I Passed up the Root Beer Float

....for Family Night treat on Monday

...as visions of dressing room mirrors flashed through my head.

(I DO realize the real word in the poem is "danced," but that word has a joyful, upbeat connotation to me -- and that would be a very inaccurate way to describe my experience!)

With my Triathlon only three weeks away, I decided it was time (overdue, in fact) to get me some Triathlon clothes. Are they even called, "clothes?" Should I be using a more official name? Like "Gear?" "Outfit?" "Triathlon wear?" My novice-ness is really showing through, huh?!? Anyway, I needed a "get up" that I could wear for all three events without changing, so I could run-bike-swim without stopping [at tremendous speed] because wearing a swim suit underneath shorts and a T-shirt to run and bike in is NOT my idea of comfort and fun! Wedgie, anyone? How about a good dose of "rubbing rash?" Got sweat? [in a swim suit.] And let's throw in the bouncin' bosom, as well! :)

So, I forced took my [supportive] chauffeur husband with me on the quest. As we're wandering around the first store, an employee asks if we need help. My husband asks where the Triathlon clothing is, so the employee takes us there....to the Men's. Matt had to inform him that we were there for ME and we needed the womens' department!

NOW, WHY DID THAT EMPLOYEE ASSUME THAT I WOULD NOT BE DOING A TRIATHLON??!!??

I know the answer.

Look at Matt: Tall, strong, lean machine. Look at Me: Not exactly the picture of a Triathlete.

BUT, I CAN DO HARD THINGS!

Nevertheless, not a real positive start to our shopping experience. Thoughts of "Maybe I shouldn't try to do this" entered my mind.

The first thing that employee shows to me is the "Tri Suit."

What? Is he just trying to make a mockery of me, now?

Oh, NO, NO, NO. I will not go there! No Thanks. NO WAY. NO HOW!

That reminds me of Summer Olympics track too much! Jackie Joyner-Kersee can pull it off -- but let's be honest, NOBODY wants to see me in that.

I wanted to stick with the two-pieced ones, thank you very much. Shorts (8" vs. 4") AND a [full-coverage] top with ample support just seem to provide better security for me.

Problem #2: Since Triathletes are mostly little, skinny, tiny, itty-bitty, lacking in fat, toned, void of flab, slender, small, slim little buggers -- so are the clothes that stores put on their racks to sell to them. Size XXS, XS, and S were available in plenty. Most sizes above that were in short supply! :( At a different store, one employee even referred me to the men's rack as well since "the tops run small."

"What am I doing?" thoughts popped in my mind.

When we went up to make the purchase, the cashier wanted to enter our "profile" into the computer. The employee started asking Matt for HIS name and contact information - to which my husband, again, had to direct their attention to me.

Hello!! Yoo Hoo! Is it too much to even consider? Muscle man over there is NOT the one doing the Triathlon, it's Pillsbury Dough-girl, here!

Should the fact that two different "fitness expert-ish" employees didn't have any confidence in me, be giving me a "plex?" Little do they know that sometimes I make Matt bike or run with me - and I'm continually turning around, looking back to find him since he's unable to keep up. (At least that's his story - I personally think it's his way of getting out of having to talk to me the whole time!)

Anyway, I'm not quite sure which was the bigger shocker.....
The way those tri shorts made my legs look like sausages oozing out of them or the $70 ticket price they carried (on each piece!)

Ouch to both!

****

I did swim the furthest/longest I've ever swam today -- 30 laps! And I did it in approximately double the time that everyone else there did it. woo hoo! ;)

Desperate Measures

Recently, my husband was texted by a friend.
It read:
Received an email from you last night that would lead me to believe you have a virus on one of your computers.

I'm not sure how that all works, but apparently a virus can get a hold of one's email contacts and send something on it's own - to ALL of them. (?) As I write that, it still makes no sense to me, but it takes a computer whiz to understand and recognize these things. (??)

Yep, that's what it takes because the next day, this problem was confirmed when my husband got a reply from the computer whiz next door.
He wrote:
"Maybe your computer has a virus?"
It was in this reply, Matt was able to see just exactly WHAT email the virus had sent out to all our contacts.

Guess what it was?

It was an advertisement of sorts [invitation] for VIAGRA and other related pills.

Then Matt's inbox started to fill with replies from others on our contact list who had received this same "virus email."

They read:
"Looks interesting!"

"What is this for?"

"I will investigate these prices. Right now I spend around $___ for _____ and myself. This may help a lot."

"I'm thinking you probably didn't intend to send this email."

"Where does that link go?"

"What the....? Just say no to drugs."

When I heard of this, I was horrified. I asked Matt just WHO was on his contact list who may have received this email.

He informed me that just about the entire world was!

Well, not quite.

But, just about our entire local church congregation is! (amongst others)

My husband has had the calling of the president of our church men's organization for the last 3 yrs., 8 months (but I'm not counting), so he frequently corresponds with them by email.

My mind started to think of all the different possible recipients of this email.

There was Brother and Sister Perfect. And Brother Conservative. And Sister Serious. And we can't forget Brother Private-about-Personal-Matters. And, of course, Sister Straight-Laced was on that list.

And, with my [bad] luck, the Leaders of our Ward were also included.

{Gasp!}

{Double Gasp!}

"What are THEY going to THINK?" I half-wailed, half-choked out.

"They'll think it's time to get a new president, I suppose." he informed me.

"THIS just might be what it takes to get released." we joked.

One's length of church service is somewhat of a mystery, but it's common to be in the same calling for 2 - 3 years. And he's exceeded that, so maybe his release will look like a natural, traditional circumstance, which means he has simply served his time and it is somebody else's turn, instead of being related to the VIAGRA scandal! i.e. "kicked out"

{Whew!}

Except our whole church got the email - and already knows!

{Woops.}

SBL

Today is July 15th.

You know what that means?

Summer is half-way over!

Which is impossible because it just barely started!

It just can't be.

I demand a re-count!

But the calendar doesn't lie. I'm wrong, it's right.

(Matt, are you reading this? You're getting a KICK out of that admission, aren't you? :D)

And with Summer being half over, it causes me to ask the question: "How's the SBL going?"

What's an "SBL" you ask?

Because my younger son made the "We haven't even done anything this Summer" comment again recently, I paniced. REALLY? Have we seriously done nothing? I just had to evaluate our "progress" so I pulled out the handy, dandy list. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong [again], (Matt? another kick?) but I was of the understanding that CHECK MARKS meant that something had been completed/accomplished!! And this list has check marks all right.

I guess "We haven't even done anything this Summer" actually means "There hasn't been a constant 3-ring Circus going on around here put on by my personal Recreational Therapist [Mom], therefore, nothing counts!"

But, OH, I think we have had THAT! Having 5 kids in the home full-time again on a daily basis has felt pretty 3-Ring Circus-ish to ME!

I told him he also needs to realize that when he committed to All-Star Baseball, that he also chose to have baseball take up a lot of his Summer!

I am still well aware that we have 50% of Summer left, and 61% of our SBL remains! BUT, 6 of those items are scheduled and guaranteed to happen (barring any natural disasters and/or uncontrollable Murphy's-Law-that-rules-my-life-situations) before the end of this month...and some have been half-way done (like 2 out of the 4 new ice cream places) so they have not earned a bone fide check mark, yet!

As you may recall, we fly by the seat of our pants sometimes, so we've veered off the SBL and done totally different things, too. But, already we're ahead of last year, when we only crossed 8 things off "the list!" (You'll notice my list is much shorter than 2009, and I'll admit, when I made the list (NOT on the 1st Day of Summer), we'd already done some things, but I wrote them down anyway - just so I could check them off! I do that. I'm going for success this time.) :)

*******

What's on your SBL?

My Laundry Responsibilities just Reduced by One Person!

Did you know that if *someone* leaves a red pen in the pocket of their shorts and then sends them through the wash, it "writes" all over all the other clothes that are in that same load of laundry?

I didn't know until it actually happened in my own laundry room this week! Yep, that's exactly what happens. We've got lines of red pen, varying in length, drawn on the family's wardrobe - and of course, it DIDN'T happen to be a red load of wash I was doing at the time - it was light colors, including some striped shirts with white stripes!

Despite my multiple instructions to empty out pockets before sending anything to the wash, this same *someone* has also been know to leave gum, chap stick, papers, money, and various other things in pockets in the past. Now, the money I don't mind (it just takes some drying out) because I have a "finders, keepers" policy when it comes to my laundry duties. But, none of these above mentioned items have wreaked such havoc on the rest of the clothes as this "red pen episode!"

And you know what? It was so bad, that it would take me HOURS to try to recover the clothes in that load. So, you know what I did? I assigned *someone* to "SHOUT it OUT" duty - to spray and scrub every last red pen line on the affected clothes. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. But, I didn't stop there...Oh, no I didn't. You see, it'd become apparent to me that my instructions of proper pre-wash rules were falling upon deaf ears and I suspected these "failure to empty" episodes would reoccur, so I set myself free of that *someone's* laundry. I announced that *someone* was now solely in charge of doing ALL their own laundry - as in, from this day forward. I will provide a "laundry lesson" and then they are on their own. It's their responsibility. They can (or not) wash their own clothes - and ruin them if they so carelessly chose - and then use their own money to buy new clothes to replace the ruined ones.

The ball's now in their court. (I gotta use language *someone* understands!)

After all, it was the summer after my 8th Grade year when I got my official "laundry lesson" and became responsible for doing my entire family's laundry while my mom went on an extended "vacation" - that was 7 people with my mom gone! And I fared just fine. In fact, I was very capable in keeping up with the task. So, no child labor comments will be necessary! :)

As a side note, during this same above mentioned time period, I also got put in charge of doing all the shopping and cooking for the family in my mom's absence. (And tending my siblings all day, every day, but come on, it was my summer vacation and I had friends to see and places to go with them! And besides, I had an older brother & sister who were home - and WHY didn't they have to do anything? I justified.) Because that kind of stuff falls on the middle child, that's why! ;) So, I probably didn't fulfill that responsibility as completely as I could've, but the rest I did. I very much enjoyed taking the weekly money my mom had left for groceries and taking some liberties when I shopped! Oh, yes, to this day I specifically remember buying white bread and whole milk and [frozen] fried chicken at the store - because those were things we hadn't had before! We had wheat bread and skim milk and homemade casseroles at my house. Us kids were giddy about this! And we looked forward to those few extras I threw in each week she was gone that summer. (And it was our little secret!)

So, back to the latest development in me gaining some laundry freedom. It looks like implementing this new policy of *someone* else doing their own laundry happened not a moment too soon!!

Things I've Heard on the Job: #4

Here's some more "On the Phones at JetBlue" snippets:

* During the process of booking a flight for a customer....
Me: "Name, please..."
Customer: no response. silence. nothing.
Thinking he didn't hear me or our phones had cut out...
Me: (more clearly & louder) "What is the name of the customer traveling, please?"
Customer: (pause) "Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out my brother's last name."


* Customer: "Can you look up my reservation for me?"
Me: "Sure. May I have your confirmation number, please?"
Customer: "I don't have it. My name is John Smith."
Me: "I can look it up by your credit card number used to book the reservation instead. May I have that, please?"
Customer: "I don't know it."
Me: "Once you have this information, you're welcome to call us back and we'd be happy to assist you."
Customer: "Just pull up my reservation with my name!" (swearing and/or name calling may or may not have happened following their command.)
Me: "For your safety and privacy we're unable to release any of the information on your itinerary without the confirmation number or the credit card number."
Customer: "OK, just a minute....My confirmation number is ABCDEF."

Wow! Amazing how what was once lost, was now found - so quickly, too!
(That must've been one comfy couch - just too much so to get one's butt off of!)


* In the process of booking a flight for a party of 2, a married couple, I came to the seat assignment step....
Me: "It doesn't look like there are two seats right next to each other available, but we have..."
Customer: "Oh, that doesn't matter.....That might be a good thing.....No sweat off my brow.....I've done it before - it was THE BEST flight I ever had!"


* Customer: "What flights do you have to Florida?"
Me: "We fly to Orlando, Ft. Lauderdale, Jacksonville, West Palm Beach, Sarasota, Fort Myers, and Tampa."
Customer: "Oooooh, Ft. Lauderdale sounds nice."
Me: "Yes, it does."
Customer: "I just gotta get outta here. Permanently. Relocate, ya know. Do you think that'd be a good place to live?"
Me: (nonchalantly) "Sure."
Customer: "I've lived in New York too long. It's a horrible city. I don't wish it on anyone! I was dating this guy and he left me. I had this boss and he fired me. I have NO reason to stay here. It's just a living Hell. All the people go to church and dress nice, then they walk out cursing, beating people up, and everything! They're all a bunch of phonies, nobody's real....!
Me: "Oh, dear..."
Customer: "Yep, it's time, I should go to Florida. That's what I'm going to do. Hey, thanks, doll, you've been a real help with my decision."

REALLY? Just 6 words, such "profound" words at that, made a life-changing decision for her? Maybe I should try that more often in my REAL life! ;)




* At the end of a call....
Male customer: "You're a married girl, right?"
Me: "Correct."
Male customer: (sigh) "I figured....you sound very beautiful and very nice!"
Me: "Thank you."
Male customer: "All the good ones are taken. Your husband's a lucky man!"
(How's THAT for an ego boost to this [speedily] approaching mid-life gal? Actually, not much, because I know he's probably old, bald, short, dirty, nerdy, and farts!) :)

Your Opinion, Please...

What would you do?

Scenario: You're given a per diam, in cash, beforehand, by the company to use while on a business trip to cover food, entertainment, transportation, tips, incidentals, etc.

Would you use it all, do whatever suits your fancy, eat wherever/whatever you please, take the "upgrades," enjoying the liberty of "free money."

OR

Would you use it sparingly, still weighing carefully what everything costs so as NOT to blow it all, because whatever cash amount is left over at the end of the trip is YOURS to pocket [back in real life.]

*This is a real life scenario we're in right now. Can you guess which one I would do and which one Matt would do? :)

Our Quiet Giant

This is my second son, Kyle.

When it comes to this blog, he's kind of been "getting the shaft" lately. OK, so maybe "lately" is putting it lightly - more like this blogs' whole existence. (Up until now, only 2 posts are labeled, "Kyle")

It's not that I play favorites - believe me, I am a middle child and I VOWED to never do that....

It's just that he doesn't do that many stupid things like some others around here.

And he hasn't had a big, important birthday recently.

And he's not into taking "self-portraits."

And let's face it, he's not the baby (who rules our lives.)

So, for those reasons, he simply hasn't "made the blog" much. That's all about to change.

{But wait! Maybe that's his whole point - just lie below the radar! I'll have to think about that - maybe I'm assuming he'd like more "blog time" and he's just trying his darndest to avoid it! Hmmmm.}

Well, whether he likes it or not, I feel Kyle is definitely "Blog Worthy" - and here's why.

He's the one I call for ("Kyle, Help!") when the baby is melting down on the other side of the bathroom door when I'm "using the facilities" because I a) know that he will come when called and b) he can make the baby happy [distracted] enough to forget about me in the bathroom!

He's the one I can ask to do a job - and he'll do it! Sometimes even with a cheerful, "OK, Mom!"

This makes one wonder, maybe he's just really good at appearances? He may be rolling his eyes behind my back, growling inwardly, and wishing I'd leave him alone. Nah! Let me live in denial. I'll say most of the time he's ready & willing to help out.

He's very sensitive to and concerned about his sisters - especially the baby.
Quick story: Kyle volunteered to learn how to change diapers when Miss B was born and he would take care of it if I was tied up doing something else. Well, on one occasion...wait, let me insert a detail here...ya know when a baby's umbilical cord is going through the natural "rotting process" and it gets black and unsightly - and other stuff? Well, Miss B's cord was at that stage. So, on this one occasion, Kyle was changing her diaper and I hear him start crying in my room, so I go back there to see what was wrong.
"Look what happened to her!" he cried. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
I looked at Miss B and she seemed pretty fine to me laying there in her unsnapped onesie. "What's the matter?" I asked, confused.
"I didn't mean to. Is she going to die?" he wailed.
"What? Kyle, tell me WHAT." I pleaded.
"Why did I do THAT? Why did I do that? Oh no, Please no!" he continued.

Turns out, he saw her umbilical cord looking like it was and he was so afraid he had bumped it when lifting up her onesie and made it go like that. And because it was so grody looking, he thought the worse. He thought it was just the beginning of her whole body withering and dying. He was completely traumatized and heart broken to think he'd harmed her!
That's where the "GIANT" part of the title comes in.
I was so glad to be able to tell him he'd done nothing bad, that it was suppose to look like that. (After that he decided to take a break from diapers until the cord fell off completely, though!)

He doesn't scream around home much, doesn't punch/hit much, doesn't sass his parents much, doesn't bring negative attention to himself much - in fact, he doesn't talk much, period!
That's where the "QUIET" part of the title comes in.
CASE IN POINT: I went to his school for the 5th Grade's "Wax Museum" of people from the American Revolution. I thought we were just going there to LOOK - like the Maddam Trousseau's Wax Museums around the world. Imagine my surprise when it was MUCH MORE than that. My boy delivered a whole speech - memorized, and IN CHARACTER - in front of his peers and the crowd of spectators (gasp!) (He doesn't [like] doing that!) He never even told me he'd be reciting a part! Good thing I happened to bring my camera to the "Wax Museum" that day to document history in the making! (He spoke for an entire paragraph - or more) :)

But, he DOES get laughing...HARD! As in falls-out-of-his-chair laughing. It's great.

He's one I want to have around when I get stranded on an island when my plane goes down in the ocean and I have to swim to land - did I just say that I would swim? (I just watched the movie, Rescued, OK? Pretty poor acting, BTW) so he can start me a fire, and we'd survive.

It is fun to watch him play sports.Here he is on 3rd Base after hitting a triple the other night.

(I completely missed getting a photo of the hit - dang camera delay! He was outta there by the time I got the shot).

But now the "Rec" season is over (boo, hoo!) Good thing we've got All-Stars coming up so we can still see him play more games.

He is a "self-starter" (and completer) on homework and gets up and makes his bed and dresses each day without reminding/hounding/ordering.

But, he does have a problem with staying out of the Redi-Whip in the fridge when I am saving it for a Special Occasion! Grrrr! :)

I TRUST him totally with tending my girls - more than other babysitters who are a year or two (or three or four years) older than he. Because he "gets them" and he LOVES them - OK, maybe he just tolerates them!

Which brings me to my next thought - he should get automatic Sainthood for being in charge of making sure his sister gets to and from school everyday [by foot or on bike]. He stays calm (only sometimes shakes his head and sighs) and he sticks with her through her crying, screaming, refusing to move, hitting, ranting, tardiness, and any other behavior she sees fit to torture him with. (He must be his father's son!)

He's ready for adventure.

He's good to "go along for the ride."

He's got "Bedtime Integrity." He knows when his bedtime is and he goes to bed at that time. He doesn't "forget" or wait to be told. Basically, if he doesn't get IN his bed at that time [when his body's tired], he'll just fall asleep wherever he is, anyway, so he might as well be comfy IN bed.
He's a little walking Sports Encyclopedia. I'm sure the #23 he put on his Easter Egg signifies some athlete. In fact, he could tell you ALL the players who have ever worn that number, past & present.

Sometimes when he tells me something I think is really funny, and I laugh, he'll ask, "Are you gonna put that on the blog?" I'm not sure if he's asking in hope or in fear! If it's the latter, he's going to be mortified by this post! :)

The Stink Eye and a Shake of the Head

You know what really bugs me?

People who are not relatable, at all. Like your "Aunt" who had 19 children (Oh. Hi Michelle Duggar) but then they left home and she forgot all about how it was like to have little ones in the house until YOU came to visit with your small children and she was like, "Don't touch that! Oh, no, not there! That's my expensive china/brand new couch/special blinds. Let's have your kids use this bathroom. Do you always let little Sally talk to you like that? My kids never did that!"

CASE IN POINT:

Last Sunday we were not at home, so we attended church in a different city, a very small city in the middle of nowhere. A BONA FIDE Hick Town, would be exactly accurate. The building itself was probably 100 years old, or more...which most likely played a part in it's poor acoustics. Which is WHY when my daughter started crying OUT LOUD approximately 5.7 seconds after we sat down in the chapel, it was a big problem! Not just a problem because this is my 8-yr. old daughter (when will it stop?), who was crying because she didn't get a seat by her Dad (R.I.D.I.C.U.L.O.U.S!) but also a problem because she could be heard all around (and then again a couple of seconds later with the echo in the place! And because the crying was constant, so was the echoing.)

The row behind me stopped their conversation to look
"That's One," I whispered. We now had the row behind me's attention.

She kept at it.

"That's Two," I warned. The people one row back were watching our every move.

She made no effort to stop.

"That's Three. We're going out," I informed her. As I could FEEL the stares of those behind me burning into my back.

This announcement only made her volume increase (which made removing her from the chapel even more necessary) and her resolve to stay put stronger. She didn't move an inch. I put my hand on her arm to guide her out and she resisted with all her might. Still crying - out loud - and now trying to swat away my hand, vocally protesting her "fate."

What a great First Impression we were making on that congregation! They were probably thinking, "Oh no, a new family from h--- just moved in!"

My guiding hand turned into a grab-her-by-the-bicep hand in order to force her out, whether her feet were touching the ground or not.

Once we got to the foyer, all eyes out there were on us to see what was the commotion. Of course, all couches and chairs were taken by others, so I led her up some nearby stairs for her "Time Out." (still crying). Very shortly after that, one of the women who had previously been occupying one of the foyer chairs came walking over and looked up the staircase at us, said nothing, just spied on us. (still crying). I took that as a cue that we were not wanted there, so I moved my daughter around the corner and up the stairs further. Well, this church has an open balcony upstairs that overlooks the "overflow seating" for the Sacrament Meeting down below. I thought maybe while she was "cooling off," I could go stand by the balcony railing and listen/watch the meeting. But, the multiple looks up that I got from those sitting down below in the overflow led me to learn that she could be heard from there, as well. (still crying). Time for PLAN C. I took her back downstairs, passed the spy lady, and walked down the hall looking for a classroom - out of the way - that could buffer her noise/disruption. I turned to look back toward the foyer, and there's spy lady watching my every move, giving me the "stink eye." I found a room for my daughter and put her in it and moved back out to the hall. Well, this created a BIG objection (in the form of louder crying) from my girl, which, in turn, created a BIG look of disapproval from spy lady down the hall. I finally told her that I'd have to shut the door so no one could hear her - and I was one of those who didn't want to listen to crying, so I was going to wait on the other side of the door. To which she reacted by banging on the door after it was closed. Lovely. At this point, spy lady had gotten herself a friend to tell about the "public disgrace" that had come to their church, and they were both standing there, whispering and shaking their heads, while staring us down (well, me since my daughter was out of view, in the room.)

So, there you have it, the Stink Eye and the Shake of the Head from "Ms. Perfect," I'm sure. "Perfect" only because either a) She's never had children (or as many, or with the same circumstances) or b) She can't remember a dang thing about how it really is to have children and she's fooled herself into believing she did it all "right."

Eventually, my daughter DID get herself under control, so she came out of the room and joined me in the hall, where we waited to take the Sacrament before returning to the Chapel (where she was very good the rest of the meeting, sitting between her brother and myself - that kind of behavior doesn't earn her a seat next to Dad!)

But, while we were still standing in the hall waiting, daughter quiet & calm, spy lady had returned to her chair in the foyer, and she had a straight-on view of us. And there she sat, all straight-backed, with good posture, ankles crossed and positioned to the side - like a queen on her throne - that's what she thought she was: The Queen of raising up "perfectly behaved children." Doesn't she know that's an OXYMORON?!? And you know what? She was still looking at us, but this time smiling - not a friendly smile, but a patronizing smile like "Look how cool and composed I am during church sitting here on my throne (never mind that I'm with no children to test me) while you're down there totally uncool, with steam coming out of your ears, and a less than pleasant countenance - and now the subject of our foyer gossip!"

She watched us like that until we left her view and entered back into the Chapel - it's like she was just waiting for us to screw up again - and then as we passed her, she gave us a look like we had real gall to take our "potential disturbance" back into this place of worship.

Well, at least we were IN the meeting instead of out in the hall passing judgement on other less-than-perfects!

Coming Full Circle

I took my oldest and three of his friends to EFY [Especially For Youth] today. It's hard to believe that one of my very own offspring is now attending EFY - one of the highlights of my youth. I am a 4-Year EFY-er. (the maximum number of years you could attend back then). An "EFY alumni," if you will. Back in my carefree EFY years, I never imagined I'd be bringing my own children one day. (Since I didn't think much past my next cute-boy-spotting!)

After re-reading the Dress and Appearance Code last night, I got concerned that they wouldn't allow Ryan in because he needs a haircut and his hair is growing over the tops of his ears right now and the code said that tucking hair behind ears to make them visible was not acceptable. And because of the late hour, guess who was performing a last minute trim on him this morning before taking him? ME! Whew, he made it!

As I walked the boys in to pick up their "first day packets," I felt the EFY energy! All the friendly counselors greeting & directing us, the theme music playing, the boys & girls checkin' each other out, etc. etc. I was so excited for them, but they all tried to act CASUAL and hang way back behind me, so as not to be spotted with a parent!! Heaven forbid!
I didn't need to sign anything and there was no reason for me to stick around, but is it bad that I kind of wanted to?! ;)

So, of course, it took me down Memory Lane and I pulled out the good 'ol scrapbooks to check out my own EFY history. It all started in 1984. I wasn't actually 14 yrs. old YET, but I was allowed in since I would be turning 14 a month after EFY. A combination of being a "first-timer" and my young age, I didn't take a camera that year, so I have no photos. But, I do have this distinct memory...the friend I was with met a boy there (never mind that she had a "boyfriend" back home) and after one of the dances, on the way back to our apartment, he kissed her....and what d'ya know, but she got a cold sore the next day! And then she had some explaining to do to her "boyfriend" at the end of the week. :)

The photos start the next year...in 1985

Then I went again in 1986. (Apparently, they didn't have the staunch dress code back then or else my friend, Melissa, wouldn't have been able to wear that tank dress - at BYU! What a scandal!) ;)

And my last & final [boo hoo!] year - 1987.

{Was the entire top of my head bangs?!}

I really liked that boy to my left. I thought he was so cool at the time, BUT notice him and his friend (the boy to my right) - they brought matchy, matchy clothes & glasses-on-a-chain to wear together! And they did that all week! That's how we could always spot them on campus (and believe me, we were always on the lookout for them!) Why didn't my 16, almost 17 yr. old self think that was at all weird? I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, maybe I've lost all my cool now, but....I think that's quite dorky - bordering on creepy!

Through the years, I've told Ryan that he could go to EFY when he was 14 and I talked it all up telling him it was "SO FUN," but without having actually experienced it, he couldn't appreciate my enthusiasm for it. And truthfully, he wasn't really all that convinced that he wanted to go. (Aahh, the horror!) More than once, he's inferred that I'm "making him" go. He really wasn't happy when his post-season baseball tournament got pushed back to this week because of our weather-challenged Spring and consequent postponements which meant he'd have to miss these all-important games.

BUT..., But..., my friends..., my oldest just reported to me on his first day of EFY....and HE. LOVED. IT! He thought it was "SO FUN!" He had a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye, a gleefulness in his voice, and a spring in his step! And the good news is, there's four more days left where that came from!

That's my boy! :)

Facing My Fears

I got in the pool for the first time today.
{Sorry, no photo available...Or maybe I should say, You're Welcome!}

To attempt swimming.

Like REAL swimming.

As in the kind of swimming I don't do - the kind that requires me to be in water deeper than I am tall AND to put my face IN the water. The kind that I'm at risk for drowning while trying!

I don't do it because I am totally afraid of it!

Totally afraid of it because of a traumatic experience I had back in grade school that completely negated ALL those years of swimming lessons my Mom had put me through!

GONE! Gone is everything I ever learned swimming-wise because I suffer from a psychological block in that department.

I alluded to this problem briefly in my "100th Post" last year that featured 100 things about me, but here's what happened in detail:

{Insert the mysterious movie music at this point}

My family was at an event in a big park. It must have been a Company activity or maybe a group of my parents' friends, since I didn't know a lot of the people in attendance. A bunch of us kids there kind of migrated together, wondered off from the adults, started playing and found some things to do.

There was this canal/cement-lined ditch of sorts that we discovered running through the park that had some water flowing down it. As is frequently the case with kids, we were drawn to the water. Water is a "Kid-magnet" I tell you - they just can't leave it alone! It's true now and it was true back then. It all started out casually, just throwing some grass and sticks into the flowing water and watching them float on down the canal. Then the next thing we knew we were dipping our feet in the water. Which turned into us actually standing IN the water. The water was only about up to our ankles, so no biggie. We then started trying to make dams with our hands, then with sticks and stones, then with our bodies, by sitting down in the ditch and putting our legs out straight to the other side. You get the picture, little by little we were getting more & more into the water. Pretty soon we decided it would make a good water slide if you sat down on the slippery [moss-lined] cement bottom and took a ride down the canal. We only rode 50 feet or so and then we'd climb out onto the banks, walk back up to the starting point and do it again. It really was a lot of fun! And the adults had no idea we were doing this. I, myself, did it many times! Some of the other kids started leaving, but a few of us stayed, taking turns down our "water slide."

And then came that final near-fatal run....

I started riding down, as usual, enjoying myself. I'm not sure if, some kids upstream were still making (& releasing) dams or if at that time of day the water naturally started flowing stronger, or what, but it was starting to be a very fast "water slide" ride.

The water swept me away on my usual 50 foot ride at tremendous speed. I attempted to get out at our own specified "finish line" mark, but I couldn't stop! I tried to stand, but I was just pushed down again by the water. The kids on the bank surely saw the look of terror on my face and started yelling, "Get out! Get out!" as they were running along beside me. I looked for something to grab on to - there was nothing - nothing but wimpy grass/weeds that broke off when I grabbed on. I tried one side and then the other - nothing sturdy to reach for on either side of the bank. And I just kept cruising down the canal. The fear. OH, the fear! The reason we had gotten out at that 50 foot mark in the first place, was because this canal emptied into an underground water reservoir of some sort. The running water from the canal dropped off, maybe 3 feet, into an area that had cement walls on all sides AND a cement ceiling - so it was kind of like a cement room. A cement room that anyone who kept going down, and didn't get out, would be whisked into only to become a prisoner until death! I could only imagine what happened to the water once it got in there...went down a scary, dark, gross, drain infested with rats/snakes/deadly spiders/poisonous creatures?!? A drain that would suck a young person, like myself, towards and prevent me from staying above the surface until a rescuer came. But, how would a rescuer even be able to get in & out of this underground "cement room?" And then there was the possibility of the water rising so much that there would be no air space between the top of the water and the cement ceiling. So, even if a person could tread water for that long, and avoided the high suctioned drain, there was NO WAY for them to keep their head above water. So, pretty much, if a person got in there....there was NO surviving it! Drowning was inevitable!! And here I was approaching my final DOOM! Coming speedily right into the mouth of my killer. The fear. OH, the fear!

I tried to escape, I just couldn't. I made one futile attempt after another to get out - the water was just stronger than I.

I saw the trees lining the banks just zooming on by. As total desperateness took over, it all became a blur, the kids yelling to me, the other kids running, the scenery flashing by.

Can you say, "Heart Racing?"

I remember thinking, This is it. This is my last moment on earth. So, this is how I will die. I am going to drown!

In a last ditch effort, I reached over with both of my hands to one side and dug my fingers into the muddy bank. I can still see in my mind's eye the trail of lines in the mud that my fingers made as the water continued to push me down that blasted "water slide." I was running out of ideas. I was running out of time! But, if I was taught anything in my youth, I was taught this: I. WILL. NOT. GIVE. UP!

I tried to dig deeper into the mud, it felt like the tips of my fingers were rubbing raw, but even that resistance was unable to stop me, but....

...but, it was able to slow my speed just a bit....

...just enough for the kids running along side me to catch up to me, keep up with my "pace" and to reach out their hands to me...

I didn't know if letting off my "finger brakes" in the mud would send me rushing down the canal too fast again. Should I reach up and take one of their hands?

What did I have to lose? I was currently on the Fast Track to my demise.

I compromised. I took one hand out of the mud and left one in. I did start going faster again which made it difficult for the kids' hand and my hand to connect.

I had almost reached the underground cement room.

Someone grabbed my hand. I was dragging them with me. More blur...kids yelling, hands reaching, pulling, [short] life flashing before my eyes.

Amongst the commotion, I did hear one of them say, "Give me both your hands!"

I was SOOOO close to the underground drop off. I took a leap of faith and let go of the mud with my other hand, reached up, and with a collective effort of all those kids, they somehow pulled me out - JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME!

I layed on the bank of the canal for a while - totally spent!

Eventually, we walked back to the oblivious adults and told them what happened.
And then we went home.

{End dramatic movie music here}


And I have never been able to swim since!

Because my mom was sick of hearing me say I couldn't swim, she made me take swimming lessons again before I was allowed to get my Driver's License. You've heard of some boys being required to get their Eagle Scout Award before they can get their Driver's License - that's what my brothers had to do....Me? I had to take swimming lessons. (Not sure if any of my sisters ever had to do anything to earn that prize?) So, there's 16 yr. old me in a class with all these other kids no older than 8! Let's just add trauma on top of trauma, why don't we? I'll just say no progress was made in breaking my psychological block!

So, here we are today, 30 years after the near-drowning experience that ended my swimming career and I'm training for a Triathlon.

As in RUN. BIKE. SWIM.

Which requires me to SWIM!

And did I mention, I can't swim?

Every time I think about it, I almost cry! Seriously.

But, here's my mantra, "I Can Do Hard Things."

It's time to face my 30-Year Old FEAR! In fact, let's just get rid of it.

I don't give my kids a pass from doing hard things. All the time they're faced with things they've never done before. Things they're not comfortable with. Things they have to work for. Things they're not particularly good at. And it's good for them to see me doing it too.
I was always bugged by all those moms who wouldn't ever do anything with us kids. Wouldn't get in the pool. Wouldn't ride the wave runner. Wouldn't go on any hikes. Wouldn't play tennis. Wouldn't run races. Wouldn't water ski. (Ironically, I got to be a pretty good water skier back in the day, BUT you do that with a LIFE JACKET! Do you think they would allow those in the Triathlon?) Anyway, you get the picture....I didn't want to be one of those moms who quit doing anything non-Mom-ish when they became a Mom.
It's not like I've never done anything hard. I do. A lot, actually.
It's just that THIS is the Grand Daddy of all hard things [for me.] (And then none of my kids would ever have any excuse ever again!)

OR you could just blame it on that BIG Birthday I have coming up this year - a "midlife crisis" of sorts. I've gotta prove I'm NOT old, ya know! ;) 10 years ago, on that BIG Birthday (which now seems totally young to me!) I ran a marathon to prove I wasn't old. But, this time, I dare say will be even harder, even MORE of a challenge. And don't get me wrong, the marathon [& training] was very hard, but it had been a long time goal of mine, I had visualized myself doing it one day - it was not something that I had ever deemed, "impossible" like I have swimming!

Have I told you lately that I don't [can't] swim?

Last year I got myself a swimmer and did the Triathlon as a Relay.
This year, I'm doing it all on my own!

Gulp!

So, now I have a date with the pool 4X a week for the next 10 weeks. This morning when I got up and remembered that today was the day I was going to the pool, I about cried.

But, I went anyway. And took my time keeper, Katelyn (and for moral support!) The water felt surprisingly warm! A nice welcome. And on the positive side, half the length of the pool was in a depth I could touch the bottom.

I started with a "side stroke." Pretty much a doggie paddle on my side - no face-in-the-water required. Down & back. Two minutes down, just 10 more to go! I did it, but my heart was a-pumpin'! Only thing is, that stroke is not really what people do in Triathlons. But, it's about baby steps, right?!?

Next, I did the back stroke. Also, a no-face-in-the-water required choice. Also, not a typical Triathlon stroke. But, my heart was sure getting a workout! Was it from the strenuous exercise OR was I having a physical reaction to my psychological problem? Or worse, a heart attack?

And then my friend arrived. I figured it was time for the real thing - the front crawl. I told her I was expecting her to save me, if neccessary. I watched the others around me. Arm, arm, breathe. Right, left, breathe. Reach, reach, breathe. OK...deep breath...Go! I pushed off from the wall and started....and ran into the lane rope...and corrected myself...and ran into the lane rope again...and corrected myself... Once I made it to the other end, my friend informed me it might be easier if I swam with my eyes OPEN! Oh.....well, then I would be aware of what I was doing and where I was, and I'm not so sure I was OK with that! :)

In the end, I did a total of 3 laps of front crawl - well, my version of it, I don't know if you'd call it that. I do know that there was a whole lotta of sputtering going on...sorry to whoever used the pool after I did - what they don't know, won't hurt them, right? So, just picture that person in the pool, splashin' around, with their hair all in their face & eyes, gasping for air...and that was ME today! By no means was it pretty, BUT, I'm here to tell about it - I didn't drown!

Why does HE make it look so easy?

Him.

Me.

Him.

Me.

What's wrong with this picture?

Man, my heart still is sore! I have a feeling it wasn't just from the cardio, it was the psychological and emotional exertion as well.

And I'm going back again tomorrow! (I just gotta figure out how to hold my hair back better.)