When I Was Your Age

We spent a few hours working in our backyard this weekend. We didn't run out of work. In fact, we are likely less than 1/4 of our way through weeding alone. We didn't run out of time. It was the one and only Saturday of our entire summer that isn't already planned. We just ran out of room in the garbage can.

We also did not run out of character-building, back-breaking, whine-inducing labor for our children. Oh, how I love to torture them. And to make the time go faster, I found myself telling them, "when I was your age stories." You know the type...walked uphill 5 miles to school, was expected to be seen and not heard...your basic childhood fables. Imagine my surprise in discovering that I had actual real-life memories for the respective ages of all four of my children! Boy did that make me feel old. So I tried to choose my most vivid memory from each of their ages. This is what I came up with.

When I was 5 years old, I couldn't wait for my very first show and tell in Mrs. Ringer's a.m. Kindergarten class. Although I was painfully shy (I swear this part is not fabricated. Ask my parents if you don't believe me.) I eagerly anticipated the chance to show the Indian-head penny that my grandfather had given to me. In our class, on show and tell day, you put your items on the show and tell table at the beginning of the day. Then, in the afternoon, after naptime...(again I'm serious...I can't believe they took this out of the Kindergarten curriculum) our teacher would call children up one at a time to take their item from the table and share it with the class. As the grand event approached, I shyly (seriously!) raised my hand and waited my turn. Mrs. Ringer called on one child and then another and then another. Finally she called on a little boy who found his way to the show and tell table and then dawdled there for several minutes, fingering this item and that. Finally, after some coaxing from the teacher, he picked up my Indian-head penny, marched to the front of the class and told everyone some fascinating story about his penny! I was filled with rage and disappointment, but when Mrs. Ringer asked me if I had something to share, I was too submissive and quiet to stand up for myself, so with tears in my eyes, I told her no. At the end of the day, I picked up my penny and took it home, so at least the villain of the lie didn't go so far as to steal my penny...just my moment. And for nearly 30 years, that little boy got away with it...but today I will finally take back my right and name names. That's right, Aaron McClelland, I know who you are! And by the way, your show and tell story was so obviously contrived...you weren't fooling anyone!

When I was 7 years old we went to visit my cousins in Utah for the summer. I have a cousin who is exactly a month older than me, and although we were always good buddies when we saw each other, there was an edge of competition that tainted our every interaction. The first day at his house, we went outside where he grabbed his bike ready to ride the half block to his grandparents' home. He asked me if I wanted to go with him. I told him I didn't have a bike. He told me I could ride his sister's bike, and then in what I interpreted was a taunting manner asked, "You know how to ride a two-wheeler don't you?" Ooh, the challenge in his tone! Well of course I told him I could ride a bike...never mind the fact that I had never up until that moment been able to ride a two-wheeler in my life. He was NOT getting the best of me. He wheeled the bike around, I climbed on...and took off down the road with an air of nonchalance...even boredom. I guess I can pinpoint my competitive streak and stubborn nature to this exchange. I rode bikes with him that whole week. The only down side was that I never got to show off to my parents, "hey, look, guys! I'm riding a bike!" because such a display would undermine my whole triumph.

When I was 9 years old, I saved the quarter my mom put into my lunch for milk money every day. Then at the end of the week when I had 5 quarters, I would walk down to the 7-11 at the end of our street and use my $1.25 to buy 3 candy bars. I don't know what part of this memory is the most disturbing...the fact that I basically stole money from my parents every day or that I walked down a busy street to a convenience store completely by myself at the age of 9.

When I was 12 years old, my mom picked me up from school early on my birthday. As a surprise, she drove me to a beauty salon to get my ears pierced. The lady at the shop showed me a basket of different stud earrings to choose from for the piercing, and I really wanted the diamond ones. However, my older sister had gotten diamond earrings when she had her ears pierced and I knew that she would somehow lord it over me if I chose them. Besides, at this age I hated having the same things as everyone else around me...I wanted my own thing...so instead I just grabbed a random pair out of the basket. They turned out to be topaz which I hated. I didn't like orange at all, but for the next 6 weeks, I wore them and swore to anyone who might question my selection how much I loved topaz. The day I could change my earrings for the first time, I took the topaz studs out and never wore them again. As I remember this, I can't really verbalize my reasoning for this life choice...I just sense that there was a feeling of self-sacrifice implicit in it somehow. Weird, huh?

Anyway, for what their worth, the stories got us through 2 hours of weeding. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find my college textbook on psychoanalysis. It appears I'm completely neurotic.

Ragnar Repeat

I don't have any pictures to post of our relay race yet, but just wanted to shout out to the blogosphere that I survived and had a great time despite the fact that my definition of "fun" includes 12 people running for 30 hours straight.

Here are my personal stats.

Leg 5-7.4 miles up Avon Pass. Hot. Dusty. Dirt road staight uphill. 1 hour 19 minutes.

Leg 17-4.4 miles. Gradual incline. Beautiful outskirts of Morgan. Rolling fields. Cooler early evening air. Every step I've taken this day has been uphill. What's the deal? 41 minutes exactly.

3 hours of sleep.

Leg 28-3.8 miles. 6-ish in the morning. Cool storm-clouds ahead. Had to swap an injured runner. Wasn't planning on this one. First 2 1/2 miles straight down mountain at Jordanelle. 8% grade. Pound. Pound. Pound. 32 minutes, 20 seconds.

Hurt everywhere. Loved every second.

Home. Showered. 13 hours of sleep. Not running again for a week.

The Wall

My husband has been working 18 hour days for the last 4 weeks. This usually means he gets home after I am asleep and leaves again before I am awake or while I am out running in the morning. I pretend he's out of town, but the illusion is hard to stick to when I'm still doing his laundry and cleaning up his breakfast. He is finishing up his trial this week so hopefully by the weekend he will exist in our lives again, but for now I am officially finished with this whole single mom business.

I should probably be feeling more compassion for my poor husband. After all, he's working horrible hours including every weekend for the past month. I should definitely have more respect for women around the world who are single mothers for every day of their lives. At the very least, I should be more understanding of my children who are desperately missing their daddy. But yesterday I finally hit the wall. So although I know I should buck up and count my blessings, I'm giving myself the next 2 hours (and 2 minutes) to wallow in my own self-pity. That's how much longer Anna's friends will be here playing with her and filling her social needs. Then it's back to the "All Mom, All the Time, Variety Hour."

The months of May and June have been overflowing with "extras" in school, sports, piano, dance and my Young Women's calling. I have been the taxi, cheerleader, coach, whip-cracker, teacher, CEO, and nurse. It feels like there is nothing left of me to give, but I know that in 1 hour and 54 minutes, I have to put my smile back on and head out to the store to pick up the eclairs for Zachary's oral report on France, the cleats for Noah's track meet, the groceries, snacks for field day, a prescription, presents for two birthday parties, and something for Father's Day not only for my husband, but for my dad and my father-in-law. And when I get back I get to look forward to yet another afternoon and evening of getting kids where kids need to be, motivating (translation yelling at) them to get their homework and chores done, getting them fed and in bed at a reasonable hour without any hope of assistance or even grown-up conversation.

It will all be fine. I know this because it always has worked out before, but knowing this doesn't make the moment of the trial any easier. In 1 hour and 46 minutes I will wipe away my tears and put on a cheerful face and will acknowledge all the ways my Father in Heaven has blessed me today and every day of these challenging weeks. But for now I will count down the minutes left until this weekend when I get to "escape" for 24 hours in a 180-mile relay race. To many, my whole running obsession probably seems like a lot of hard work. This motherhood business is much, much harder. Today I say: Give me a marathon! 1 hour and 37 minutes to go.

Worry Bird

Here's Anna's recital for Grandma to watch. She's the worry bird on the far right. She's a natural performer. The closer we got to the stage, the more excited she became.

Missy Banana

I find it surreal that my youngest child is now officially 5 years old. I still truly think of myself as a young mother. I've had so many years of carting around toddlers , that it's strange to believe that stage of my life is behind me now. But it's true. Anna officially became a "big girl" on Wednesday. She had a magical day, and said to me as we were getting ready for bed that night, "Birthdays are fun because you just are happy and no one is mean."

In the morning we made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Then she went to play at a friend's house while I did the birthday shopping. (Procastinate? Who me?) Then I picked her up and took her out to lunch at the Burger King with the big playground. We came home and made cupcakes. She had performed her ballet recital the night before as a "worry bird" and wanted a worry bird cake. This is what I came up with:

And this is the actual costume:

The resemblance is uncanny isn't it?

We went out for "cheese pizza" with the boys, and met up with Daddy at the pool. She really wanted to go to our neighborhood pool, but it was raining, so we went to an indoor one instead. Frankly, I think we made a good trade...this pool was way more fun, with slides and sprayers and the works.

We came home and ate cupcakes and ice cream, opened presents, and Anna as a "surprise" put her worry bird costume on again. She's been wearing it pretty much non-stop for the past 72 hours. I thought this was cute at first until I started picking up feathers and glitter. Apparently it's molting season. I would estimate I've picked up 7,239 feather in the past two days...on the conservative side.

And though I feel a little melancholy about losing my baby to school in the fall, I really am looking forward to this new stage. She is such a joy at home with me. She is so affectionate and interested, but she is ready to go to school now. She is getting old enough to stick with me on the side of estrogen. It's nice to know she's getting old enough to "get my back."

Happy birthday, girlfriend!