Dubai Part One

Holy crap, you guys!
Jet-lag sucks.

I have been waking up at 4am, and then falling asleep every time I sit down during the day. I feel like a staggering drunk.

Hopefully this weekend will straighten things out?

As promised, here is part one to the Dubai trip saga:

The plan was to fly Salt Lake City to Atlanta, and then Atlanta straight to Dubai.
So we arrive at the SLC airport with time to spare.
For those of you new to my blog, my husband works for an airline.
We get free flights. Which is awesome, but we fly stand-by, so you have to be very flexible.
We arrived in time to hit three possible flights to Atlanta.
The first flight looked good, like it had seats enough, but if it happened to fill up, we had two more chances to get to Atlanta in time to catch the evening Dubai flight.
We start checking our bags in, and Sam can't get our reservation to come up on the computer.
He asks the desk worker to help him pull it up.
Apparently the reservation was flagged.
Aaaand the adventure begins!!

Those of you new to the blog may want to note that virtually none of our vacations have gone off without a hitch. It just adds to the excitement. Or something...

So the desk guy is trying to figure it out.
He calls other people over to look.
Then he catches it.
Apparently to get into Dubai, your passport has to be valid for six months from the date of your arrival.

Sam's passport expires in 5.5 months.
I am not even kidding.
He was short of the six month requirement thing by TWO FRIGGIN' weeks.

So they would not let us even book our flights to Dubai.
He needed to renew his passport.

So here we are at the airport, bags in hand.
We considered heading to Cancun or something, but we had family waiting for us in Dubai, and our hearts set on seeing them and the country.

So Sam makes some phone calls.
Books the earliest appointment available to get a passport, in a passport office.
It happens to be in New Orleans.
They told him it would be a 12-24 hour wait to expedite it, if he came in person.

So we all hopped on the Atlanta flight.
Sam's Mom and Dad went on to Dubai, and us detouring to New Orleans.
Crossing our fingers that the wait for the passport would be more on the 12 hour side...and that possibly we could make the Dubai flight the following evening.

While we were in Atlanta waiting for our flight to New Orleans, I had Sam check on his fancy-schmancy Internets phone to see if there was a Costco or a Walgreen's close to the New Orleans airport.
He needed passport photos by 8am the next morning for his appointment.
That would be tight.

We kept looking...
We booked a hotel.
And when we were headed to our gate for the New Orleans flight, I asked an airport worker if there were passport services anywhere in the Atlanta airport.
It was a long shot, but you never know.
Have you seen the Atlanta airport?
HUGE.
Well, it was a Christmas miracle.
Not only did they have passport service, but it was located directly behind us!
Not even kidding.
So Sam busted in there, and for $12 got his passport photos.
We got on the flight, and landed in New Orleans.

Hello, New Orleans!
By the way, do you say it New Or'lins, or New Or-leans?
Sight unseen, we had booked a Country Inn and Suites.
We usually always choose them.
They are clean, and inexpensive.
Plus, they have waffles for breakfast, okay?
I love a good waffle.
Now we just needed to get there.

The airport shuttle wanted $14 a person.
A rental car was $125, plus taxes and insurance and whatever crap they always tack on.
What to do?
Keep in mind, we are the cheapest people on the planet.
We have five kids, Yo!

Pretty soon the airport has kinda cleared out, and we are left there deciding how to best part with our money. We really didn't know where the passport office was, or how far away it was from the hotel, therefore, do we need the rental van?

Out of nowhere this guy approaches us.
He was one of those chauffeur guys with a suit and a jaunty little cap, holding a sign with someone else's last name on it.
"Hey, do you need a ride? My fare didn't show, so my car is available."
We asked him how much it was going to be to shuttle to our hotel, and he quoted us $40. Flat.
We took it.
We made the executive decision that Sam would be better off taking a cab to the passport office, if we only spent $40 on a shuttle to the hotel.
So the driver took us out to a parking garage, loaded us up in a nondescript black car, and proceeded to take a long phone call outside the car.

You know, I have read a lot of horror books, and that is exactly how people get mugged and/or killed. Trust the guy in the suit...disappear in a dilapidated parking garage...
I panicked a little.
Don't judge.

He ended up being the nicest guy.
Plus, his name was Lloyd.
How many killers do you know named Lloyd?

I have always wanted to visit New Orleans, and I believe everything happens for a reason. It was awesome!
Lloyd was so proud of his town, and took an extra hour, at least...just to drive us around and show us the sights.
We saw the French Quarter:

Mardi Gras was just beginning, although it was too cold for tons of people to be out yet.

I was fascinated with the architecture in the French Quarter, the bright colors, and the flickering gas lights on the buildings.

He drove us right down Bourbon Street.
He had us roll down the windows to hear the Jazz music.
I would describe New Orleans as Vegas with tons more character.
Bright, and (good)loud, and lots of energy.

Then we arrived at our hotel.
It was not far from the French Quarter.
It was charming.
I don't use that word much, because it sounds super corny, but I don't know how else to describe it.
It was a very old renovated building with thick plaster walls, and exposed floor beams and pipes.

Looking down to the lobby from the floor our room was on:

Cool, yes?
We needed to find a place to eat, so we ditched the bags and headed out on the streets.
The kids were wide-eyed.
The store fronts were very, uh, raunchy.
I explained to them the tradition of Mardi Gras, and why there were a million bead necklaces for sale. (Some of them sporting inappropriate charms.)
They were not in Kansas anymore.
Away from the sheltered bubble of Utah.

We walked quite a ways, everything was closing up.
So we white-trashed dinner:

Convenience store Bologna & expired Mayo on white bread with a side order of chips.
Yum.
As fate would have it, while walking around near our hotel, we found the passport office Sam needed to go to the next morning.
Within walking distance.

Sometimes we luck out like that. Or should I say Sam lucks out like that.

The next morning, Sam got up and headed out to the passport office.
I knew we had 12-24 hours to pass, so after breakfast waffles, the kids wanted to go swimming??
In the outdoor pool, in the balmy 50 degree weather...
Who those crazies?

Oh yes. The Wadley brood.

The fitness center was facing the pool, so I got on the treadmill while I watched the kids polar-bearing it outside.
I had been on the treadmill a little over 45 minutes when lo and behold, Sam comes walking in.
His passport was done.
Just like that!
Done.

Sometimes his luck is just unreal.
We had enough time to put the kids swim crap in the hotel dryer, get some lunch,
see some sights:

Eat some beignets:

(Delicious...and here is a funny side note: my camera was covered with powdered sugar from the beignets. The airport security in New Orleans had to hand swab it because of the suspicious looking residue.)
The boys were super grossed out by this lady at the airport that had allegedly flashed her goods and earned herself those honking Mardi Gras beads:

And then we hopped a flight back to Atlanta to attempt Dubai again, only one day off schedule.

Back, and very jet-lagged.

Did you miss me?

Oh boy, do I have some epic blog posts forthcoming!
We finally went on a vacation!
It's been over a year since we went anywhere.
Seems like an eternity.
I have been stuck at home LIKE A PEASANT.

When you get free flights, it really is a crying shame to stay home on weekends.
We had quite the adventure!

We had an impromptu visit to New Orleans.
A stay in Dubai.
A day in Paris.

We are all very screwed up with sleep.
Dubai is like 10 hours ahead of us, and Paris is, uh, something else.
I forget what.
My brain is really foggy.

I had to check in here, and also post a picture.
Don't you worry!
I have 1,160 more to share.
Selectively, of course.
But this one has people waiting on it.
Our return flight had some (very sweet, and slightly shy) eye candy.
(For the younger crowd.)
(Allegedly.)
Sigh...so cuuuute! (<--said in a "set-you-up-with-my-daughter," non-creeper way)

[Shianne with David Archuleta.]

Get some popcorn made, and get ready to settle in tomorrow for part One/Une/وَاحٍدْ

A Project That Could Change Your Life

Around these parts we exchange neighbor gifts for Christmas.
It is usually an inexpensive item, with some sort of inspirational/seasonal, poem/quote/story attached to said item.
It can almost be intimidating.
To come up with an idea that hasn't yet been passed around *your* neighborhood, and then to actually be able to purchase the item at the Dollar Tree before they are completely wiped out by other people handing out the same thing.
I usually make a list of people I want to give to, and then just about double it.
You always have those folks who show up with a gift, that you inadvertently forgot about...

This year I received my favorite neighbor gift ever.
A dishrag.
Yep.
A dishrag.

I love it so much that when I have to wash it I am sad, and camp out in front of the washing machine anxiously awaiting its return.

I am not a huge sewing buff.
To say the least.
I think it stems back from Junior High Home Ec.
We sewed hideous Bermuda shorts that year.

After I painstakingly measured, cut and stitched the pants together, I tried them on.
They were jacked.
I could not figure out what was going on.
After the teacher looked at them, she said I sewed the back to the front and the front to the back or something. The memories are fuzzy.
I had to un-stitch the whole #@$! thing.
Stitch by stitch.
With a seam ripper.
AND START OVER.
Truth be told, through tears, I bribed my Grandma to sew them for me.
I think I got a good grade.
But more importantly my love for purchasing clothing items already made! at a store! was born.
Each and every attempted sewing project since that time conjures up memories of cursing and tears.

Anyway, back to the dishrags.
I sewed myself up some more.
Yes, I did.
It was really, really easy, and I am going to show you how.
Do yourself a favor and make some of these, mmmkay?

Here is what you will need:
Some Scotch Brite Heavy Duty Scour Pads.(Not the kind with sponges attached. Just the plain green ones. I found mine oddly enough at my local grocery store. They were $2.50 for a package of 3.)

A package of dishcloths, whatever kind you prefer.
I found these at Walmart for about $2.00 a package.
Then you will need some pins, and your sewing machine.
First, you cut the scouring pads in half:

And then in half again:

Then pin that sucker in place, in a corner of the dishcloth, and zig-zag stitch it on. I hope your sewing skills are way better than mine. You can clearly see I am not going to be winning any domestic awards any time in the near future.
Sorry Grandma.

What you have now, is a completed dishrag!

Repeat for as many dishcloths as you have.
The beauty of these things is that you will save your fingernails.
You know what I am talking about!
When you are wiping off the breakfast mess, and Cocoa Pebbles are shellacked to the counter top, you try to scrape them off with your fingernails...right?
Not anymore.
Find your scrubby part of your dishrag, and Pebbles Be Gone!!
Trust me.
You will love these.

Waxing Philosophical

Lately I have been thinking about goals.
The gym is starting to thin out.
Folks who made unrealistic New Year's fitness Resolutions are giving up already, and staying home.
I have been thinking about what makes me successful at certain goals, and fail miserably at others.
Then, I found this quote:

The difference is in how much I want the end result.
For instance, we have been doing really well as a family with our goal of reading the Book of Mormon.
I want to finish it.
My kids want to finish it.
And although some nights we have been really tired, or fighting a lot, and not really wanting to sit next to each other on the couch, we have still done it.
I am not going to say that miracles have occurred, angels have sung, or that we are smiles and rainbows over here because we are reading the scriptures.
Haven't really noticed a big difference, yet.
But we are united in our desire to get this goal knocked out.

Three years ago, I lost almost 50 pounds on Weight Watchers.
You can read more about that HERE.
(There are even gratuitous before and after pictures for your viewing/scoffing pleasure.)
People ask me all the time how I lost the weight.
Eating better and exercising.
It's not what anyone wants to hear...that is takes effort.
I believe anything can work: Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, your own plan at home, whatever!(although I am partial to WW) but you have to WANT IT bad enough.
You have to want it more than cake, or an extra helping of mashed potatoes, or even cookies.
You have to want it more than sitting on the couch because running sounds miserable at the moment.

I know I am slow to most things.
And at pushin' 40, it has taken me too long to realize this.

That you will find a way to achieve a goal if you want it bad enough, and if you are making excuses for yourself *not* achieving it, then it is only a wish.
Not a goal.

Big difference.

This is why I am writing this down.
To impart this nugget of wisdom upon my posterity.
Sometimes my brain actually works albeit in short spurts.

My kids can thank me later, with a nicer nursing home.
Preferably one with a Tempur-Pedic bed.

Now, on the other hand, I am still up seven pounds from the stupid holidays.
I wish I would do something about it.
But I still have Almond Roca, and thankfully, sweats that still fit.

Pushin' 40 and still pretty hot.

Sam and I graduated high school the same year.

He is way older than I am.
He just had his 39th birthday yesterday.
I won't have mine for seven whole months!
I will always be a younger, trophy wife. Yes?

We are such party animals over here.
We spent his birthday watching the kids bowl at their junior league.
Sam caught up on reports for work.
Family came over, we sang "Happy Birthday" and gave him a meager collection of gifts.
Then after the kids went to bed, we rented a movie from Redbox.
I gave it a thumbs side-ways.
Not up, or down.
Just meh.
Pretty rockin' huh?

I did manage to make him his favorite dinner, and dessert.
(And yes, it was an actual food dessert, not a "birthday dessert wink, wink.")
We have gotten too old for that sort of nonsense.

All you need for Sam's birthday meal is a vat of cream cheese.
I am documenting his favorite recipes, in case I die, and wife #2 needs some pointers. Or, in case I get Alzheimer's.
You can click on them to see them better.
They are both really fantastic. With that amount of cream cheese, can you expect anything less?
Behold, Chicken Pillows:

And Birthday Pie:

In case you are wondering about the recipes being a photo, I dabble in digital a bit, and one weekend, I went through all my favorite recipes and turned them into 4x6 prints. I printed them at Costco, then I slid all the prints into a photo album. Now I don't have to thumb through 237 recipe books to find what I need.
Suck on that, Martha!

Anyway, back to the cream cheese.
I used SIX eight ounce bricks of it yesterday.
Sam kept asking me if it was fattening.
Not if it is your birthday.

So a little about the almost 40 year old hottie:
He picked up Hockey again.

I like Hockey.
Except for the smell.
Anyone been around Hockey?
You know what I mean...

He plays well.
That is the only thing I did better than him when we dated. I could ice skate the crap out of him. He was like Bambi learning to walk.
My triumph was short-lived.
Now? He rocks.
Of course.
Like all sport related stuff, he is a natural.

He coaches our kids when his work schedule allows:

People think he "is a God" (<--his words, not mine)on Jeep trails.
I guess he is good at driving jeeps.
I don't really know.
I hate that stuff, and opt to stay home.
I don't find joy in riding close to the edge and *almost* rolling down a cliff, but pulling it out just in time cause you have skeelz.
It's one of those married people "you have your hobby, I have mine" kinda things.

With all those testosterone driven hobbies, he also manages to stay in touch with his feminine side.
He faithfully watches "America's Next Top Model."
Faithfully.
As you can clearly see, it is paying off, as he has learned how to "Smeyes."
(Smile with your eyes. For the non-ANTM watchers.)

What I love best about Sam are the little things:

How some mornings he turns off my alarm, takes care of getting the kids off to school, and lets me sleep in extra.
When he brings me Chick-fil-a, for no reason.
How he rubs out my knotted, tight shoulder muscles without me asking.
When he senses one of the kids needs extra attention, and he acts on it.
He fixes broken things, and somehow has the skills to know how to do it.
"I am going downstairs, do you need anything?"
"I have to grab some stuff at Wal-Mart on the way home, anything on your list?"
How he covers me with an extra blanket, if he can see that I am sleeping curled up into myself in the fetal position.
He appreciates and acknowledges when I do stuff around the house.
He tells me he is still attracted to me.
Whether that is a lie, or he needs a new contact prescription, I don't really care.
Contrary to the state of our women's-lib world, Chivalry is not dead.
He still opens doors for me.

Yep, I kinda like this old geezer.
Happy 39th babe!

Braving the Scale.

I finally stepped onto the scale today, after full-on ignoring it during and after the holidays.
Let me preface this by saying that during the holidays, I didn't eat any actual "food."
I ate garbage.
Crap.
Delicious, delicious crap.
And I liked it!

However, so did my thighs. And my enlarged hind-end. I have noticed extra jiggle in my triceptual area as well.

The verdict: I am up seven pounds.
At 3,500 calories per pound, and seven pounds, that means I ate, uh...too much.
Math is not my strong point.

Apparently neither is restraint.

I Have a Coupon For That.

I think giving coupon books as gifts is a big fat cop-out.

I remember giving them to my Mom and Dad as a present for Mother's Day/Father's Day/Every Other Holiday in Existence.

I remember truly stressing over what I was willing to commit to.
"This coupon good for one________________"
One what? (THINK!!!)
One...uh, dishwasher unload.
Yes! That will be fairly easy!
And now there are only...NINE COUPONS to go?
Nine?!
NINE? This could take me allllll day.
One day, I noticed a real coupon in a mailer.
It had an expiration date.
AND RESTRICTIONS!
"Coupon cannot be combined with any other coupon..."
You can do that?
Stipulations??!!
Yesssss!
So from that point on my coupons had limitations.
"This coupon good for one cleaning up after dinner." (Fine print: unless I have lots of homework (loophole), and not valid on nights when Dad makes fried chicken, (cause HAZMAT can't even take that on.) Coupon expires in One Day.)

Never once did my Mom or Dad cash any of those suckers in.
Does anyone?
Has anyone in the history of EVER cashed in homemade coupons?

Now I am on the receiving end of the coupons.

They have the kids make coupon booklets in school.
I totally get it, it is cheap, and the kids can practice writing, blah, blah.
I have a box full of good intentions given to me by my children.

One year, Shianne filled out all of her coupons.
Apparently the teacher asked them to commit to service that can be done in 20 minute increments.
"This coupon good for 20 minutes of You Going to the Mall Without Us Kids"
"This coupon good for 20 minutes of Me Practicing the Piano"
Hold on.
What was that last one?
The piano?
We don't have a piano, and you don't know how to play one.
"Well," she said, "that is what Amy wrote."

I don't even get personal good intentions.
I get copied good intentions.

Are kids getting smarter?
Mikayla has really aced the whole coupon/commitment dilemma.

I got a coupon book from her for Christmas this year.
She is in the second grade.
Originally the book had several coupons.
She tore out all but three, and painstakingly filled them in.

Coupon number one read "This coupon good for: ONE SMILE."
Coupon number two "This coupon good for 20 minutes of: ME COLORING FOR YOU."
Number three:"This coupon good for: ME EATING YOUR COOKIES."

About New Years' Resolutions

I have this love/hate relationship with making goals for the new year.

It generally sets me up for failure.
I usually make unrealistic goals. Most of them revolve around food.
No More Chocolate!
No More Sugar!
Nothing Carbonated!
More Spinach!
And then Spring rolls around, bringing with it Cadbury mini-eggs, and I lose my head.
Failure.
Kinda like all the newbies at the gym that clog it up until mid-February.
We mean well...
Despite the risk of failure, I like the thought of starting fresh on habits that need to be implemented, or need to die.

This year I have made just two goals.
The first one is to read The Book of Mormon.
Many of you who read the blog already know that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The Book of Mormon is the foundation of our religion, along with the Bible.
It is 531 pages long.
I have read it all the way through once in my whole life.
Yep. Once.
I have read all of the Harry Potter series. Twice.
Allegedly I read Twilight in one sitting. (498 pages)
I am giving myself 360 more days to get The Book of Mormon read.
I am dragging my kids with me.
Anyone want to join us?

"Regular reading of and talking about the Book of Mormon invite the power to resist temptation and to produce feelings of love within our families. And discussions about the doctrines and principles in the Book of Mormon provide opportunities for parents to observe their children, to listen to them, to learn from them, and to teach them."
David A. Bednar

If you would like your own free copy of The Book of Mormon, you can get one HERE.
Any of you who want to join me by reading The Bible, that counts too.
You can get a free copy HERE.

Although, I gotta warn you...The Bible has like 1,274 pages.

My second resolution for 2011?
To eat cookies.

Failure proof.

So long, 2010.

‎"An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves." ~Bill Vaughan

I am very much in the later category.
Not a great year...but 2011 has started out well!
We all got a little tipsy on Sparkling Cider, and slept in 'til 11.
Yeah. 11.
It felt pretty great.
And think of all the calories I saved by sleeping right through breakfast!

Here are some other great things (already) about 2011:
My church meeting time switched from 9am to 11am. (Can I get an "amen!")
School is back in session on Monday!
I don't have anything I need to return or exchange.
Mikayla gets a new cast tomorrow**, hopefully a waterproof one. This taping her up in a plastic bag and sponge bathing her thing is not working out.
The Christmas crap is put away. And by crap, I mean decor, and I use the term decor very loosely.
I have seen decor, and it ain't in my house.
My "crap" is an eclectic, outdated hod-podge of hand-crafted or discount store purchased items that have all been broken at least once.
While other blogs boast artistic photo montages of cozy, sunbeam illuminated themed decor, here you get...well, here is how I wrap presents:

Enough said.
And it is all boxed up and shoved back into the crawl space for next year.
(**a story for another day)

Things that are (already) not so great:
I fell off the healthy eating wagon, or maybe I ate it. I ate everything else around here.
First day back to the gym is going to include tears and vulgarities.
It is bitterly cold here in the frozen tundra of Utah. Smiling outside makes my teeth hurt, and feel like fragile glass. And inhaling outside makes my nose sides stick together.
I don't go outside.
Not even for the mail. It's just bills anyhow.

All-in-all, I am pretty optimistic about the new year!
We survived 2010, yes?

2011? Bring it.

In Case You Didn't Hear...

Alternately titled "How I Ended My Summer Vacation."

I don't love running.
There! I said it!
I don't like broccoli either.
It has taken me 38 years to realize this.
I want to love both of them, cause I know how darn good they both are for me...but I just don't.

Sometimes I like running.

There are those rare moments, (and half-assed runners like myself can attest to this fact) those limited occasions where you actually want to run.
Your heart races in anticipation, and your legs feel like rambunctious puppies, eager to be set free.
On these infrequent occurrences, it seems like you can fun forever. Until your iPod battery runs out, or your shoes shred, or the sun goes down. Nothing hurts, your breathing is even and deep, and life is good. Almost zen.
You can truly see why people love running.
This has only happened to me twice. In 38 years.
The rest of the time, when I attempt to run, I feel just like the couch potato that I am meant to be.
My legs feel like they are forged out of leaden ballast bricks. And what is that behind me? My enormous fifty pound butt. So. Hard. To. Drag...
My lungs burn like I have pneumonia, and I can literally taste blood.
My feet slap on the pavement, and I am counting the seconds until I can be done already!
I have a constant inner dialog:
"Let's walk for a bit, Mr. Heart's not doing so well..."
"Heart is fine! We are fine! Shut it!"
"Heart is not fine. Heart is flopping around like a dying fish..."
"Heart is WEAK! We are doing this for Heart!"
"Heart likes just walking. And slower walking."

So one day I decided to embrace my inner athlete and give a 5K a whirl.
Prior to the big day, I had never run a full three miles without stopping.
I had run plenty of broken up miles, one mile running, then a block or two of walking for Heart. Lather and repeat.
So that was my only goal for the day.
I told myself, "Self, just run the whole thing, you don't have to be fast, just run it all."
That was my only goal.
Oh, and to not vomit on my own shoes.
So I showed up that Saturday morning, with a banana swimming in the nervous pit of my stomach acid, sporting the shirt, my own pinned-on number, and a newly forged play list with butt kicking music.
There were some announcements, and sponsors to thank, and "There will be assorted donuts at the finish line...!!"
With the race route explained, we lined up, and the starting gun fired.
Within the first few minutes, the pack spread.
The real runners took off like gazelles.
Me and the rest of the middle pack started pacing ourselves.
The tail-enders consisted of grandmas with walkers, and moms with toddlers in strollers.
I knew I could take them on!
Courage! Confidence!
I had no idea what I was doing.
I just didn't want to burn everything off with my starting adrenaline.
So I kept a steady pace, slower than I usually ran.
Pretty soon I passed a few people.
I matched pace with a few people, and we would pass each other, and be passed.
Let's never speak of the 11 year old boy who sailed past me in flip-flops and a smug grin.
(I never saw him again...)
All too soon I realized I was nearing the finish line. For real.
And I was not dead, and I was not tired.
So I pushed it a little.
I think it was the donuts.
If I finished somewhere in the middle, all that would be left would be apple fritters.
Sick!
So I passed one more guy coming into the final stretch, and crossed that line.
They handed me a ribbon, and wrote my bib number down.
Very anticlimactic.
I expected screaming fans and vuvuzela's and possibly a choir of angels!
I finished a RACE!
That I RAN!
That I ran the whole time! Without stopping!
On PURPOSE!
My cousin had a camera with her, and caught the only photo I have of the day.

I hung around for a while.
Then I decided that I should probably go home and get started on laundry.
I was proud of myself.
And that whole day I felt like I was a runner!
I wanted to talk to other runners, about running!
I wanted to eat broccoli!

Later that afternoon, I went back over to check the stats.
Lo and Behold, a pre-Christmas miracle.
I took second in my age division!!
Granted, I was probably in the same category as the grandmas in walkers, but what the heck? I take what I can get.
It was my name, I checked twice.

And then, to my amazement, I got a phone call:
"Is this Shaunte Wadley? Hey, why didn't you stay for the awards? You took first in your age division, and second over-all..."
:::Thud:::
I guess when I checked stats, the "woman" who finished ahead of me, was actually the man I passed in the final stretch. He and his wife had gotten their bib numbers switched.

I am going to repeat myself. In case you didn't hear.
I TOOK FIRST IN MY AGE DIVISION.

I am not going to tell you how many people ran it, or what my time was, cause I am pretty sure it doesn't exactly rank up there with such races as say "The Boston Marathon" or "Race for the Cure."
I took first.
And I am taking it.
Cause that's how I roll.
And I am going to brag about it for the rest of my days.
And I have given myself the fine gift of never having to race again, cause really, what is there to aspire to?
I already have a FIRST PLACE!
And a delicious jelly donut.

I'm Hiding from the Kids, with the last of the Chocolate.

I had all my kids really close together.
I am such a sucker for newborns!
When my babies turned 9 months old, I missed having a newborn, and like a complete moron, figured I should have another, you know, instead of skulking around the hospital and getting my fill, or borrowing one from a neighbor...
So we had all our kids really close, and as a result, they all go through "stages" one after another, with no break.
Let me explain that one a little better.
When we potty trained, it lasted FOUR! YEARS!

We are smack in the middle of braces right now. Also:
Teenage attitude.
Constant texting.
Oxy on the Spot Cream by the gallon.
And closet drinking parents.

This Christmas season marked a couple of big milestones.

One day, out of the blue, Sam and I got a good look at Jayden, (14) and discovered that he was sporting a partial 'stache. I am not sure how long it had been there, since we hardly ever see the kid.

As is the rite of passage, Sam gave him shaving lessons.

(Remember that I mentioned my beloved camera died? Well, I am not used to the new one yet. It has a setting on it for adjusting the white balance. Our bathroom is orange. Yes it is. And the setting options were for Tungsten Light and Florescent Light but nothing for Mexican Strip Club Neon. So deal.)

I am pretty sure he will not be needing to shave again for another six months, but Santa brought him a razor and Edge gel anyway.

His voice has gotten deep, and it is kinda freaky sometimes to hear a man downstairs when I know Sam is gone, and realize it is just Jayden.

The other Christmas milestone, was for Shianne. She is in sixth grade now.
She is starting to get curvy, much to the horror of her father.
For Christmas, she got her first make-up bag.
Starting her out on mascara (Great Lash) and lipstick.
She could not be happier.
She is a pretty girl and really doesn't need it:

I gave her some lessons, and cried a little inside.
"Go ahead and coat those naturally long, black, super-thick lashes of yours...you butt."

Of course all the kids have all crossed over to that Expensive Christmas Gift zone.
"I only want a couple of things this year, Mom."
An iPhone
iPod Touch and
iPad.
(iDon't think so iDiots, iCan't afford that.)
Also...Stupid Apple!

They got what they got.
It wasn't that.
And when they can afford the stuff they really want, they should be well out of the house.

And speaking of well out of the house, they have another week off from school.
This can go one of two ways.
I will enjoy having them around, hanging out in PJ's--bonding; or I will quietly crack mentally from the non-stop bickering.
I am putting my money on the later.

Oops!... I Did It Again

I had good intentions.
I thought that by *not* blogging, I would have all this free time on my hands.

When I quit blogging, I printed out all my old posts and bound them into books. They sit on a shelf, and get more air time than any of the family scrapbooks.
Why?
Cause they are *one* book per year.
A manageable little time capsule of our family life.

When I quit blogging, I had envisioned hand-writing volumes of intensely personal family history, rich with deep thoughts, and words of infinite wisdom to bestow upon my posterity.

Never happened.
I don't hand write anything. My hand cramps up. I hate writing!

Truth was, 2010 was a super crappy year.

I didn't record anything.
I didn't really even take pictures.

I lacked the motivation! Who knew that this stupid blog of mine motivated me to at least document our paltry lives?

2010 was the year of broken bones, knocked out teeth, a dead camera, starting a business, lots of football games and beginning Wrestling.
It was also the year cancer touched our lives.
It was a year of sadness, balanced out with miracles.
It was a year that was not documented, and it needed to be.
It totally needed to be.

My kids would even ask "Are you going to put this on your blog?"

So, 2011, I am coming back, baby!
I am clearly too lazy to hand write in a journal.
Blogging has become the easiest way for me to get my feelings down.
With PICTURES!

Plus, I miss the validation.
Your comments make me feel like maybe I haven't been chugging down on the crazy sauce. Like maybe other people struggle with the same things I do...and let's laugh about it together.

If Britney can (sort-of) make a come-back, then I can too!
Although I will be wearing more clothing.

I'm retiring.

Just like Oprah!

I am shutting this thing down come January.

I have gotten too busy to keep up with posting, and then I feel guilty.
I don't like guilty.
It makes me eat Oreos.

It has been a good few years, and I have loved reading your comments!
Thank you for your friendship and support, and for laughing with me when I thought I was going to crack.

May 2010 bring less stress to us all!
-Shaunte-

It's beginning to look a lot like.....a prozac commercial.

I had this hair-brained idea this year to use the family advent calendar for December as an Activity! Calendar! instead of the usual pick a treat out of the pocket and then fight about it amongst yourselves thus causing the "Spirit of the Christmas Season" to fly out of the windows along with the super expensive (yet worth it) furnace heat.

And THAT was the longest run-on sentence ever.

Back to the plethora of family activities.
We have stuffed the pockets of the calendar with everything from "Make Cookies together"(big mess in the kitchen, one wooden spoon caught fire) to "Go to Temple Square to see the lights.(beautiful but freezing cold)



And we are still going at it.

This past week, for instance, we drove to "See Christmas lights in our Pajamas".
Thanksgiving Point, not far from our house has a pretty good drive through light display. Not having to walk around in frigid temperatures is a huge bonus to me.
We had the van doors open, the Christmas tunes cranked, the windows rolled down, and we were all wrapped up in blankets.
Oh, and the heater on full bore.
We are doing our part for that global warming thing.
At the end of the light display, they had real reindeer to see.
Not drive through reindeer.
You had to actually get out.
The kids all wanted to go pet their frozen carcasses.
Sam had to take them, because, well...these are my pajamas:

I didn't really want to walk around.
Not because I didn't look smoking hot in them,(cause I am pretty sure that I did) but because I might get the feet wet, and really, what good are footed PJ's if the feet get wet?
Here is the picture he got with the kids and the reindeer:

Go ahead and click on that bad boy to make it bigger.
The quality is awesome!

Beggars can't be choosers.
And footie-wearers can't be photographers.

So this is the reason I haven't been around the Internets much.

Been having too farking much fun hangin' with the fam.(Some sarcasm may apply.)
Christmas shopping.
Baking stuff up for parties.
Shoveling snow.
Killing at Pictionary!
Mopping up after soggy snow boots.
and finding lost gloves.
Along with my regular chores of:
Cooking
Cleaning
Laundry
and generally being the token trophy wife.

I think this picture sums it up:

So if I am not back here again before the big day-

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Be very jealous.

Last Sunday night I started getting sick.

Come to find out, I was lucky enough to land myself a portion of the good old H1N1 that is making the rounds.
I have been completely wiped out for a week.

I missed two weddings.
A field trip.
The gym.

But I have been "Keeping up with the Kardashians."

My house has fallen apart.
Finally, on Thursday since I was out of PJ pants with which to lounge in, and my ten year old son opted to wear his sisters stretchy pants to school out of necessity, laundry duty was imminent.

And this is what met me, by smell from the kitchen, and by sight from the bottom of the stairs:

And I now know why they call it the "Swine Flu."

Cause when mama gets it, no one picks up the slack, and the whole house turns into a pig-sty.

Don't even get me started on the kitchen...

Oh....Hello!

It has been so long since I blogged that I forgot my password to get into Blogger.
I had to do the password recovery thingie.
But here I am!

I just wanted to pop in and post a quickie to show all five of you that I am still alive.

Ten Things I Suck AT:
1- Consistent Blogging. You can't argue with that one.

2- Consistent anything...Sometimes there is dinner, other times you are fending for yourself here.

3- Clothing repairs. I have a laundry basket full of shirts that need buttons sewn back on, or jackets that need a small tear sewn up. I don't think the original owners of said clothing even fit those particular items any longer. Let's not even talk about the time I STAPLED on the Scout shirt patches. And I was the Cub Master at the time.

4- Sleep schedules. If I have a good book, I am reading til 3:00am. If not, I might zonk out during the 10:00 news.

5- Removing unwanted hair. My eyebrows look like Sasquatch. Always. And in the winter, my razor gets a break. Tights come in handy for church. And long boots.

6- Resisting Junk. And to CLEARLY specify...by "junk" I mean "junk food"--not the more popular reference to male genitalia. Which, for the record, I have a long-standing reputation of resistance.
JUNK food. If there is an open box, bag or package of cookies, chips, or candy, it will soon be an empty bag. Willpower. Wish I had some.

7- Sudoku. There are just too many NUMBERS.

8- Praying in public. Like for Sunday School opening prayer, or a family dinner. I always pray myself into a corner. "We are grateful for the beautiful weather...and for weather that is....um, uhhhh...(crickets)...pleasing unto thee??!!
(Fail.)

9- Finding an address. Unless the address can be found using landmarks, like "the pink house right behind Target." Truthfully, I am not even sure of where my Norths and Wests are at any given time. Pizza delivery will never be in my future.

Well folks, I am just getting warmed up here, but this is a list of only ten, which brings me to number ten. This is a recently acquired "sucking" and will probably warrant it's own blog post:

10- Zumba.

This is why women burn candles.

The past week I have had a mystery smell in my house.
A bad mystery smell.

It seemed to be stronger in the kitchen area.
I was hoping for a rotten potato.
That is the quickest fix to the "What the (gag) heck is that (gag) smell?!"
Not a potato.
Still really rank in the kitchen.

This led me down my well-worn trail of mental darkness...
What if it was a dead customer??!!

Let me backtrack for those of you new to the blog.

Me=Deathly afraid of rodents.

My husband and my sons try to keep me out of the loop when it comes down to the mouse population in the house.
When they set traps now, they talk in code.
"Hey, did you check the *mailbox* for *customers*?
(wink, wink)
I know deep down what they are referring to, but I choose to take the conversation at face value.

Lalalalala...fluffy white clouds in my world....

So back to my mystery smell.
I was almost thinking it was a customer somewhere, rotting away, and was slightly afraid to find it, and yet really, really anxious to GET RID OF THE PUTRID SMELL emulating from the center of the house.

I mean, what if someone dropped in?

What would they think?
Admit it.
We all know someone that has a weird smelling house.
And it leaves you to wonder if they can't smell it?
How can they stand it?
Is it Pets? Garlic? Socks?
What?
And really, it is asking a lot out of that tiny bowl of decorative potpourri...

What if someone thought my house smelled like this all the time?

I did what any self-respecting homemaker would do in such a grim state of smell-searching panic.

I lit a scented candle.

I was reminded of the Week of the Bad Mystery Smell by my husband.

It was when the twins were potty training.
The house perpetually smelled like a stinky diaper.

I swear, I was anal about taking those things out to the trash, and yet the smell still seemed to linger.

It was a few days later when we discovered one of the twins had done their business, taken the offending diaper off, and promptly stuffed the package down the heater vent.

The combined force of the air, and the heat redistributed that lovely aroma allllll over the house.

For a week.

No candle can compete with that.

I knew we were past the diaper days.
Still this horrid smell remained.

It doesn't help that I have an acute sense of smell.
This was the only skill I retained from all of my pregnancies.
Gone is the voluptuous chest!
Gone is the aversion to carbs!
But my sniffer!
Yep. Still highly sensitive.

I can smell a fart behind a closed door and down two flights of stairs.
Once I was in the kitchen, and could smell the "fruits" from one of the boys from the family room.
"Who WAS IT!!!!" I snarled.
"No way!" the offender replied in awe and disbelief.
And I swear, bet money was exchanged between the boy and his dad.
Yep.
I have skeelz.

This smell.
It was making me crazy!

Finally, I found it.

A package of frozen vegetables that got put away in the pantry instead of the freezer. Yesssss!

I was one happy...um, customer.

Down for the Count

It started with Brendan.
He went on a scout camp-out and was up the next night puking.
I slept through it all.

Hooray for having kids that can hit the toilet on their own!
I figured that he just ate a lot of junk on the camp-out.

Then the next day was fast Sunday.
We all fasted, and Jayden excused himself from the dinner table to go retch.
Again, I figured he was just overly hungry from fasting.

The next day, Shianne started ralphing.

It was only then that I figured it out.
"Hey, we have the flu, here."

I got it yesterday.
It was rotten.
I finally needed to eat something, and the only thing that sounded good was a banana shake.
I hate bananas.
Maybe I just needed the potassium?
It tasted pretty dang good.

And today, Jayden is fevered up again.

I want to clear the house out, and have it quarantined.
Lysol everything.
Sigh.

I guess it is going around.
Several schools in Utah have completely closed.

Other news:

Shayne came home last week and informed me that he wanted to work on a project for the reflections contest.
He wanted to enter in the Photography category.
He asked to borrow my point and shoot camera.
The theme for this years' reflections contest is "Beauty is..."
I forgot about him for a while, and he came back into the house, partly frozen, holding the camera.
"I think I got some good ones." he said, "Can we go look?"

So we go upstairs to upload the photos he took.
I was curious, because it was pitch-black outside, and I had no idea where he was going with this.
Here is what he got:


I was floored!
He took the pictures through his telescope!
And I was even more floored to learn he shot them on manual.
I DON'T EVEN SHOOT ON MANUAL.
He said, "I just kept trying all the buttons, and the one that worked the best was the "M" button, on 4.5 and 1/1000."

Huh.

He picked his favorite pictures and mounted them on black poster board and put:
"Beauty is...something you can't touch, only see."

I am not sure how two morons like Sam and I have managed to raise this kid.

Random Ponderings

1- Why does gravy never re-heat in the microwave?
2- Why do gray hairs always stand straight up on your head like little bug antennas?
3- Why can I never find any of the 151 pairs of nail clippers in this house when I need them?
4- Why are nail clippers referred to as a "pair" of nail clippers?
5- Why do none of the pens in this house work? I have to resort to jotting down important information in crayons. It makes me feel super professional.
6- Why is it that anything with scrambled eggs on it (plate, cup, pan) never come clean in my dishwasher? Eggs? What the crap?
7- How is it that extra-super super glue has a questionable bond, yet cocoa pebbles can form a permanent molecular attachment to the grout in my floor tile?
8- How does my kitchen faucet get so gunky? What is that gunk? (probably salmonella)
9- Why can't I get off my butt and get my house clean? :)

Silence.

For the past couple of days I have had no voice.
I am not sick. (Unless someone wants to bring me sympathy dinner. Or cookies.)
I have no other symptoms of being sick.
Just no voice.

I honestly think that this is something my children have been praying for, and clear evidence that they have more clout than I with The Big Guy upstairs.

You see...I can't holler at them for anything.
I have to try to get their attention by snapping my fingers.
I am not a good snapper.
I have never been able to whistle either.
I have resorted to flapping my arms in front of them as they watch TV.
Sadly, I barely register a response.
They are used to the crazy, and think that the flapping is a new stage in that rodeo.

I could call them, I suppose, using my cell phone to call the home phone, but
A- they would never answer it, and
B- if they did answer (by some small miracle), they would be met with silence on the other end of the line--from their mute mother.

They seem to find the dinner table okay when the food is ready, without me calling for them.

I am worried that I won't get my voice back.
Sam said it is that time of year...
The time of year when he has maybe or maybe not seen mice in the general vicinity.
He has to tread very carefully around this subject, since I am not hormonally stable enough to survive a possible rodent sighting.
And imagine!
Imagine if I saw one...
and I
Couldn't.
Even.
SCREAM??

Let's change the subject, shall we?

I am trying to count my blessings today.
I am still feeling sorry for myself.
Wallowing in it, actually.
Truth be told, it is just a dang good excuse to wear pajama pants and watch junky TV shows. (America's Next Top Model, anyone?)

We are wrapping up football/soccer season in the next couple of weeks.
Then, the family schedule will be a whole lot less stressful.
I got a few really great shots this year of the boys playing.

They are actually at the age now, where they appreciate that their mom is a little freaky about taking pictures of everything.

This shot was right after Brendan kicked a goal.
Shayne is on his team this year.
Awwww...Brothers...
High Five! (Or middle five...whatever works.)

The next couple are super crappy.
It was a night game, and a zoom lens.
Jayden caught a pass, and ran it.



Now I know, that most of you are thinking, "well, yeah, that is generally how football is played."
Let me give you a little background on Jayden:

The kid hasn't hit his growth spurt yet.
One day, when I was downstairs unloading the dishwasher or something stimulating like that, he yelled at me from upstairs.
"MOM!! Come QUICK!"
His voice had a certain urgency to it, and my heart was in my throat as I ran upstairs to find him.
He was on the bathroom scale.
"LOOOOK!" he said, "HURRY!"
The scale registered 100.2 pounds.
"I broke 100!" he said, "hurry and LOOK, cause I really need to take a dump."
(He knew that *ahem* "nature" would drop him back under the 100 pound mark.)

Like I said, hasn't hit his growth spurt.
He is a skinny kid.

This is his first year playing football, and he has really done well.
What he lacks in stature, he makes up for in drive.
He has worked his little butt off, and I am proud of him.

Here are some projects that I made for the last trade show:
Some Halloween Shapes from Quickutz


A layout with the Fall line from Karen Foster

And what I call a "grid layout."
These are layouts I periodically do to capture little things that don't warrant a whole layout by themselves. Plus it is a great way to use up those spare things (single deco brads, charms or stickers) that are left over from other projects.

I think that is all I have.
Off to wash some uniforms...

What the effffffffffffffff.

My thyroid came back completely NORMAL.

Someone hold me.
Back to square one...

A whole lot of nothin' for a $25.00 co-pay.

"How are you?" the smiling, green scrub-clad doctor asked me.
"Well, aside from being bat-$hit crazy, I guess I am doing okay" I said.
He chuckled.
I didn't.
Then I cut right to the heart of the matter and brought out my notebook.
Oh yes, I did.
I wrote it alllll down.
I didn't want to miss a thing.
He nodded thoughtfully and made notes as I spoke.
I am pretty sure he was just doodling, but he made a good pretense of the note-taking.
I rattled off everything that was going on with me. Physically. Emotionally.
Then, when I got to the end of the list, he looked up nodding in that knowingly slash sympathetic way and said "you are text-book premenopausal."

Emphasis on text-book.

I seriously can't grasp why guys like this get paid real money.
Google told me I was premenopausal.
I bet there is a Wonderpets episode on menopause.
I want help, not an obvious diagnosis.

I told him that.

Then he said, "99 percent of women that come through that door have one of three things they are concerned about: not being able to lose weight, non-existing libido and lack of energy. If I could fix those things, I would be a very wealthy man."

I knew right then, that this visit was not going to go as I had planned in my head.

We talked a while longer, and he offered to put me on birth control.

I was wondering if he knew that the best form of birth control EVER would be to just keep me like I was.
NO ONE LIKES ME LIKE THIS!

Birth control?
Really?

There were other things mentioned too, don't get me wrong, but apparently there isn't a quick fix for me.
I can't just get Advil Menopause with Anti-Crazy.

I am pretty sure my thyroid is off, so we are starting there, and then beginning a journey down what looks like a very long road of try and try again.

Then, he hands me a very large paper towel festooned with flowers, and looking very much like the roll of Bounty in my kitchen, and leaves me to the undressing for the exam.

I am sure I am not the only woman in the world who undresses, ready for a virtual stranger to see all her business, yet feels compelled to hide her underwear.

There I am standing in nothing but tissue,(my back-end not even covered) and stuffing my bra and undies into the leg of my jeans so they can't be seen.
What is that?

Sparing you the details of the exam, it was over quickly, and this year I scooted down far enough the first time. Yay me.

"This might pinch a little." is a huge, big fat lie of an understatement.

Then some blood work.
Then back to the car.

And when I was in the car, I realized that nothing was accomplished.
Nothing.

Granted, the blood work will be a start.
I need to have patience.

But I was still a little frustrated.
I felt sweaty.
So I went to Wendy's a got a large frosty.
The End.