I was invited by a friend to the Wasatch Presbyterian Church's annual Easter Egg hunt this morning. Since it was slightly more than what my church was planning on doing for Easter, and I had to be in Salt Lake anyways, I wholeheartedly agreed to go.
Josh had a great time making art projects centering around larges crosses and even won a plastic green cross necklace that he proudly wore around his neck.
Hey, Christ is Christ. And a little child is a little child.
Then it was time for the Easter Egg Hunt. Since I had Aunika with me, my friend and her husband split up our two boys and each took one. They were off and Josh, carrying his Halloween pumpkin, got quite the cache. It's not lost on me that he chose (adamantly, I might add) to bring a symbol of a holiday that focuses on death to a religious celebration centering around rebirth and life.
After the hunt, we headed to Target to get a few things. It was in the parking lot that Josh was forced to remove his green plastic cross. He did so with out a lot of complaint.
Off to a family birthday party and then it was home.
Where was Wade for all this fun? Aerating lawns for a scout fundraiser. As I pulled into the neighborhood, I thought I'd go search him out. I drove up our street and down the one behind us. There was Wade, trying desperately to keep a little boy from running into the street. Another guy was working the machine.
Just the two of them.
"Um...where's the scouts?"
"They've gone home."
"Home? The scouts have gone home during THEIR fundraiser?!?"
"Yep."
And that's how I found Wade. 8 hours after starting, trying desperately to finish. Hopes of me getting out for my seven mile run quickly diminished in the fading sunlight. I returned home, with two new little boys in tow because the wife of the other sucker left to finish the fundraiser had dropped them off before heading into Salt Lake.
I was slightly irritated because me, my children, and my half-finished basement have given up the entire month of April Saturdays to scouts.
It's no secret that I'm not really fond of children. I like my own kids, but I don't particularly like other people's kids. I would rather just pay a babysitter for a few hours than trade with another mother for "free" babysitting. I don't do playdates for the sole reason that eventually it will be my turn to keep other people's kids entertained.
But here I was, tending two children so that my husband could raise funds for the scouts to go to camp by aerating (something he's never done, by the way) lawns.
The sun slipped behind the mountainside and I sadly gave up my quest of running seven miles outside. After a trip to the pizza place to get dinner and to Wal-mart, it became all too clear that I wasn't going to get down to the treadmill either.
I'm reminded of a board I saw at the Presbyterian Church. It had all the tasks that need to be done each Sunday and room for people to sign up. So, if you want to play the piano that week, you sign up. Or if you want to usher or greet people. It's a very novel idea. Like if you want to be the wife of the scoutmaster, sign up here.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
All Creatures Great and Small
I have a confession.
For my 22nd or 23rd birthday I was given a hermit crab by a good friend from high school. She brought it over in a cute little crab case complete with an owner manual and everything. The crab seemed to be somewhat personable, as well as you could tell, and even spent some time enjoying the view from outside his shell. When we returned from dinner, the hermit crab and its habitat were no where to be found. However, two very guilty looking cats were staring at us with perplexity in their eyes. We scanned the room and found the case by the couch. I set the case back on the table and we went about our evening.
At some point I looked over to find both cats with their faces plastered to the case. I can only imagine what the view was like from inside the box.
I saw the crab emerge from his shell roughly two or three times after that, and each time he/she/it poked out, a cat would pounce. Understandably, the crab took to hiding inside it's shell. I would feed it and eventually the food was gone, but I never did see it come out again.
Soon though, the food was taking longer and longer to be devoured. Sometimes days. And I was a nervous wreck. I would think the thing was dead and then find the food gone when I checked. Or the shell would be in a different spot in the case. Maybe. I couldn't tell for sure.
It got to be so that this hermit crab was causing me a lot of stress. Everyday, I would stress over whether I was housing a dead animal or not. I was getting stomach aches over this.
And so I made an executive decision. One day, I threw it in the garbage. Just opened the case and dumped it all in the trash.
I felt really guilty, because all creatures, big or small, are God's creatures, but I couldn't grasp why God would make an animal that was so hard to determine if it was alive or dead. And the stress was killing me. I figured that I was maybe a little more important on God's priority scale and so I disposed of the animal myself. It's not like I gave it to the cats to play with.
Ahh...I feel so much better.
For my 22nd or 23rd birthday I was given a hermit crab by a good friend from high school. She brought it over in a cute little crab case complete with an owner manual and everything. The crab seemed to be somewhat personable, as well as you could tell, and even spent some time enjoying the view from outside his shell. When we returned from dinner, the hermit crab and its habitat were no where to be found. However, two very guilty looking cats were staring at us with perplexity in their eyes. We scanned the room and found the case by the couch. I set the case back on the table and we went about our evening.
At some point I looked over to find both cats with their faces plastered to the case. I can only imagine what the view was like from inside the box.
I saw the crab emerge from his shell roughly two or three times after that, and each time he/she/it poked out, a cat would pounce. Understandably, the crab took to hiding inside it's shell. I would feed it and eventually the food was gone, but I never did see it come out again.
Soon though, the food was taking longer and longer to be devoured. Sometimes days. And I was a nervous wreck. I would think the thing was dead and then find the food gone when I checked. Or the shell would be in a different spot in the case. Maybe. I couldn't tell for sure.
It got to be so that this hermit crab was causing me a lot of stress. Everyday, I would stress over whether I was housing a dead animal or not. I was getting stomach aches over this.
And so I made an executive decision. One day, I threw it in the garbage. Just opened the case and dumped it all in the trash.
I felt really guilty, because all creatures, big or small, are God's creatures, but I couldn't grasp why God would make an animal that was so hard to determine if it was alive or dead. And the stress was killing me. I figured that I was maybe a little more important on God's priority scale and so I disposed of the animal myself. It's not like I gave it to the cats to play with.
Ahh...I feel so much better.
I'm Loving It
*Yesterday, after waiting much of the day, the UPS man showed up with my birthday present from Wade. A netbook--a stripped down tiny laptop. It's roughly the size of a book and about an inch thick. It fits very nicely in my purse and is quite functional. And who says you can't buy love?
* I'm still really upset over Monday's House episode. It was a complete shock. I'm not sure why I'm so upset over it, but I've been obsessing about it since I saw it yesterday morning.
* American Idol didn't record last night on the TiVo and I was very, very mad about it. I might have taken out my frustration on my amazing husband who just bought me a very cool birthday present.
*I've been waiting for two days now on word on whether I got a freelance opportunity or not. The stress is about to kill me.
*We received notice yesterday that our permit from the county for the basement will be revoked on Monday if we don't get our inspection done. So now we're in hyper mode. Somehow I got roped into cleaning the basement today. And putting up insulation once we get the go ahead.
* I'm still really upset over Monday's House episode. It was a complete shock. I'm not sure why I'm so upset over it, but I've been obsessing about it since I saw it yesterday morning.
* American Idol didn't record last night on the TiVo and I was very, very mad about it. I might have taken out my frustration on my amazing husband who just bought me a very cool birthday present.
*I've been waiting for two days now on word on whether I got a freelance opportunity or not. The stress is about to kill me.
*We received notice yesterday that our permit from the county for the basement will be revoked on Monday if we don't get our inspection done. So now we're in hyper mode. Somehow I got roped into cleaning the basement today. And putting up insulation once we get the go ahead.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Bootcamp
On occassion, I have some real hairbrain ideas. Ideas that should never materialize for the sheer stupidity of them.
This is one of these.
A few weeks ago, I was approached by two friends looking for a third person to join with them in this month long bootcamp through a local gym. If there were three of you who signed up together, then you got a price break.
I agreed, because I usually agree to do most things athletic or endurance wise. People know they can count on me to add to their team, whatever their endeavor.
The stupidity doesn't lie so much in the bootcamp itself. It's a fairly benign workout 3 times a week, plus measurements and the added joy of filling out a food journal for a month.
It's the training for the Ogden Half Marathon that is throwing a kink into everything.
Like this morning.
At 7 am, I set out with two (different) friends on a six mile jaunt through Erda. It was pleasant enough, though the nitty gritty details are best left undiscussed. 45 minutes after returning, I changed clothes--to different workout clothes that didn't smell quite like dirty gym socks--and went over to the gym for an hour.
The workout itself wasn't difficult, but on rubbery legs, I was having a hard time. It definitely looked like I was a slacker to the instructor, someone who is in the ward and knows me quite well. I'm usually the first one to announce that I've already run six miles, but I kept my mouth shut (though I probably should've kept my arms down as well) because it didn't seem right to brag about my athletic prowess at a bootcamp type activity designed to get people off their butts and working out.
As I was watching myself (and the others, of course) in the wall length mirror while we were doing our aerobics, two thoughts came into my mind:
(a) I do not look nearly as good as I sometimes think I do when I'm exercising. Perhaps I should invest in a wall length mirror for home to remind me of this.
(b) No one looks good doing aerobics. No one. Even if you're cute and bubbly and the instructor. Everyone looks like contorted, gasping, uncoordinated freaks.
I'm just glad these two realizations came about now and not three weeks into the bootcamp.
This is one of these.
A few weeks ago, I was approached by two friends looking for a third person to join with them in this month long bootcamp through a local gym. If there were three of you who signed up together, then you got a price break.
I agreed, because I usually agree to do most things athletic or endurance wise. People know they can count on me to add to their team, whatever their endeavor.
The stupidity doesn't lie so much in the bootcamp itself. It's a fairly benign workout 3 times a week, plus measurements and the added joy of filling out a food journal for a month.
It's the training for the Ogden Half Marathon that is throwing a kink into everything.
Like this morning.
At 7 am, I set out with two (different) friends on a six mile jaunt through Erda. It was pleasant enough, though the nitty gritty details are best left undiscussed. 45 minutes after returning, I changed clothes--to different workout clothes that didn't smell quite like dirty gym socks--and went over to the gym for an hour.
The workout itself wasn't difficult, but on rubbery legs, I was having a hard time. It definitely looked like I was a slacker to the instructor, someone who is in the ward and knows me quite well. I'm usually the first one to announce that I've already run six miles, but I kept my mouth shut (though I probably should've kept my arms down as well) because it didn't seem right to brag about my athletic prowess at a bootcamp type activity designed to get people off their butts and working out.
As I was watching myself (and the others, of course) in the wall length mirror while we were doing our aerobics, two thoughts came into my mind:
(a) I do not look nearly as good as I sometimes think I do when I'm exercising. Perhaps I should invest in a wall length mirror for home to remind me of this.
(b) No one looks good doing aerobics. No one. Even if you're cute and bubbly and the instructor. Everyone looks like contorted, gasping, uncoordinated freaks.
I'm just glad these two realizations came about now and not three weeks into the bootcamp.
Friday, April 3, 2009
I Was Born To Do This. Maybe.
Despite all my big talkin', I am deathly afraid of standing up and giving a speech in front of people. Especially people I don't know. Double especially in front of people that are considerably better at public speaking than me--you know, people who are part of a public speaking club.
However, it had to be done, and so I jumped in to do it last night, giving my first speech at Toastmasters.
Let me remind you that I did not necessarily sign up because of an intense desire to speak in front of large crowds of people. I signed up as an activity to do with my dad as an adult. But I do still need to go through the motions of actually participating in the activity.
I've spent the first part of this week trying to put together a 4-6 minute speech about myself that I thought others would want to hear. The biggest obstacle being that I'm really not that interesting of a person. I stay at home and my activities don't range much in variety. No one wants a 4-6 minute speech on the amount of time I spend on the computer a day or how much laundry seems to accumulate over the course of the week.
While I do have outside interests, like running and my bowling league, it's hard to stretch those into a speech because of my mediocre ability. Who wants to hear about the 11 minute miles I ran last weekend or the 115 score I got in bowling?
So, the first challenge was writing a speech that would be entertaining and not sleep-inducing. Within minutes, I had the best opening line that I've ever produced:
"On May 1, 19__, I made my grand entrance into this world, aided--I'm sure--by a gentle push from my brother, with whom I'd been sharing tight living quarters with for the previous nine months."
Gorgeous, isn't it?
I went on to describe how big we were--8 lbs 4 oz and 8 lbs 11 oz respecitively--and then I talked about where my name came from.
Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee.
Kidding.
I'm actually named after the nurse that delivered me and Sandra Day O'Connor, the first woman to sit on the United States Supreme Court.
I described two past accomplishments I'm most proud of; running a marathon and getting my bachelor's degree. I know, surprised, right?
After briefly touching on my day-t0-day life, I talked a little about what I wanted to do in the future.
I sat down, relieved, but nervous as well. I couldn't remember if I pronounced my words correctly or if my sentences even made sense. I could hardly recall what I had said. The only thought that was running through my head was that this was EXHILARATING. I had so much fun and it was light years different from speaking in church. Probably because in church, 95% of the audience knows more than I do.
The evaluator of my speech stood up and gave a raving review. I was genuinely impressed by what she had to say. Apparently, my voice--quavering as it was to my ears--was clear and my speech was wonderful.
Of course it was. There was no doubt, right?
The Grammarian--the guy that counts my ahs and ums (4 to be exact)--made note of two sentences from my speech. He likes to point out sentences that use great words and structure; "a love of numbers does not neccessarily a mathematician make" and "my plans were thwarted--as even the best laid plans can be--when I fell in love".
I know. I'm surprised they came out of my head too.
Every week, the other members of the club pick the best speech of the night. You guessed it. I won on my first speech. Of course, Wade thinks that they let all the new people win on their first speech so that they'll keep coming back. That may be true, but I still won, and I'll be coming back.
And not only did I win the best speech for the night, I also won best Table Topics--the speech that is given off the cuff--for the night as well. Take that.
I wasn't entirely at ease up there, but I think I'm getting the hang of this. And I'm having a blast. That's all that counts, right?
However, it had to be done, and so I jumped in to do it last night, giving my first speech at Toastmasters.
Let me remind you that I did not necessarily sign up because of an intense desire to speak in front of large crowds of people. I signed up as an activity to do with my dad as an adult. But I do still need to go through the motions of actually participating in the activity.
I've spent the first part of this week trying to put together a 4-6 minute speech about myself that I thought others would want to hear. The biggest obstacle being that I'm really not that interesting of a person. I stay at home and my activities don't range much in variety. No one wants a 4-6 minute speech on the amount of time I spend on the computer a day or how much laundry seems to accumulate over the course of the week.
While I do have outside interests, like running and my bowling league, it's hard to stretch those into a speech because of my mediocre ability. Who wants to hear about the 11 minute miles I ran last weekend or the 115 score I got in bowling?
So, the first challenge was writing a speech that would be entertaining and not sleep-inducing. Within minutes, I had the best opening line that I've ever produced:
"On May 1, 19__, I made my grand entrance into this world, aided--I'm sure--by a gentle push from my brother, with whom I'd been sharing tight living quarters with for the previous nine months."
Gorgeous, isn't it?
I went on to describe how big we were--8 lbs 4 oz and 8 lbs 11 oz respecitively--and then I talked about where my name came from.
Look at me, I'm Sandra Dee.
Kidding.
I'm actually named after the nurse that delivered me and Sandra Day O'Connor, the first woman to sit on the United States Supreme Court.
I described two past accomplishments I'm most proud of; running a marathon and getting my bachelor's degree. I know, surprised, right?
After briefly touching on my day-t0-day life, I talked a little about what I wanted to do in the future.
I sat down, relieved, but nervous as well. I couldn't remember if I pronounced my words correctly or if my sentences even made sense. I could hardly recall what I had said. The only thought that was running through my head was that this was EXHILARATING. I had so much fun and it was light years different from speaking in church. Probably because in church, 95% of the audience knows more than I do.
The evaluator of my speech stood up and gave a raving review. I was genuinely impressed by what she had to say. Apparently, my voice--quavering as it was to my ears--was clear and my speech was wonderful.
Of course it was. There was no doubt, right?
The Grammarian--the guy that counts my ahs and ums (4 to be exact)--made note of two sentences from my speech. He likes to point out sentences that use great words and structure; "a love of numbers does not neccessarily a mathematician make" and "my plans were thwarted--as even the best laid plans can be--when I fell in love".
I know. I'm surprised they came out of my head too.
Every week, the other members of the club pick the best speech of the night. You guessed it. I won on my first speech. Of course, Wade thinks that they let all the new people win on their first speech so that they'll keep coming back. That may be true, but I still won, and I'll be coming back.
And not only did I win the best speech for the night, I also won best Table Topics--the speech that is given off the cuff--for the night as well. Take that.
I wasn't entirely at ease up there, but I think I'm getting the hang of this. And I'm having a blast. That's all that counts, right?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The Fast and Slow of It
It's been pretty boring here on the homefront the last week or so. The sun is on hiatus and the house continues to grow smaller and smaller each day that the basement remains unfinished (and empty, since everything is crammed upstairs).
We (read: Josh) have also spent a lot of time sitting in time out contemplating our actions. Apparently, three minutes translates to 45 minutes and a tantrum inside Josh's head.
Saturday, I was (un)fortunate to run my first 5k of the season. I've been eagerly anticipating this day for roughly a year now, and so I was understandably upset to wake up last Monday morning with a sore throat.
I "nursed" my sore throat all week by sitting on the couch and demanding things be brought to me at my beckon call.
It became quite obvious at 10:00 Monday morning that this approach was not going to work. So I settled for just not exercising all week.
There is a school of thought that thinks that if you're sick from the neck up, you're okay to keep running. But I disagree. I think a sniffle is as good as an excuse as any to not exercise. And thus, keeping with my philosophy, I did nothing all week.
I can't tell you with any certainity that this shortened the duration of my sickness. I was considerably crabbier and my patience level was a tad bit shorter. Pretty impressive because as the scale of patience levels go, I hover near the bottom on a good day anyhow.
So on Saturday morning, after experiencing the worst night of sleep in my lifetime, I arrived at the starting line of the 5k, ill-prepared for a 3 mile jaunt in freezing temperatures. I had coerced my sister-in-law and two cousins to join me and all in all it was a good time. The course was mostly downhill, which helped pad my dismal time. After cruising down the first hill, my shoelace came untied and that sunk me. I had to stop to tie it. It took awhile because my fingers were so numb and I lost all momentum. I had visions of me sprinting past my SIL at the last possible second at the finish line, but they failed to materialize. I finished 24 seconds behind at 31:23. I can't say that I'm all that disappointed with my time considering all things. But...still....the winner came in at 13:56. While I'll never be that fast unless being chased by a bear--and even then, undoubtful--I would certainly like to close the gap a little bit. Better luck next time.
The only thing I got from the 5k race was a worsening cold and extremely sore legs. This does not a happy mom make. Sleep the last few nights has been induced by Nyquil--which I love. I love that 10 minutes after taking the medicine, I can feel myself slowly slipping away. What I hate, though, is having to wake up in the morning. I feel groggy all day and not much gets done. Not that much gets done anyways, but I usually have a good reason. Today, it's just that I need to take a(nother) nap.
Aunika had her four month check up yesterday. The doctor was impressed with how happy she seemed. When asked how long she sleeps, I answered 12 hours.
"12 hours, counting naps?" He asked, his fingers poised above the keyboard ready to type in my answer.
"No. She sleeps from 8:30 pm to 8:30 am and then takes a cat nap in the morning after her first feeding, a two hour nap in the afternoon, and another cat nap in the evening after her dinner feeding."
"Oh. That's very unusual. Normal babies sleep about two to four hours before waking up to eat in the middle of the night. You're really lucky."
You better believe it. And whatever I'm doing, I'm going to keep right on doing it. I love the 8:30 am wake up call. (Except, of course, when I'm on Nyquil).
Aunika weighs in at 14.3 oz and is 25 inches long. I think the length is off because the nurse didn't stretch her leg all the way out. She's probably closer to 25 1/2 or 26 inches. She's in the 75th percentile for both weight and height, so she's a big girl.
She was extremely happy the entire time, kicking her legs, laughing, giggling and cooing at the doctor, all the way up until they gave her her shots and then she looked at them with this look that said "hey, I was being cute here and then you go and do that?" and let out a big wail that took a while for me to calm down.
Afterwards, though, she was a perfect doll, even tolerating an extremely long trip to Costco. She put in another good night, and I think I'm safe to say that shots don't bother her like they do some kids. They didn't bother Josh either. Just lucky I guess.
This week will prove to be a bit more interesting. I signed up for a fitness boot camp thing with some friends and I'm giving my first speech in Toastmasters on Thursdays. Both activities should be rife with stories to share.
We (read: Josh) have also spent a lot of time sitting in time out contemplating our actions. Apparently, three minutes translates to 45 minutes and a tantrum inside Josh's head.
Saturday, I was (un)fortunate to run my first 5k of the season. I've been eagerly anticipating this day for roughly a year now, and so I was understandably upset to wake up last Monday morning with a sore throat.
I "nursed" my sore throat all week by sitting on the couch and demanding things be brought to me at my beckon call.
It became quite obvious at 10:00 Monday morning that this approach was not going to work. So I settled for just not exercising all week.
There is a school of thought that thinks that if you're sick from the neck up, you're okay to keep running. But I disagree. I think a sniffle is as good as an excuse as any to not exercise. And thus, keeping with my philosophy, I did nothing all week.
I can't tell you with any certainity that this shortened the duration of my sickness. I was considerably crabbier and my patience level was a tad bit shorter. Pretty impressive because as the scale of patience levels go, I hover near the bottom on a good day anyhow.
So on Saturday morning, after experiencing the worst night of sleep in my lifetime, I arrived at the starting line of the 5k, ill-prepared for a 3 mile jaunt in freezing temperatures. I had coerced my sister-in-law and two cousins to join me and all in all it was a good time. The course was mostly downhill, which helped pad my dismal time. After cruising down the first hill, my shoelace came untied and that sunk me. I had to stop to tie it. It took awhile because my fingers were so numb and I lost all momentum. I had visions of me sprinting past my SIL at the last possible second at the finish line, but they failed to materialize. I finished 24 seconds behind at 31:23. I can't say that I'm all that disappointed with my time considering all things. But...still....the winner came in at 13:56. While I'll never be that fast unless being chased by a bear--and even then, undoubtful--I would certainly like to close the gap a little bit. Better luck next time.
The only thing I got from the 5k race was a worsening cold and extremely sore legs. This does not a happy mom make. Sleep the last few nights has been induced by Nyquil--which I love. I love that 10 minutes after taking the medicine, I can feel myself slowly slipping away. What I hate, though, is having to wake up in the morning. I feel groggy all day and not much gets done. Not that much gets done anyways, but I usually have a good reason. Today, it's just that I need to take a(nother) nap.
Aunika had her four month check up yesterday. The doctor was impressed with how happy she seemed. When asked how long she sleeps, I answered 12 hours.
"12 hours, counting naps?" He asked, his fingers poised above the keyboard ready to type in my answer.
"No. She sleeps from 8:30 pm to 8:30 am and then takes a cat nap in the morning after her first feeding, a two hour nap in the afternoon, and another cat nap in the evening after her dinner feeding."
"Oh. That's very unusual. Normal babies sleep about two to four hours before waking up to eat in the middle of the night. You're really lucky."
You better believe it. And whatever I'm doing, I'm going to keep right on doing it. I love the 8:30 am wake up call. (Except, of course, when I'm on Nyquil).
Aunika weighs in at 14.3 oz and is 25 inches long. I think the length is off because the nurse didn't stretch her leg all the way out. She's probably closer to 25 1/2 or 26 inches. She's in the 75th percentile for both weight and height, so she's a big girl.
She was extremely happy the entire time, kicking her legs, laughing, giggling and cooing at the doctor, all the way up until they gave her her shots and then she looked at them with this look that said "hey, I was being cute here and then you go and do that?" and let out a big wail that took a while for me to calm down.
Afterwards, though, she was a perfect doll, even tolerating an extremely long trip to Costco. She put in another good night, and I think I'm safe to say that shots don't bother her like they do some kids. They didn't bother Josh either. Just lucky I guess.
This week will prove to be a bit more interesting. I signed up for a fitness boot camp thing with some friends and I'm giving my first speech in Toastmasters on Thursdays. Both activities should be rife with stories to share.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
A Report From the Inside
This week at my Toastmasters' meeting, I got to witness my dad speak. Typically, my dad is fairly reserved, even around family, and so this was a new experience for me--to see my dad in a completely different setting, completely at ease, telling stories.
I'm often asked how long my dad has been a member of Toastmasters. My standard reply has always been "for as long as I can remember."
I came to find out on Thursday night, I wasn't that far off with my pat answer. He's been a member for 26 years. That's basically as long as I can remember.
And as I listened to him tell an amusing story about buying new cookware with my mom, I was suddenly struck with a thought:
He's been a member for 26 years. Thus, he's been giving speeches for 26 years. Clearly, none of us had put much stock into what he was speaking about, because the reality of the situation only dawned on me in that room. He's been talking about US for the past 26 years. About rearing twins. Snotty teenagers. Pets. Sending kids on first dates and to college. Agreeing to give his baby girl's hand to an almost stranger who offered to buy lunch at Arby's in exchange. (Luckily, my dad thought I was pricier than an Arby's meal deal, and took Wade to a steakhouse--footing the bill himself. It was that Wade called him at work and wanted to take him to lunch that counted afterall). Buying cookware with my mom.
I don't know for sure what he's spoken on all these years and he doesn't remember a lot of the speeches either. But, 26 years of memories and stories and how I wish I could've been there for all those speeches. To see how he saw life as it circled around him.
He made a curious observation on Thursday. One that opened a whole new view of him in my eyes. He commented that purchases in his household followed a certain pattern. Mainly, it was that his wife made them. He, though, could gently suggest that something needed to be replaced, and in a few days time, she would see the need and then tell him that it was time to get a new computer/refrigerator/house etc. and he'd smile and agree.
This explains so much. Like, how does my mom know when it's time to get a new computer? And all this time, I've been thinking that he just doesn't care when in actuality, he just plants the idea in her head and waits for her to think that it's all her.
During the course of his speech, my dad made jokes cracked us all up, especially me, because I have first hand knowledge of what he's talking about.
My mom had told me just a few days prior that she had bought a whole new set of cookware--pans and such--because she's never had a brand new matching set before. Of course, I had no idea that this one minute blurb of her life could've been stretched into an eight minute speech from my dad's point of view. She failed to mention all the details concerning the pan purchase, and I didn't think to ask. What's so interesting about a pan purchase.
Apparently, a lot.
When I called my mom on Friday morning to share my news from inside the Toastmasters' meeting, I asked:
"Did you know that dad has been a member of Toastermasters for 26 years now."
"That sounds about right." She casually replied.
"Do you have any idea what he's been talking about for the past 26 years?" I rebuttled.
"I guess I've never really thought about it. He gave a speech on the kitty one time."
"Us, mom. He's been talking about us for the past 26 years. I bet people know more about us then we do. Yesterday, he gave an 8 minute speech about your new cookware. When you told me about buying new pans and stuff, it only lasted a minute. 8 minutes. About buying cookware with his wife."
"Hmmm...that is very interesting to think about. 26 years, huh?"
I'm often asked how long my dad has been a member of Toastmasters. My standard reply has always been "for as long as I can remember."
I came to find out on Thursday night, I wasn't that far off with my pat answer. He's been a member for 26 years. That's basically as long as I can remember.
And as I listened to him tell an amusing story about buying new cookware with my mom, I was suddenly struck with a thought:
He's been a member for 26 years. Thus, he's been giving speeches for 26 years. Clearly, none of us had put much stock into what he was speaking about, because the reality of the situation only dawned on me in that room. He's been talking about US for the past 26 years. About rearing twins. Snotty teenagers. Pets. Sending kids on first dates and to college. Agreeing to give his baby girl's hand to an almost stranger who offered to buy lunch at Arby's in exchange. (Luckily, my dad thought I was pricier than an Arby's meal deal, and took Wade to a steakhouse--footing the bill himself. It was that Wade called him at work and wanted to take him to lunch that counted afterall). Buying cookware with my mom.
I don't know for sure what he's spoken on all these years and he doesn't remember a lot of the speeches either. But, 26 years of memories and stories and how I wish I could've been there for all those speeches. To see how he saw life as it circled around him.
He made a curious observation on Thursday. One that opened a whole new view of him in my eyes. He commented that purchases in his household followed a certain pattern. Mainly, it was that his wife made them. He, though, could gently suggest that something needed to be replaced, and in a few days time, she would see the need and then tell him that it was time to get a new computer/refrigerator/house etc. and he'd smile and agree.
This explains so much. Like, how does my mom know when it's time to get a new computer? And all this time, I've been thinking that he just doesn't care when in actuality, he just plants the idea in her head and waits for her to think that it's all her.
During the course of his speech, my dad made jokes cracked us all up, especially me, because I have first hand knowledge of what he's talking about.
My mom had told me just a few days prior that she had bought a whole new set of cookware--pans and such--because she's never had a brand new matching set before. Of course, I had no idea that this one minute blurb of her life could've been stretched into an eight minute speech from my dad's point of view. She failed to mention all the details concerning the pan purchase, and I didn't think to ask. What's so interesting about a pan purchase.
Apparently, a lot.
When I called my mom on Friday morning to share my news from inside the Toastmasters' meeting, I asked:
"Did you know that dad has been a member of Toastermasters for 26 years now."
"That sounds about right." She casually replied.
"Do you have any idea what he's been talking about for the past 26 years?" I rebuttled.
"I guess I've never really thought about it. He gave a speech on the kitty one time."
"Us, mom. He's been talking about us for the past 26 years. I bet people know more about us then we do. Yesterday, he gave an 8 minute speech about your new cookware. When you told me about buying new pans and stuff, it only lasted a minute. 8 minutes. About buying cookware with his wife."
"Hmmm...that is very interesting to think about. 26 years, huh?"
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