Have you heard the story about my sister Alicia?

My little sister Alicia's birthday was last week putting her at the front of my thoughts until I had to put in words all that's been swirling in my mind. She would have been twenty six years old but instead, due to uncooperative organs, she never saw her second birthday.

I've often struggled with how to reference her, especially in situations where people have known my family for a long time but have never known of her. Counting Alicia I have five sisters. I feel sorry for those who never got to know her.

A friend recently shared this story which was so incredibly painful for me to read. It's the story of a little boy who had a near death experience and met the sister his parents had miscarried before his birth.

This story has stirred up memories and reminded me that my little sis is never far away.


A Sister’s Song

Has it really been so long since I held you in my arms?
The years of agony and grief at not protecting you from harm.
In my childish unknowing I blamed myself for so long,
How could I understand at such an age it was God’s plan to bring you home.

Hallelujah, for His plan
To join families forever, offer mercy to each man.
Hallelujah, for His word
To share forgiveness with his people.
Offer praises to the Lord.

I can see you just as clearly as if you were standing next to me.
The beautiful young woman I knew you’d grow to be.
With Marcia’s long dark curls and Mary’s big blue eyes,
Angie’s freckles and ambition and Drew’s mischievous smile.
I see Mom’s grace, Evan’s chuckle, and Dad’s quiet reserve,
And I like to think in Heaven you and I once sang a verse

Of
Hallelujah, for His plan
To join families forever, offer mercy to each man.
Hallelujah, for His word
To share forgiveness with his people.
Offer praises to the Lord.

Although they don’t remember, I know you hugged our brothers
Before sending them off into this world.
And I’m sure I’ve heard your giggles playing with my little girl.
I bet you’re spending time with grandpa, so quick to join you there,
The two of you in Heaven must make quite an entertaining pair.

Someday I know we’ll meet again,
I hope I don’t disappoint you before then.
I’ll try to live in such a way
That you’ll be proud of my example every day.
Until we meet again I’ll sing

Hallelujah, for His plan
To join families forever, offer mercy to each man.
Hallelujah, for His word
To share forgiveness with his people.
Offer praises to the Lord.
~Michelle

Have you heard the story about April?

I love Spring. The flowers blooming, the sun returning, thunderstorms and new beginnings. April is especially important to me.
Today is mine and my husband's 17th anniversary. Seventeen years of ups and downs, drama and adventure. Eleven moves, eleven years with the Navy, four kids, four surgeries, and inumerable laughs. I'll come back to the anniversary bit in a moment...
Our oldest son was born at the beginning of April, turning sixteen this year. There's nothing like having a teenager to make you feel old, haha.
For the second year in a row, we spent Easter weekend at my sister's home in Idaho. Ten adults, fifteen kids, and surprisingly little craziness!
This April was filled with a few other exciting (and hopefully less annual) events such as Geoff breaking his nose and my purchasing the bridal store I've been working at. Both are changes that will leave a noticeable mark on our lives and hopefully improve our character a bit.

April is also Autism Awareness month. In the past few years that has meant more focused participation on local events to help promote awareness in our community. This year I've just been too busy to contribute as much as I'd like and quite frankly my kids are doing so well that I sometimes feel guilty attending free things with my 'normal' looking kiddos. I have been uplifted and inspired by many friends, both local and abroad, but have stayed carefully inside my bubble of content this month. Today, however, kicked my butt and reminded me that no matter how much I want to pretend the Autism is always there.
Our plans for the day included my spending a few hours at work while hubby and the kids spent time with friends at the park. We had hoped to make it to an Autism event but weren't able to squeeze it in before a birthday party for another friend at Chuck E. Cheese. I should have seen the warning signs as I watched Spencer play with his buddies, but I did a great job of ignoring them instead. He had wandered from the group, unaware of where anyone else was, and was gnawing on his tongue... something I hadn't seen him do until this week. Alex used to do it all the time. Once the party was finished Spencer started on a vocal loop of requesting to go home with his friend over, and over, and over, and over. Thank goodness the other mom was an understanding smooth talker and was able to assist in redirecting his request.
Two hours later the kids were fed and Doug and I were getting ready to go out for the evening, for wat is usually our one and only annual attempt at a date night. Then Spencer stumbled to the living room and dropped into my lap. My little man isn't so little anymore... At almost eleven he's not a big fan of mom's hugs so it was a rare thing indeed for me to have him snuggled in my arms for over an hour. He hurt but could only respond with 'I don't know' for most of the evening. After a lot of snuggling and blocking out the world he seems to be okay again but we are spending yet another anniversary at home.

The following is a quote I've borrowed from another Autism mom that seems to fit perfectly this last day of Autism Awareness month:
'Wouldn’t it just be lovely if after Autism Awareness Month was over we all got one day – just one, single solitary day when we didn’t have to be AWARE of autism? Just one, God. Please. For my friends. For their kids. Just one. Amen.'
~ A Diary of a Mom

Have you heard the story about the Armchair Activist?

I'm not sure what triggered it, but the phrase Armchair Activist has been buzzing in my head all weekend. Maybe it's our current political unrest. Every other news story seems to be about another politician making a major gaffe or attempting to enact an insane law... and then the commentary begins. There is such division in opinion betweent the population when for the most part (if you listen close enough) we're all really asking for the same thing.

I am a listener. I love a good story, I love hearing how someone made it through a challenge and how that has changed them.
What really gets to me though are the intensity of comments from what I consider Armchair Activist- a lot of talk and no action.

If you have survived or accomplished any of the following, pull up a chair and spin me a yarn. I want to know YOUR opinion of how and why things need to change.

If you (or your spouse) have ever...
1) staged or participated in any type of protest or rally.
2) attended and or spoken at a city council or town hall meeting.
3) chosen as a career or volunteered as a firefighter, police officer, or EMT.
4) chosen a career as a teacher or volunteered on a regular basis at your local school.
5) been part of a PTA, volunteered at an animal shelter, worked in a nursing home, donated blood regularly, or worked with such groups as United Way or Habitat for Humanity.
6) owned or managed a small business and navigated the complicated tax and employment laws.
7) served in any branch of the miltary.
8) been employed by or volunteered to work for the government.
9) run for and/or served in any government office.
10) fought for better treatment of a family member's injury or illness.
11) taught your child at home because the current education system is not equipped to assist them in achieving their potential.
12) volunteered with a support group organization to better serve and educate the public.

Now, since I can claim participation in all but 2 of these activities, I will share my opinion just this once.

We are blessed to live in a free country, to believe and preach as we wish. We are blessed to have a great number of our population willing to sacrifice their time and energy to make our world a better place. We are blessed to live in a time of connection and convenience.

Our system is broken, too many (but not all or even most) of our politicians are corrupt. Too often decisions made by our leaders are based on personal preferance rather than what is truly best for the public. Projects are short sighted and underfunded, red tape is thicker than many can ever cut through, and support for those in need has become far too corrupted with monies syphoned to those much less deserving and projects much less useful.

My request to all is that you stand up, stretch your legs, and take a step away from your armchair. There's a big world out there waiting for your help.

Have you heard the story about Sundays?

We coined a new phrase in our house this morning. We're not inactive, we're neurologically challenged.
Sundays and I have had a love/hate relationship for years now. Ever since my oldest boys were little, we've struggled with making it to and then through our Sunday church meetings. Our little family of neurological chaos combined with following Sunday standards has never been a joyful even. The OCD means layered clothes, zippers, buttons, & ties never feel right (and there are just so few modest dresses for little girls!) leading to multiple changes (and lots of sobbing) plus shoes come off as soon as we enter the building. Sensory issues mean church is always too bright, halls are too busy, music is too loud, and people are too close. The ADD means we are always fidgeting, talking when we shouldn't, and have trouble focusing on the lessons. The Tourrett's adds in a level of distraction with coughing & throat clearing, plus random stretching and neck rolling.
Let's just say we rarely go unnoticed. The anxiety levels increase ten fold on Sunday mornings just trying to make preparations for all the possible factors that could lead to a meltdown.
When the boys were little there was the added bonus factor of my being a "Westpack Widow." With hubby on the other side of the world, I fought my way through Sunday mornings if only for the reprieve that for 2 hours some poor Sunday school teacher would have the privilege of handling my kiddos while I soaked in the rejuvenating calmness of my own classes.
As they've gotten older the battle has become harder and I admit that I've begun dreading Sunday mornings. While meeting together with friends to learn Christ's gospel is still very rejuvenating for me, the process of getting my family through the doors had become overwhelming at times. By the time we arrive I am exhausted, rarely in a positive mood, and having a hard time not being distracted by my families idiosyncrasies. I miss the days when they were small enough we could hide in the mother's room.
So many mornings have been spent wrestling my water sensitive little man through a shower and into a tie; being kicked by him all through sacrament meeting as he repeats the words "I want to go home, I want to go home." Energy has been drained begging another child to come out of the bathroom or waiting in a corner with him until the halls are empty enough that he can calmly make it to class only to hear from his teacher that today he only hid under his chair for part of class. Meetings have been spent sitting in the hallway with my oldest son's head in my lap as I rub his back and try to calm his Tourrett's & anxiety.
I have to acknowledge how much I appreciate our wonderful church friends for not judging our squirrely little family or our lack of participation. Please know we want to be there and are grateful for feeling so welcome when we do make it through the doors.
Today we were so close. Three of us were ready, number four was almost there, and five & six had been given sick leave. Then number four fell apart, crumpled in tears because her OCD had pushed her over the edge. We were so close.
Today we made a new plan and pray the stars align for us next week. And thank a loving Heavenly Father for knowing our intentions, recognizing our struggles, and giving us the strength to deal with them.

Have you heard the story about Music?

Any one that spends any length of time with me knows that music is a HUGE part of who I am. I can't drive down the road without the radio playing, can't clean without my mp3 player on, and connect most major memories to songs. I'm constantly turning conversations into silly songs, this week's run has been little tunes about the kids to keep them moving.
Music is my key to surviving all the nonsense that life throws at me. Different points in my life have required different theme songs, sometimes ironic or funny and other times simply accurate to the moment. My latest theme song for several years now has been Rob Thomas's Unwell. All my kids know every line and Geoff can often be heard belting it out as he walks home from middle school.
Music is often also my inspiration and the only way to calm my sensory sensitive kiddos down on especially bad days. Today was one of those days. It began with Spencer crying his way to school for the second day this week and finally convincing a few watching administrators that something has to change. Immediately following that wonderful scene I spent some time on the phone with the assistant principal discussing the stress my middle schooler is feeling, also due to his sensory processing issues. After this particularly painful attempt in getting all my kiddos to school (and not fully succeeding), I rushed to work with a still crying little guy in the back seat.
Rounding the corner to work I got a new theme song. I've heard it hundreds of times, but today it hit me a little harder than before. As I felt the words sinking in, I cranked up the radio and listened as my Spencer hummed along. Thank you Rob Thomas for making it all okay again.

Someday- by Rob Thomas

You can go
You can start all over again
You can try to find a way to make another day go by
You can hide
Hold all your feelings inside
You can try to carry on when all you want to do is cry

And maybe Someday
We'll figure all this out
Try to put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to make things better now and
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud
We'll be better off somehow
Someday

Now wait
And try to find another mistake
If you throw it all away then maybe you can change your mind
You can run, oh
And when everything is over and done
You can shine a little light on everything around you
Man it's good to be so warm

And I don't want to wait
I just want to know
I just want to hear you tell me so
Give it to me straight
Tell it to me slow

Cause maybe someday
We'll figure all this out
We'll put an end to all our doubt
Try to find a way to just feel better now and
Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud
We'll be better off somehow
Someday

Resolute

After a quick review of 2010, I have decided on one simple goal for 2011: to wake up. I realized this last week that the traumas of 2009 seemed to trickle into 2010 and I all but gave up trying in many areas of my life. I closed my eyes and ignored what I didn’t have the brain power to acknowledge and let slide what felt like too much effort. Not anymore.
• I plan to take a closer look at how I schedule my time.
• I plan to review each week with an open mind and make adjustments.
• I want to look in my children's faces as they talk about their day and enjoy
their reactions to the new things they discover.
• I want to see those around me for who they are trying to be and recognize
how my actions might affect them.
• I plan to be alert to the opportunities presented to me, both for my benefit
and to benefit others.
• I plan to step back and absorb the beauty in the world every chance I get.
• I want to smile more and see my friends’ eyes light up with joy as often as
possible.
• I want to take a hard look at myself and make some much needed changes for
my health.
Here I go, into a new year with eyes wide open! Happy New Year friends!

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.

Spencer's Big Splash

For those of you who aren't aware, my youngest son is a bundle of contradiction. Nine year old Spencer hates to be touched but can't sit next to someone without burrowing into them. He can't walk strait lines but can balance squatted down with his knees against his chin forever... in fact that's the only time he's still. He fights hair cuts because the clippers are too loud but is a drumming fanatic. He can't tell you the name of the person who sat next to him in class today but he (and his photographic memory) will correct anything you say about ocean life, dinosaurs, Pokemon, or superheroes.
Most noticeably he screams in the shower ("water feels like needles") but loves to swim. Last week and this week all three boys have been taking swimming lessons. Spencer loves to splash and is overall fearless in the pool, but I can't say he's an exceptional swimmer. Moving more than a foot or two from the wall, even when his gangly 4 foot something body is just fine in the 3 foot deep water, still seems to cause a bit of panic for him. On more than one occasion he has splashed an instructor in the face as they struggled to help him float. My father-in-law has dubbed him "the flailing duck." But he's always willing to try.
Today, about half way into the lesson, the kids headed around the pool to the deep end... and the diving boards. I watched as the Level 4 kids lined up behind the low dive, Spencer's Level 1 class following suit. Only a few brave souls were willing to try the high dive. Spencer didn't even pause before walking straight to the high dive. I admit, I kind of freaked out. I know my child. This is the one I had to warn the playground ladies about because he thought he could fly when he was younger and would jump off the equipment. I also know he can't really swim and he was planning to jump in the deep end.
I could see his two instructors standing on the other side of the pool, but they might as well have been across the ocean as far as I was concerned. What I couldn't see was the third instructor in the water just under the diving board. Spencer patiently waited his turn and even tried to cheer on the boy in front of him who panicked at the top and climbed back down.
When his turn came he climbed quickly and then began to waddle. There is really no other way to describe it. Walking on the outside of his feet, toes tucked toward each other, and squatted down to maintain his balance, he inched toward the edge with a giant Funoodle safely tucked under his arms. By now, the other moms around me on the bleachers had started to recognize my panic and were watching closely. Giggles arose at his slow motion waddle, but other wise everyone held their breath.
Then he jumped. He stepped off the board and dropped straight down into the water, quickly bobbing back up. The bleachers erupted in cheers as he held tight to that Funoodle and paddled towards the edge, climbing out and running right back to the high dive. That was a great moment for him today, I'm very proud of my Spencer-man. Besides, no one else got cheered!