Wednesday night through Thursday night. Brisk north winds through that period will combine to create dangerously brutal wind chills at or below minus 30 degrees. A wind chill watch means there is the potential for acombination of very cold air and strong winds to create dangerously low windchill values. Monitor the latest forecasts and warnings for updates on this situation.*
I considered the weather forecast and the bad news. Then I did something that I rarely do. I began planning a last minute trip down to Alabama. I hadn't seen my grandparents and cousins for so long, not to metion Alabama was sounding very tropical at the moment. The week prior the temperature had hit 70 degrees. Niiiiice. Kyle and I had planned on taking a trip out there once we got settled in Idaho, but I'd be danged if I was going to waste away another weekend sitting in the house in Chicago waiting to move. I checked on flights leaving the next morning. 300 bucks. Not bad for a non-stop last minute roundtrip ticket to Huntsville. Then Kyle (the fiscally responisble one in our marriage) suggested I google how many hours away it was. With gas as low as it is, he pretty much felt like we were getting paid to drive down there.
10 hours!
10 hours? I felt awful. I had been living in Chicago for the last 2 1/2 years and didn't even know how close I was to my family. It was pretty much a no brainer to drive. And so I called up my beloved Aunt and Uncle to ask if we could crash their quarters for the long weekend. Uncle Robert and Aunt Gwen are the essence of southern hospitality and enthusiastically agreed. (or they were really good about pretending to be enthusiastic). The catch was to not tell my Grandparents we were coming down. If you don't know my Aunt Gwen, you really don't understand what we were asking of her (she ended up just avoiding my Grandparents until we got there, just to make sure she didn't spill the beans).
Naturally I was still on a high from the whole I-can't-believe-I'm-doing-something-spontaneous, and wanted to continue the fun full throttle. So, I took the kids to the Children's Museum with Cade's friend, Delaney (Savannah thinks she's her friend, too and Delaney thinks she's Savannah's mother, it's so cute.) Oh how we miss sweet little Delaney. She's Cade's age and they look more like siblings than he and Savvy look, don't you think? Several times I was asked if they were twins. Sure, I said. And I even decided to have another one, can you believe it?!
Standing inside a big bubble
D. and S. Only little girls like this can still look adorable in goggles.
Once home from our fun-filled morning and afternoon, we hurriedly packed up the car and by dark we were on the road.
I'll spare you the road trip details but I will say that we have decided Hampton Inn is choice of road trip overnight stops. The kids LOVED having a TV in the room, those poor television deprived souls, and Kyle and I loved having a TV to turn on in the room so we could sleep in. Totally a win-win.
Now, let me tell you a little bit about the Huntsville Henriksens. First, there's Robert and Gwen, the most fun-loving, hilarious, and kind folks you will ever meet. They have 6 children. 5 of them have children of their own. All 6 kids live in the same county just miles from home base. Most of them are even in the same ward. It is a very tight-knit family. In the 3 days I was there, they all (and I mean ALL) convened at "Grammy's" (Gwen's name of choice) at least once each day. If I get my math right, that meant Auntie Gwen was cooking for a grand total of 15 adults and 12 children. It was a zoo. The most delightful zoo I have ever been a part of.
Spending time with my cousins and having Cade and Savvy get to play with their cousins (2nd cousins? once removed?? who knows) was absolutely wonderful. Cade got very used to having at least 3 or 4 friends to play with at a time and if we ever opened the door to just find Robert and Gwen alone, Cade would ask, "where is everybody?!"
-----
Michael's little girl, Maycie. The calm, quiet, and gentle one of the crew. ;)
Michael's little girl, Maycie. The calm, quiet, and gentle one of the crew. ;)
Layla. This was Savannah's favorite. Everything she does now is in reference to "Like Layla does!" whether it's going potty, wearing a pony tail.... my she sure left an impression on Savvy.
Trouble,Emma, Beaux, Ava and Cade
The name is Danger. No really, that's his name. Danger.
Look at those eyes! This is Jennie's youngest. He is the cutest baby I have ever seen. Just a year old and weighs more than Savannah, who is twice his age.
----
Another highlight was introducing Kyle to Unclaimed Baggage in Scottsboro. This is where all the unclaimed baggage goes and is sold for cheap, or it used to be. My cousin says they've gotten pretty proud of themselves and now the deals aren't as great, but it is still fun to see what sorts of things people left behind (or the airlines didn't try very hard to return). Wedding dresses, canoes, strollers and everything in between.
My cousin Connie and her husband David were so sweet to chauffer us there and shop with us. Of course Connie found all the great steals as I looked on with envy. Kyle also found some good stuff, too: noise cancelling headphones (maybe he wanted to wear them on the drive home) and some cologne to add to his 14-strong bottle collection. I don't even remember what I got....but whatever it was, I'm sure it was a screaming deal on something I needed very much.
On the way home, David pulled over to a remote spot off the highway and led Kyle on a little excavation adventure. They were sucessful in their search and came home with some pretty rad looking rocks* --- they weren't rocks, but in order to honor David's sacred excavation grounds, I had to be very general here. Kyle and he were like little kids in a candy shop and were so proud to show us their finds. They were like two peas in a pod. I think they ended up deserting us and going gun-shopping the rest of the day. Those hicks.
Aside from the instant influx of friends, the highlight of this trip for Cade was getting a Spiderman Umbrella. All year long he had begged to receive this for Christmas. Santa forgot, and by the time he remembered, Umbrella season was over in Chicago and hat and glove season was there for good. I promised him I'd take him to Wal-mart in Alabama (it never snows there, well, except for this one time as documented by my fellow cousin, Amy) to see if they had a Spiderman Umbrella for him. When Cade found it, pretty much the entire store heard about it. To say he was elated is an understatement. He slept with it the remainder of his visit. To Cade, Alabama will always be known for three things: the spiderman umbrella, cousins, and lots, and lots of toys.
I will most treasure getting to visit with my Grandparents. They were so sweet to hold a feast at their house to also feed the same insane amount of adults and children, complete with amazing southern bar-b-que pork sandwiches. Yummmmmmm. I had been craving them for months. It was the sweetest gesture of love. The kids enjoyed running the loop at their house and kept trying to sneak into David's Room. It was near impossible keep Cade and Savannah out of David's room. David is my mom's brother (also simply translated to my uncle) who is autistic. My grandparents keep a room for him when he comes home for visits. David's room is a child's paradise. He has an affinity for toys that light up and make noise. He is also a master at pipe cleaner art. He can make anything out of a handful of pipecleaners. The problem with David, though, is that if his things have moved, he has a very hard time with it. So Cade and Savvy so badly wanted to touch and play with everything, but they couldn't so we wouldn't have to subject my Grandparents to serious consequences. It was pretty funny actually.
I will most treasure getting to visit with my Grandparents. They were so sweet to hold a feast at their house to also feed the same insane amount of adults and children, complete with amazing southern bar-b-que pork sandwiches. Yummmmmmm. I had been craving them for months. It was the sweetest gesture of love. The kids enjoyed running the loop at their house and kept trying to sneak into David's Room. It was near impossible keep Cade and Savannah out of David's room. David is my mom's brother (also simply translated to my uncle) who is autistic. My grandparents keep a room for him when he comes home for visits. David's room is a child's paradise. He has an affinity for toys that light up and make noise. He is also a master at pipe cleaner art. He can make anything out of a handful of pipecleaners. The problem with David, though, is that if his things have moved, he has a very hard time with it. So Cade and Savvy so badly wanted to touch and play with everything, but they couldn't so we wouldn't have to subject my Grandparents to serious consequences. It was pretty funny actually.
Great Gramma and Savannah
Mr. Humbug himself with the kiddies.
Mr. Humbug himself with the kiddies.
My grandparents were also so sweet to let me come over one evening to pick their brains about our family history. My grandmother has kept an amazing living history and as I looked through her pages of memories, it was as if I was walking in her shoes for those few hours. I learned some truly remarkable things about my grandparents and our ancestors. I am a direct descendent of the first Swedish convert to the Church of Jesus-Christ of Latter-day saints, John Erik Forsgren. I realized then that I have much work to do in the world of geneology, but I am excited to begin.
And as always, having the chance to sit and visit with Uncle Robert and Aunt Gwen was delightful, inspiring, interesting, and absolutely hilarious. Despite their very full schedules, they were sweet to sit down with us for some wonderful conversations. On our ride home, Kyle remarked to me something that quite eloquently describes my Uncle. "He is the most honorable, just and kind man I've ever met." I couldn't have said it better myself.
It was also amazing to watch my close-knit relatives gather together. All my life I've lived away from extended family. It was neat (and hilarious) to watch my cousins interact and get a small taste of what it would be like to have a Sheppard family compound. My cousin, Jennie, really gets superwoman of the year. Mother of three (ages 1, 2, and 3 I believe), and pregnant with her fourth, at the ripe age of 25, and she's currently serving as the Relief Society President in her ward. And you'd never guess who the bishop is. My Uncle. You know he would never have called her to serve in such a capacity unless the Lord wanted it. She is amazing. And each of her sisters pitch in and help her carry the load, just as any sister would. I'm so mad I didn't take a picture of all of us, but we did get a few shots of the kids and some others. Next time I suppose!
Meet Trouble. Jennie's second boy. (not his real name. had to clarify) He has a very mischievious grin.
Grammy and Katie. Katie is as sweet as a spoonful of sugar and honey. Love that girl.
In the middle of our Alabama Adventure, Kyle got a phone call from our attorney telling us we were for real closing on the house in 3 days. Of course we were. In order for the closing to really happen, we had to leave the state and take a vacation. Isn't that always the way it goes?
Our last day in Alabama, my Uncle treated us to lunch at the most authentic southern cuisine possible: Tim's Cajun Kitchen. We gobbled up such delicassies as fried alligator (surprisingly good) and gumbo. Never had it before, and I would have it again, if you paid me. Kidding. My favorite dish was the bread pudding. It was heavenly.
We got to be spoiled one last time by the Grandparents, who treated us to an all-American dinner at a restaurant on our way out. Cade got his Mac and Cheese and Icecream, which was perfect. Otherwise I don't think we could have bribed him back in the car. Leaving behind all those friends and toys was almost too much for him to bear.
As we pulled onto the interstate, I promised myself to come back in the summer. You can't stay away from the Henriksen's too long. I mean, look at what happened when the kids tried to move away.
I can't sleep
(by Michelle)
And so the worthy retreat remains to be my ever-trusting, never-failing ear-- my beloved blog, to vent some major steam.
I was sitting down with the kids this evening enjoying a dinner together. It was a reasonably good day. No complaints. And I was looking forward to a nice, quiet evening after tucking the kids in. My cell phone rang. It was Cade's preschool teacher, Miss Mary*. Odd. She said she meant to share this with me earlier today when I picked Cade up, but it was so hectic with all the parents coming in and out she had forgotten. And so she was calling me now.
At this point I stiffened and mentally cowered to the defensive. I must have done something wrong, I thought. I began running through my head anything she could be calling me about...thoughts were ranging anywhere from getting chastised for putting Cade in a jacket today and not a coat to not having practiced his S's well enough this week. I drew in a breath.
"Miss Ursula* (Miss Mary's aide) said Cade came up to her and told her a boy touched his privates. She had been watching him the entire time and said there was absolutely no way this could have happened, but I just wanted you to know. Did he mention anything about this to you today?"
"Uh, no. He didn't."
"Okay, well, I just thought you should know about it in case he mentioned it to you and didn't want you to be alarmed. Like I said, Miss Ursula was watching Cade the whole time and said there was absolutely no way it could have happened, so maybe he is confused or something."
"I'll talk to Cade about it."
"Okay, well, feel free to call me back later tonight or this weekend, or I'll be there Monday if you have any questions."
"Okay, thanks for calling."
Naturally, I was immediately alarmed. I drew in a deep breath and sat Cade down and gently asked him what happened. He then proceeded to tell me a kid touched his bum with is clothes on and that he told his teacher. We talked and I praised him for telling the teacher and reminded him to always tell the teacher if something like that happens. And Mommy or Daddy.
I am beyond LIVID! First of all no teacher, parent, caregiver or ANYONE can ever say for certain something didn't happen. With 15 kids in the room, it CAN happen. That's just the way it goes. We don't see everything that happens, even if we are hovering over the kids all day long. We will miss things.
Secondly, if a child does approach an adult about something of this magnitude, the teacher should NEVER EVER blow the kid off. I am really curious how Miss Ursula responded to Cade's concern. As far as i know she just told him to stop tattling (she tells him that a lot. Another thing that really irritates me about his teacher. The poor kid doesn't even know what the word tattle means.) and then told Miss Mary "Cade said so-and-so touched his so-and-so, but I know it didn't happen, but I thought you should know."
I'm not mad about the idea that the teachers missed a kid swatting my child on the bum. I'm mad that they didn't address the situation. AND THEN have the nerve to call me and suggest that the reason why my child came up with this "supposed story" is because MY CHILD IS CONFUSED?!!!!
I am boiling. To say the very least.
Readers, Educators, Mothers..... what say ye? If a little boy at pre-school approached you with a similar complaint, what would you do? If you got a phone call from your child's teacher, what would you do?
After letting the sitaton simmer for a few hours I've decided to forgo the yelling and screaming (probably not very adult-like I guess). I'll wait the weekend out so I can do this in person. I'll go into school Monday morning and talk to Miss Ursula. Ask her to tell me what happened. Listen. Decide if she recognizes anything wrong with the phrase "there is no way it could have happened" and wait to hear if she re-nigs on that idea and apologizes for not addressing Cade's concern.
I will then decide if it's worth leaving Cade in the care of negligent people or not....
I am so disappointed how this was handled. I know this is the begninning to a long road of motherhood. This entire fiasco reminded me of how much hurt I wish I could shield my child from, whether it's physical, emotional, or both. I despise not being in complete control. I hate how I am at the mercy of other adults and their discernment. I myself am imperfect, and I can handle that. And I will admit my mistakes. I just don't want my child to suffer at the hands of someone else who is imperfect. Is that too much to ask?
---
*names changed to protect privacy and blah blah blah blah
And so the worthy retreat remains to be my ever-trusting, never-failing ear-- my beloved blog, to vent some major steam.
I was sitting down with the kids this evening enjoying a dinner together. It was a reasonably good day. No complaints. And I was looking forward to a nice, quiet evening after tucking the kids in. My cell phone rang. It was Cade's preschool teacher, Miss Mary*. Odd. She said she meant to share this with me earlier today when I picked Cade up, but it was so hectic with all the parents coming in and out she had forgotten. And so she was calling me now.
At this point I stiffened and mentally cowered to the defensive. I must have done something wrong, I thought. I began running through my head anything she could be calling me about...thoughts were ranging anywhere from getting chastised for putting Cade in a jacket today and not a coat to not having practiced his S's well enough this week. I drew in a breath.
"Miss Ursula* (Miss Mary's aide) said Cade came up to her and told her a boy touched his privates. She had been watching him the entire time and said there was absolutely no way this could have happened, but I just wanted you to know. Did he mention anything about this to you today?"
"Uh, no. He didn't."
"Okay, well, I just thought you should know about it in case he mentioned it to you and didn't want you to be alarmed. Like I said, Miss Ursula was watching Cade the whole time and said there was absolutely no way it could have happened, so maybe he is confused or something."
"I'll talk to Cade about it."
"Okay, well, feel free to call me back later tonight or this weekend, or I'll be there Monday if you have any questions."
"Okay, thanks for calling."
Naturally, I was immediately alarmed. I drew in a deep breath and sat Cade down and gently asked him what happened. He then proceeded to tell me a kid touched his bum with is clothes on and that he told his teacher. We talked and I praised him for telling the teacher and reminded him to always tell the teacher if something like that happens. And Mommy or Daddy.
I am beyond LIVID! First of all no teacher, parent, caregiver or ANYONE can ever say for certain something didn't happen. With 15 kids in the room, it CAN happen. That's just the way it goes. We don't see everything that happens, even if we are hovering over the kids all day long. We will miss things.
Secondly, if a child does approach an adult about something of this magnitude, the teacher should NEVER EVER blow the kid off. I am really curious how Miss Ursula responded to Cade's concern. As far as i know she just told him to stop tattling (she tells him that a lot. Another thing that really irritates me about his teacher. The poor kid doesn't even know what the word tattle means.) and then told Miss Mary "Cade said so-and-so touched his so-and-so, but I know it didn't happen, but I thought you should know."
I'm not mad about the idea that the teachers missed a kid swatting my child on the bum. I'm mad that they didn't address the situation. AND THEN have the nerve to call me and suggest that the reason why my child came up with this "supposed story" is because MY CHILD IS CONFUSED?!!!!
I am boiling. To say the very least.
Readers, Educators, Mothers..... what say ye? If a little boy at pre-school approached you with a similar complaint, what would you do? If you got a phone call from your child's teacher, what would you do?
After letting the sitaton simmer for a few hours I've decided to forgo the yelling and screaming (probably not very adult-like I guess). I'll wait the weekend out so I can do this in person. I'll go into school Monday morning and talk to Miss Ursula. Ask her to tell me what happened. Listen. Decide if she recognizes anything wrong with the phrase "there is no way it could have happened" and wait to hear if she re-nigs on that idea and apologizes for not addressing Cade's concern.
I will then decide if it's worth leaving Cade in the care of negligent people or not....
I am so disappointed how this was handled. I know this is the begninning to a long road of motherhood. This entire fiasco reminded me of how much hurt I wish I could shield my child from, whether it's physical, emotional, or both. I despise not being in complete control. I hate how I am at the mercy of other adults and their discernment. I myself am imperfect, and I can handle that. And I will admit my mistakes. I just don't want my child to suffer at the hands of someone else who is imperfect. Is that too much to ask?
---
*names changed to protect privacy and blah blah blah blah
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Confessions of a Gym Snob
I realized this week that I am a gym snob. It isn't my fault. Really. If Kyle hadn't introduced me to his Taj-Majal-of-a-gym in Chicago, I wouldn't know any different and could go about my life in my ingorant and carefree bliss.
I didn't even want to try out his gym. But, when your house is 80% packed up, it's -12 degrees outside, there are limited options of what to do to occupy your time. Being in our house drove me insane, so I decided to start tagging along with Kyle during the 3 1/2 weeks of limbo when we were waiting move out.
Prior to my conversion to the Taj-Majal, my idea of a good workout was just opening my front door and going for a jog along the Prairie Path. I've never been one to enjoy any sort of "working out" gym-style. Elliptical machines and weights = bleccccchhy blech. Plus, when it comes to getting a work out, unless you push yourself, it's really not worth going in. I could do a few reps on the bar, jog a little on the treadmill before I decided to shoot myself, or do a couple sit-ups, but the reality is: I have zero self-discipline. I'd walk away from the gym with 13 fewer calories than I arrived. Not worth it.
With all these thoughts in my head, I begrudgingly tagged along. I knew there was a steam room and sauna so if all else failed, I could at least hang out in there. Plus, there was a couch and a TV in the locker room. For real. So, I grabbed my work-out clothes, i-pod, and a book. Just in case.
The kids loved this gym and Kyle had been taking them there for several months while he worked out. The play area was HUGE, complete with a computer lab, basketball court, jungle gym and lots of wide open spaces.
Savannah knew the drill. She shed her coat and marched up to the automatic hand santizer and held up her hands. She lathered them up and waited for her sticker. This "sticker" was printed each time she visited. It had her name, age, parent's location of work-out, and drop-off time. Once her sticker was on her back she ran off hollering, "Byyyyye! Have fun exercising!"
As lame at is sounds, I was pretty much hooked just walking into the ladies locker room. Huge, new, clean, well-lit, towels a-plenty, rows and rows of mirrors and vanities. The gym itself was also huge. Also very clean, and well-lit. And my favorite: the classes. No matter what time of day I arrived, I never had to wait long before some sort of fitness class started. Fitness classes I quickly realized were the way to go. Someome yelling at me what to do, how long to hold it, and how many times is my way of breaking a sweat. I always got a great work-out in if I went to a class.
Except for one. Dance Jam.
I love to dance. I never took any dance classes growing up (unless you count BYU's social dance classes), but I've always loved to dance. And as such, I thought I would love this class. Getting a work out while shaking my bon-bon would be a fabulous time, right?
Wrong.
I don't think I broke even a slight sweat in this class. It was sorely disappointing. Before you jump to any conclusions let me clarify that it was because I am such an awful dancer, I couldn't do any of the moves, and therefore get pretty much zero work out. However everyone around me was bon-bon shaking away and loving it. Ten minutes into the work-out was still stuck on step two of the 3rd beat and couldn't figure out what everyone else was doing. So I spent much of my time trying to catch on and never did. It was such a downer and it didn't help that all the ladies afterward were yapping away in the locker room what a great class it was and how it really got their heart rate up, blah blah blah.
So here we are in Idaho and sadly, Idaho has no Taj Majal. After Kyle gym-shopped for a few weeks he finally signed us up for a gym that had the best to offer for the kids as far as play area goes, which was mediocre at best. No stickers or hand sanitizer. I went yesterday, totally begrudgingly. I didn't want to go. I just felt icky in it. I didn't even want to shower after getting sweaty and gross. That was one thing I enjoyed about the Taj Majal: getting ready after I worked out. But not at this one. I felt cleaner sitting in my stinky sweat than showering in that bathroom.
Driving there this morning I finally admitted to Kyle my bad attitude about going to the gym was just simply because I was a snob. Having gone to the Taj Majal has ruined me for life and I'd never want to be a member of anything else. My only hope was the fitness class I had this morning. I was going to try another dance aerobic class to see if it suit my fancy any better than the one in Chicago.
And as soon as I heard the first song, I knew it was the class for me.
David Archuletta! It was a song I knew, and for months I have secretly wanted to choreograph it in my living room. In a matter of seconds I was kicking and bouncing to cute little Davie's voice and loving it. I felt like I was 15 again.
Really for real, I even kept up with the instructor. The entire time. Every song, every move, I was able to twist and shout with the best of them.
So what was the difference?
I looked around the room and had to stifle a giggle. It was suddenly so obvious to me. I can't describe the reason in any other way except that we were a bunch of white girls. White instructor teaching white girl moves. My instructor in Chicago was not white, and I was probably one of a few white girls in my class. Everyone else was everything else but white. And they could dance. All those crazy latin and hip-hop moves came so easily to them in Chicago. And to me, it was like trying to speak Mandarin. Impossible.
But here in Idaho, we've got plenty of white girls, and so the instructor teaches white-girl moves. You know the kind. The steps that are basic, deliberate, cheesy, and easy enough for anybody to pick up. My kind of moves. Sure she threw in a little cha-cha, but it was still a very Gringa cha-cha if you know what I mean.
So I may be a gym snob, but I am not too proud to admit that I can't dance. Count me in every Wednesday morning to boogy with the white girls.
And I will proudly break a sweat.
I didn't even want to try out his gym. But, when your house is 80% packed up, it's -12 degrees outside, there are limited options of what to do to occupy your time. Being in our house drove me insane, so I decided to start tagging along with Kyle during the 3 1/2 weeks of limbo when we were waiting move out.
Prior to my conversion to the Taj-Majal, my idea of a good workout was just opening my front door and going for a jog along the Prairie Path. I've never been one to enjoy any sort of "working out" gym-style. Elliptical machines and weights = bleccccchhy blech. Plus, when it comes to getting a work out, unless you push yourself, it's really not worth going in. I could do a few reps on the bar, jog a little on the treadmill before I decided to shoot myself, or do a couple sit-ups, but the reality is: I have zero self-discipline. I'd walk away from the gym with 13 fewer calories than I arrived. Not worth it.
With all these thoughts in my head, I begrudgingly tagged along. I knew there was a steam room and sauna so if all else failed, I could at least hang out in there. Plus, there was a couch and a TV in the locker room. For real. So, I grabbed my work-out clothes, i-pod, and a book. Just in case.
The kids loved this gym and Kyle had been taking them there for several months while he worked out. The play area was HUGE, complete with a computer lab, basketball court, jungle gym and lots of wide open spaces.
Savannah knew the drill. She shed her coat and marched up to the automatic hand santizer and held up her hands. She lathered them up and waited for her sticker. This "sticker" was printed each time she visited. It had her name, age, parent's location of work-out, and drop-off time. Once her sticker was on her back she ran off hollering, "Byyyyye! Have fun exercising!"
As lame at is sounds, I was pretty much hooked just walking into the ladies locker room. Huge, new, clean, well-lit, towels a-plenty, rows and rows of mirrors and vanities. The gym itself was also huge. Also very clean, and well-lit. And my favorite: the classes. No matter what time of day I arrived, I never had to wait long before some sort of fitness class started. Fitness classes I quickly realized were the way to go. Someome yelling at me what to do, how long to hold it, and how many times is my way of breaking a sweat. I always got a great work-out in if I went to a class.
Except for one. Dance Jam.
I love to dance. I never took any dance classes growing up (unless you count BYU's social dance classes), but I've always loved to dance. And as such, I thought I would love this class. Getting a work out while shaking my bon-bon would be a fabulous time, right?
Wrong.
I don't think I broke even a slight sweat in this class. It was sorely disappointing. Before you jump to any conclusions let me clarify that it was because I am such an awful dancer, I couldn't do any of the moves, and therefore get pretty much zero work out. However everyone around me was bon-bon shaking away and loving it. Ten minutes into the work-out was still stuck on step two of the 3rd beat and couldn't figure out what everyone else was doing. So I spent much of my time trying to catch on and never did. It was such a downer and it didn't help that all the ladies afterward were yapping away in the locker room what a great class it was and how it really got their heart rate up, blah blah blah.
So here we are in Idaho and sadly, Idaho has no Taj Majal. After Kyle gym-shopped for a few weeks he finally signed us up for a gym that had the best to offer for the kids as far as play area goes, which was mediocre at best. No stickers or hand sanitizer. I went yesterday, totally begrudgingly. I didn't want to go. I just felt icky in it. I didn't even want to shower after getting sweaty and gross. That was one thing I enjoyed about the Taj Majal: getting ready after I worked out. But not at this one. I felt cleaner sitting in my stinky sweat than showering in that bathroom.
Driving there this morning I finally admitted to Kyle my bad attitude about going to the gym was just simply because I was a snob. Having gone to the Taj Majal has ruined me for life and I'd never want to be a member of anything else. My only hope was the fitness class I had this morning. I was going to try another dance aerobic class to see if it suit my fancy any better than the one in Chicago.
And as soon as I heard the first song, I knew it was the class for me.
David Archuletta! It was a song I knew, and for months I have secretly wanted to choreograph it in my living room. In a matter of seconds I was kicking and bouncing to cute little Davie's voice and loving it. I felt like I was 15 again.
Really for real, I even kept up with the instructor. The entire time. Every song, every move, I was able to twist and shout with the best of them.
So what was the difference?
I looked around the room and had to stifle a giggle. It was suddenly so obvious to me. I can't describe the reason in any other way except that we were a bunch of white girls. White instructor teaching white girl moves. My instructor in Chicago was not white, and I was probably one of a few white girls in my class. Everyone else was everything else but white. And they could dance. All those crazy latin and hip-hop moves came so easily to them in Chicago. And to me, it was like trying to speak Mandarin. Impossible.
But here in Idaho, we've got plenty of white girls, and so the instructor teaches white-girl moves. You know the kind. The steps that are basic, deliberate, cheesy, and easy enough for anybody to pick up. My kind of moves. Sure she threw in a little cha-cha, but it was still a very Gringa cha-cha if you know what I mean.
So I may be a gym snob, but I am not too proud to admit that I can't dance. Count me in every Wednesday morning to boogy with the white girls.
And I will proudly break a sweat.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Should I be worried? Or just happy...
Upon returning from Project Rejeuvenate Mom (84 hours of child-free bliss...but who was counting?) things are (surprisingly) fairly identical to the state in which I left them. The laundry stayed put away, the bathrooms stayed cleaned, and the dishes even stayed done. I promise, this is not a sly and pompous showing of my housekeeping efforts. The fact is, it seems the laundry and cleaning only get done when a trip is imment. On the flip side, The computer and monitor boxes which failed to make it to the garage before I left still sit in the kitchen hallway (and I guess I'm still working on that mental telepathy with Kyle. Shouldn't he be able to read my mind by now?) and suitcases from our weekend trip to Idaho/Utah taken 3 weeks ago still sit in the living room also awaiting proper placement into the garage. Yes, things are pretty much the same as I left them.
Except that they arent.
Savannah is officially weaned from her bed time addiction to the pacifier and Cade doesn't want me to walk him to his classroom at pre-school anymore. Kyle was adamant that Savannah's hair be in a ponytail today because she looks oh-so-cute in one and before I could shed light on maintaining marital bliss to my husband from my Good Housekeeping magazine he interrupted me and said, "oh yeah, I already read that article. It's a good one."
What?
Can children (and husbands) really grow up in a matter of days? I guess so. But for some reason this is all so unsettling to me.
Perhaps I am feeling a little un-needed. Or maybe I just feel sheepish for trying so hard at things that really aren't so hard to achieve. I seem to be expending my energy in all the wrong places. And the things that have taken me a lifetime to work towards that I am STILL working towards are so easily done without me around.
Like the fact that sacrament meeting starts at 1pm and Kyle, who was on his own, had both kids sitting in the pew at 12:45. I've never done that before in my life. And, not to mention that my kids were angels on the pew the ENTIRE time. What is up with that?!
Should I be worried? Or should I be celebrating?
I'm feeling quite celebratory over the pacifier graduation but I really don't like that my son doesn't want me to walk him to his classroom. Okay, and that he LOVES dragging Kyle into his classroom so he can meet his friends. That really bugs me.
Have I officially graduated myself? To that of the Un-Cool, I-Don't-Want-To-Be-Seen-With-You parent? I suppose it was going to happen eventually, but I just didn't expect Cade to de-mote me so soon.
And while I am on the subject of things that bug me, I also really don't like that he's the only kid in his classroom whose letter Q and S handwriting worksheets are not posted on the "great job" wall. Fortunately he can live in ignorant bliss because he doesn't know. But I do, and I am bothered because Eric's q's and r's are in no way better than the ones Cade did. Eric's are on the wall. Cade's are not. Total injustice going on here. It's an outrage!
A few things have changed, yes, and there is a glimmer of hope for me when Kyle leaves Friday for a "necessary" fishing trip that I can earn a spot back on the Cool Parent Bus when my children will need me again for not only food and mandated bed times, but more importantly-- fun.
In the mean time, I'll let Kyle share all his wisdom from last month's subscription on blissful marriages and healthy dinner recipes and joyfully watch Savannah's protruding two front teeth slowly inch themselves back inside her mouth when she grins now that she is binky free.
We just gotta work on our Qs and Rs....
Except that they arent.
Savannah is officially weaned from her bed time addiction to the pacifier and Cade doesn't want me to walk him to his classroom at pre-school anymore. Kyle was adamant that Savannah's hair be in a ponytail today because she looks oh-so-cute in one and before I could shed light on maintaining marital bliss to my husband from my Good Housekeeping magazine he interrupted me and said, "oh yeah, I already read that article. It's a good one."
What?
Can children (and husbands) really grow up in a matter of days? I guess so. But for some reason this is all so unsettling to me.
Perhaps I am feeling a little un-needed. Or maybe I just feel sheepish for trying so hard at things that really aren't so hard to achieve. I seem to be expending my energy in all the wrong places. And the things that have taken me a lifetime to work towards that I am STILL working towards are so easily done without me around.
Like the fact that sacrament meeting starts at 1pm and Kyle, who was on his own, had both kids sitting in the pew at 12:45. I've never done that before in my life. And, not to mention that my kids were angels on the pew the ENTIRE time. What is up with that?!
Should I be worried? Or should I be celebrating?
I'm feeling quite celebratory over the pacifier graduation but I really don't like that my son doesn't want me to walk him to his classroom. Okay, and that he LOVES dragging Kyle into his classroom so he can meet his friends. That really bugs me.
Have I officially graduated myself? To that of the Un-Cool, I-Don't-Want-To-Be-Seen-With-You parent? I suppose it was going to happen eventually, but I just didn't expect Cade to de-mote me so soon.
And while I am on the subject of things that bug me, I also really don't like that he's the only kid in his classroom whose letter Q and S handwriting worksheets are not posted on the "great job" wall. Fortunately he can live in ignorant bliss because he doesn't know. But I do, and I am bothered because Eric's q's and r's are in no way better than the ones Cade did. Eric's are on the wall. Cade's are not. Total injustice going on here. It's an outrage!
A few things have changed, yes, and there is a glimmer of hope for me when Kyle leaves Friday for a "necessary" fishing trip that I can earn a spot back on the Cool Parent Bus when my children will need me again for not only food and mandated bed times, but more importantly-- fun.
In the mean time, I'll let Kyle share all his wisdom from last month's subscription on blissful marriages and healthy dinner recipes and joyfully watch Savannah's protruding two front teeth slowly inch themselves back inside her mouth when she grins now that she is binky free.
We just gotta work on our Qs and Rs....
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