Have you heard the story about my Friends?

School begins again for my four not-so-little-anymore monkeys in just a little over a week. As the first day approaches I always find myself thinking about all those first days I had, several of them being at new schools. Between preschool and senior year I had the joyous opportunity to go to seven schools in five cities. I was usually the quiet kid in the back of an advance placement class hoping no one connected me to my uber-smart and social younger sister or my extremely outspoken mom.
I had a close friend at each school and tried to hover in their social circle but never really felt like I fit in. This pattern has stayed true through most of my adult life as well, keeping one close friend and hovering around another crowd. I've never felt that I had "lots" of friends... until tonight.
In the first quiet moments I've had all summer, it hit me that the central theme of my entire last year has been friendship. I have had amazing, dare I say life changing moments, connecting with new and reconnecting with old and dear friends. The funny thing is I owe most of it to this crazy internet! Thanks to Facebook I've rekindled friendships with teachers I had in grade school and 5th grade time capsule friends; been able to cheer on middle school friends as their newborn underwent surgery; found, hiding in his hermit cave, one of my favorite high school friends; seen pictures of friend's weddings and children even though they live many states away; and kept in touch with my military wife friends who's husbands are still serving diligently.
I've also made friends in unexpected ways, like the wife of my sister's high school friend that has been mo-tivational in her drive for a healthier lifestyle; the friends of friends in the Autism community all around the country supporting each other as we watch our children struggle and succeed.
My job as the manager of a bridal shop has been another unexpected way that I've made new friends this last year, specifically with our revolving door of new employees. There are currently five incredible ladies that I work with, but five others have come and gone, none of which I would ever have bumped into in my "regular" life. It's been a difficult thing for me to learn how to juggle being in charge and still being a friend, I've learned a lot about myself because of this. Working with brides has been a bit of an eye opener to me on friendship also. Seeing those girls that wholeheartedly support their friends and then the others who tear down every choice the bride makes.
All of these little moments have made me more aware, and even appreciative, of who I am. Here's what I discovered: I am smart, I am funny, I am determined, I am cautious, I over think things, I am creative, I am an author, I am a musician, I am generous, I love history, I am allergic to much, I am not as healthy as I'd like to be, I am daring, I am a wife and mother, I like order, I don't like flying, I still get car sick, I love to laugh, I am a dancer, I like to talk in funny accents, I get tongue tied, I love to read, I like to build things, I have survived great challenges and I am prepared for more.
Who'd have thought it would have taken 35 years to figure this all out. So next time you see me, if I seem to stand a little taller and look a little happier its because I know you are my friend... which makes you just as amazing as me.

Have you heard the story about Tessera? part 1

As a grade schooler living in Spokane I was lucky enough to participate in the the Tessera program. It is similar to Kennewick's KOG and Richland's Gate programs... but, in my humble opinion, so much better.
To gain entrance, second grade students take a test to rate their academic, intellectual and creative ability. Those in the top 3% (yes, I was that awesome even at age 7!) of the district are invited to participate, but participation is always voluntary. From third grade through sixth I spent one day a week at Tessera (in a school across town) learning with a group of students from all over the district. The rest of the school week was spent with my regular classes.
My particular neighborhood, and thus elementary school, was much closer to the bottom rung of the social and economic ladder than the top. Yet there were about twenty students from our school that enjoyed the benefits of learning at Tessera.
I loved this weekly field trip and looked forward to the creative projects we worked on. One year was spent studying Japan, another Egypt (I had big plans to be an archaeologist after that!), another on creative writing, and in fifth grade we dreamed of the future.
In May of 1986 my little class of roughly twenty students hiked a trail along the Spokane River and buried a time capsule. We filled it full of our hopes for the future, sketches of what we thought that future may bring, letters to ourselves, an audio tape of our voices, and a trinket special to each of us. After counting our steps we drew what we expected to be a useful map and made plans to return to the site at noon on July 4th, 2010.
I had the honor of joining a few of my fellow classmates last weekend as we searched for our little hidden treasure. Wade, Jonica, Shauna, Vaughn, Aaron, Garrett (via phone call from France) and I laughed as we wandered the trail with our families. Two of our favorite teachers, Linda Andrews and Jayce Keeling, were also able to attend making it even more enjoyable. We discovered that we were not meant to be cartographers! Our humble map seemed to match a few locations but none contained our precious time capsule. As sad as we were about that, it was wonderful to renew old friendships and remember a time when life seemed so much simpler.
This last week I've thought a lot about those long ago times and friendships left in other cities. For me, that Spring was a turning point in my life, when innocence was lost and reality set in. The next year brought many changes- a move from the big city to the mountains as well as the loss of my youngest sister and favorite gandfather. Other changes were more internal and stirred by my participation in Tessera (see part 2).
So, while we may not have found our time capsule we were able to rediscover great friendships and long forgotten moments of our youth. That's better than any hidden treasure.

Have you heard the story about Rook and Kickball?

My siblings and I, like most families, are very competitive and love to play games when ever we get together. Dad was the main instigator in our gaming passion, but it was years before we realized just how integral he was in how we played the game.
When I was in high school I'd have friends over for game nights and it didn't take long to notice I was playing every game all wrong. You see, regular rules aren't good enough for my dad. He rewrote the rules to Risk because it wasn't challenging enough. Yes, our game board has hand written numbers on each country signifying how many pieces you must have to retain control and the animal characters have been aptly named Flipper and Moby Dick.
Rook is by far the game of choice for each family gathering but again, we don't play like "normal" people. I've been told that we follow the rules of Oh Heck, but never having played that game I can't be sure. My dad has a complicated scoring system that calculates the number of tricks you've bid with the number of cards dealt to create a magic number. What this really means is that he's the only person who can keep score and far too often has a top score.
Being a family of geeks and Trekkies, we aren't usually into sporting activities. The one exception is kickball. Some of my favorite summer memories are of my sisters and I dodging the ball when dad tried to get us out. Tried, who am I kidding? He had much better aim than we had sense of direction!
Over Memorial weekend we gathered the whole family in the park behind dad's house and had a mega game of kickball. Twelve kids and ten adults make for some interesting plays. It's fun to have a nine year old pitching, a two year old rounding the bases (whether it's his turn or not) and grandpa heckling grandma while she prepares to kick. I chose to not remember who won the kickball game, after all it really only matters that we got to play.
We've been lucky enough to have several game nights this summer, with more siblings in town than at random intervals as well as our favorite Uncle Mark and Aunt Deb. I'm glad we had extra time together, but sad that a few are going their separate ways again soon. I guess summer fun has to end sometime, but I'll keep the Rook cards handy.

(updated 8/21/10)

Have you heard the story about Newport?

On my 12th birthday my family moved to Newport. No not that Newport, or even that one, but Newport Washington. A small town about an hour north of Spokane, an hour and a half south of Canada, and across the street from Idaho.
Until last week I hadn't been back in several years, mostly because life is constantly moving but in part because it's a hard place for me to be. I don't know many people that didn't struggle through middle school and I was no exception. For me it was another new school combined with being 15 miles from civilization and friends.
I loved the land though. My mom owns twelve acres at the top of a mountain with a beautiful view. There's a creek, the start of the Spokane River, that runs alongside her property and enough evergreens to get lost for days.
A decade ago there was an old trappers cabin on the lower edge of the grounds where I used to escape when the trauma of being thirteen got to be too much. A county road project accidentally left the cabin under five feet of dirt a few years ago. My sisters and I used to target practice from the front porch and I have to say I was a pretty good shot.
Newport is a rare place where the ability to make deer jerky is commonplace and little girls (like my sister) aren't frowned upon for having animal skulls as pets. The local movie theater only plays one movie each weekend, but they make a grand production of it!
There are good memories of girls camp and cabaret mixed in there as well. Swimming and fishing in the Pend Orielle River, rollerskating in Sandpoint, performing my first on stage solos.
So much of this little town has stayed the same in twenty years though... maybe that was why it's hard for me to go back, I'm not the same. Back then I was shy and nervous, constantly worried I'd say or do the wrong thing. I like to think that I've found my footing in this world now, that I'm able to stand tall for myself, my family, and my beliefs. Newport was only my home for two years, but those years forever changed who I am.

4 Stitches and a Butterknife

I won the contest today, not any I planned to enter but one I have a talent for winning. The Emergency Room Story of the Day contest. I also have a second hidden talent for turning seemingly innocent Thursdays into days no one wants to repeat... ever.
But lets back up to where the story really begins. I'm going to blame my sister Marcia, as any good sister should. On Monday, Marcia hosted a President's Day party. We are both known for our creative reasons to have a party, so her great idea was to have everyone dress as a political figure and bring a snack. Sounds simple right? The kids and I had decent plans for costumes: Alex as Lincoln, Geoff as Roosevelt, Spencer as Washington, Madi as Maria Shriver (complete with dark circles under her eyes and constant fish face) and myself as Sarah Palin.
Then I made a batch of brownies. In the chaos of creating Lincoln's hat and George's quilt batting hair I forgot to spray the brownie pan, leaving them slightly burned to the glass. The middles were edible enough that I've been nibbling on them for days but the edges were rocks. Tonight as I was prepping to make dinner I decided to finally chisel out the rest of the burnt parts. That was my mistake.
I learned a very valuable lesson: A butterknife is indeed sharp enough to slice through flesh. In my case, sharp enough to leave an inch long cut just below and between the knuckles of my first 2 fingers on the palm of my left hand.
I proud of my kids for quickly responding, making a few phone calls to get hubby home and an uncle to babysit and not totally freaking that mom was pouring blood everywhere. Once I made it beyond the waiting room of the ER things went great as well, Kadlec employs a few of my new favorite nurses and doctors. This is the point where I was informed I was the story of the day. I even beat out the teen a while back that got bit by a squirrel.
Four stitches (and only minimal flinching and wimpering) later and I have lost use of my left hand for the next 10 days. But I have a great story and an even better scar!

Have you heard the story about Tessera? -part 2

On April 26th of 1986 there was an accident at the Chernobyl nuclear reactor. I'm not sure if it was already planned but our Tessera topic for the following school year became the Soviet Union. That fall we learned Origami and sent 1,000 paper cranes to a Russian city. This was quite a feat considering we only met for four and a half hours once a week. We also re-enacted history of the country, learned to speak some basic Russian, and made foods and toys similar to those they had.
At the end of the school year our class decided to hold a peace march, planning to walk from Lincoln Park all the way across town to Riverfront Park. On the big day it rained, a lot, causing a smaller turn out than we'd hoped for. Somehow we still managed a modest little march through town.
Our class had also invited members of City Hall, but none came. We made plans to go to the next City Hall meeting and ask why. Looking back I can't believe I actually did this! When it came time for their next meeting I was shocked that there were protesters outside picketing against assisting those that had been injured in Chernobyl. In my youthfulness I was naive to the bitterness between our two countries. Inside I realized that only my family had come to the meeting, none of my fellow students had made it. When it was my turn to speak the panel stared at me blankly, seeming confused that I had dreamed to ask them to attend my little peace rally.
I have no memory of what I said, just of standing alone at a microphone surrounded by imposing adults. The idea of a Russian Sister City came was presented and the council agreed to take steps to make it happen. It took a while for them to work out the details but by the next fall Spokane was officially Sister Cities with Mahachkalah Azerbaijan. They flew in their city's Mayor, with whom I was able to speak with out a translator, a moment I will never forget. He gave my sisters and I each a piece of Russian Onyx jewelry, mine being a beautiful bracelet.
This was an experience I wouldn't trade for the world. Sadly this sister city relationship is no longer, likely due to the breakup of the Soviet Union. But for a small space in time one little girl with a big dream was able to make a difference.
My fascination with Russia has never waned and led me to take Russian Language courses in high school. I'll admit there aren't many words clearly left in my vocabulary but the few I remember are still fun to through out from time to time. Who doesn't like to call someone a big silly elephant occasionally? Funny thing is my husband's new job requires him to learn Russian and possibly travel there soon. And so it seems those random little bits of the past really do lead to bigger things.

Have you heard the story about my celebrity connections?

Last night was a night of television Doug and I have looked forward to with great anticipation. It was the return of Chuck. This has become one of our top shows with some of the best geek references and the perfect balance of comedy and action. Some of you may remember the affable Zachary Levi in his earlier days as Kipp on Less than Perfect. When that show first aired we were still living the Navy life on a base in central California. A close friend of ours named Jake was quick to bring up that he had gone to school with Mr. Levi in Ventura CA and talked often of their high school escapades. It was fun to think we knew someone who knew someone.
Doug has a funny story about a brush with fame in the mess hall of an aircraft carrier. He was working nights at the time and was eating his "breakfast" when most of the sailors were eating dinner. As he ate, the Goo Goo Dolls walked past his table. Johnny Rzeznik paused just long enough to say "what are you eating? Eggs, sausage, pancakes? That's crazy man, you're having breakfast for dinner!"
Until recently, my own celebrity run-ins haven't been nearly as exciting. When I was around ten I met Jerry Lewis. I'm sure I have a few facts jumbled, but my memory claims that my step-brother was a poster child for a muscular dystrophy telethon in Spokane at the time. Mr. Lewis seemed much cooler in '85 and was even kind enough to shake my hand.
I have been watching 30Rock since it first aired and think Tina Fey is the funniest lady on tv since Jane Curtain. As this season began the stories hovered around the new actor on their fake show and I was quickly drawn into the silliness of the other actors trying to ensure the new guy wasn't better than them. When the new character was introduced I thought, funny... he looks familiar, kind of like someone I know but I'm sure it's my imagination. Three episodes later he sang and I knew. His name is Cheyenne Jackson and I went to Jr. High with him in little known Newport WA. Our Jr. High was one hall of the high school and supported roughly 100 students. Needless to say everyone knew everyone else and we all knew Cheyenne was talented. He ate lunch with me and my little click of girl friends on the floor of the hallway, was a genuine friend to me as I struggled through all those wonderful middle school maladies, and even shared a song or two with me during performances. He's earned every bit of his success and I'm very happy for him.
So tonight I will watch another episode of Chuck, think of our good friend Jake in California and smile. I'm sure he'll be watching too and remembering good times with an old friend.

Have I told you the story about my husband?

As I sat here tonight contemplating my topic of the day, I had many topics to choose from. I could have written about my obsessive color disorder (yes, it is that severe), or about the fantastic bridal show I was at today and all the wonderful ladies I met, or about nicknames (a topic of discussion today), or about another random childhood event. But when asking my husband which to choose Doug quickly suggested I talk about how cool he is. So here goes.
My husband is awesome. He's the perfect combination of quirky humor, immense data base of movie trivia, and just design savvy enough to keep up with me. Doug is also a very talented artist, something he does not often share. He has created quite a portfolio of graphic works but very few people realize he's just as good with a pencil as he is with a mouse. This also means he is very understanding about my own creativity and need for design outlets.
He is also a lover of all things literature and historical. Over the last nearly sixteen years together we have amassed quite a collection of classic books, a few nearly 100 yrs old! Homer, Dickens, Steinbeck, Melville, Twain, Shakespear, Poe, Hawthorne, Emerson, and Dumas are just a few of the great finds we've collected. We love to scavenge thrift stores and antique shops for great finds. Biographies, books on other countries, and early American history are other favorites. We have books on the Mayan culture, Einstein, Mt. Vesuvius, and Marilynn Monroe.
Doug is also a very patient and forgiving husband. I have a habit of participating in a few more things than I really have time for, but Doug is always willing to work around the randomness of my schedule and help pick up the slack. He keeps the kids on task when I work Saturdays, making sure the house is cleaner when I come home than when I left. He forgives me for not cooking meat more than once a week and rarely anything more exciting than chicken. He being the only member of our household not allergic to beef and pork means those are special treats usually reserved for our once a year date or a holiday with extended family.
He's also self deprecating enough to laugh at himself and not laugh at me too much harder. My own clumsiness is slightly out-shined by his "broke my nose walking into a volleyball net" and "got a concussion jumping a bike off car ramps" stories.
Did I mention we started dating because he was my dance partner when we were both performing in the Richland Light Opera production of Meet Me in St. Louis? He was the only guy in the chorus taller than me (and that could figure out the dance steps!) and we were engaged by closing night.
I'm pretty lucky. A lot of people were very surprised when we first got married, we were so young and didn't seem to have a lot in common. I think we are a perfect match. My husband is pretty amazing. Awvu, Doug!

Have you heard the story about Star Trek?

I admit it freely, I'm a geek. But I blame my parents. After all, isn't that what they're for?
My dad is a child of the '60s and knower of all things Star Trek. In high school I warned boyfriends not to be afraid of him. He won't laugh and probably won't smile, I'd tell them. But that's just because he's Vulcan. There were endless family jokes about "the rock" and the "piece of foil" used in every original episode. Once a week dinner was in the family room (against mom's will) so we could watch The Next Generation. We even suffered through DS9 together, if only because it was still part of the Star Trek family.
My husband had an easy in with my dad right from the beginning. Doug actually knew more facts than my dad thanks to great studying with his older brother aptly named Scotty. The Voyager series began just as Doug was finishing boot camp. I solemnly promised to watch every episode and recount it long distance to Chicago and then Florida so Doug didn't miss anything.
Over the years we've made countless references to Trek, even joking about having our own Wil Weaton/Wesley Crusher boy-genius in our son Alex. Our New Year's party was supposed to include a Star Trek role playing game, but alas, illness and sibling travel plans changed our course.
Last year Doug and I were very excited to meet Tuvok... I mean Tim Russ. Our son Geoff met him too, but knew him as Principal Franklin on iCarly. Never fear, we made sure to use this opportunity to assimilate Geoff into the wonders of Star Trek. Having many of the action figures and all the miniature ships doesn't hurt. We also bought several copies of Mr. Russ's CD for family Christmas presents. He is quite the talented musician!
At work my boss refers to me as "Number One," something I'm sure none of the other girls have connected to Trek. He being of the generation of my parents, I know he gets a chuckle out of this inside reference to Picard and Riker.
Tonight, however, I found myself making a compulsive gesture triggered entirely by watching sooooo many episodes of Star Trek. While watching Sanctuary on Syfy (yes, I know my geek is showing) there was a part where two characters came across a body. My first response was to reach up, tap just below my shoulder, and call out "Bridge, to Captain."
So my question for you tonight becomes... why don't I have a working communicator pin yet?

Have you heard the story about my wedding?

As the manager of a fabulous bridal store, I'm often asked why I work where I do. My first answer is always the obvious- what girl wouldn't love to spend the day playing dress up and being a part of helping make the princess dream a reality for someone else? The real reason though is that my wedding was one disaster after another and I hope to alleviate the stress in one little area of the wedding process.
Doug and I had planned to be married in August of 1994, but after a better look at how his joining the Navy would affect our schedule we moved the date to April 30th. Of course it was March when we made this decision. Back then we were wild like that.
I, with my great Fabricland employee discount, decided to make my dress and I have to say it turned out pretty darn well. Granted I combined 3 patterns, added 40 hand sewn pearl buttons down the back, and skipped the roses attached at the rear. I carried that dress everywhere with me for three months and it was worth every second I put into it.
We were married in my grandmother's back yard, one of the few places that remained consistent through my childhood. Her yard was small but featured a fish pond and waterfall with an arbor above. The size of her yard meant family only though, something I wish I could have changed.
Our reception was held in the gym of a building in Kennewick I wasn't familiar with, but it was available, and we spent the evening before decorating. My mom arrived in town a little after decorating was to begin, delayed due to a yard sale detour where she purchased the dress and shoes she wore to my wedding. This should have been my first clue of events to come. Mom owned a balloon store at the time and brought plenty with her to decorate. Did I mention the backdrop for my receiving line was shower curtain liners? That's right, high class all the way.
The morning of the big day the fun began. I tore the lace off my hem right next to the grease smudge from my car, my mom forgot when things started and sent Doug away when he arrived, my flowers arrived with the wrong color ribbons, etc. Doug left his bag on the roof of our friends car and was extremely lucky to have a neighbor leave it on Doug's front porch. My sister busted the zipper of her dress right before we walked. There was a bee buzzing around us through the ceremony and Doug is very allergic to bees. You see where this is going.
The end result though is that none of that mattered. Fifteen years and four kids later we are still married, and still as happy as that sunny Spring day. I realized today while looking at tuxes for the shop that I don't remember what color vest Doug wore at our wedding. See how unimportant those little things really are in the end.

Have you heard the story about...

my Spencer? He's quite the funny man, non-stop action, lover of all things meat, and a serious cheeser at picture time. Unless he's sick. Only then does he come to a screeching halt, tonight the emphasis was on screeching.
Spence has been sick for several days now, fighting a bug that's rounded the extended family since Christmas. Most of us had an upset stomach or sinus issues for a few days but, like all who live under my roof, Spencer likes to go all out sometimes. He awoke with a tummy ache at 3am on new year's day, ran a fever for 3 days, and has been glued to his bed or the couch since.
It's so odd not having him moving all over, my little man of action. There are two signs that Spencer is sick: he stops moving and he starts watching Discovery channel. Now I love history and learning about the planet probably a little more than most people, but I will admit that I may scream if I have to watch another show about dinosaurs, the Great Lakes, or survival training in the next 48 hours. Which brings me back to the screeching.
A little before six tonight (after having spent the whole day at school) Spencer suddenly started wailing. I don't think I've ever heard this sound from anyone over nine months old that wasn't giving birth! And then he finally threw up. I could share details, but I'll refrain.
Fifteen minutes later he was out cold, cuddled up in my lap. He spent the next hour and a half asleep on the couch as everyone else kindly tip-toed around doing their bedtime routines. At exactly 8pm he sat up, twinkle in his eye, and asked what time it was. Gotta love the rejuvenating powers of a good power nap! He seems to have made a full recovery, even asking for food.
I'm reminded though of another flu battle, one my friend Melissa I'm sure will recall as well. I was six months pregnant with Spencer, Doug's Navy ship was due to return and I (as Command Ombudsman) was responsible for calling all the wives to tell them which flight their husbands were on. Of course this was also the week I and my older 2 boys were very sick with the flu. Melissa was kind enough to come to my house to assist with the calls. We spent an entire day taking turns throwing up, calling people, and hosing down which ever child had also just thrown up. That was a true test of friendship. It's only the best of friends that will share a room with you and your pukey kids! Thanks Missy!

Action

I watched a show tonight about a luxury liner for "pinto millionaires" that bills itself as a floating city called The World. My first thought was how do I sign up for this trip! But as the emphasis turned to privacy and seclusion I began to wonder... what are these people hiding from? A 44,000 ton ship that only holds 350 people and continues nearly non-stop around and around the world seems like the perfect combination for mystery, intrigue, and scandal. Then again, maybe I'm just in desperate need of a good action flick!

Action... I've just decided that this word is going to become my mantra of the year. Don't talk, don't think, don't ponder, don't wonder... take action! Yeah, I like the sound of that. Maybe I'll even "action" myself an apartment on that ocean liner. Hey, don't laugh!

Fresh Start

Here I am again at the beginning of a new year thinking of all that has happened in the last twelve months and wondering if I dare think ahead to the next twelve. It's been a bumpy ride recently, but I have hope that the tracks of this roller coaster are leveling out. I'm not naive enough to expect calm, just a little less excitement.

Amongst the turmoil of 2009 there have been a few bright spots I have to acknowledge. First, our new home and new church family have been a great improvement for my entire family. I have noticed that I've become less open to change recently, which made these transitions much harder for me than anyone else, yet I have seen my kids make great improvements since our move. Our new ward family has been a wonderful support to my boys and was more prepared than I could ever expect to help them feel accepted. What wonderful friends they've already made!

Secondly, although there will likely always be some medical mystery surrounding Alex, I have been overwhelmed by the realization that a new medicine he's on is working. For the first time in eleven years my son stopped coughing, twitching, stretching, and convulsively laughing at random. It's been amazing to see him as the young man he really is without all his Tourette's tics. I am very grateful for this blessing.

Now on to the obligatory New Year's resolutions. We'll get the obvious out the way first... my health/weight is a priority goal for the year. Nothing extreme, but losing a dress size (or 3) is top of the list and I know that a big part of that is going to mean a change in my diet. I'm going to drag Alex along with me on this journey as we try to find ways to make the few foods we aren't allergic to seem more appetizing than they really are. I also plan to put my Wii fit to better use! There's probably a reason I still have a house with stairs as well.

#2: to take more time for me by scheduling it in.

#3: to make a difference in someone's life whenever the opportunity is presented.
Number four is to limit the stress, both for myself and for my family.

#4: to be stronger than I think I am and stand taller for what I believe.

#5: to stress less and let go what I can't change.

Okay, I've shared mine, now it's your turn. Tell me how you plan to make 2010 a better year for you.