Zoe Love

For today's episode of Christmas Catch-Up, I thought I'd introduce our cutest visitor, Zoe the Pug. Zoe traveled all the way from Nebraska with NomiAnn and Papa K to be cuddled/smothered by her adoring cousins. For those who may not remember, Zoe has been adopted by the grandparents while her real parents, Aunt Callie and Uncle Adam, work in New Zealand. At the moment, they're vacationing on the beach in Samoa. Am I jealous? Absolutely. Zoe, however, loves any couch, no matter where in the world it may be.

Here she is gearing up before her big trip.

Snoozing some more in the van on the way to Utah.

It's a good thing she rested so much, because from the moment she arrived, it was constant loving.

Here's Talia taking Zoe for a hike through Snow Canyon State Park.

Eli wanted to walk Zoe too, but being about the same size, she tended to tip him over.

Pausing for a rest.

Happy conquerors of Johnson's Canyon--Papa Kay, NomiAnn, Zoe, and Talia.

Eli and Zoe hang out at Brooklyn's school playground.

Starting to wear out, Zoe enjoys a snuggle from Grandma.

And of course, no day would be complete without ample bonding time from Papa Kay. My father's infatuation with Zoe is both endearing and slightly alarming. No one knows how he will ever manage to give her back.

At long last, rest. Talia and Zoe are forever pals.

Bryce Canyon

Since much of the world seems to be missing its wintry white blanket, I thought I'd begin the Christmas photo catch-up by sharing pictures from a December day trip to snowy Bryce Canyon.

We ventured out to Bryce Canyon with my parents, who drove all the way from Nebraska to spend the holidays with our family. The kids were thrilled to see NomiAnn and Papa Kay, particularly during Tic Tac Time. Here's NomiAnn getting Eli all bundled up.

All ready to go!

The Bryce Canyon amphitheaters are absolutely stunning. If you haven't seen these hoodoos, I recommend you add them to your bucket list for life.

Just in case you need more convincing...

The girls were ecstatic to experience their first snow for the season--that is, until their feet got cold.

Time for a snowball fight!

Talia, just kickin' around.

Cute as a button.

Eli wonders, is there a purpose to all of this?

Here's Papa Kay, working his way along what we hoped was a trail.

NomiAnn and Kara, sludging their way through as well.

Jason and Eli look happy.

In the end, we turned around when the snow reached our thighs, fearing that someone might unintentionally toboggan their way through the hoodoos. Still, everyone stayed in good spirits, including the mini-van. Look closely--you may spot a familiar reindeer! (Courtesy of Papa K, the gimmick master, of course.)

Warning: Surrounding oneself with such beauty may spark feelings of romance.

I think we all should try it.

New Fun for the New Year

Never ones to bypass an adventure, we rang in the New Year yesterday by going tubing at Brian Head. Long lines followed by a few moments of excitement and thrill--we felt just like we were back at Disney! (More on that later.) Here are Brooklyn and Talia, seen as the two dots on the right.

A closer view of Brooklyn.

And a couple shots of Talia.


Kara loved the adventure as well.

The only one who didn't like tubing was Eli. He was a little nervous being dragged up the hill by the tow rope, and wide-eyed as he blazed his way down. Afterward, he smiled and acted like he wanted to go again, but when we got to the top he started to bawl. Unfortunately, safety regulations prohibit more than one rider on a tube, so we had no choice but to send the poor little tike down all on his own. After that, he sulked in his tube for the rest of the morning.

At least he looked dapper in his snowsuit!

Jason likewise looked handsome with his tousled hair.

Talia, looking somewhat Swedish.

And Brooklyn, demonstrating what happens if you travel with braids all the way from California, wear them to church the next morning, and then go tubing the next day. (Needless to say, baths were top priority when we got home.)

Brooklyn's Daisy Girl Scout Leader, Cari.

Cari's older daughter, Sofia.

And her adorable little girl, Chloe. Unlike Eli, Chloe is a die-hard thrill-seeker who loved speeding down the mountain.

The entire Girl Scout group.

And a Happy New Year wish from all of us!

Brooklyn's Seventh Birthday

Help! Despite a New Year and new beginnings, I'm positively drowning in photos. December was so delightfully eventful that catching up is hopeless, particularly since all I really want to do is to nap until February.

Even so, some milestones ought not be completely forgotten. About a week before Christmas, Brooklyn celebrated her 7th birthday.

For her special day, we made cupcakes to share with her class at school. As luck would have it, her birthday fell on a "dress-down" day so she was able to wear a favorite dress instead of her school uniform.

This cute little boy, Alan, is the son of her Spanish teacher, Mr. O. Garcia.

While Brooklyn still wanted a princess cupcake theme, her favorite color has recently changed from pink to blue. Regrettably, our homemade frosting turned out more akin to seafoam green. As far as I could tell, nobody complained.

On her actual birthday, Brooklyn opened a great package from Grandma Susie and Grandpa Charles that included an adorable outfit, twisty pencils, and a sparkling puppy purse. Thank you! She waited a few days to open a big box from NomiAnn and Papa Kay until they arrived from Nebraska, having made the long drive to spend the holiday with our family. So what was the big surprise?

An acoustic guitar! After an hour of lessons, Brooklyn was delighted to perform London Bridge, Skip to my Lou, and any other song requiring only a C and G7 chord.

Mom and Dad's present was a bit more modest, yet appreciated nonetheless.

A castle one minute, a unicorn the next! The miracle of Happy Nappers.

As the birthday girl, Brooklyn chose to watch a Dolphin's Tale at the dollar theater, followed by macaroni and cheese at Applebees. Add in special popcorn kid combos, and it was the day of her dreams!

It's hard to know what to write about our beautiful Brooklyn. I ran across these recent photos from Pioneer Park and thought, who is this long-legged beauty?


Despite my best efforts to ignore the obvious, she is growing up so quickly! Although it is still a year away, she already talks with such anticipation and joy about her baptism. Ever the planner, she delights in mapping out our days with precision: writing notes, creating schedules, and making lists. She is artistic, creative, imaginative, and innovative. And yes, she is ever-so intelligent. At times, I confess that these streaks of brilliance intimidate me. Not only do I worry that I won't be able to keep up with that sharp mind, but I pray she can find personal value and fulfillment in more than being just smart. While good test scores may bring accolade in school, it's important to learn that they do not define one's self-worth. While we are proud of her efforts, we do not expect perfection nor will we love her any less for bringing home less than a hundred. More and more, I'm trying to find opportunities to praise Brooklyn for who she is, not just for all the great things she does.

For beneath the gorgeous locks and bright eyes, there lies a very tender heart with a deep desire to love and to please. A protective little mother, she takes great care of her little brother and tries very hard to get along with her spunky sister. Sensitive to the spirit, Brooklyn is motivated by a deep sense of justice and has a great desire to choose the right.

Thanks, sweet Brooklyn, for sharing your enthusiasm and love. You've taught us so much over the past seven years--I look forward to sharing seven times more.

Dental Drama

As a general rule, I'm pretty quick to confess my many mess-ups, mishaps, quirks and idiosyncrasies. Laugh with me, laugh at me--I don't care. It just feels good to laugh. That said, I've felt reluctant to share my most recent embarrassing moment, even though Jason's been begging me to blog about it. Not only is it really embarrassing, as in honey-I'm-sorry-but-we-have-to-move-because-I-can-longer-show-my-face-in-public humiliation, but it means I have to reveal one of my darkest secrets:

I have a pathological fear of dentists.

Seriously. I'm neurotic. I think my terror may be connected to having the anaesthesia wear off early when my wisdom teeth were taken out at a dental school. Or perhaps my psyche was damaged when my first cavities were filled immediately following my first gynecological appointment. (Two unenviable pre-marital tasks before being booted off my parents' insurance.) Jason, however, is convinced that my angst stems from singing about a sadistic dentist during a high school production of "Little Shop of Horrors."

No matter what the cause, I absolutely dread going to the dentist. After an appointment a few months ago, I told the receptionist that I'd rather go through labor than sit in a dental chair. She thought I was joking, but I was dead serious. The papery bibs, the dehumanizing masks, the harsh noise, the sharp instruments, the acrid smell of fluoride--it's enough to make my heart race just thinking about it. All of which probably explains why my girls never had a proper dental appointment-- until Tuesday.

Even though I knew that a check-up was long overdue, I kept procrastinating because I simply couldn't stomach the thought of visiting the dentist any more than absolutely necessary for human survival. Finally, I lighted upon a solution: my husband! If I scheduled the appointments far enough in advance, Jason could take the girls for me. All went well with my scheme until Monday when Jason learned of an unexpected, last minute business trip to Salt Lake City. I was trapped.

Now, at this point in the story you have to understand that Jason and I go to separate dentists. Jason goes to a super nice dentist who lives up the street and has an office around the corner. A family man, this dentist is regularly seen strolling with his wife and their dog. He and Jason shared a tent during a scout campout last year. On Sundays, I sing with this dentist in our church choir and teach his daughter in Young Womens.

Even though our neighborhood dentist is both skilled and friendly, I, on the other hand, choose to drive across town to a dentist where I can slip by incognito. His brusque, somewhat cold demeanor is more congruous with my imaginations of how a proper dentist should act. Moreover, I can suffer through the appointment privately and leave it all behind me, at least for another six months. To me, baring your dirty teeth is like baring your dirty underwear. The last thing I want is for someone I respect to get stuck examining my nasty plaque. When I go to church on Sunday, I have plenty to feel guilty about without seeing my dentist at the church organ. Every note seems to ring, "Repent and floss much more."

So, you can imagine my horror when I realized that I not only had to take my kids to the dentist, but to the dentist who plays the piano for them in Sunday School. I was mortified. I had nightmares. (Seriously, I really did.) I nearly canceled the appointments all together, but finally decided that was ridiculous. My personal neuroses had interfered with the oral health of my children long enough. I was a big girl, and I could handle this. We went to the appointment.

From the moment we got in the door, I felt anxious. The girls, on the other hand, were amazing--chipper and excited. When the hygienist came out and asked who wanted to go first, Talia raised her hand and squealed "Me, me, me!" Mercifully, I was not asked to accompany her back to the chair. Even in the waiting room, I was uptight and distracted. I tried to read a few magazine articles, but soon found myself pacing. Nothing on TV could hold my interest. Eli's chatter went unnoticed. Time crawled. After what seemed like an eternity, Talia and Brooklyn traded places. Eager to escape the office for a few minutes, I drove Talia up the road and dropped her off at preschool. When I got back, I overheard a few snippits of conversation. "Cavities." "Both girls." "Need filled."

My heart raced. My stomach sank. A lump formed in my throat. Despite my best efforts to keep my composure, I knew I was losing the battle. You see, it's one thing to let your morbid fear of dentists rot your own teeth. It's quite another to allow your psychosis to affect your children. And, let's face it--when you're the Mom, it's always your fault.

I was a horrible mother. My kids' teeth were rotting because of me. The whole world knew. And worst of all, we would have to go back to the dentist.

When the hygienist finally came out to say that the dentist was ready to speak with me, I knew I couldn't handle it. Like a crazy woman, I begged them to please just give me the paperwork and let me go. My husband would call, they could give him the full report, schedule any return appointments, whatever. (Even in my disheveled state, I knew one thing quite clearly--I wouldn't be back.) As for the dentist, I asked them to please send my kindest regards and apologies. I'd talk to him in church on Sunday.

And with that, I gathered up my son, my purse, a few tattered shreds of dignity, and fled right out the front door. But as I was loading Eli into his car seat, the receptionist came flying after me. Couldn't I come in for just a second? The dentist at least wanted to say hello. Trailing behind this woman was something I had forgotten.

My daughter.

I completely forgot my daughter. In my neurotic attempt to flee the office as fast as humanly possible, I left her sitting in the dentist's chair. While I presume that I would have noticed her absence soon (if not, I suppose she could have walked home), my neglect is concrete evidence: when it comes to dentists, I absolutely cannot be trusted.

And so, face burning with shame, I slunk back into the office for several minutes of the world's most awkward small talk. Muttering incoherently about dental offices and dirty underwear (why would I say that!), I foggily tried to answer questions about choir and plans for Christmas. Meanwhile, my brain is misfiring, trying to grasp how this nice, friendly man in front of me can be the mean, awful dentist with the terrible dental report for my children. Finally, in a moment of mercy, Kevin (no longer a dentist) remarked, "You can't even concentrate in here, can you?"

And with that, I was dismissed. Let go. Freed from the dental prison. This time, I carefully gathered up all my children, sank into the car, and realized there is only one option. We have to move.

Anybody have a spare basement?

Running Epiphany

One of the reasons I love running is because it clears my head. Occasionally during a long run I will have an epiphany of thought--an aha! moment that allows me to see from a new perspective. While running through Snow Canyon early this morning, I was blessed with such a moment of clarity:

I don't want to run a spring marathon. Or, perhaps more accurately, I don't need to run a spring marathon.

This revelation might seem rather banal for someone in the process of tackling seven hilly, chilly miles. But far from being unpleasant, this morning's run was marvelous. The crisp air, the rising red cliffs, the peace, the solitude--the moment was perfect. Even my iPod seemed an intrusion. This morning I realized that I really do love running--which is exactly why I don't need a spring marathon.

After decades of defining myself as a non-runner, it's taken great effort to redefine my self image. With time, patience, and practice, I think I've finally arrived. Physical exercise has become a piece of who I am. I crave the opportunity to move, and miss it when I don't. Running has become a priority, and I work hard to make it happen rather than simply squeezing it in if I have time.

Race training has provided great motivation along the way, giving me small goals to work for every day in the pursuit of something impossibly big. While training for Utah Valley, I found great satisfaction in carefully tracking my mileage. I needed this tangible proof that I was becoming healthier, stronger, faster. Similarly, I benefited from the accountability that came from sharing my efforts (or lack thereof) with others. Lately, however, I haven't felt the same desire to quantify my progress. Working out is intrinsically rewarding enough that I no longer need to show anyone else (myself included) what I've done.

Thanks to Utah Valley, I learned that even the impossible can happen with enough determination. The marathon was a great experience for me. Even during those last difficult miles, I hoped to run another some day. I still do.

But today is not that day. While running through Snow Canyon this morning, I was impressed that for this moment in my life, training less will give me more. More flexibility. The flexibility to wake up on Saturday morning and decide how far I want to run instead of having it dictated by a training schedule. The freedom to choose whether to run or bike or swim or hike--or even all of the above. Training less equates to more energy, for as invigorating as running five miles may be, running twenty is exhausting. Energy to romp with the kids, flirt with my hubby, fix a healthy meal, organize the closet, or heaven forbid, grocery shop.

Above all, by choosing to forego a spring marathon, I am choosing more time. Time that I can dedicate, at least in part, to serving others. During today's running epiphany, I was reminded of the inspiration I felt last April about developing a Spanglish class. For the past few months I've been fretting about how I can balance teaching and training while still meeting the needs of family, friends, and church. Already I feel relieved that I needn't try to do it all.

This spring, my personal test of endurance will not be about running 26.2 miles, but about seeing this class through to the end. While the number of students may be small, the effects ripple farther than immediately seen. One morning during class, I realized that every woman present was mother to three or four. Even though our group all fit comfortably around a small table, a multitude of children were learning through the examples of their Moms that education really matters.

And so, even though I still call myself a runner, I am setting aside the racing for a time--to make room for more.