Heber Is Hubba Heaven

We were having a bit of an issue with getting Hubba to sleep in his own bed.

Coolister's bed? Fine.

All-a-Boy's bed? Great.

The 'big girls' bed? Anytime.

Our bed? Perfect.

His bed? No way, Jose.

So I presented Hubba with a plan which played on his affinity for trains: Sleep in your own bed for 30 days and you can ride on a real train. He didn't miss ONE DAY, and yesterday was the time to make good on my promise.

He grabbed his 'train hat' and we headed out to Heber City, home of the Heber Valley Railroad.

We stopped at Dairy Keen (forevermore to be known as "The Train Restaurant") for some lunch.
It was here that I realized I did not need to promise a train ride at all.

There were plenty of train attractions to keep his attention for hours.
But, a promise is a promise, so off to the train station we went.
He could not believe this train had a real conductor.
He sort of stalked the conductor, in fact.
Luckily, Mr. Conductor was very nice about it.
He even let Hubba help with the brake when needed.
Hubba was incredulous at the idea that he could run through the train, one end to the other, as it was moving, and no one seemed to care.
So, run we did. Repeatedly.
He also could not believe that, when sticking his head out of the window, no one told him to stop.
He did it a lot.
He also occasionally enjoyed just watching things whiz by outside the window.
Near the end of our ride, Hubba sat down on a bench in the open air of the caboose. I sat beside him, welcoming the rest. He laid his head against my arm and said, "Mom, I love you."
I began to respond when he jumped up and started to run towards the engine at the other end of the train.
As he ran, he shouted to the other passengers, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY I EVER HAD IN MY WHOLE LIFE!"

I just followed after him, happy to have been a part of it.

The Old Barn

It doesn't look like much from far away. The aging, dilapidated barn sits nestled among green fields and small creeks and ponds with only horses and mosquitoes for company. At first glance it appears to be a ramshackle sort of place with broken windows and cobwebbed beams.


Yet, for my mother-in-law, it stores a wealth of memories and stories from her childhood years. This place is all that is left of the dairy farm where she grew up in Afton, Wyoming.


As we wandered through the old barn, listening to mom's recollections of years past, I felt a melancholy kind of sadness come over me. I could picture the barn as it had been back in its prime and wondered how it had come to be the way it was now, broken and in disrepair. It got me thinking about people.


Like the barn, we all start off sturdy and clean with a new coat of paint. As we face life's storms the paint slowly peels and cracks. Windows break. Grime accumulates. Beams and boards warp. And before we know it we are only a shell of our former selves, something that no sandpaper or even a fresh coat of paint can repair.

When others look at us, do they see what's really still there?


Do they look for the story behind each bent nail and loose floorboard or do they only notice the wear and tear, not realizing that it is simply evidence of something more?

Do others notice the beauty of the places where the cracks in the walls and shattered windows have allowed light to shine through?


If we could, what would we choose? To look as striking and solid as we did in our prime, never having to endure any of the pounding hail or lightning strikes that life throws at us - or to tolerate various storms and allow some of life's experience to show through in these bodies that house the person who we truly have become through it all?


At the end of my life I hope I'm like the run-down old barn. Perhaps weather beaten and warped, but well loved because of the experiences and interactions that have made me that way.


And every last measure of who I am bursting with stories of a life lived to the fullest.

What the HAIL?!

Here we are at Reunion Flats, trying to huddle together to avoid the pelting hail last Saturday.

I swear, it's following me.

(Secretly, I kind of like it.)

We Are Family

In case you were wondering, this is the reason my blog has been neglected this past week. We attended the family reunion for Allen's side of the family up near Driggs, Idaho at a campground called Reunion Flats in the shadow of the Teton Mountains.

Can I just say: I love these people.

Only 11 of Allen's siblings and their families are in this picture. One family had to leave early for another reunion and 4 weren't able to make it. Aren't we an awesome looking group of people, considering we have been camping and haven't showered for 4 days? (Please take time to notice that at least 4 of my children have red licorice all over their faces or clothing. Yes, friends, that's how we roll in the great outdoors.)

I have lots of great pictures and stories to tell. But guess what? Another family reunion. This weekend.

I know.

Catch up with you soon.

What's In A Name?

Photo from Disney/Pixar

Last Sunday at church, I wanted to emphasize my point with a story.

"There was a little boy named Wally," I began, summarizing the narrative in my lesson manual.

"WALL-E?" Super C asked. "Like the wo-bot in the movie?"

"Actually," I replied, thinking quickly, "the boy's name was... Wilbur."

"Like the pig in Shaw-let's Web?" Super C countered.

"Okay," I suggested, "let's call him Walter."

"Walt-o is the boy in the movie about the house in space!" Super C told us.

"Hmmm. How about Will?"

"That's my fwend Lilly's bwuth-o!" he informed me.

"Well, Super C, what would you like me to call him, then?" I inquired.

"I fought you said his name was WALL-E. Why awen't you cau-wing him that?"


Good point.

All Hail Camp MIA Shalom

The next to last day of camp was overcast and cool.

I held out the selfish hope that we would be blessed with even just a wee bit of thunder and lightning, but to no avail.

When the time came for our closing flag ceremony early that evening, the storm clouds quickly came rolling in...
They were moving in a manner that all but promised a torrential downpour. And before we knew it, there was indeed a deluge falling from the heavens.

But not of rain...

Catching Up

Holy mackerel.

I have written at least 14 blog posts in my head over the last week, but I can't get them written out in the same way they play out in my mind.

So, until I am able to organize my thoughts into words, here is a little snippet of what I was able to enjoy up at Camp MIA Shalom all of last week - an amazing group of Youth Camp Leaders. They were an outstanding group of young women who worked together very well. This is a clip of the cheer they came up with for our last flag ceremony. (I love these girls!)



You see what I'm saying? Awesome.

Scout Camp

Coolister just got back from a week of scout camp. I had agreed to drive up to Scofield and help shuttle the boys back home this morning, and it was totally worth it - for 2 reasons.

First, the story of the Canoe Swamping Contest. In short, Coolister's team was doomed. But just before the main contenders were able to swamp Coolister's canoe, the struggle to swamp each other was brought to a halt. The scoutmaster watched from the shore and realized that Coolister had pulled out his negotiating skills to avoid defeat - and the other team was going for it. Coolister was telling them, "Look, guys - it's obvious we're the two best groups out here. So why don't we work together to eliminate all of the other teams and then battle it out at the end?" And it worked. They backed off, both teams swamped every other canoe, and in the end Coolister's team emerged triumphant.

I love that kid. He can talk his way out of anything. (Which is not always a good thing.)

Second, there is nothing in this world that can match the irony of a suburban full of smelly boys riding home from a week of camping as they sing along to Taylor Swift's song, Love Story. (Which THEY chose to listen to, by the way.) Seriously "....you be the prince and I'll be the princess..." they sang every. single. word. Loudly. It was awesome.

Painful

Photo from newsbusters.org

I had a no good, horrible, very bad stomach ache last week.

It lasted two no good, horrible, very bad days and then went away.

It took me back to my 11th grade Spanish class - the day that I discovered that a dull, constant stomach ache was actually not a stomach ache, but a no good, horrible, very bad ulcer. Our family doctor could not figure out what would cause such a young patient to develop an ulcer... so he recommended I visit a psychiatrist.

Do you know what this does to a teenage girl? Thoughts raced through my mind as the day of my appointment drew closer. Am I crazy? Is something wrong with me? Will he have a couch for me to lay on like they do in the movies? Is he going to try to get me to divulge things that I don't want to talk about?

It was certainly not like I had imagined. When I walked into the office, alone, the lady at the front desk asked for my name and then told me to have a seat. Next, the craziest thing happened! She asked if I would like something to drink. What kind of doctor offers you something to drink? I wondered. It was probably some kind of truth serum to get me to loosen up and share all the secrets I kept tucked away in the innermost corners of my mind. I wasn't going to fall for it. "No, thank you," I answered as I sat and thumbed mindlessly through a magazine I had no interest in.

After a few minutes, I was led back to The Office.

He began with small talk, asking about what I was interested in at school, how many kids were in my family - pretty basic stuff. And then he thanked me for coming and told me he was looking forward to the next week. What? I thought to myself. My parents are paying this guy to just sit here and talk to me? What a total rip off!

I told my mom as much when she picked me up. "The doctor says you need to do this," she insisted. "To figure out where your ulcers are coming from. Just give it a chance." I reluctantly agreed.

The next week was mostly the same... only worse. Another offer of a drink (Ha! I thought. I'm totally on to you! You won't get anything out of me!), another awkward visit with a 50-something man who asked me a bunch of stupid questions. It went something like this:

Dr: So, what do you think is causing this ulcer?

My thoughts: That's why I'm here, stupid! So you can figure it out.

Me: I don't know.

Dr: Hmmm. Interesting. Do you get along well with your parents? Your brothers and sisters?

Me: Yes.

Dr: Do you have good relationships with your friends?

Me: Yep.

Dr: How about your boyfriend?

Me: (turning red) I don't have a boyfriend.

Dr: Is there someone you have your eye on? Someone you would like to have as your boyfriend?

My thoughts: Shut up already, Mr. 50-year-old-doctor-guy-I-hardly-even-know! This is so embarrassing. Can an enormous black void please just open up here and swallow me whole?! What do I say? Will he know if I'm lying? Don't they train these guys to know this stuff? What should I do? I don't want to talk about this with him. Okay... I'll be vague. I won't lie, but I won't give him what he wants. I WILL NOT TALK!

Me: I guess.

Dr: Tell me more about him.

My thoughts: You have got to be kidding me, old man! This is personal stuff. There is NO WAY on God's green earth that I will tell you anything about him! I didn't drink any of your truth serum. You can't make me talk! I'll sit here and not answer. I'll pretend I didn't hear the question.

Dr: (looking at me, waiting for my response)

And the next thing I know, I'm spilling my guts. Truth serum or not, the awkward silence got it out of me. My thoughts and dreams of Thatguy over the previous 5 years were filling the empty space between us until there was nothing remaining. Before I could take it all back, it was over. This perfect stranger knew things that I hadn't even told some of my closest friends, and I was sick with myself. My ulcer hurt like never before.

And then he made The Assignment.

"You like drama class, right? Well, I want you to write a script for your own Life Play. Write out what you and Thatguy would say to each other if everything went the way you wanted. And bring it with you next week. Okay?"

Inside, I was seething. My parents pay you to assign me homework now? I thought to myself. Here's the script for my Life Play. I don't need a week. I've had it written out for years now.

Me: Hey, hottie.
Thatguy: (winking) Hey, gorgeous.
Me: I have loved you for 5 years. I write about you in my journal and dream about you all the time. Want to make out?
Thatguy: I thought you'd never ask.

(making out ensues)

The end.

What do you think about that, Dr. Quack? Can you diagnose my ulcer now?

But what I said was, "Okay."

When I met my mom down in the parking lot she asked me how it went. "Awesome!" I lied. "He says I'm totally normal. Everything's fine. I don't have to go back anymore!"

"Well, that's a relief," she signed to me. "Our insurance wasn't covering these visits. I'm glad we won't have to pay for them anymore."

And that was the last I saw of the no good, horrible, very bad psychiatrist.

The End.

Anticipation

I am up to my ears in camp stuff.

Half the food was purchased a couple of days ago, the rest will be bought the day before camp.

My kitchen and pantry floor, as well as my kitchen table and counter, are covered with bags of canned goods and peanut butter and various ingredients which will be magically transformed into some delicious camp meals next week.

All of the hamburger is cooked and frozen, but I still need to cook and shred the 20 pounds of chicken.

I need to experiment with a Dutch oven three times this week so I'll know what I'm doing when cooking up at camp. I'm not sure when I'll have time, but it needs to happen.

My devotionals are typed up and ready but part of my camp craft still needs to be cut into one-yard sections.

I have yet to collect enough ice chests to pack the perishable foods in. I also need to freeze some more juice bottles to keep things cold all next week.

I am constantly praying for at least one lightning storm while up at camp next week. I feel a bit selfish with this request, but the skies over MIA Shalom are amazing when the lightning flashes. And after a count of 1-one-thousand, 2-one-thousand, the earth shakes as the thunder booms... and all is right in my world.

The empty spaces in our kitchen and garage are filled with boxes and plastic bins - some filled, some empty. By next Monday evening these containers will be cleaned, packed and ready for a week of Camp MIA Shalom.

The empty space in my heart that yearns for my week in the outdoors - close to nature and God and 250 teenage girls - cannot wait to be filled.

5 days... and counting.

I am like a little kid who can't sleep the week before a trip to Disneyland.

The anticipation is killing me.

You Make Me Happy (When Skies Are Grey)

This post is for me. Totally for me. And maybe for you if you love clouds and storms like I love clouds and storms.

Today when Allen and I were driving home from the Farmer's Market I saw these beauties crowding the increasingly stormy sky. We drove down our road a piece to get some fantastic, unobstructed views of this gift from the heavens.


They were fairly fast-moving, shifting and changing shapes with the breeze. Then the clouds gathered in this distant canyon:


And lightning and thunder ensued.

Within 5 minutes we were hit with super wind gusts (love!) and rain that poured down in buckets (love more!).

And now it smells just heavenly outside.

Oh happy, blissful day!

4th Year Hikers

Have I mentioned yet that I get to go to Young Women's Camp again this year?! June 23rd, baby!!

Do you know how SUPER-DE-DOOPER excited I am about this?! (The answer is: TOTALLY & COMPLETELY!)

If I've said it once, I'll say it a half a million more times, I LOVELOVELOVE CAMP!! There is no other place that helped shape my belief in and love for God than the mountains I went to every year as a young woman camper. Plus, where else can you be with hundreds of girls who have to live without a daily shower and blow dryer?? NOWHERE! It's AWESOME!

Sorry. I'll stop yelling now. I am just really, really happy I get to be a camper leader lady again this year. It's the BEST! (couldn't help that last shout-out.)

So... the real reason for this post. Every year the girls who are on their 4th year of being campers get to go on their own hike as a group. (click on those links for some hike fun from 2 years ago.) And, BONUS for me, I was invited to come along.

We hiked to Stewart Falls... which I would recommend to everyone.

Beautiful, green foliage and wildflowers blanketed the trail. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Lucky for me, my hottie husband was able to join us. (I know! It just keeps getting better!)
We all made it to the falls and congregated there for a bit, enjoying granola bars and Red Vines and the sound of the waterfall cascading down behind us.
As we hiked back out through the aspens and ferns, I could not help but think once again of how remarkably gorgeous this earth is.
I can't wait to spend some more time with nature (and these young women!) up at camp.

In LESS THAN TWO WEEKS!! I can hardly wait.

Warm Happy Feelings

Last Sunday I was trying to explain to my class that, when faced with the question of whether something is right or true, God can give us a warm, happy feeling in our hearts to confirm it.

I told the story of Jeff, a boy who was being taught by some missionaries and wanted to know if what they taught was true. He prayed and had a warm, happy feeling that spread throughout his entire body, traveling all the way from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. (I like to really get into my stories.)

I told them that they could pray to know if something was right or true any time - even during our class - and they could get that warm, happy feeling.

"You know what, Sisto Bwack?" Super C asked. "My woym fee-o-wing is up to he-o alweady!" he told me, indicating the top of his head with his hand.

"That's awesome, Super C!" I told him. "Did you know that if..."

"Well guess WHAT?" N--, who was joining our class this week, interrupted. "MY warm feeling is WAY up to ABOVE my HEAD!" he said excitedly, waving his hand to show me how far the feeling had spread.

"Well, N--, I think..."

"Well, MY feel-een SHOT THROUGH THE ROOF and it's WAY UP in the SKY!" Hubba countered.

"So? My fee-o-wing is alweady in SPACE!" Miss S challenged the boys.

N-- immediately came back with "NOW mine's in HEAVEN! NO one's can go HIGHER than HEAVEN!"

Everyone was quiet, contemplating the amazing height that N--'s warm feeling had reached.

Miss E had been quietly sitting with her hand raised throughout the entire conversation. "Yes, Miss E?" I asked.

"My woym feo-ling just came into my hawt (heart) and stayed they-o."

I smiled. "That is just perfect," I told her.

And no one tried to beat it.

Tooting His Own Horn

Photo from otherlandtoys.co.uk

There is something about this one doctor at the vision center where Allen has become a regular.

Not the doctor whose last name adorns their walls and business cards. We like that doctor just fine. I'm talking about the other guy, the one who uses fancy machines and laminated cards to get Allen ready for the real doctor.

This other guy is a vain man. You can tell by the very air about him that he is important and everyone had darn well better know it. He kind of bugs us.

I'll call him Dr. A... as in Arrogant.

When Allen had his most recent surgical procedure done, we were ever-so-lucky (that was sarcastic) to be in the presence of Dr. A for an extended amount of time. Twice he barked at nurses to come and fetch him some thing he needed RIGHT. NOW. You could tell by the way the nurses interacted with him that they would have thoroughly enjoyed punching him square in the nose or telling him to GET IT YOURSELF! but instead they were very professional. I was impressed.

After Allen's surgery was complete we were brought to a room to wait. And wait. And w a i t. Dr. A was busy. He would tend to us at his convenience. We began to wonder if he had forgotten about us when we heard him paged over the office intercom: Dr. A, phone call on line 2.

And then right outside our door, he took the call. "Theodore! I called you because Dr. Not-So-Awesome-As-Me wanted another $500 to lecture for one hour at our Very-Important-Doctors-Who-Are-Better-Than-Everyone conference next week. I am so sick of being taken advantage of. (pause) Yes, I allowed that other Not-So-Famous-Eye-Doctor to pay his expenses. But he still should not be paid more than the other lecturers. He is getting $500 to speak for an hour plus $500 in expenses. I don't think he needs another $500 just because he didn't try hard enough to get a flight home that night."

We were pretty sure he didn't remember we were right there, in the room right next to where he was loudly taking that call on line 2. Either that or he wanted us to be impressed. (We were not.) And then, I heard it.

PPPppppppfffffffffffffffftttttt.....t.t.t.t.t.t.t.t.t.t.

He totally farted! At first, I thought it was the chair he was sitting on, but the rapid-fire at the end confirmed it. We stifled our laughter as he went on with his phone conversation. Unbelievable! And hilarious!

At one point, Allen stepped out of the room and asked a nurse if we could leave yet. I think this was when he was finally alerted to the fact that we were still waiting to be seen. He finally finished his long, drawn out conversation. "Fabulous to hear from you. Are you going to be at the awesomely arrogant and important eye doctor's golf tournament next week? Because I'll be there and I know that will make everyone want to come. Great. See you there."

And then, as he walked in the room to give us permission to leave his presence, I realized that something had changed. He was still walking about in an air (pun intended!) of self-importance but to me, he was now just a human being.

One who, apparently, likes to toot his own horn. (Pun totally intended!)