My back has been hurting. It hasn't been agonizing, most of the time. Mostly it has been a dull ache that drives me nuts. It has been hurting ever since I got rear ended TWO YEARS AGO. Most days I could ignore it. I'd take Naproxen and forget about it. I didn't realize how much I was leaning on the Naproxen Sodium until this fall, when I started taking more and more of it, with no results. Then we ran out at about the same time that I was taking dangerously high doses just to manage my afternoons. By September of this fall, it got bad enough for me to break down and go back to a doctor about it.
I'm not a doctor kind of person. I'd just as soon deal with it myself. But, when I started gasping in surprised pain in the middle of teaching lessons at school I realized I really had to do something about it. Students wanted to know what's wrong.
So frustrating!
The Doc listened, noted that I can still move about and touch my toes, and sent me to the Physical Therapist.
As you know, I've been very active these past two years. I run, bike, kayak, and swim. But the biking has slowly been sidelined. Biking never really happened this summer. The one time I went with Bill was just too agonizing to repeat. Kayaking never happened this summer, either. Running was a delicate balance of training carefully and pain killers. Running slowly petered out, too, until I had to give myself a serious pep talk just to do a 5K on a treadmill. Swimming, however, stayed GOLDEN! It is the perfect injured person workout! Every doc I've seen has encouraged me to keep up with the swimming, since there is little chance of pain or injury aggravation with it.
Anyways, I went off to pt for a month, shelling out copay after copay. It's hard to fit an extra $60/week into the budget, especially when it didn't seem to be helping. Talk about stress.
So, after a month of pt with no results, the Doc finally ordered an MRI.
Those suckers are expensive! We'll have to pay a large chunk of it, but then my deductible will be met for the year. Again, not in the budget. Christmas will be homemade this year since our holiday budget has been shot by this.
To make a long story short, I got a call back from the doc after the MRI saying it didn't show much and recommending more pt. That didn't sit well. I scheduled a consult and talked it out with him. Up until that meeting I don't think he really heard me. He finally did hear me, though, and recommended a pain specialist.
So, here we are. I met with the Anesthesiologist/Pain Specialist. He heard my full story, looked over the MRI, and inspected my back. His diagnosis was surprising and very hopeful! I can't tell you how amazing the difference is between a general practice doctor and a specialist! I won't bore you with the details. I will just say that I have a procedure coming up on Monday that sounds risky (to me, anyways), but if successful, will confirm the diagnosis 100% and give me a pain free existence for several months! In fact, if it works, the pain doc has ordered me to return to my normal workout routines as quickly as possible.
If this works, we'll know exactly why the pain is happening and how to manage it (because the doc said it might be chronic).
I'm excited and nervous. Cross your fingers, say a prayer, and we'll see!
True Compliments
Little children can be so uplifting. They are so eager to love, and show that love as much as possible!
I teach art to all grade levels in the school, Kindergarten through 6th grade. Oh, those little ones! On the one hand, they can be hard to handle because they are absolutely BURSTING with energy, and when you put 25 of them in the same room it can be overwhelming and difficult to control.
On the other hand, they are so ready to shower me with compliments. You know the domino effect? It can be especially problematic with a room full of 5 year olds. Just let one of them say he/she has to go potty....
.... suddenly there is a room FULL of 5 year olds who ALL have to go potty! Oi.
However, the domino effect also works when one of those little darlings wants to show some love. If one little Kindergartener (or 1st grader, or 2nd grader...) runs up to me with a hug and an "I love your _____ (insert random physical attribute... hair, shoes, shirt, necklace...)!" it is guaranteed that I am about to be showered with similar compliments from at least 6 more kids in line. I get told "You're so pretty!" so many times in the day it is a wonder my ego isn't blown all out of proportion.
The truth is, they are just so eager to LOVE life that I'm sure they would think I'm pretty even if I was a toad (though I'm glad I am not a toad).
The true gems of compliments are much more rare and so precious when they do happen.
Yesterday, while I was setting out some art supplies for a Kindergarten class, as I leaned over her, one of the little girls commented, "You smell good, teacher," followed up just a beat or two later by "You smell like my Mommy."
How can a compliment be more beautiful than that?
I teach art to all grade levels in the school, Kindergarten through 6th grade. Oh, those little ones! On the one hand, they can be hard to handle because they are absolutely BURSTING with energy, and when you put 25 of them in the same room it can be overwhelming and difficult to control.
On the other hand, they are so ready to shower me with compliments. You know the domino effect? It can be especially problematic with a room full of 5 year olds. Just let one of them say he/she has to go potty....
.... suddenly there is a room FULL of 5 year olds who ALL have to go potty! Oi.
However, the domino effect also works when one of those little darlings wants to show some love. If one little Kindergartener (or 1st grader, or 2nd grader...) runs up to me with a hug and an "I love your _____ (insert random physical attribute... hair, shoes, shirt, necklace...)!" it is guaranteed that I am about to be showered with similar compliments from at least 6 more kids in line. I get told "You're so pretty!" so many times in the day it is a wonder my ego isn't blown all out of proportion.
The truth is, they are just so eager to LOVE life that I'm sure they would think I'm pretty even if I was a toad (though I'm glad I am not a toad).
The true gems of compliments are much more rare and so precious when they do happen.
Yesterday, while I was setting out some art supplies for a Kindergarten class, as I leaned over her, one of the little girls commented, "You smell good, teacher," followed up just a beat or two later by "You smell like my Mommy."
How can a compliment be more beautiful than that?
Grief
Laying in bed, tossing and turning because I can't get the thoughts in my head to leave me alone. So I thought I might as well get up and put those thoughts down in words, so maybe, finally, I can go to sleep.
None of my children go to church. I ask my youngest to join me at church every Sunday morning. Every Sunday morning he turns me down. My husband only grudgingly goes, some of the time, because he loves me and knows it would make me happy. If it weren't for that, he would not grace the chapel with his presence. To be honest, it makes it hard for me to go. I hate to go alone.
Why do I bother? Why do I care? What does it matter to me if they go to church or not? It is true that I am not one of those parents who force my offspring into church attendance. I am not fool enough to think that if I just MAKE them come, they will somehow love the gospel and be better Christians.
Why won't they come? Do they not believe? Are they not Christian enough? Or is the church not Christian enough? Have I done something wrong in raising them? Is there something more I could/should do?
I doubt the kids remember this, but when they were babies, their lullabies were Hymns. I rocked them to sleep singing "Nearer, My God, To Thee", "Rock of Ages", "Because I Have Been Given Much", "The Lord is My Shepherd", and many others of my favorites. I have literally years of memories; cuddling my precious children while singing to them about Christ. Helena probably does have memories of constantly requesting her personal favorite children's Hymn, "I Love to See the Temple". That one is unique to the LDS faith, so for those who are not members, here are the lyrics:
None of my children go to church. I ask my youngest to join me at church every Sunday morning. Every Sunday morning he turns me down. My husband only grudgingly goes, some of the time, because he loves me and knows it would make me happy. If it weren't for that, he would not grace the chapel with his presence. To be honest, it makes it hard for me to go. I hate to go alone.
Why do I bother? Why do I care? What does it matter to me if they go to church or not? It is true that I am not one of those parents who force my offspring into church attendance. I am not fool enough to think that if I just MAKE them come, they will somehow love the gospel and be better Christians.
Why won't they come? Do they not believe? Are they not Christian enough? Or is the church not Christian enough? Have I done something wrong in raising them? Is there something more I could/should do?
I doubt the kids remember this, but when they were babies, their lullabies were Hymns. I rocked them to sleep singing "Nearer, My God, To Thee", "Rock of Ages", "Because I Have Been Given Much", "The Lord is My Shepherd", and many others of my favorites. I have literally years of memories; cuddling my precious children while singing to them about Christ. Helena probably does have memories of constantly requesting her personal favorite children's Hymn, "I Love to See the Temple". That one is unique to the LDS faith, so for those who are not members, here are the lyrics:
I Love To See the Temple,
I'm going there someday.
To feel the Holy Spirit,
To listen and to pray.
For the Temple is a House of God,
A place of Love and Beauty.
I'll prepare myself while I am young,
This is my sacred duty.
I love to see the Temple,
I'll go inside someday.
I'll covenant with my Father
I promise to obey.
For the Temple is a Holy Place,
Where we are sealed together.
As a Child of God, I've learned this truth,
A Family is Forever.
If you want to know what it sounds like, here are a couple of links. The first is an instrumental arrangement that is more elaborate, the second is more simply arranged.
She used to ask for this at bedtime so often I would just get sick of singing it. But I never said "No".
They spent their entire childhoods attending worship services dressed in their Sunday best. I still have all the dresses my mother made especially for Helena. She was the best dressed little girl in the congregation, since my mom is a master seamstress and the dresses often involved French lace insets, fancy embroidery, and hand worked smocking. Those dresses are truly fit for a princess and would be incredibly expensive if actually sold. Never, of course! I have always hoped that someday Helena will want to dress her own little girl in those dresses and take her to church to learn about God's love.
So, they went to Sunday School. They were taught at home. They know all the fundamentals about the Gospel of Christ.
And yet they don't worship.
Before you tell me that maybe their worship is done in private, I have contemplated that.
I don't think it is happening.
Why, you ask?
Because private worship brings a person closer to the gospel, not farther from it. Private worship softens hearts. Private worship brings families closer together. I don't see that happening.
I watch my kids make some of the most crucial decisions of their lives and I fear for them because they are not turing to the Lord for help in making those decisions. I get frustrated because my advice falls on deaf ears and hardened hearts. I see my children drifting away from me and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I am a broken person. I think everyone is flawed, in some way. But I am a person who was damaged as a child and spent a lifetime feeling of little worth. Feeling unclean. Feeling unworthy. I now know it is why I never had close friends growing up. It is why I struggled with dating. It is why I'm a loner. It is something I battle with on a daily basis. I will battle with it all my life. Some hurts run deeper than can ever be imagined and the scars will always bring pain.
The only times I have felt whole are times when I have felt close to the Savior. The times in my life when I was truly striving to live my life in harmony with the gospel of Christ. In those moments I have felt true joy and have even received significant personal revelations that have guided me and formed the basis or core of the person I am still striving to be. Most of those moments are tied to my family, as well. Moments when I was sealed to my husband and children for eternity. Moments when I snuggled my sleeping infant. Moments when my siblings shared their testimonies as we gathered to say farewell to our beloved brother, who had passed away. Moments when I watched my children get baptized. Moments when I realized that I didn't have to be a perfect person to receive the love of my Savior and partake in his atoning sacrifice.
And so I grieve.
I grieve because my children are not turning to God as the guiding force in their lives. They are allowing their reaction to people get in the way of their relationship with God. People in the church can be frustrating. They are imperfect, too, after all. The members of the church can be the biggest impediment to the gospel of Christ, sometimes. People say and do stupid stuff. But that is not important. The people are not the gospel. The gospel allows us to love the people around us in spite of our own imperfections, and theirs, too.
But if you don't focus on the gospel, you can lose sight of that.
So. I need to do better. I need to bring Christ back to the center of my own life. I can't force him to the center of my children's lives, but I can continue to pray for them and hope that it is enough to soften their hearts and bring them back.
I want them to have spiritual lives.
Blessed
Just when I am fuming and bitter over some disappointment dealt to me by my daughter, a friend posted to Facebook the sad news that his new baby daughter did not survive her pre-term delivery.
And I am shamed.
And I am humbled.
And I am reminded of the great blessing of having my beautiful daughter in my life. I have had nearly 20 years of love and laughter that my friend will have to forgo, because his beautiful daughter has left this mortal life. I can hopefully look forward to many more moments of wonder and love in the years to come.
We are imperfect beings, living in an imperfect world. But there are moments of perfect happiness that can be stored away in memories. They are such great blessings in life.
Happiness is fleeting.
Love is eternal.
I am sorry for my friend.
And I love my daughter.
And I am shamed.
And I am humbled.
And I am reminded of the great blessing of having my beautiful daughter in my life. I have had nearly 20 years of love and laughter that my friend will have to forgo, because his beautiful daughter has left this mortal life. I can hopefully look forward to many more moments of wonder and love in the years to come.
We are imperfect beings, living in an imperfect world. But there are moments of perfect happiness that can be stored away in memories. They are such great blessings in life.
Happiness is fleeting.
Love is eternal.
I am sorry for my friend.
And I love my daughter.
I'm a Wreck
It is ridiculous how much time has gone by without a post. Life, I guess.
There have been many times I have meant to sit down and write about something that has happened, but the moment passes and now I forget what I wanted to say. Hopefully it wasn't too important.
Summer has gone, and I feel cheated out of the best weather of the year.
I'm sick, you see.
I had Strep for a week (including the weekend), which morphed into a cold with chest congestion that has ruined yet another weekend for me. Bah humbug and harrumph. I hate being sick, but it is especially rude in late September - when we experience the most amazing and awesome weather of the year! Two perfect weekends totally ruined. I'm feeling quite bitter.
My family has taken advantage of the weather, though. Bill has been on multiple bike rides. Helena did the Electric Run at Thanksgiving Point, which looked like a cross between a 5K and a rock concert. Will took a friend with him to windsurf on the lake all day. He got an impressive sunburn.
I sat inside rubbing my nose raw on tissues.
I also missed the last week of outdoor swimming. Grrr.
Still, onward and upward, eh?
I'm starting to want to exercise again, a sure sign I'm getting better. And really, October has great hiking weather, so there's that to anticipate.
Meanwhile, I'm in physical therapy for the spot on my back that got hurt in the car accident last year. It started hurting again for no apparent reason. The doctor said that the insurance won't cover the cost of an MRI until after p/t has been done. Phooey. P/T costs a $30 copay each time I go, which is twice a week. It does not fit in the budget, but what do you do?
Man! I'm a wreck!
The Armed Forces - Swearing In
Yesterday afternoon, I dropped my son, Will, off at the recruitment station in Provo. They delivered him to a hotel near the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS) up in Salt Lake that evening, so he could begin the process first thing this morning. He spent all morning undergoing physicals and filling out paperwork. He met all the physical requirements. In fact, he passed them with flying colors! The military creates a physical profile for each member that can potentially limit eligibility for certain jobs. Will got the highest marks in all categories of the profile, so there are (again) no restrictions on the jobs he can be trained for in the military.
He is on the low end of weight for his height. We've known that for practically his whole life, though. Only 5 lbs. lighter and he would have been disqualified from joining the service. So, we'll spend the next 11 months once again trying to help him gain weight. He will be taking weight training classes all year during his senior year, and I'm hoping that will also help him fill out some. Such a backwards dilemma.
After the physicals, he spent time going over a ream of paperwork while we arrived at the MEPS to watch the swearing in ceremony. Will and 6 other guys stood at attention, raised their right hands, and took the oath to serve their country. Will was the tallest guy in the room. He is now officially taller than his Dad.
Now that Will is a member of the military, he will join the Future Soldiers Program. That means that every Thursday afternoon he will meet with the recruiters for an hour and a half to learn what it is to be a soldier. Sargent Yates said sometimes they'll be doing PT (physical training), and sometimes they'll be learning about military traditions and etiquette. And, because he has joined the Army Reserves, he will join his Unit up in Salt Lake City once a month for Drill Weekends. He'll get paid for those.
When Will graduates from High School, he will then be ready for Basic Training and AIT (advanced individual training). AIT is where he will be trained to do the specific job (MOS) he chose in the military. For him, that is a Chemical Operations Specialist, or CBRN. The job designation is 74D, pronounced 74 Delta. He will be trained to operate and maintain decontamination equipment whenever chemical, biological, radiological, or nuclear fallout occurs. Sounds scary! I picture the people in the hazmat suits in movies like "The Sum of All Fears". That's the job my son will be trained for. That's the job he chose over becoming a paralegal or a medical tech. There were lots of jobs he could have chosen, actually, but those three were the most promising because of the signing bonuses that came with them.
You see, when he finishes training for this job, he will receive a $10,000 bonus for being willing to do it, and a $100/month "kicker" to his Montgomery GI Bill. That means an additional $100/mo. on top of what he would normally receive as a GI. That's school money. Because when we returns from job training, he will be going to school. Tuition assistance and the GI Bill will cover his college costs, and the recruiters told us that we will make sure his admissions and registration are all taken care of before he ships out to basic, so there will be no snags or stresses when he comes home. He'll be ready for school. All his ducks in a row.
Today, Will swore in as a member of the US Army Reserves. I am so proud of him, and so anxious, too. I want him to excel and I want to protect him all at the very same time. It is internally confusing. While waiting for the swearing in ceremony, Will mentioned that he designated me on the paperwork as the person who should receive his body and his pay if he should be killed while serving. What a cheery thought.
All of this is a lot to process! I know I've been driving Will nuts with all the researching I've been doing on all things Army. I'm just trying to wrap my head around it, you know? He's still my little boy, even if he is 6'2" and in the Army.
I'm grateful we have almost a full year before basic. I can focus on this last year of high school, and just enjoying every last drop of every moment I have with him before he leaves. I want to make it a year to remember. My last year with a child at home.
He is on the low end of weight for his height. We've known that for practically his whole life, though. Only 5 lbs. lighter and he would have been disqualified from joining the service. So, we'll spend the next 11 months once again trying to help him gain weight. He will be taking weight training classes all year during his senior year, and I'm hoping that will also help him fill out some. Such a backwards dilemma.
After the physicals, he spent time going over a ream of paperwork while we arrived at the MEPS to watch the swearing in ceremony. Will and 6 other guys stood at attention, raised their right hands, and took the oath to serve their country. Will was the tallest guy in the room. He is now officially taller than his Dad.
Now that Will is a member of the military, he will join the Future Soldiers Program. That means that every Thursday afternoon he will meet with the recruiters for an hour and a half to learn what it is to be a soldier. Sargent Yates said sometimes they'll be doing PT (physical training), and sometimes they'll be learning about military traditions and etiquette. And, because he has joined the Army Reserves, he will join his Unit up in Salt Lake City once a month for Drill Weekends. He'll get paid for those.
When Will graduates from High School, he will then be ready for Basic Training and AIT (advanced individual training). AIT is where he will be trained to do the specific job (MOS) he chose in the military. For him, that is a Chemical Operations Specialist, or CBRN. The job designation is 74D, pronounced 74 Delta. He will be trained to operate and maintain decontamination equipment whenever chemical, biological, radiological, or nuclear fallout occurs. Sounds scary! I picture the people in the hazmat suits in movies like "The Sum of All Fears". That's the job my son will be trained for. That's the job he chose over becoming a paralegal or a medical tech. There were lots of jobs he could have chosen, actually, but those three were the most promising because of the signing bonuses that came with them.
You see, when he finishes training for this job, he will receive a $10,000 bonus for being willing to do it, and a $100/month "kicker" to his Montgomery GI Bill. That means an additional $100/mo. on top of what he would normally receive as a GI. That's school money. Because when we returns from job training, he will be going to school. Tuition assistance and the GI Bill will cover his college costs, and the recruiters told us that we will make sure his admissions and registration are all taken care of before he ships out to basic, so there will be no snags or stresses when he comes home. He'll be ready for school. All his ducks in a row.
Today, Will swore in as a member of the US Army Reserves. I am so proud of him, and so anxious, too. I want him to excel and I want to protect him all at the very same time. It is internally confusing. While waiting for the swearing in ceremony, Will mentioned that he designated me on the paperwork as the person who should receive his body and his pay if he should be killed while serving. What a cheery thought.
All of this is a lot to process! I know I've been driving Will nuts with all the researching I've been doing on all things Army. I'm just trying to wrap my head around it, you know? He's still my little boy, even if he is 6'2" and in the Army.
I'm grateful we have almost a full year before basic. I can focus on this last year of high school, and just enjoying every last drop of every moment I have with him before he leaves. I want to make it a year to remember. My last year with a child at home.
Pioneer Trek Part 2
Before I recount my experiences on a handcart trek reenactment, I feel the need to give a couple of bits of background information.
If you are asking "What is a Pioneer Handcart Trek?" Here is a link that briefly gives some facts and background to a small but significant piece of historical American westward migration.
HANDCART PIONEERS
Every six years or so, handcart trek reenactments are organized by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to give the youth (12-18 year old members) the opportunity to experience, in a small way, the hardships, faith, determination, and courage of their pioneer ancestors. The youth are organized into "families" and assigned a "Ma & Pa" and a handcart. All adults involved in this endeavor are volunteers and often use their own vacation/personal leave time from work in order to pull this off. Each participant is given a 5 gallon bucket to pack any and all gear and equipment into (except for tents and sleeping gear), which are placed in the handcart along with 2 food coolers and 2 five gallon water jugs. No electronics of any type are allowed on the journey. We estimated that the handcarts weighed approximately 500 lbs. fully loaded. Then the "families" would pull their handcart for 3 days, camping in the desert/wilderness for two nights.
Here is the second tidbit of information...
I hate camping. My idea of roughing it is staying in a hotel instead of a time share, and maybe even being willing to stay in a hotel with no pool (shudder!). Yet, when we were asked to volunteer to be a "Ma & Pa", we agreed to do it.
Each person participating in this event was asked to research the Willie and Martin handcart companies, and to choose a specific pioneer in whom to dedicate their handcart experience, preferably an ancestor, if one existed in the companies.
I do not have pioneer ancestors, but Bill does. Emily Wall is Bill's grandmother six generations removed. She and her brother, Joseph Wall, were members of the Willie handcart company. I trekked for Emily, Bill trekked for Joseph. Here is their story...
The Wall family lived in England in the 1850's and had joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They wanted to join the main congregation of saints in the Salt Lake valley (which was not even part of America at the time), but could not afford the journey for the whole family. It was decided that the two oldest children, Joseph (17) and Emily (16), would leave the family and make the "Journey to Zion", as it was called.
{Side note: As a parent, I can't even begin to fathom the sacrifice of that decision! To leave their family and all that they know at such a young age! And, at that time in history, they had to know that it was likely they'd never see one another again!}
Emily and Joseph set sail on the Thornton and joined the Willie handcart company.
At some point on the trail, and past the point of no return, Joseph became deathly ill. The leaders of the company determined that it was unlikely he would survive the day. They left Emily and one of her young friends sitting with the dying Joseph on the side of the trail and continued with the rest of the company to the evening camp, intending to send riders back to assist in burying Joseph and bringing the girls back to camp. When the riders retraced the trail and found the girls, Joseph was still alive! Emily begged the men to place her brother in her handcart and she vowed to pull him herself.
And she did. She pulled her handcart (with the help of her friend), with her 17 year old brother in it, all the way to the Salt Lake valley; even through the bitter trials that beset that particular handcart company. Both she and Joseph survived.
I can't tell you how fiercely proud I am of this young woman's faith, courage, love and dedication! I tear up just thinking about her.
We arrived, in pioneer costume, bright and early at the church building to load into buses and head out to the trek site, having delivered our camping gear (tents, food/water coolers, bedding, and 5 gallon buckets of essentials) the night before. I ended up having to send Bill back home because in the excitement of leaving in the morning, I forgot a couple of essential items (neck coolers and gifts I had made for my "children"). Three buses delivered the approximately 120 youth and their adult leaders. Originally, Bill and I had been assigned 7 kids, but on the night before trek we received an e-mail telling us one of the boys had pulled out. On the morning of trek, we discovered one of the girls had also pulled out. That left us with 5 "children", three girls and two boys. It made us one of the smaller families and meant that our kids would spend the majority of their time physically pushing/pulling the handcart. Other, larger families could rotate the youth, giving them breaks from the hard work of pulling the handcart.
That first day, we pulled the handcarts for about 10 miles over relatively flat ground. Part of the day was cool and windy, part of the day was hot. There is a joke in Utah that says if you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes or drive 5 miles. Really, the weather here is that changeable. The ground alternated between gravelly and powdery dirt. We all got coated in fine, gritty grime by the end of the day. For a while, I had a bandana covering my face, trying to filter it out. I can't tell you how good it felt to finally pull into camp on the first night. Hot, hungry and foot-sore, we put up our tents.
The original members of the Willie and Martin handcart companies ran into trouble because they left late in the season, and no one knew they were coming. When they reached the re-fueling way stations, there was no one there and no supplies with which to restock. They had to cut rations again and again in their attempt to reach the valley. By the end (just before they were rescued), they were down to 4 ounces of flour per adult, and 2 onces of flour per child each day! They mixed it in water and drank it. Many men mixed their own portion with their wife's and children's, telling their families that they had already eaten back at the supply wagon. That is why so many more men died than women. They were literally sacrificing their own lives in the hopes that their families would survive.
Fortunately, we have no desire to put the youth though that kind of experience! There was an incredible support staff that brought in food to the camps for every meal. We were well fed.
Once everyone had eaten and had their tents up (girls on one side of camp, boys on the other, leaders tents in the middle), everyone gathered for square dancing.
!!!
Oh, my feet hurt! I DID NOT want to dance.
But, we danced. And it was FUN! There was so much laughter. It was really fun to see these young people who are usually completely plugged in (texting and zoned out with earbuds in) being so playful and full of life.
There were lots of devotionals, prayers, and singing...
... but there were no showers.
We had packed baby wipes and used those to get as clean as we could in our tent before going to bed. Of course, the very next morning, we had to put back on the same grimy and gritty clothes we had worn the day before, because we only had one set of pioneer clothes.
Let me just say a few words about the clothes. Yes, I still think pioneer women wore too many bulky clothes. However, I noticed something almost from the beginning. It suddenly didn't matter what my body looked like under all those clothes. It didn't matter that my tummy pooches more than I'd like. It didn't matter if my underarms sagged a bit. It didn't matter that I'm carrying around 20 lbs. of extra fat. None of that mattered because you couldn't really tell under all those clothes. There is nothing revealing about those clothes, whatsoever. All that mattered was what was in my mind and in my heart.
We woke up to the bugle call at 6 am. I had a rotten night sleep, waking at 2:30 am needing to pee, but being unwilling to disturb the camp with a flashlight dash to the port-a-johns in the dark. So, I tossed and turned in discomfort until 5 am, when it was finally light enough out to venture through camp sans flashlight. After tearing down the camp, breakfast, and morning devotional, we headed out for day two of handcart trekking.
The second day was only 5 or 6 miles, but they were on rougher terrain and in bad weather. Cold and wet in the morning, scorching in the afternoon. The kids had to push and pull through the rain wearing ponchos. The dust turned to mud that caked the handcart wheels and the bottoms of everyone's feet, making shoes feel like lead. Still, the rain meant cool weather, for which we were all grateful. The afternoon weather turned blisteringly hot, leaving us pulling into evening camp in 100 * temperatures.
Let me take a moment to talk about my "kids" on trek. We had two senior aged girls, Maddi and Ashley, a junior aged boy, Chandler, a sophomore girl named Tianna, and Kaden, our freshman "son". Maddi and Ashley were WONDERFUL big sisters! They were so helpful and kind to the younger kids! They both had wonderful singing voices and were very mature, grounded girls. We had no silly giggling fits (thank goodness!), no worries about them sneaking off with boyfriends, being out after curfew, or leaving chores undone. Chandler was a quiet, sober, and slightly geeky boy. I say that as a compliment. There was no bluster or false bravado in him. He was always quick to help and to obey. Really a solid gold "son"! Tianna was what you might call our "challenge" child. She wandered off constantly and I spent a great deal of time just trying to keep her with the family. Yet she wasn't malicious about it. I got the sense that it was part of her nature. She lived in her head and had a hard time focusing and hearing when we called her name. Our youngest, Kaden, was the life of the party. He's one of those kids with excess personality! His friend, Tony, often wandered over to our family handcart, announcing that he was our "adopted son". Just like Chandler, Kaden was a hard worker and never shirked a responsibility or disobeyed. I was just so impressed by these young people! I'm so proud I got to be their "Ma"!
After another evening of square dancing, group devotional and family devotional, we headed to bed.
Here are a couple of side stories, not specific to my little family.
While the tents were being set up in the 100 * heat, a girl from another family passed out in her tent. Her trek "sisters" thought she was just napping and left her alone. Fortunately, her "Ma" thought it was odd that she would be napping in a hot tent and went to check on her. Upon finding her unresponsive, she quickly summoned the medic, Brother Smith, who took the girl back to the lodge and administered an IV to get some fluids in her. I believe she ended up being transported to the hospital and missed the rest of the trek.
At about 10:30 pm (30 minutes after curfew), a strong wind hit the camp. Suddenly a bunch of girls started screaming! Moments later we had girls amongst the leaders' tents calling out for their "Ma's and Pa's" because their tents had collapsed. We hurried out and found two of the big walled tents down. One was a quick fix, anchoring the stakes down more firmly. The other one, however, had a shattered pole! Some duct tape and a shuffling of sound poles to the windward side and damaged poles to the leeward side fixed up the tent and everyone headed back to bed.
This was another short mileage day. Something between 5 and 6 miles. But it was the day with the biggest challenges... the Women's Pull and the River Crossing.
Many pioneer women ended up pulling the handcarts across the plains by themselves. Some came alone. Others lost their husbands on the way. There are many accounts of these amazing women pulling handcarts and caring for large families alone for literally hundreds of miles. Emily Wall was one of them. As a way to honor that heritage, and to help the young women in our care learn that they are stronger than they know, the men were pulled away from the families, and the girls took the handcarts alone for about a mile. But not just any mile. A grueling and brutal mile. Part was uphill, all was in ankle deep silt. The carts were bogged down by it. The pull was extremely taxing.
The girls were watched over by the "Ma's", but we had specific instructions NOT to help. Oh, that was SO HARD! To watch those girls struggle! I knew that the lion's share of the burden was falling on Ashley and Maddi. Sweet young Tianna was not a hard worker. Maddi and Tianna ended up in front, Ashley pushing from the back. Ashley got literally coated with dust, but she never flagged in her efforts. The cart lurched and jerked to a halt several times, and I admit I stepped in to help steer it aright and to budge it forward from time to time. But I mostly walked by their side and watched these excellent girls struggle and hummed hymns of encouragement to give their minds a focus on something other than their difficulties.
The men and boys were lined up on both sides of the end of the women's pull. They watched with their hats in hand as the girls struggled past them, many of the girls weeping as they toiled, including my own girls. They watched as many of the first girls to finish turned around and quickly ran back to help other girls bring their handcarts along. Most of the boys and men had tears in their eyes, as well. While the "Ma's" and medics tended to the girls after the pull, the men pulled the boys aside and instructed them to never in this lifetime leave the women in their lives to pull the handcart alone, metaphorically speaking.
I wished I could hold all of my girls at once, but I knew that Ashley was the strongest, and Tianna's tears were mostly a reaction to Maddi's tears. Maddi was the one who was completely undone by the experience. I held her while she wept and Brother Smith (the medic) and I both kept a close eye on her for the rest of the afternoon. Still, I did manage to get hugs in for all the girls. I just worry that Ashley might have felt less love. Not so! I just knew she was my rock solid daughter and that Maddi's condition was worse. She was literally shaking uncontrollably.
Now, you might think us a heartless group of child abusers for putting the girls through such a thing. Here is some food for thought: I know what it is to overcome a physical challenge. To subject myself to my own will and accomplish a truly difficult task. You know about it if your read my account of running a marathon. And now, those girls know it, too. They have experienced a true mind over matter moment that will benefit them for the rest of their lives. It is also important to note that this was not sprung upon them, unawares. They were fully briefed in advance and no one was forced to participate. It was actually a very moving and spiritual experience for everyone involved and all the girls were very proud for having accomplished it. The boys were very respectful and impressed.
After singing several hymns (giving the girls some time to recover), the boys and men took over the handcarts. Not a single girl was allowed to pull the handcarts for the rest of the day. The boys wouldn't dream of it.
On October 19, 1856, the first winter storm rolled across the Willie and Martin handcart companies. The Martin handcart company was unfortunate enough to have to cross the North Platte river right when the storm was at its worst. Even worse, in a desperate attempt to lighten their load and reach the valley more quickly, the pioneers had abandoned most of their clothing and blankets only two days prior to the storm. Soaked and freezing, they found the ground too frozen to drive the stakes in for their tents. So they crawled under the canvas laying on the ground and tried to stay alive. Many died that night.
But, help was on the way. Several weeks previous, an express wagon had passed the handcart companies on the plains and brought word of their existence and their dire need to Brigham Young, the Mormon prophet and leader, in the Salt Lake valley. Upon learning of the situation, Brigham Young immediately ordered rescue parties to set out that very day. Women stripped off their petticoats, shoes and stockings, and gathered blankets to send. Provisions were loaded on relief wagons, despite the settlement being on short rations due to a bad growing season. A rescue was on its way.
After finding the handcart pioneers in truly desperate condition, and tending to them as best they could, the rescuers still had to bring the emaciated and terribly weakened saints the rest of the way without becoming victims of the elements themselves. When they reached the final river crossing, the Sweetwater River, many of the handcart pioneers sat down in the snow and wept in despair.
Five young men from the rescue party, ranging in age from 17 to 25, stepped forward and carried the weakest of the handcart pioneers through the river, each crossing the ice choked river as much as 50 times in their efforts to save the saints.
The final challenge of our handcart trek was a river crossing. The boys were instructed to pull the handcarts through by themselves (no men helping), park them, then come back across and carry each and every one of the sisters across the river. This being a desert, and rivers being somewhat scarse, the river was a manufactured body of water. Still, the challenge of carrying over 60 girls and women across was real enough.
Bill carried me across. The grown men were only allowed to carry their wives. The young men had to do the rest. We were towards the front of the handcart train, so my "sons" had more than their share of duty in carrying girls across. I imagine they woke up this morning with very sore muscles.
And then, it was over! After the river crossing, we were just yards from the lodge. We parked the carts, met with our bishops to have a closing devotional, then unloaded the carts, power washed them, put all our gear into the supply trailers, got family photos taken, and loaded onto the buses to return home. Over all, we pulled those handcarts a total of approximately 22 miles.
It was three days of hard work, hard weather, sweat, and gross grimy shower-less-ness. But it was oh so worth it! It was really the most amazing experience and I am so very glad I got to experience it!
If you are asking "What is a Pioneer Handcart Trek?" Here is a link that briefly gives some facts and background to a small but significant piece of historical American westward migration.
HANDCART PIONEERS
Every six years or so, handcart trek reenactments are organized by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints to give the youth (12-18 year old members) the opportunity to experience, in a small way, the hardships, faith, determination, and courage of their pioneer ancestors. The youth are organized into "families" and assigned a "Ma & Pa" and a handcart. All adults involved in this endeavor are volunteers and often use their own vacation/personal leave time from work in order to pull this off. Each participant is given a 5 gallon bucket to pack any and all gear and equipment into (except for tents and sleeping gear), which are placed in the handcart along with 2 food coolers and 2 five gallon water jugs. No electronics of any type are allowed on the journey. We estimated that the handcarts weighed approximately 500 lbs. fully loaded. Then the "families" would pull their handcart for 3 days, camping in the desert/wilderness for two nights.
Here is the second tidbit of information...
I hate camping. My idea of roughing it is staying in a hotel instead of a time share, and maybe even being willing to stay in a hotel with no pool (shudder!). Yet, when we were asked to volunteer to be a "Ma & Pa", we agreed to do it.
Dedicating the Experience
Each person participating in this event was asked to research the Willie and Martin handcart companies, and to choose a specific pioneer in whom to dedicate their handcart experience, preferably an ancestor, if one existed in the companies.
I do not have pioneer ancestors, but Bill does. Emily Wall is Bill's grandmother six generations removed. She and her brother, Joseph Wall, were members of the Willie handcart company. I trekked for Emily, Bill trekked for Joseph. Here is their story...
The Wall family lived in England in the 1850's and had joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They wanted to join the main congregation of saints in the Salt Lake valley (which was not even part of America at the time), but could not afford the journey for the whole family. It was decided that the two oldest children, Joseph (17) and Emily (16), would leave the family and make the "Journey to Zion", as it was called.
{Side note: As a parent, I can't even begin to fathom the sacrifice of that decision! To leave their family and all that they know at such a young age! And, at that time in history, they had to know that it was likely they'd never see one another again!}
Emily and Joseph set sail on the Thornton and joined the Willie handcart company.
At some point on the trail, and past the point of no return, Joseph became deathly ill. The leaders of the company determined that it was unlikely he would survive the day. They left Emily and one of her young friends sitting with the dying Joseph on the side of the trail and continued with the rest of the company to the evening camp, intending to send riders back to assist in burying Joseph and bringing the girls back to camp. When the riders retraced the trail and found the girls, Joseph was still alive! Emily begged the men to place her brother in her handcart and she vowed to pull him herself.
And she did. She pulled her handcart (with the help of her friend), with her 17 year old brother in it, all the way to the Salt Lake valley; even through the bitter trials that beset that particular handcart company. Both she and Joseph survived.
I can't tell you how fiercely proud I am of this young woman's faith, courage, love and dedication! I tear up just thinking about her.
Day 1
We arrived, in pioneer costume, bright and early at the church building to load into buses and head out to the trek site, having delivered our camping gear (tents, food/water coolers, bedding, and 5 gallon buckets of essentials) the night before. I ended up having to send Bill back home because in the excitement of leaving in the morning, I forgot a couple of essential items (neck coolers and gifts I had made for my "children"). Three buses delivered the approximately 120 youth and their adult leaders. Originally, Bill and I had been assigned 7 kids, but on the night before trek we received an e-mail telling us one of the boys had pulled out. On the morning of trek, we discovered one of the girls had also pulled out. That left us with 5 "children", three girls and two boys. It made us one of the smaller families and meant that our kids would spend the majority of their time physically pushing/pulling the handcart. Other, larger families could rotate the youth, giving them breaks from the hard work of pulling the handcart.
That first day, we pulled the handcarts for about 10 miles over relatively flat ground. Part of the day was cool and windy, part of the day was hot. There is a joke in Utah that says if you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes or drive 5 miles. Really, the weather here is that changeable. The ground alternated between gravelly and powdery dirt. We all got coated in fine, gritty grime by the end of the day. For a while, I had a bandana covering my face, trying to filter it out. I can't tell you how good it felt to finally pull into camp on the first night. Hot, hungry and foot-sore, we put up our tents.
The original members of the Willie and Martin handcart companies ran into trouble because they left late in the season, and no one knew they were coming. When they reached the re-fueling way stations, there was no one there and no supplies with which to restock. They had to cut rations again and again in their attempt to reach the valley. By the end (just before they were rescued), they were down to 4 ounces of flour per adult, and 2 onces of flour per child each day! They mixed it in water and drank it. Many men mixed their own portion with their wife's and children's, telling their families that they had already eaten back at the supply wagon. That is why so many more men died than women. They were literally sacrificing their own lives in the hopes that their families would survive.
Fortunately, we have no desire to put the youth though that kind of experience! There was an incredible support staff that brought in food to the camps for every meal. We were well fed.
Once everyone had eaten and had their tents up (girls on one side of camp, boys on the other, leaders tents in the middle), everyone gathered for square dancing.
!!!
Oh, my feet hurt! I DID NOT want to dance.
But, we danced. And it was FUN! There was so much laughter. It was really fun to see these young people who are usually completely plugged in (texting and zoned out with earbuds in) being so playful and full of life.
There were lots of devotionals, prayers, and singing...
... but there were no showers.
We had packed baby wipes and used those to get as clean as we could in our tent before going to bed. Of course, the very next morning, we had to put back on the same grimy and gritty clothes we had worn the day before, because we only had one set of pioneer clothes.
Let me just say a few words about the clothes. Yes, I still think pioneer women wore too many bulky clothes. However, I noticed something almost from the beginning. It suddenly didn't matter what my body looked like under all those clothes. It didn't matter that my tummy pooches more than I'd like. It didn't matter if my underarms sagged a bit. It didn't matter that I'm carrying around 20 lbs. of extra fat. None of that mattered because you couldn't really tell under all those clothes. There is nothing revealing about those clothes, whatsoever. All that mattered was what was in my mind and in my heart.
Day 2
We woke up to the bugle call at 6 am. I had a rotten night sleep, waking at 2:30 am needing to pee, but being unwilling to disturb the camp with a flashlight dash to the port-a-johns in the dark. So, I tossed and turned in discomfort until 5 am, when it was finally light enough out to venture through camp sans flashlight. After tearing down the camp, breakfast, and morning devotional, we headed out for day two of handcart trekking.
The second day was only 5 or 6 miles, but they were on rougher terrain and in bad weather. Cold and wet in the morning, scorching in the afternoon. The kids had to push and pull through the rain wearing ponchos. The dust turned to mud that caked the handcart wheels and the bottoms of everyone's feet, making shoes feel like lead. Still, the rain meant cool weather, for which we were all grateful. The afternoon weather turned blisteringly hot, leaving us pulling into evening camp in 100 * temperatures.
Let me take a moment to talk about my "kids" on trek. We had two senior aged girls, Maddi and Ashley, a junior aged boy, Chandler, a sophomore girl named Tianna, and Kaden, our freshman "son". Maddi and Ashley were WONDERFUL big sisters! They were so helpful and kind to the younger kids! They both had wonderful singing voices and were very mature, grounded girls. We had no silly giggling fits (thank goodness!), no worries about them sneaking off with boyfriends, being out after curfew, or leaving chores undone. Chandler was a quiet, sober, and slightly geeky boy. I say that as a compliment. There was no bluster or false bravado in him. He was always quick to help and to obey. Really a solid gold "son"! Tianna was what you might call our "challenge" child. She wandered off constantly and I spent a great deal of time just trying to keep her with the family. Yet she wasn't malicious about it. I got the sense that it was part of her nature. She lived in her head and had a hard time focusing and hearing when we called her name. Our youngest, Kaden, was the life of the party. He's one of those kids with excess personality! His friend, Tony, often wandered over to our family handcart, announcing that he was our "adopted son". Just like Chandler, Kaden was a hard worker and never shirked a responsibility or disobeyed. I was just so impressed by these young people! I'm so proud I got to be their "Ma"!
After another evening of square dancing, group devotional and family devotional, we headed to bed.
Here are a couple of side stories, not specific to my little family.
While the tents were being set up in the 100 * heat, a girl from another family passed out in her tent. Her trek "sisters" thought she was just napping and left her alone. Fortunately, her "Ma" thought it was odd that she would be napping in a hot tent and went to check on her. Upon finding her unresponsive, she quickly summoned the medic, Brother Smith, who took the girl back to the lodge and administered an IV to get some fluids in her. I believe she ended up being transported to the hospital and missed the rest of the trek.
At about 10:30 pm (30 minutes after curfew), a strong wind hit the camp. Suddenly a bunch of girls started screaming! Moments later we had girls amongst the leaders' tents calling out for their "Ma's and Pa's" because their tents had collapsed. We hurried out and found two of the big walled tents down. One was a quick fix, anchoring the stakes down more firmly. The other one, however, had a shattered pole! Some duct tape and a shuffling of sound poles to the windward side and damaged poles to the leeward side fixed up the tent and everyone headed back to bed.
Day 3
This was another short mileage day. Something between 5 and 6 miles. But it was the day with the biggest challenges... the Women's Pull and the River Crossing.
The Women's Pull
Many pioneer women ended up pulling the handcarts across the plains by themselves. Some came alone. Others lost their husbands on the way. There are many accounts of these amazing women pulling handcarts and caring for large families alone for literally hundreds of miles. Emily Wall was one of them. As a way to honor that heritage, and to help the young women in our care learn that they are stronger than they know, the men were pulled away from the families, and the girls took the handcarts alone for about a mile. But not just any mile. A grueling and brutal mile. Part was uphill, all was in ankle deep silt. The carts were bogged down by it. The pull was extremely taxing.
The girls were watched over by the "Ma's", but we had specific instructions NOT to help. Oh, that was SO HARD! To watch those girls struggle! I knew that the lion's share of the burden was falling on Ashley and Maddi. Sweet young Tianna was not a hard worker. Maddi and Tianna ended up in front, Ashley pushing from the back. Ashley got literally coated with dust, but she never flagged in her efforts. The cart lurched and jerked to a halt several times, and I admit I stepped in to help steer it aright and to budge it forward from time to time. But I mostly walked by their side and watched these excellent girls struggle and hummed hymns of encouragement to give their minds a focus on something other than their difficulties.
The men and boys were lined up on both sides of the end of the women's pull. They watched with their hats in hand as the girls struggled past them, many of the girls weeping as they toiled, including my own girls. They watched as many of the first girls to finish turned around and quickly ran back to help other girls bring their handcarts along. Most of the boys and men had tears in their eyes, as well. While the "Ma's" and medics tended to the girls after the pull, the men pulled the boys aside and instructed them to never in this lifetime leave the women in their lives to pull the handcart alone, metaphorically speaking.
I wished I could hold all of my girls at once, but I knew that Ashley was the strongest, and Tianna's tears were mostly a reaction to Maddi's tears. Maddi was the one who was completely undone by the experience. I held her while she wept and Brother Smith (the medic) and I both kept a close eye on her for the rest of the afternoon. Still, I did manage to get hugs in for all the girls. I just worry that Ashley might have felt less love. Not so! I just knew she was my rock solid daughter and that Maddi's condition was worse. She was literally shaking uncontrollably.
Now, you might think us a heartless group of child abusers for putting the girls through such a thing. Here is some food for thought: I know what it is to overcome a physical challenge. To subject myself to my own will and accomplish a truly difficult task. You know about it if your read my account of running a marathon. And now, those girls know it, too. They have experienced a true mind over matter moment that will benefit them for the rest of their lives. It is also important to note that this was not sprung upon them, unawares. They were fully briefed in advance and no one was forced to participate. It was actually a very moving and spiritual experience for everyone involved and all the girls were very proud for having accomplished it. The boys were very respectful and impressed.
The River Crossing
After singing several hymns (giving the girls some time to recover), the boys and men took over the handcarts. Not a single girl was allowed to pull the handcarts for the rest of the day. The boys wouldn't dream of it.
On October 19, 1856, the first winter storm rolled across the Willie and Martin handcart companies. The Martin handcart company was unfortunate enough to have to cross the North Platte river right when the storm was at its worst. Even worse, in a desperate attempt to lighten their load and reach the valley more quickly, the pioneers had abandoned most of their clothing and blankets only two days prior to the storm. Soaked and freezing, they found the ground too frozen to drive the stakes in for their tents. So they crawled under the canvas laying on the ground and tried to stay alive. Many died that night.
But, help was on the way. Several weeks previous, an express wagon had passed the handcart companies on the plains and brought word of their existence and their dire need to Brigham Young, the Mormon prophet and leader, in the Salt Lake valley. Upon learning of the situation, Brigham Young immediately ordered rescue parties to set out that very day. Women stripped off their petticoats, shoes and stockings, and gathered blankets to send. Provisions were loaded on relief wagons, despite the settlement being on short rations due to a bad growing season. A rescue was on its way.
After finding the handcart pioneers in truly desperate condition, and tending to them as best they could, the rescuers still had to bring the emaciated and terribly weakened saints the rest of the way without becoming victims of the elements themselves. When they reached the final river crossing, the Sweetwater River, many of the handcart pioneers sat down in the snow and wept in despair.
Five young men from the rescue party, ranging in age from 17 to 25, stepped forward and carried the weakest of the handcart pioneers through the river, each crossing the ice choked river as much as 50 times in their efforts to save the saints.
The final challenge of our handcart trek was a river crossing. The boys were instructed to pull the handcarts through by themselves (no men helping), park them, then come back across and carry each and every one of the sisters across the river. This being a desert, and rivers being somewhat scarse, the river was a manufactured body of water. Still, the challenge of carrying over 60 girls and women across was real enough.
Bill carried me across. The grown men were only allowed to carry their wives. The young men had to do the rest. We were towards the front of the handcart train, so my "sons" had more than their share of duty in carrying girls across. I imagine they woke up this morning with very sore muscles.
And then, it was over! After the river crossing, we were just yards from the lodge. We parked the carts, met with our bishops to have a closing devotional, then unloaded the carts, power washed them, put all our gear into the supply trailers, got family photos taken, and loaded onto the buses to return home. Over all, we pulled those handcarts a total of approximately 22 miles.
It was three days of hard work, hard weather, sweat, and gross grimy shower-less-ness. But it was oh so worth it! It was really the most amazing experience and I am so very glad I got to experience it!
Pioneer Trek, Part 1
Back in February or March, our Bishop came over to our house and asked Bill and I to participate in a pioneer handcart trek reenactment as a "Ma and Pa" to some of the youth of the church during the summer.
A handcart trek sounds pretty adventurous and fun when it is 30* out. We said we'd love to.
We leave tomorrow. In the middle of July. In 100* temperatures.
Ugh.
I have come to the conclusion that people in the 1800's were WAY too hung up about showing skin. I'm going to be spending the next three days outdoors all. day. long. In the blazing sun. In the heat. In full pioneer costume.
Yup. Skirt. Apron. Blouse. Bonnet. Bloomers. Stockings. Full regalia.
No lie.
Not sounding quite so fun now, is it?
I'll let you know all about it when we get back.
A handcart trek sounds pretty adventurous and fun when it is 30* out. We said we'd love to.
We leave tomorrow. In the middle of July. In 100* temperatures.
Ugh.
I have come to the conclusion that people in the 1800's were WAY too hung up about showing skin. I'm going to be spending the next three days outdoors all. day. long. In the blazing sun. In the heat. In full pioneer costume.
Yup. Skirt. Apron. Blouse. Bonnet. Bloomers. Stockings. Full regalia.
No lie.
Not sounding quite so fun now, is it?
I'll let you know all about it when we get back.
High School and Army Reserves
My youngest is going to be a senior in high school this fall.
Yikes! How'd I get so old?
Originally, we signed him up for only morning classes at the high school, because he planned to take a computer tech class at the local applied technology college (they work in tandem with the high school offering career building skills, free tuition, and high school/college credit) that would fill his afternoons all year long. However, Will decided he would rather take an EMT course than the computer course. The EMT course is only one semester long, so he ended up with holes in his schedule for fall semester. I figured we'd get that fixed sometime this summer.
Will is joining the Army Reserves! Holy cow. I know I've talked about it before, but it just seems so much more real now that the gears are in motion. He took the real ASVAB on Monday (not the student version that is given at the local high schools), then he and I met with his recruiters that afternoon to go over his scores and choose a job specialty to be trained in (an MOS in Army acronyms). Will's ASVAB scores were quite high, opening the doors to any job the Army has to offer enlisted guys. The only limitations would be on what jobs are currently available for his projected ship out date.
The job he chose is Chemical Operations Specialist. In other words, he will be trained in maintaining and operating chemical decontamination gear used in chemical warfare, weapons of mass destruction, and/or accidental toxic spills. The job comes with a $10,000 bonus just for being willing to train for it.
So, now back to Will's high school schedule. One of the recruiters called the school to make sure he is on track to graduate next May as part of processing the paperwork for Will to swear in next Monday. There was no one at the high school, so he called the district office. When they looked up Will's schedule they told him "no". Great.
So, this morning was a mad scramble to fix it up and get all of Will's ducks in a row so there would be no problem with his enlistment. At this point I have to give a great big shout out to Mr. Bayles, the HS counselor, who called me and fixed Will's schedule while on vacation at his in-law's place!
Now Will has a full schedule including some weight lifting, PE, psychology, and digital photography added in with his regular math, English, and whatnot. And the EMT class to look forward to in the Spring!
So. All the ducks are in a row.
Will reports in to the recruiters on Sunday evening. They will take him up to a hotel by the base in SLC overnight, then he will spend Monday being poked and prodded by Army doctors during his military physical. Monday afternoon, he will swear in as a member of the Army Reserves.
!!!!!
To those of you who might think it is a shame he isn't going to college...
He is going to college. That is why he is doing Army Reserves instead of regular Army. The recruiters emphasized that we will get his college admissions and registration all squared away BEFORE his ship out date (June 30, 2014) so that as soon as he returns from Basic Training and Job Training (AIT... the Army and their acronyms!), he can start school without any difficulties. The Army's tuition assistance and GI Bills are going to be paying for it. He currently plans to get a bachelors of Aviation Science and become a pilot. He will serve as an enlisted soldier while working on his college degree and possibly even join ROTC while in college and become an officer.
I am so proud of you, Will!!!
Yikes! How'd I get so old?
Originally, we signed him up for only morning classes at the high school, because he planned to take a computer tech class at the local applied technology college (they work in tandem with the high school offering career building skills, free tuition, and high school/college credit) that would fill his afternoons all year long. However, Will decided he would rather take an EMT course than the computer course. The EMT course is only one semester long, so he ended up with holes in his schedule for fall semester. I figured we'd get that fixed sometime this summer.
Will is joining the Army Reserves! Holy cow. I know I've talked about it before, but it just seems so much more real now that the gears are in motion. He took the real ASVAB on Monday (not the student version that is given at the local high schools), then he and I met with his recruiters that afternoon to go over his scores and choose a job specialty to be trained in (an MOS in Army acronyms). Will's ASVAB scores were quite high, opening the doors to any job the Army has to offer enlisted guys. The only limitations would be on what jobs are currently available for his projected ship out date.
The job he chose is Chemical Operations Specialist. In other words, he will be trained in maintaining and operating chemical decontamination gear used in chemical warfare, weapons of mass destruction, and/or accidental toxic spills. The job comes with a $10,000 bonus just for being willing to train for it.
So, now back to Will's high school schedule. One of the recruiters called the school to make sure he is on track to graduate next May as part of processing the paperwork for Will to swear in next Monday. There was no one at the high school, so he called the district office. When they looked up Will's schedule they told him "no". Great.
So, this morning was a mad scramble to fix it up and get all of Will's ducks in a row so there would be no problem with his enlistment. At this point I have to give a great big shout out to Mr. Bayles, the HS counselor, who called me and fixed Will's schedule while on vacation at his in-law's place!
Now Will has a full schedule including some weight lifting, PE, psychology, and digital photography added in with his regular math, English, and whatnot. And the EMT class to look forward to in the Spring!
So. All the ducks are in a row.
Will reports in to the recruiters on Sunday evening. They will take him up to a hotel by the base in SLC overnight, then he will spend Monday being poked and prodded by Army doctors during his military physical. Monday afternoon, he will swear in as a member of the Army Reserves.
!!!!!
To those of you who might think it is a shame he isn't going to college...
He is going to college. That is why he is doing Army Reserves instead of regular Army. The recruiters emphasized that we will get his college admissions and registration all squared away BEFORE his ship out date (June 30, 2014) so that as soon as he returns from Basic Training and Job Training (AIT... the Army and their acronyms!), he can start school without any difficulties. The Army's tuition assistance and GI Bills are going to be paying for it. He currently plans to get a bachelors of Aviation Science and become a pilot. He will serve as an enlisted soldier while working on his college degree and possibly even join ROTC while in college and become an officer.
I am so proud of you, Will!!!
26.2
The race began in Walsburg at 6 am. In order to be ready at the starting line, Bill and I had to get up at 2:30 am, so he could drive me down to the shuttle buses in Provo. There were over 2,000 registered entrants for the full marathon, so the organizers said there would be no private drop off at the start of the race (Walsburg is a SMALL town up in the mountains).
2:30 is stupidly early.
I tried to get a full night sleep Thursday night. Utter fail. I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, then Bill's 5 am alarm woke me up completely. I normally sleep right through it.
So, I tried to get a full night sleep Friday night before the race...
Fail.
I would have had to go to bed at 6 pm to get a full 8 hours. That's never gonna happen. So, the goal was 8 pm, but that time shot by as well. I finally did get in bed at 9 pm...
... then got a phone call at 10 pm and was wide awake for another 30 minutes or more.
Still, 2:30 am arrived.
I did pretty well at eating my breakfast of oatmeal and a banana. OK, so I only ate half the banana.
I had packed and arranged all my race day gear the night before, so I didn't have to worry about forgetting anything. I planned to run with a water belt even though there were water/aid stations throughout the course. I refuel with Shot Blocks and the race only offered Gu gels. It's important not to change what you do on race day, so the water belt was more to carry my fuel of choice than for the water. Although it did prove useful to have a little water on me whenever I wanted to rinse the sweat out of my eyes. I greased myself up with Vaseline to prevent chafing, got dressed, and was ready to leave by 3:00.
Bill dropped me off at the bus loading zone and took off into the mountains for some early morning biking. I got in line for the bus and met a man named Jason. We chatted about the race and our families the whole way up to the starting drop off zone. I tell you what. That was a LONG bus ride! I remember a feeling of panic when riding the shuttle for the half marathon. This was worse. 26 miles is a long way.
The bus dropped us off at 4:30 am alongside a ranch. The rancher allowed the runners to use his pasture for a staging area. The whole pasture was full of campfires for the runners to keep warm.
It seemed like most of the people there were running with a friend. I was alone. So, I asked to join a group at their campfire. It turned out that most of that group knew each other and had run several other marathons together. Still, they were friendly and supportive. We ended up sitting in that prickly field grass playing campfire games until it was time to turn in our drop bags and line up at the starting line.
Drop bags are used to stuff your warm-up gear and anything else you want to bring to the race. The organizers chuck them all in a rental truck and haul it down to the finish line for you. After the race, you can collect your drop bag because it has your bib number attached to it. Mine had my sweat jacket (for before the race), my flip-flops (for after the race), tissues and other random minor items.
Lining up for a race, you find a race pacer holding a sign with the time you want to try to finish the race in. The fastest race pacers are to the front of the line. I headed to the back of the line. Let's face it. I know I'm not fast. My only goal was to actually finish this monster. Based on my longest training run, I thought I'd be doing really great if I finished in 5 hours, but the reality would probably be closer to 5 1/2 hours.
In the final countdown everyone around me was chatting and getting encouragement from each other and from the race pacer nearest us. In fact, I was so caught up in listening to the chatter that the race began before I even realized! The big surge only happens at the front of the column. At the back, we just started walking calmly forward until we got to the starting arch, then began our run.
I won't give you a blow by blow of every single awesome-beautiful-uplifting-inspiring-challenging-tough-discouraging-painful-agonizing mile. Instead, here are some highlights...
The early part of the race was cool because we were high in the mountains and the sun wasn't up, yet. The mid part of the race was cool because we were still in the canyon and the cliffs formed huge shadows that keep a near perpetual pre-sunrise chill in the air. The last part of the race was HOT because we were out of the canyon, running in the full blaze of the summer sun in the middle of the city.
Oh, the scenery was beautiful! I live here and I know the canyon very well. Still, running through it gives so much more time to soak in the views than driving it. Rolling hills, red barns, white rail fences, shimmering water in the river and the reservoir, green pine forests, rugged cliffs, waterfalls, and wildflowers.
For a downhill course, there sure were plenty of uphills. I knew I couldn't run the entire course non-stop, so I decided to walk the uphills. That way I could use the momentum of the downhill running to try to improve on my training time. That seemed to work well. When an uphill section drew near, I picked a spot on the hill where I would give myself permission to slow to a walk. Then, as I neared the crest, I chose another spot there I had to start running again.
Once, while I was walking an uphill, another participant joined me. I couldn't tell her age. She might have been my age; she might have been younger. Her hair was bleached white and her skin was very dark. She looked too trim and fit to be with us slower runners, but at the same time, she looked like she had lived life hard and fast... if that makes any sense. We chatted for a while and she told me all about the person she was supposed to be running with in the race. He was her boyfriend and chose to run with her despite not being a runner himself. He used to be clean and sober, but had recently fallen off the bandwagon and was drinking and smoking weed again. He had fallen behind and she was worried about him. She was walking in the hopes that he would catch up to her.
Then she told me that he hits her, sometimes.
Holy $*#@!
I had listened to her tale about her boyfriend and held my tongue, despite thinking he was pathetic, but I couldn't remain quiet any longer. I told her emphatically that she needed to leave him! I advised her to turn him in to the authorities. I told her she deserved better and that NO ONE had the right to hit her! I asked her if she had family near by (she is living with her parents). We were well on the downhill side and my "run" marker had come and gone, but I kept walking and talking with her.
In the end, I had to leave her. I couldn't walk the whole race. I wished her well and continued on my way. I don't remember her name, and I will probably never see her again, but I hope she finds the courage to get him out of her life!
Other runners came and went on my radar. Only a few others stand out, for me.
One such runner was named John. He and I had been leap frogging for most of the lower canyon. We walked together for a little while at the base of the canyon. He was an older gentleman with a handlebar mustache. This was his 300th marathon.
300th!!!
He started running them in the 80's. He was so friendly. He complimented me on my "power walk" (I wouldn't let my walking speed drop below 4 1/2 mph) and advised me to cut from corner to corner of the road on turns to make sure I wasn't adding mileage to the race. I told him my hope to finish at around 5hr 15min and he said that while it'd be tough, he believed I could make it. He pulled away as we entered the city. I could see him turning to look back and check on me every once and a while. But he had some amazing reserves of speed in him that weren't in me, so I watched him go and kept on going at the best pace I could manage...
...because by then I was in pain.
Oh! The first half of the race was SO BEAUTIFUL! I really enjoyed the first 15 miles. In fact, it wasn't until around mile 18 that I started to hurt. Mile 21 is when it truly got tough. By then I was in new territory. I had never pushed myself that far, before. By mile 23, I was in agony. My knees hurt, but it was my feet that were causing my distress. They were on FIRE! Every step was piercing. It felt like I was ripping the soles off my feet. At one point, my mind was entirely filled with the pain in my feet until I finally had to tell myself, "yes, there is pain. It is not going away. Accept it, put it out of your mind, and keep going."
The last 3 miles felt like they lasted forever. My body wanted to quit, but my mind was locked and rock solid. I was gonna finish this thing. Only 3 measly miles stood between me and my goal. There were water stations at every mile marker for those last 3 miles, so I drank a Powerade, drank a water, and doused myself with a water each time and forced myself to keep moving forward.
I don't think I can put into words the feeling when I saw the finish line in the distance. Overwhelming emotions! Knowing it was almost over, if I could just hold out a little bit longer! I had sent Bill texts at 13.1 miles, 10 miles, 5, 3, 2, and 1 mile. I forced myself to run the last half mile non-stop. I wanted to finish strong.
Mom, Dad, and Paul (my brother-in-law) were waiting to cheer me at the 26 mile marker. Bill and Will were at the finish line. I found out later that my visiting teaching partner, Leanna, came down and watched me finish without telling me she was going to do so! She is so awesome!
Yes, I choked up as I crossed the line.
Bill and Will came to find me right away. Bill had made up an entire lunch cooler full of post race awesomeness! He made a bottle of chocolate milk mixed just the way I like it. He had a couple of frozen bottles of water that he used as a roller massage on my legs and to ice my knees. There was a protein shake and a couple of Cokes. He and Will ended up drinking the Cokes, though. I didn't want them. Will went and got my drop bag for me so I could strip off the shoes and socks and put my flip-flops on.
Mom, Dad, and Paul found me and we all sat on the City Hall steps as Bill massaged my legs. You are supposed to walk off the race, not sit down and, yes, I did walk around all afternoon, but I'll save that story for another post.
My official time was 5 hours, 19 minutes, 10 seconds. That is just crazy! Who would want to spend that much time running?! Me, apparently.
After saying good-bye to Mom, Dad, and Paul, we headed to the car. Bill had parked it on the second level of a parking structure, so Will and I waited in the shade while Bill brought it down. There was no way I wanted to walk up to it. While we waited, my campfire buddies came walking up! And... John was with them! They all recognized me and we high-fived (and John gave me a hug) as they congratulated me on completing my first marathon. One of them pointed out to me that there was a blister on the side of my foot. I hadn't even noticed it. The pain in the soles of my feet had completely masked it.
So, here we are... A day later. Delayed onset muscle soreness (DOMS) has set in with a vengeance. I feel like someone has beaten me with a baseball bat. Everything from my chest down just HURTS! I can barely stand. Besides the blister, I also have 4 toenails (two on each foot) that look like they are going to die and fall off.
But, I am so very happy! I conquered myself and completed this huge goal. Now I plan to enjoy my summer just doing whatever workout strikes my fancy. Running will return to its rightful place as only one of many things I like to do, instead of consuming all my workouts.
Thanks to everyone who has supported my in this crazy journey to marathon! It means a lot to me.
Will I ever do it again?
I think so!
2:30 is stupidly early.
I tried to get a full night sleep Thursday night. Utter fail. I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, then Bill's 5 am alarm woke me up completely. I normally sleep right through it.
So, I tried to get a full night sleep Friday night before the race...
Fail.
I would have had to go to bed at 6 pm to get a full 8 hours. That's never gonna happen. So, the goal was 8 pm, but that time shot by as well. I finally did get in bed at 9 pm...
... then got a phone call at 10 pm and was wide awake for another 30 minutes or more.
Still, 2:30 am arrived.
I did pretty well at eating my breakfast of oatmeal and a banana. OK, so I only ate half the banana.
I had packed and arranged all my race day gear the night before, so I didn't have to worry about forgetting anything. I planned to run with a water belt even though there were water/aid stations throughout the course. I refuel with Shot Blocks and the race only offered Gu gels. It's important not to change what you do on race day, so the water belt was more to carry my fuel of choice than for the water. Although it did prove useful to have a little water on me whenever I wanted to rinse the sweat out of my eyes. I greased myself up with Vaseline to prevent chafing, got dressed, and was ready to leave by 3:00.
Bill dropped me off at the bus loading zone and took off into the mountains for some early morning biking. I got in line for the bus and met a man named Jason. We chatted about the race and our families the whole way up to the starting drop off zone. I tell you what. That was a LONG bus ride! I remember a feeling of panic when riding the shuttle for the half marathon. This was worse. 26 miles is a long way.
The bus dropped us off at 4:30 am alongside a ranch. The rancher allowed the runners to use his pasture for a staging area. The whole pasture was full of campfires for the runners to keep warm.
It seemed like most of the people there were running with a friend. I was alone. So, I asked to join a group at their campfire. It turned out that most of that group knew each other and had run several other marathons together. Still, they were friendly and supportive. We ended up sitting in that prickly field grass playing campfire games until it was time to turn in our drop bags and line up at the starting line.
Drop bags are used to stuff your warm-up gear and anything else you want to bring to the race. The organizers chuck them all in a rental truck and haul it down to the finish line for you. After the race, you can collect your drop bag because it has your bib number attached to it. Mine had my sweat jacket (for before the race), my flip-flops (for after the race), tissues and other random minor items.
Lining up for a race, you find a race pacer holding a sign with the time you want to try to finish the race in. The fastest race pacers are to the front of the line. I headed to the back of the line. Let's face it. I know I'm not fast. My only goal was to actually finish this monster. Based on my longest training run, I thought I'd be doing really great if I finished in 5 hours, but the reality would probably be closer to 5 1/2 hours.
In the final countdown everyone around me was chatting and getting encouragement from each other and from the race pacer nearest us. In fact, I was so caught up in listening to the chatter that the race began before I even realized! The big surge only happens at the front of the column. At the back, we just started walking calmly forward until we got to the starting arch, then began our run.
I won't give you a blow by blow of every single awesome-beautiful-uplifting-inspiring-challenging-tough-discouraging-painful-agonizing mile. Instead, here are some highlights...
The early part of the race was cool because we were high in the mountains and the sun wasn't up, yet. The mid part of the race was cool because we were still in the canyon and the cliffs formed huge shadows that keep a near perpetual pre-sunrise chill in the air. The last part of the race was HOT because we were out of the canyon, running in the full blaze of the summer sun in the middle of the city.
Oh, the scenery was beautiful! I live here and I know the canyon very well. Still, running through it gives so much more time to soak in the views than driving it. Rolling hills, red barns, white rail fences, shimmering water in the river and the reservoir, green pine forests, rugged cliffs, waterfalls, and wildflowers.
For a downhill course, there sure were plenty of uphills. I knew I couldn't run the entire course non-stop, so I decided to walk the uphills. That way I could use the momentum of the downhill running to try to improve on my training time. That seemed to work well. When an uphill section drew near, I picked a spot on the hill where I would give myself permission to slow to a walk. Then, as I neared the crest, I chose another spot there I had to start running again.
Once, while I was walking an uphill, another participant joined me. I couldn't tell her age. She might have been my age; she might have been younger. Her hair was bleached white and her skin was very dark. She looked too trim and fit to be with us slower runners, but at the same time, she looked like she had lived life hard and fast... if that makes any sense. We chatted for a while and she told me all about the person she was supposed to be running with in the race. He was her boyfriend and chose to run with her despite not being a runner himself. He used to be clean and sober, but had recently fallen off the bandwagon and was drinking and smoking weed again. He had fallen behind and she was worried about him. She was walking in the hopes that he would catch up to her.
Then she told me that he hits her, sometimes.
Holy $*#@!
I had listened to her tale about her boyfriend and held my tongue, despite thinking he was pathetic, but I couldn't remain quiet any longer. I told her emphatically that she needed to leave him! I advised her to turn him in to the authorities. I told her she deserved better and that NO ONE had the right to hit her! I asked her if she had family near by (she is living with her parents). We were well on the downhill side and my "run" marker had come and gone, but I kept walking and talking with her.
In the end, I had to leave her. I couldn't walk the whole race. I wished her well and continued on my way. I don't remember her name, and I will probably never see her again, but I hope she finds the courage to get him out of her life!
Other runners came and went on my radar. Only a few others stand out, for me.
One such runner was named John. He and I had been leap frogging for most of the lower canyon. We walked together for a little while at the base of the canyon. He was an older gentleman with a handlebar mustache. This was his 300th marathon.
300th!!!
He started running them in the 80's. He was so friendly. He complimented me on my "power walk" (I wouldn't let my walking speed drop below 4 1/2 mph) and advised me to cut from corner to corner of the road on turns to make sure I wasn't adding mileage to the race. I told him my hope to finish at around 5hr 15min and he said that while it'd be tough, he believed I could make it. He pulled away as we entered the city. I could see him turning to look back and check on me every once and a while. But he had some amazing reserves of speed in him that weren't in me, so I watched him go and kept on going at the best pace I could manage...
...because by then I was in pain.
Oh! The first half of the race was SO BEAUTIFUL! I really enjoyed the first 15 miles. In fact, it wasn't until around mile 18 that I started to hurt. Mile 21 is when it truly got tough. By then I was in new territory. I had never pushed myself that far, before. By mile 23, I was in agony. My knees hurt, but it was my feet that were causing my distress. They were on FIRE! Every step was piercing. It felt like I was ripping the soles off my feet. At one point, my mind was entirely filled with the pain in my feet until I finally had to tell myself, "yes, there is pain. It is not going away. Accept it, put it out of your mind, and keep going."
The last 3 miles felt like they lasted forever. My body wanted to quit, but my mind was locked and rock solid. I was gonna finish this thing. Only 3 measly miles stood between me and my goal. There were water stations at every mile marker for those last 3 miles, so I drank a Powerade, drank a water, and doused myself with a water each time and forced myself to keep moving forward.
I don't think I can put into words the feeling when I saw the finish line in the distance. Overwhelming emotions! Knowing it was almost over, if I could just hold out a little bit longer! I had sent Bill texts at 13.1 miles, 10 miles, 5, 3, 2, and 1 mile. I forced myself to run the last half mile non-stop. I wanted to finish strong.
Mom, Dad, and Paul (my brother-in-law) were waiting to cheer me at the 26 mile marker. Bill and Will were at the finish line. I found out later that my visiting teaching partner, Leanna, came down and watched me finish without telling me she was going to do so! She is so awesome!
Yes, I choked up as I crossed the line.
Bill and Will came to find me right away. Bill had made up an entire lunch cooler full of post race awesomeness! He made a bottle of chocolate milk mixed just the way I like it. He had a couple of frozen bottles of water that he used as a roller massage on my legs and to ice my knees. There was a protein shake and a couple of Cokes. He and Will ended up drinking the Cokes, though. I didn't want them. Will went and got my drop bag for me so I could strip off the shoes and socks and put my flip-flops on.
Mom, Dad, and Paul found me and we all sat on the City Hall steps as Bill massaged my legs. You are supposed to walk off the race, not sit down and, yes, I did walk around all afternoon, but I'll save that story for another post.
My official time was 5 hours, 19 minutes, 10 seconds. That is just crazy! Who would want to spend that much time running?! Me, apparently.
After saying good-bye to Mom, Dad, and Paul, we headed to the car. Bill had parked it on the second level of a parking structure, so Will and I waited in the shade while Bill brought it down. There was no way I wanted to walk up to it. While we waited, my campfire buddies came walking up! And... John was with them! They all recognized me and we high-fived (and John gave me a hug) as they congratulated me on completing my first marathon. One of them pointed out to me that there was a blister on the side of my foot. I hadn't even noticed it. The pain in the soles of my feet had completely masked it.
So, here we are... A day later. Delayed onset muscle soreness (DOMS) has set in with a vengeance. I feel like someone has beaten me with a baseball bat. Everything from my chest down just HURTS! I can barely stand. Besides the blister, I also have 4 toenails (two on each foot) that look like they are going to die and fall off.
But, I am so very happy! I conquered myself and completed this huge goal. Now I plan to enjoy my summer just doing whatever workout strikes my fancy. Running will return to its rightful place as only one of many things I like to do, instead of consuming all my workouts.
Thanks to everyone who has supported my in this crazy journey to marathon! It means a lot to me.
Will I ever do it again?
I think so!
17 years ago...
Today is Will's Birthday!
SEVENTEEN! AHHH!
This is another of those moments where I wonder where all the time went?
Gah. I'm starting to get old.
Will was born in the wee early hours of May 23, 1996. For those of you who didn't know, I actually chose to have a home birth. One of the craziest things I have ever done in my life. And yet, one of the best, too! It was such an amazing experience!
And he was such a BIG baby! 9 lbs. 4 oz.
Then he was such a skinny and lightweight kid. There was a time when he was on doctor's orders to GAIN weight. Yeah. The rest of America is struggling with childhood obesity and I'm buying protein shakes for my son to drink with his meals.
Will was the antsy kid who was loved by his teachers, despite aggravating them to death. I remember one elementary teacher telling me that he purposefully asked Will a question he thought Will couldn't answer because he had been sure Will hadn't been paying attention. The teacher was trying to trip him up. Will gave the correct answer.
Because Will is wicked smart.
His mind makes the most intuitive leaps I've ever seen.
We were working together on his pre-calculus the other day, and I was struggling to wrap my mind around a particular equation. I can't remember what it was, exactly, but it was full of sines and cosines and angles and variables. He suddenly burst out with, "Oh! It's just like y=mx+b!" Once he said it, I could see that he was right, but my mind probably would have never made that leap.
I'm better than he is at the routine, mundane algebraic mechanics, but his mind wraps around the abstract parts of higher math in a way that makes me almost jealous. It makes me sad that he says he dislikes math.
As a kid, his favorite TV show was NOVA.
Now Will is pushing 6'2". He is still super skinny. But muscular too, in a wiry kind of way. As he finishes growing in height, I'm pretty sure he'll spend his late teens and early twenties filling out and getting more broad chested.
*****
For his birthday today, Helena and Matt took him to see the new Star Trek movie. Once everyone was home, we picked up Will's girlfriend, Brenna, and we all went out to dinner. Will's dinner choice was Hibachi House.
Once home again, we did a rather horrific rendition of the "Happy Birthday" song (no, really, it was bad) and embarrassed the crap out of him before giving him his presents.
My present to him will be a laptop. We are going to sit down and find one together. The nicest refurbished one that I can afford.
Bill's present to Will is a rifle. Sort of. It is more of a loan than an outright gift. It is an old gun that has been in Bill's family a long time.
Now Will is doing what he wanted to do all along for his birthday... spending time with his girlfriend. He and Brenna are downstairs watching "Mission Impossible". Helena has gone home, Matt is off in his room, and Bill and I are in the living room being old people (I guess).
But he will always be my little boy in my heart.
I love you, Will! Happy Birthday!
SEVENTEEN! AHHH!
This is another of those moments where I wonder where all the time went?
Gah. I'm starting to get old.
Will was born in the wee early hours of May 23, 1996. For those of you who didn't know, I actually chose to have a home birth. One of the craziest things I have ever done in my life. And yet, one of the best, too! It was such an amazing experience!
And he was such a BIG baby! 9 lbs. 4 oz.
Then he was such a skinny and lightweight kid. There was a time when he was on doctor's orders to GAIN weight. Yeah. The rest of America is struggling with childhood obesity and I'm buying protein shakes for my son to drink with his meals.
Will was the antsy kid who was loved by his teachers, despite aggravating them to death. I remember one elementary teacher telling me that he purposefully asked Will a question he thought Will couldn't answer because he had been sure Will hadn't been paying attention. The teacher was trying to trip him up. Will gave the correct answer.
Because Will is wicked smart.
His mind makes the most intuitive leaps I've ever seen.
We were working together on his pre-calculus the other day, and I was struggling to wrap my mind around a particular equation. I can't remember what it was, exactly, but it was full of sines and cosines and angles and variables. He suddenly burst out with, "Oh! It's just like y=mx+b!" Once he said it, I could see that he was right, but my mind probably would have never made that leap.
I'm better than he is at the routine, mundane algebraic mechanics, but his mind wraps around the abstract parts of higher math in a way that makes me almost jealous. It makes me sad that he says he dislikes math.
As a kid, his favorite TV show was NOVA.
Now Will is pushing 6'2". He is still super skinny. But muscular too, in a wiry kind of way. As he finishes growing in height, I'm pretty sure he'll spend his late teens and early twenties filling out and getting more broad chested.
*****
For his birthday today, Helena and Matt took him to see the new Star Trek movie. Once everyone was home, we picked up Will's girlfriend, Brenna, and we all went out to dinner. Will's dinner choice was Hibachi House.
Once home again, we did a rather horrific rendition of the "Happy Birthday" song (no, really, it was bad) and embarrassed the crap out of him before giving him his presents.
My present to him will be a laptop. We are going to sit down and find one together. The nicest refurbished one that I can afford.
Bill's present to Will is a rifle. Sort of. It is more of a loan than an outright gift. It is an old gun that has been in Bill's family a long time.
Now Will is doing what he wanted to do all along for his birthday... spending time with his girlfriend. He and Brenna are downstairs watching "Mission Impossible". Helena has gone home, Matt is off in his room, and Bill and I are in the living room being old people (I guess).
But he will always be my little boy in my heart.
I love you, Will! Happy Birthday!
Matt Came Home!
So many big changes around here!
Matt contacted us asking to come back home. We were thrilled! He said he hoped to be home before Will's birthday on the 23rd of May. He just didn't quite have enough money to make it up here, yet.
Then we found out about a possible job opportunity for him here... if he could get here quickly.
He still didn't have enough money to get himself here, so we chipped in and paid for a u-haul to get him part way. Matt drove the u-haul to St. George, and Bill drove down to meet him and bring him the rest of the way home. In hindsight, it probably would have been cheaper to just rent a u-haul for the full distance, but we weren't the ones making the reservations, and really, we were piecing together the finances to get this done.
This all happened on Mother's Day.
I told Helena and Will that their dad had been called away on an emergency job. Something about a broken pipe and a flooded basement. They bought it completely, because that kind of thing has happened before. They were a little disappointed, because it was Mother's Day, after all, and we planned to spend it together.
So, it was extra fun to see the looks on their faces when Bill pulled up in his work truck, towing a trailer... with MATT! Oh! The looks on their faces were priceless!
Now Matt is home! He is living in Helena's old room, for now. He is broke and doesn't have a job, yet. He has applied several places, including the job opportunity I already mentioned, but hasn't heard back from anyone, so far.
Having him back home is a bit of a struggle and an adjustment for both us and him. He is used to being on his own and having no one care about where he goes or what he does. We want to know those kinds of things. No, we're not just nosy. He is borrowing one of our cars until he can get his feet under him. He is living in our house for the same reason. We love him and are so glad to have him back home, but we are realistic about the fact that he is 25, and should really be finding a place of his own as soon as possible.
So, keep him in your thoughts and prayers. Keep your fingers crossed that he gets a job soon and can save up enough to get his own place. Pray that he finds a good living situation that is nearby and affordable. Pray that he finds a good deal on a reliable car. Pray that he does start school (one of his goals while he is here) and that he does well at it.
But, oh, it is good to have the whole family here, again!
Matt contacted us asking to come back home. We were thrilled! He said he hoped to be home before Will's birthday on the 23rd of May. He just didn't quite have enough money to make it up here, yet.
Then we found out about a possible job opportunity for him here... if he could get here quickly.
He still didn't have enough money to get himself here, so we chipped in and paid for a u-haul to get him part way. Matt drove the u-haul to St. George, and Bill drove down to meet him and bring him the rest of the way home. In hindsight, it probably would have been cheaper to just rent a u-haul for the full distance, but we weren't the ones making the reservations, and really, we were piecing together the finances to get this done.
This all happened on Mother's Day.
I told Helena and Will that their dad had been called away on an emergency job. Something about a broken pipe and a flooded basement. They bought it completely, because that kind of thing has happened before. They were a little disappointed, because it was Mother's Day, after all, and we planned to spend it together.
So, it was extra fun to see the looks on their faces when Bill pulled up in his work truck, towing a trailer... with MATT! Oh! The looks on their faces were priceless!
Now Matt is home! He is living in Helena's old room, for now. He is broke and doesn't have a job, yet. He has applied several places, including the job opportunity I already mentioned, but hasn't heard back from anyone, so far.
Having him back home is a bit of a struggle and an adjustment for both us and him. He is used to being on his own and having no one care about where he goes or what he does. We want to know those kinds of things. No, we're not just nosy. He is borrowing one of our cars until he can get his feet under him. He is living in our house for the same reason. We love him and are so glad to have him back home, but we are realistic about the fact that he is 25, and should really be finding a place of his own as soon as possible.
So, keep him in your thoughts and prayers. Keep your fingers crossed that he gets a job soon and can save up enough to get his own place. Pray that he finds a good living situation that is nearby and affordable. Pray that he finds a good deal on a reliable car. Pray that he does start school (one of his goals while he is here) and that he does well at it.
But, oh, it is good to have the whole family here, again!
Helena's Place
Right after Bill and I got back from Hawaii, Helena packed up and moved out.
That sounds bad, but is actually an awesome thing.
When you say someone packed up and moved out, it makes it sound like there was some emotional blow up and the move was done in anger. That is so far from the truth!
We knew she'd be moving out. The only reason she waited until after we got back from Hawaii was so she and Will could stay together and look out for each other while we were gone.
So, as soon as we got home, she began packing.
Helena's best friend's name is Megan. Megan lives in an apartment in her grandparent's basement two towns over. Helena moved in with her and another girl, named Lindsay. I think it is the best possible first step to independence. There are grandparents upstairs to turn to for help, and the rent is cheaper than anything else she would possibly find, again, because it is grandma and grandpa discounted. Three college aged girls living in a basement apartment. Sounds like such an adventure, doesn't it?
The catch? There are only two bedrooms and apparently the girls don't intend to share a room. So, Helena has a bed set up in the corner of the kitchen. Weird, right?!? But the girls are all happy with the arrangement, Megan's grandparents are fine with it, too... so, okay!
Helena left a bunch of stuff here, and her bedroom has not turned into a guest room, yet. She still comes over often... at least once a week she comes home. She even stays overnight from time to time, especially if there is too much "month at the end of her paycheck" as the saying goes, and she wants to save some money on gas or food. She even comes home to "shop" in my pantry occasionally.
Helena leaving was really hard for me. I missed her horribly, at first. I got all sad and would just go stand in her half empty bedroom and look around at the things she left behind. I'd get all nostalgic and weepy, remembering times gone by. Oh, I wish they didn't have to grow up! But I also often wish they'd just grow up so I won't have to be responsible for them anymore! I know. I'm messed up in the head.
Now that some time has gone by, I am better about it. I'm not so depressed that my little girl is off having college aged adventures. But, still, my mood always perks up when Helena comes home.
That sounds bad, but is actually an awesome thing.
When you say someone packed up and moved out, it makes it sound like there was some emotional blow up and the move was done in anger. That is so far from the truth!
We knew she'd be moving out. The only reason she waited until after we got back from Hawaii was so she and Will could stay together and look out for each other while we were gone.
So, as soon as we got home, she began packing.
Helena's best friend's name is Megan. Megan lives in an apartment in her grandparent's basement two towns over. Helena moved in with her and another girl, named Lindsay. I think it is the best possible first step to independence. There are grandparents upstairs to turn to for help, and the rent is cheaper than anything else she would possibly find, again, because it is grandma and grandpa discounted. Three college aged girls living in a basement apartment. Sounds like such an adventure, doesn't it?
The catch? There are only two bedrooms and apparently the girls don't intend to share a room. So, Helena has a bed set up in the corner of the kitchen. Weird, right?!? But the girls are all happy with the arrangement, Megan's grandparents are fine with it, too... so, okay!
Helena left a bunch of stuff here, and her bedroom has not turned into a guest room, yet. She still comes over often... at least once a week she comes home. She even stays overnight from time to time, especially if there is too much "month at the end of her paycheck" as the saying goes, and she wants to save some money on gas or food. She even comes home to "shop" in my pantry occasionally.
Helena leaving was really hard for me. I missed her horribly, at first. I got all sad and would just go stand in her half empty bedroom and look around at the things she left behind. I'd get all nostalgic and weepy, remembering times gone by. Oh, I wish they didn't have to grow up! But I also often wish they'd just grow up so I won't have to be responsible for them anymore! I know. I'm messed up in the head.
Now that some time has gone by, I am better about it. I'm not so depressed that my little girl is off having college aged adventures. But, still, my mood always perks up when Helena comes home.
27
That is Will's score on his first try at the ACT.
I think it is pretty fantastic! He out-scored both his Dad and his sister, and this was just his first try, going in cold turkey. Most kids naturally improve their score by about 2-3 points on their second try just by being more familiar with the testing procedure. He probably beat me, too, but since I never took the ACT, I guess we'll never know.
That's right. I never took the ACT.
I took the SAT. I'm sure the scores are floating around the scrapbook pile somewhere.
Will plans to take the ACT again in the fall and hopes to get a 30.
It is gratifying to see test scores that verify what I've known all along...
Will is one smart kid! He has the high intelligence and IQ that will allow him to be whatever he choses to become in life. Not everyone is so blessed.
He actually does not do well in school. His grades are average, or even below average. There will be no scholarships waiting for him upon graduation. He simply does poorly in a traditional academic setting. It doesn't have to be that way. He could succeed if he put his mind to it and decided it was something he wants. That is frustrating to me. He has no desire for academic achievement. He puts up with school for my sake. I want him to go to college, but I have a hard time visualizing him as successful in traditional college classes based on his high school performance. Still, I hope he does go, and I know he can be successful at it... if he has the right frame of mind about it.
Last year his math teacher tried to limit our registration choice to College Prep Math (instead of Pre-Calculus) due to his grades. I had to go in and see the counselor about it. His counselor took one look at his test scores (not the ACT, but the state core tests) and agreed with me... that Will needed to be in Pre-Calculus. The counselor was able to bypass the math teacher's meddling and unlock the registration for us. Will's grades in Pre-Calculus are not great, but he definitely has learned a lot in that class this year.
So have I. I have done all of Will's homework side by side with him this year. You see, I never took Pre-Calculus, or Calculus. I got sidetracked into a College Prep style math course in high school, myself. In fact, while in college, I took TWO YEARS of college French in order to avoid one class of advanced mathematics. Stupid, huh? There I was, conjugating verbs, reading French literature, and writing essays in French (oh, the agony) for two freaking years just to avoid learning one semester of what turns out to be really awesome math stuff! Yeah, I'm a special kind of stupid.
Anyways, this turned into quite a ramble of a post. I'm proud of you, Will. You are one smart cookie!
I think it is pretty fantastic! He out-scored both his Dad and his sister, and this was just his first try, going in cold turkey. Most kids naturally improve their score by about 2-3 points on their second try just by being more familiar with the testing procedure. He probably beat me, too, but since I never took the ACT, I guess we'll never know.
That's right. I never took the ACT.
I took the SAT. I'm sure the scores are floating around the scrapbook pile somewhere.
Will plans to take the ACT again in the fall and hopes to get a 30.
It is gratifying to see test scores that verify what I've known all along...
Will is one smart kid! He has the high intelligence and IQ that will allow him to be whatever he choses to become in life. Not everyone is so blessed.
He actually does not do well in school. His grades are average, or even below average. There will be no scholarships waiting for him upon graduation. He simply does poorly in a traditional academic setting. It doesn't have to be that way. He could succeed if he put his mind to it and decided it was something he wants. That is frustrating to me. He has no desire for academic achievement. He puts up with school for my sake. I want him to go to college, but I have a hard time visualizing him as successful in traditional college classes based on his high school performance. Still, I hope he does go, and I know he can be successful at it... if he has the right frame of mind about it.
Last year his math teacher tried to limit our registration choice to College Prep Math (instead of Pre-Calculus) due to his grades. I had to go in and see the counselor about it. His counselor took one look at his test scores (not the ACT, but the state core tests) and agreed with me... that Will needed to be in Pre-Calculus. The counselor was able to bypass the math teacher's meddling and unlock the registration for us. Will's grades in Pre-Calculus are not great, but he definitely has learned a lot in that class this year.
So have I. I have done all of Will's homework side by side with him this year. You see, I never took Pre-Calculus, or Calculus. I got sidetracked into a College Prep style math course in high school, myself. In fact, while in college, I took TWO YEARS of college French in order to avoid one class of advanced mathematics. Stupid, huh? There I was, conjugating verbs, reading French literature, and writing essays in French (oh, the agony) for two freaking years just to avoid learning one semester of what turns out to be really awesome math stuff! Yeah, I'm a special kind of stupid.
Anyways, this turned into quite a ramble of a post. I'm proud of you, Will. You are one smart cookie!
Over the Limit
I am still training for the marathon. It is less than a month away.
Several weeks ago, I ran 16.5 miles and my knees REALLY did not like it! I ended up walking the majority of the last two miles and I was very frustrated. The following weekend, I decided to cut my long run down to 10 miles, just to give my knees a bit of a break. That was working out great, until I pulled something in my lower left leg about 1.6 miles from the end of the run. Gah. I limped along, calling each family member in turn, to see if anyone was close enough to home to come and pick me up. No one was even remotely close. So, I limped on home for 1.6 miles. I iced it all day, but it still took about a week before I was able to "run" again. Now I am back to running, but I seem to have lost all ambition. I should be running 20 miles by now (in my training schedule), but I don't seem to have the motivation to do more than 7 or 8 miles at a time. :~/
Ah well. I still plan to "run" the marathon in a few weeks. My time on it will probably be terrible, but at least I'll be able to check it off the bucket list and go back to the kinds of workouts I enjoy doing!
I do enjoy running... for about an hour or less. After that it just becomes WORK. I'm not a marathoner, after all. I need to stick to the 10K to Half Marathon distance.
I also enjoy riding my bike... when it isn't a race.
I can't wait to get back to swimming, too! I've spent all this spring focused almost exclusively on running, with only one cross training workout per week. I can't wait to just go back to swim/bike/run/kayak/weights... and doing them whenever I want!
But all of that isn't really what I wanted to talk about today.
Despite all my exercising, I haven't lost ANY weight.
I know it shouldn't matter. My heart is healthy. My body is healthy. That is what should matter.
But I want a flat tummy. I want the flab and fat gone. Bottom line.
So, I have decided that I simply have to gain control of some kind over my diet.
Did you know that I gave up soda last November? Okay, I admit, I drank one in Hawaii. But I discovered that it tasted terrible! Woah. I used to LOVE the taste of Dr. Pepper! Now it just tastes like bitter chemicals to me. HURRAY! I am actually really glad for that "cheat" soda, because before I drank it, I struggled with my willpower every time we ate out, because I was remembering that wonderful taste. Now, it is super easy to go for a non-soda beverage, because I know soda won't taste good.
I thought giving up soda would be the magic bullet for weight loss. People are always saying, "I gave up soda and dropped 20 lbs!" Yeah, not me.
So. It is time for a new challenge. I feel like I have won the soda fight, and it is time for a new battle.
I am going to track my sugars.
That's it. No calorie counting. No worrying about ratios of proteins and carbs. Just count those stinkin' sugars.
So far today I am up to 57 grams. That is just breakfast (oatmeal w/butter, 1 tsp. of sugar, and cinnamon & a glass of milk) and lunch (frozen burritos w/sour cream & salsa & a glass of milk).
How many sugar grams am I supposed to have in a day?
Well, sha-poopie.
I'm already at the limit at 3:00 in the afternoon. That's without any treats, too. Dinner will take me over.
This is gonna be a hard fight.
I can tell immediately that I'm gonna have to curb my milk addiction. Milk has 12 grams per cup. So, I'm gonna have to cut my portions in half, I think.
I'll let you know how it's going in a month or two.
Several weeks ago, I ran 16.5 miles and my knees REALLY did not like it! I ended up walking the majority of the last two miles and I was very frustrated. The following weekend, I decided to cut my long run down to 10 miles, just to give my knees a bit of a break. That was working out great, until I pulled something in my lower left leg about 1.6 miles from the end of the run. Gah. I limped along, calling each family member in turn, to see if anyone was close enough to home to come and pick me up. No one was even remotely close. So, I limped on home for 1.6 miles. I iced it all day, but it still took about a week before I was able to "run" again. Now I am back to running, but I seem to have lost all ambition. I should be running 20 miles by now (in my training schedule), but I don't seem to have the motivation to do more than 7 or 8 miles at a time. :~/
Ah well. I still plan to "run" the marathon in a few weeks. My time on it will probably be terrible, but at least I'll be able to check it off the bucket list and go back to the kinds of workouts I enjoy doing!
I do enjoy running... for about an hour or less. After that it just becomes WORK. I'm not a marathoner, after all. I need to stick to the 10K to Half Marathon distance.
I also enjoy riding my bike... when it isn't a race.
I can't wait to get back to swimming, too! I've spent all this spring focused almost exclusively on running, with only one cross training workout per week. I can't wait to just go back to swim/bike/run/kayak/weights... and doing them whenever I want!
But all of that isn't really what I wanted to talk about today.
Despite all my exercising, I haven't lost ANY weight.
I know it shouldn't matter. My heart is healthy. My body is healthy. That is what should matter.
But I want a flat tummy. I want the flab and fat gone. Bottom line.
So, I have decided that I simply have to gain control of some kind over my diet.
Did you know that I gave up soda last November? Okay, I admit, I drank one in Hawaii. But I discovered that it tasted terrible! Woah. I used to LOVE the taste of Dr. Pepper! Now it just tastes like bitter chemicals to me. HURRAY! I am actually really glad for that "cheat" soda, because before I drank it, I struggled with my willpower every time we ate out, because I was remembering that wonderful taste. Now, it is super easy to go for a non-soda beverage, because I know soda won't taste good.
I thought giving up soda would be the magic bullet for weight loss. People are always saying, "I gave up soda and dropped 20 lbs!" Yeah, not me.
So. It is time for a new challenge. I feel like I have won the soda fight, and it is time for a new battle.
I am going to track my sugars.
That's it. No calorie counting. No worrying about ratios of proteins and carbs. Just count those stinkin' sugars.
So far today I am up to 57 grams. That is just breakfast (oatmeal w/butter, 1 tsp. of sugar, and cinnamon & a glass of milk) and lunch (frozen burritos w/sour cream & salsa & a glass of milk).
How many sugar grams am I supposed to have in a day?
50-60 grams.
Well, sha-poopie.
I'm already at the limit at 3:00 in the afternoon. That's without any treats, too. Dinner will take me over.
This is gonna be a hard fight.
I can tell immediately that I'm gonna have to curb my milk addiction. Milk has 12 grams per cup. So, I'm gonna have to cut my portions in half, I think.
I'll let you know how it's going in a month or two.
Suicide
On a Sunday morning, one week after we got back from Hawaii, a classmate of Will's committed suicide. Although Will and this boy were not best of friends, they were friendly and had known one another for years. Will sat next to him in a couple of classes and thought of him as a really great guy. A nice, friendly, smiling kid. A well liked kid. So his sudden and tragic death really shocked Will, and the entire community, for that matter.
We received official notification of his suicide from the school through e-mail only an hour or two after word had spread on Facebook and Twitter. The school notification was to let parents know that the counselors at the school would be available all day on Monday for students who needed help with grieving and coming to terms with his death. Will ended up spending the entire day in the counselor's office. He just couldn't bring himself to go sit in class with his friend's empty seat right next to him.
Will really struggled with his emotions. At home, his emotions switched from anger to love and endearment and back to anger all day long. It hurt to see him so upset, and I worried about him.
I also went through a surprising amount of really strong emotions, even though I had never met Will's friend. I couldn't get his poor parents and siblings out of my mind. I was close to tears for days. I watched Will closely and wanted nothing more than to just hug him and love on him. But, he is nearly 17, and doesn't appreciate a clingy mom.
The funeral was held on Wednesday. Will asked for permission to leave school and attend the funeral, which I granted. He seemed to be much more at peace after the funeral. I wonder how often he thinks of his friend. I worry about his mental health. Is my own son at risk for suicide?
The weird thing is, I am currently completing a suicide prevention course the district requires of me in order to renew my teaching license next month. When I started the class a couple of months ago, I barely paid enough attention to take the quizes and check it off so I could move on with my recertification. Suicide prevention isn't seen as a high priority for elementary teachers. It is a secondary schools issue. Now I am laser focused on everything presented and wonder if anything more could have been done to save the life of Will's friend.
A month has gone by, and Will never speaks about it. I know that it has left a mark on him, though, as it must have for all the students in the Junior class.
Such a terrible waste of a beautiful, young life.
Hawaii
Okay. Here I go at trying to do the promised updates.
First, Hawaii.
No, I will not load this post up with pictures. Sorry. If you were hoping for that, the pictures are on Facebook. I've been frustrated at the fact that blogger has a limited capacity for pictures and every time I load a new one, it deletes an old one. If you click on an old post of mine, you will see where the photos have been replaced with a black rectangle with a gray dash in it. Thanks, Blogger, for destroying my blog. I would have switched to a different platform by now... but let's face it, I'm struggling to find the time to blog, let alone transfer to a new site.
Anyways, back to Hawaii.
Bill and I flew out on the Monday after Easter. It was Spring Break for Will and me. That was critical to the timing. Technically, our 20th anniversary has yet to happen (it's on May 8th... tomorrow!!), but there was no way I was going to take off during school and hope that Will would actually get himself to school for a week. So, we went during a school holiday. I felt horribly guilty about leaving the kids. I wanted to take them with us, but there was no way we could afford to. As it was, we stretched our resources to the limit just so we could go. Besides, taking the kids along is a real anniversary kill-joy. So, despite the guilt, we left the kids at home to fend for themselves.
That got some raised eyebrows from some of my coworkers and friends. They thought I was nuts leaving two teens at home alone for a week. But, hey, they are 19 and 16 (nearly 17). They don't need a babysitter. I was fairly confident they could handle themselves while I was gone. And I was right.
This was the first time I have flown since prior to 9/11/01. I know. It really has been that long. I have sent my kids off on adventures, but I have always traveled by car. It's not that I was afraid to fly, but I don't have to travel for work, and it's just too darned expensive to fly for fun! So, this was my first personal experience with the TSA security circus.
Flying has changed, but I thought the screening process was pretty non-intrusive and quick. Maybe because I wasn't singled out? Anyways, we were through security pretty fast and sitting down to a meal in the airport while waiting for our flight. It was cheaper to eat in the airport than pay for a meal mid flight. Oh, I will say this about security... on our flight home I packed a water bottle filled with sand into my carry on, not thinking anything of it. It tripped security measures. They had to pull it out, inspect it, pour some out onto litmus papers and test it with chemicals to make sure it wasn't, you know, bomb stuff, then send my carry on through the scanner again without the bottle... oi. In the end, they gave it all back to me with a smile and wishes for a safe journey. The whole thing was very friendly. I'm sure they've had to test plenty of bottles of sand. {rolling my eyes}
I spent the flight to Hawaii watching movies on the screen in the seat back in front of me. Nice! When we got to Hawaii, there was a glitch getting to the car rental place, due to poor communications. But, we finally go there and picked up our RED Mustang convertible! Bill hated it, but I enjoyed it very much! Except I think the steering wheel gets in the way of seeing the speedometer.
Well, I'm not going to really give you a blow by blow of the entire week. You'd fall asleep, and who really wants to read all about someone else's vacation?
I'll just say that it was sunny and wonderful and fun beyond all reason! Life is lived at a much slower pace there. We spent every waking moment outside, and even kept the sliding glass door of our room wide open all night long to enjoy the breezes and sounds of the surf. We surfed and snorkeled, hiked, biked, ran, and sunbathed. We did the traditional tourist stuff; Pearl Harbor, Hanauma Bay, Valley of Temples, and the Polynesian Cultural Center. But we also did normal people stuff like grocery shopping for half our meals and jogging the local workout trails. We were even given the locals discout (Kama aina discount) once by a friendly server at an off-the-beaten-track hole-in-the-wall Jack In The Box.
Maybe it is because we just went through all the fuss of security at the airport, but I did notice the complete LACK of security at the resort. We stayed at Turtle Bay Resort on the North Shore. The lobby was open air and there were no locks to the stairwells or elevators. However, despite that, I never felt it was a problem. Turtle Bay Resort is on the North Shore of Oahu. It is a rural setting. So peaceful! It really was the perfect place to get away and unwind. I'd go back in a heartbeat.
The only black spot on our whole vacation happened only hours before we left the island. We had checked out of the resort and finished touring the Byodo-In temple (the Buddhist temple in the Valley of Temples), but we still had a couple of hours to kill before heading to the airport. Since there was a movie theater across the street from where we were, we decided to take in a show. We were practically the only people in the theater, since it was a mid-day weekday showing. When we came out of the theater, we discovered that someone has hit our rental car and drove away! AURGH! We called the police, the rental agency, and my insurance. Everyone was very kind about it and even that stressful event didn't ruin my vacation.
Now we're home and I'm wishing I could live in Hawaii. But, at least I only have a few weeks left before summer vacation begins here at home and I can fill my days with fun in the sun, homestyle!
And So It Goes...
Uh-huh.
I got too busy again, today. But we had a great family dinner with both Helena and Will home! {Happy, happy!}
Maybe tomorrow?
Sigh.
I got too busy again, today. But we had a great family dinner with both Helena and Will home! {Happy, happy!}
Maybe tomorrow?
Sigh.
Too Much to Write About...
OK. So I know I have neglected this thing something fierce. I apologize. There is lots to tell you, and I'm not going to be able to do everything justice in one post. I think that's part of the problem. If I don't get things recorded right away, they start stockpiling in my mind and it gets overwhelming thinking of all the things I need to write about. I really haven't forgotten about writing, you see. I am constantly composing posts in my head. Unfortunately, most of those posts never happen because I am not in a position to actually write them in the moment. So what you read on the blog is only a fraction of what gets composed in my head. Then, if it piles up in my head, you don't get to read any of it because I get shut down by thinking of how much catching up I have to do. And, the "catch up" posts are never as vivid and detail rich as the original composition in my head. So, again, sorry about that!
What have you missed?
Each one of these things deserves its own post. I will try to work my way through them tomorrow. That should be a good Sunday activity, right?
What have you missed?
- Bill and I traveled to Oahu for a week to celebrate our 20th anniversary. Lots of stories to tell you. Awesome pictures will be posted to Facebook at some point... probably.
- As soon as we got back, Helena moved out and is now living with her best friend in a basement apartment two towns over. I am super sad she is no longer my little girl and I miss her something fierce!
- On the same weekend Helena moved out, one of Will's classmates (and friend) committed suicide. I did not know the boy, but man! It made me so sad for his family and worried about my own son and his mental health. I am exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions between joy on my anniversary trip, and grief the following week for the senseless loss of this young man.
- Will took the ACT for the first time back in March and got a FANTASTIC score! We're super proud of his brains.
- We refinanced the house to a 10 year term with a rockstar interest rate. It will save us tens of thousands of dollars without changing our monthly payment! Yeah, baby!
- I am still training for the marathon, though it is painful and difficult. Today's run was 16.5 miles. I doubt I will ever do another marathon after crossing this one off my bucket list. I am even considering removing the full Ironman from the bucket list simply because 26.2 miles of running is super hard on my knees.
- Will is off on another National Guard drill weekend. He still plans to enlist on his 17th birthday. I can feel how very little time I have left with him before he, too, moves out. With Helena and Will both gone, the house feels WAY too quiet and empty. I find myself wandering into their rooms and just standing there, feeling sad.
Each one of these things deserves its own post. I will try to work my way through them tomorrow. That should be a good Sunday activity, right?
And Then There Was Mud
MARCH IS HERE
!!!!
That means that Spring is on its way! Hale-freaking-lujah!!!
We have been snow and ice bound for almost 3 months. With the turn of the season was are finally starting to see the ground again. It made it all the way up to 49* F yesterday and half of the snow in my yard is gone now...
... as is the ice on my driveway.
We have been driving and parking on 2-3" of solid ice all winter long. Not a pretty sheet of ice, mind you. An undulating hills-and-valleys kind of ice formed by car tires compressing all the snow. The only bare patches were the spots the cars sit on. So, when I backed into the driveway, I could tell I was in the correct spot when my car settled down into the depression formed in the ice.
Anyways, that ice is all but gone.
In its place is a puddly, boggy mess of gravel and mud.
Oh, hurray.
But, you know what? I'LL TAKE IT! I am just so thrilled to have the days above freezing! In fact, I think I'm going to go for a run... OUTSIDE! Ahhhhhhh.
!!!!
That means that Spring is on its way! Hale-freaking-lujah!!!
We have been snow and ice bound for almost 3 months. With the turn of the season was are finally starting to see the ground again. It made it all the way up to 49* F yesterday and half of the snow in my yard is gone now...
... as is the ice on my driveway.
We have been driving and parking on 2-3" of solid ice all winter long. Not a pretty sheet of ice, mind you. An undulating hills-and-valleys kind of ice formed by car tires compressing all the snow. The only bare patches were the spots the cars sit on. So, when I backed into the driveway, I could tell I was in the correct spot when my car settled down into the depression formed in the ice.
Anyways, that ice is all but gone.
In its place is a puddly, boggy mess of gravel and mud.
Oh, hurray.
But, you know what? I'LL TAKE IT! I am just so thrilled to have the days above freezing! In fact, I think I'm going to go for a run... OUTSIDE! Ahhhhhhh.
Life's Mosaic
It has been a difficult few days. It is not always fun to be the momma. Sometimes you have to be brave enough to speak hard truths even though your children may hate you for it. Hopefully, only temporary hate, though. The hope is that they will see the love behind the words and find they are still able to love their momma despite it all.
I try to keep perspective when I am feeling down and despised by someone I love. I try to remember that there are much worse things than having your child angry at you. I have faced harder things. Like the death of a loved one. I will take my child's fierce anger over that anguish any day.
We have all had good days, even great days. Days filled with laughter and sunlight and joy. They are often unexpected gifts. Just this past week I was doing who knows what upstairs and stopped just to listen to and enjoy the sound of two almost grown girls laughing together in the basement bathroom as they got ready to go out for the evening. It reminded me of so many other laughing, fun moments I have had the privilege to be witness to as my children have grown.
Life is so full of brightness. We sometimes forget that when we are struggling and down. Hard times can leave us feeling that the darkness is all there is and we start to lose hope. We can go for days, weeks, or even months or years struggling with dark and difficult times. When that happens, we begin to wonder why God has forsaken us. Why hasn't he answered our prayers? Why do we suffer in the dark?
And then I thought of something.
I thought of the moments of my life like the pieces of a mosaic. Each day of my life, each moment I live through, is a piece of that mosaic. On the good and beautiful days, I am placing a brightly colored piece in the mosaic. On hard or difficult days, I am placing a dark piece into the mosaic. As I work, I can only see one small piece of the whole artwork. Only one small portion of my life. It is easy to loose perspective when that is the case. I can't tell you how many times I have told my students to step back and look at their work from a distance... to see the whole picture and gain a new perspective.
Such it is with our lives. If we could see our lives through God's eyes... see the whole mosaic with all the light and dark pieces in their proper places... we would see a beautiful soul in the process of evolving into something wondrous and extraordinary. A mosaic of only light pieces would be bland and uninteresting. A mosaic of only dark pieces would be dreary and equally uninteresting. But the patterning of light and dark... that makes the composition stronger. And stunning to behold.
No one wants dark and difficult days. No one wants trials or tribulations. Yet, when looking back on them, we recognize their worth. I am a stronger, more empathetic person for the darkness I have overcome. I can serve and lift others who are struggling in similar ways. I am who I am because of all the experiences I have lived through; not just the happy, easy moments. In fact, it is actually the difficult times that refine character and make us stronger.
Am I asking for more dark pieces in the mosaic of my life? Absolutely not! But I recognize that there is a reason for the struggles, and a purpose and pattern to all we experience in this life.
Remember to step back from time to time and look at the bigger picture.
Seeing it can give you strength.
I try to keep perspective when I am feeling down and despised by someone I love. I try to remember that there are much worse things than having your child angry at you. I have faced harder things. Like the death of a loved one. I will take my child's fierce anger over that anguish any day.
We have all had good days, even great days. Days filled with laughter and sunlight and joy. They are often unexpected gifts. Just this past week I was doing who knows what upstairs and stopped just to listen to and enjoy the sound of two almost grown girls laughing together in the basement bathroom as they got ready to go out for the evening. It reminded me of so many other laughing, fun moments I have had the privilege to be witness to as my children have grown.
Life is so full of brightness. We sometimes forget that when we are struggling and down. Hard times can leave us feeling that the darkness is all there is and we start to lose hope. We can go for days, weeks, or even months or years struggling with dark and difficult times. When that happens, we begin to wonder why God has forsaken us. Why hasn't he answered our prayers? Why do we suffer in the dark?
And then I thought of something.
I thought of the moments of my life like the pieces of a mosaic. Each day of my life, each moment I live through, is a piece of that mosaic. On the good and beautiful days, I am placing a brightly colored piece in the mosaic. On hard or difficult days, I am placing a dark piece into the mosaic. As I work, I can only see one small piece of the whole artwork. Only one small portion of my life. It is easy to loose perspective when that is the case. I can't tell you how many times I have told my students to step back and look at their work from a distance... to see the whole picture and gain a new perspective.
Such it is with our lives. If we could see our lives through God's eyes... see the whole mosaic with all the light and dark pieces in their proper places... we would see a beautiful soul in the process of evolving into something wondrous and extraordinary. A mosaic of only light pieces would be bland and uninteresting. A mosaic of only dark pieces would be dreary and equally uninteresting. But the patterning of light and dark... that makes the composition stronger. And stunning to behold.
No one wants dark and difficult days. No one wants trials or tribulations. Yet, when looking back on them, we recognize their worth. I am a stronger, more empathetic person for the darkness I have overcome. I can serve and lift others who are struggling in similar ways. I am who I am because of all the experiences I have lived through; not just the happy, easy moments. In fact, it is actually the difficult times that refine character and make us stronger.
Am I asking for more dark pieces in the mosaic of my life? Absolutely not! But I recognize that there is a reason for the struggles, and a purpose and pattern to all we experience in this life.
Remember to step back from time to time and look at the bigger picture.
Seeing it can give you strength.
Trust Issues
Will and I went to Parent/Teacher conferences at the high school this afternoon. Not much to report there. We got in and out and on our way in just a little over an hour. I was starving, so I decided we needed a Wendy's pit stop. On our way there, Will made a comment that was the genesis of this post.
"I don't really like driving." he said.
He went on to explain that he thought driving was a pretty poorly laid out means of transportation, with a high level of risk and too many opportunities for a bad ending. The fact is that two massive metal contraptions pass within feet of one another at high rates of speed, filled with strangers who are trusting one another to not zig when they are supposed to zag.
I completely understand where my son is coming from on this, because I have always felt the same way. I had a really hard time coming to terms with driving when I was a teen. In fact, I didn't get my driver's license until I was 18 years old for that very reason. I really didn't like driving. I wasn't a bad driver (neither is Will), I just didn't like it.
After Will said that this afternoon, I remembered a Top Gear episode Helena was watching the other day. One of the show's hosts, Jeremy Clarkson, had an opportunity to drive a specific car on a specific race track that he had already "driven" in a popular video game. He was trying to see if he could drive it just as fast in real life as he had in the game. He couldn't. His analysis of why he was unable to recreate the same track times caught my attention. He said that while he was racing around the track, his mind would suddenly think, 'what if a tire blew right .... now?' or 'what if I lost traction going around this curve?' Essentially, the whole time he was racing the car in real life, his mind was supplying him with every worst case scenario it could come up with, causing him to drive more conservatively than he had in the video game, where his brain KNEW there were no life-or-death consequences to his actions. His conclusion was that race car drivers must not have much of an imagination, or a means of shutting it off.
That's Will's and my problem. Too much imagination. Both of our brains are supplying us with an instantaneous barrage of worst case scenarios every time another car passes us while driving. It is also why I am such an absolutely ROTTEN passenger. At least when I am driving, I do have control over one aspect of the whole dodgy experience. When a passenger... I have absolutely NO CONTROL of any of the variables! My mind goes into overdrive supplying me with all sorts of not so calming assessments of what might go wrong at any given moment. Sometimes, truthfully, I just have to shut my eyes in order to remain calm while sitting in the passenger seat.
I really don't mind driving so much anymore. I was able to reassure Will that it gets better with time and experience. You learn to deaden your imagination a bit and trust the strangers around you ... sort of.
OK. Maybe not the trusting strangers part. I still expect anyone and everyone around me to pull a stupid stunt with their vehicle...
"I don't really like driving." he said.
He went on to explain that he thought driving was a pretty poorly laid out means of transportation, with a high level of risk and too many opportunities for a bad ending. The fact is that two massive metal contraptions pass within feet of one another at high rates of speed, filled with strangers who are trusting one another to not zig when they are supposed to zag.
I completely understand where my son is coming from on this, because I have always felt the same way. I had a really hard time coming to terms with driving when I was a teen. In fact, I didn't get my driver's license until I was 18 years old for that very reason. I really didn't like driving. I wasn't a bad driver (neither is Will), I just didn't like it.
After Will said that this afternoon, I remembered a Top Gear episode Helena was watching the other day. One of the show's hosts, Jeremy Clarkson, had an opportunity to drive a specific car on a specific race track that he had already "driven" in a popular video game. He was trying to see if he could drive it just as fast in real life as he had in the game. He couldn't. His analysis of why he was unable to recreate the same track times caught my attention. He said that while he was racing around the track, his mind would suddenly think, 'what if a tire blew right .... now?' or 'what if I lost traction going around this curve?' Essentially, the whole time he was racing the car in real life, his mind was supplying him with every worst case scenario it could come up with, causing him to drive more conservatively than he had in the video game, where his brain KNEW there were no life-or-death consequences to his actions. His conclusion was that race car drivers must not have much of an imagination, or a means of shutting it off.
That's Will's and my problem. Too much imagination. Both of our brains are supplying us with an instantaneous barrage of worst case scenarios every time another car passes us while driving. It is also why I am such an absolutely ROTTEN passenger. At least when I am driving, I do have control over one aspect of the whole dodgy experience. When a passenger... I have absolutely NO CONTROL of any of the variables! My mind goes into overdrive supplying me with all sorts of not so calming assessments of what might go wrong at any given moment. Sometimes, truthfully, I just have to shut my eyes in order to remain calm while sitting in the passenger seat.
I really don't mind driving so much anymore. I was able to reassure Will that it gets better with time and experience. You learn to deaden your imagination a bit and trust the strangers around you ... sort of.
OK. Maybe not the trusting strangers part. I still expect anyone and everyone around me to pull a stupid stunt with their vehicle...
Late Teens
And, no, I am not referring to teens that are always late...
... oh, wait a minute. Yes, I am.
The late teen years (16-19) are an incredible adventure...
... for the teen.
For parents, the late teen years can be full of frustrations and expenses. Expenses? We have watched our car insurance double, our food and utility bills go up, and experienced sticker shock at gift giving times. There are school fees and technology needs (no joke). But the expenses are really just part of the experience of raising kids, and are manageable because we know they are temporary. Soon enough the kids will leave home and the expenses will drop substantially.
No, the frustrations are the part I really want to talk about.
Thinking back to when I was 16-19 years old, I still didn't really see my parents as individuals. Not yet. They were still MOM and DAD. MOM and DAD had one function only. To provide for us kids. That meant they were supposed to feed us and clothe us, take us on vacations, pay for our stuff, and nag, pester, and harass us about school/church/chores. In the meantime, it was my job to inform them of how outdated their view points were, how things were different now, and that they should just trust me and let me do whatever I wanted. [Yeah, I never convinced them of any of that, by the way.] By the time I was 19, I was pretty convinced I was all grown up. I was "An Adult", who didn't need my parents telling me when to be home or what to do.
It wasn't until I was truly an adult (meaning I had moved away and was now fully supporting myself financially) that I started seeing my parents as individuals with needs and wants that really had NOTHING to do with their kids whatsoever! Woah! And I didn't empathize with my parents' struggles with teen aged kids until I had teens of my own. So, I don't expect my kids to understand or empathize with me anytime soon.
Still, it would be nice.
Where is all of this rambling-ness going, you ask?
I just really, really want my daughter to be courteous and come home at a reasonable hour on weeknights. Not stay out til midnight or later because she doesn't work until evening shift and can sleep in the next day. Great for her, crappy for me. I do have to go to work in the morning and would like to have a good night's sleep.
Just give her a curfew, you say? Yeah. Nineteen is a difficult age for that. She feels she has a right to stay out as late as she wants. And really, if she was living in an apartment with roommates, she could. But she is not living in an apartment. She is living at home.
She has told me to just go to bed and not wait up for her. My response to that is simply that just because she is being selfish doesn't mean I am going to be selfish. You see, I wait up because I love her. I wait up to make sure I don't sleep right through a call for help. I wait up to remind her that she is not an island. Her actions do affect those around her who care about her.
It is true that apartment living with roommates is much more "freeing". But roommates don't wait up for you... because they don't love you. It doesn't matter to them one way or the other if you make it back home again in one piece. That sounds callous. Of course, they'll care. After the fact. After something disastrous happens. But they won't stay up waiting for a phone call that tells them you need help. Someday, she'll have a spouse who will wait up for her, because he will love her and not want to go to bed until he knows she is home safe.
I know she'll move out sometime soon, if only to feel that freedom of having no one care enough to wait up for her. It feels so liberating, at first. But, really, it can be incredibly lonely. I remember living in an apartment with 5 other girls and feeling severely depressed and homesick because no one truly loved me in that apartment. I didn't realize that was the reason for the homesickness, at the time. I just knew I was miserable and lonely in a house full of other people.
Until the day she moves out, it is my job to love her enough to want to wait up to see her safely home. And care enough about her to hear about her adventures.
I just wish she could see me more as an individual who needs a good night sleep before I go to work and less like MOM who has outdated points of view. I know she loves MOM. I just wish that she loved Kate enough to come home early on weeknights.
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