Joshisms

On occassion, the shell of the monster currently residing in my home will open up, and my sweet little four year old boy will emerge. When he does come out, he says the funniest things:

• At his grandparent's house the other day, he was talking about his friend Jeremy. Unfortunately, grandma and grandpa couldn't figure out who he was talking about. Jamie? They asked. Jimmy? Jenny? Finally, exasperated, Josh said "No. J-E-R-E-M-Y. Jeremy."
• Saturday, my parents were watching Josh and Aunika while I went to a meeting. Josh and my mom cooked French Toast for breakfast and my mom was encouraging Josh to drink his milk. "Drink your milk honey. Or your teeth will fall out." My mom said. "Papa's (Wade's dad) teeth fall out." Josh replied. "Really?" my surprised mom asked. "How?" "Like this. Blah." Josh said, holding his hand out to catch an imaginary set of dentures.
• "If I add an 's' to Jesus, then I get lots of Jesuses."
• "I love mommy, daddy, baby and this house." Josh said last night at bedtime. "This house?" I asked. "Yes. I don't want to move." He replied. "Why?" "Because then Jeremy can't find me. I love this house."
• I was quizzing Josh on what makes Aunika a girl. He doesn't *know* the answer, but I was curious to see if his friend, Jeremy--who's two years older--had clued him in. "What makes Aunika a girl?" I asked. Josh thought for a moment. "She's happy." he replied. "So, she's a girl because she's happy?" "Yep." Josh said, smug that he got the right answer. "But you're happy sometimes, aren't you? Does that make you a girl?" I asked. "NO." Josh practically screamed. (Clearly, Jeremy has clued him on to not wanting to be a girl.) "So, what else do you think makes Aunika a girl." Josh thought about it some more. "She laughs." "But you laugh too." I said. "Oh. Well, then she likes the color pink. Girls like girl colors and boys like boy colors." Very astute, I guess. And good thing that he doesn't notice really what makes Aunika a girl.

Catfood Catina

Another story I'm pulling from the annals of family history lore for lack of anything else to post.

There is a Mexican restaurant out in Kearns that my family has been frequenting for about 15 years now. It has the best-THE BEST-fajitas I have ever tasted. In fact, they are so good that I have only tried one other thing on the menu--about 10 years ago--and it paled in comparison, so I've kept to my usual order. Steak fajitas ala carte. Because I don't want to have to share my plate with beans and rice. Turns out, you get less fajita when you order the whole meal. Took about 7 years to figure that one out.

My sophmore year of high school, I met Dustin. We started dating and he was invited to come to dinner one Friday night with us to our favorite Mexican restaurant. On my dad's dime.

Most guys would've been gracious and happy that their girlfriend's parents were taking them to dinner. They would be polite and respectful. But Dustin was not like most guys. This event severely marred our relationship and sent it cruising downhill.

We arrived at the restaurant and sat down. The waitress brought out chips and salsa and placed it before us. Before she walked away, Dustin picked up the bowl of salsa, put it right under his nose and took a big whiff.

"This smells like catfood." He said--quite loudly. People stopped eating and stared at our little table. My dad's face went bright red. My mom let out a barely audible gasp.

But instead of realizing what a scene he was making, Dustin pushed the salsa into my face.

"Smell it. It smells like catfood."

I was MORTIFIED. This was not how normal human beings acted in restaurants. Even if the food smells like catfood, if someone else--especially your girlfriend's father--is picking up the tab, you smile, you nod, you eat, and you make small talk. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And at the end of the meal, you say thank you for a pleasant evening out. That's it. This isn't rocket science.

There might be something in the "rules" that says keep your nose away from all communal food that will be shared by the rest of the table, but that should be implied. You shouldn't need direct verbal confirmation that this won't happen with your girlfriend's parents present.

And so christened our favorite restaurant "Catfood Catina". Today, roughly 13 years after the incident, I was at my parents house with the kids deciding on where we should eat for lunch.

My dad suggested Catfood Catina--just like that too. Hey, let's go to Catfood Catina. Like anyone would eat at a restaurant named Catfood Catina--and off we went. I have to think about the actual name of the restaurant when I tell people about their amazing fajitas. (I'd name the restaurant, but if someone were to google it, they'd get this and the reference to Catfood Catina and we've probably hurt them enough with our casual mention of Catfood Catina to friends over the years. If you care enough, call me and I'll tell you).

It was only a couple of years ago that my sister-in-law, who has been in the family for 9 years, confessed to just having found out that the name of the actual restaurant was NOT Catfood Catina. She never could figure out why someone would name their restaurant that, or why we would choose to eat there.

Feeling Fit and Fabulous

Like I've mentioned before, I'm training for a half-marathon in August. This is the perfect long distance because it doesn't require the in-depth training that a full marathon requires, but it's no walk in the park either. If you're looking for a challenge, I'd suggest doing one.

I've been researching training plans for a while and had chosen a recommended one for the full marathon that left me feeling pretty burned out. Burned out enough that it was a full year before I could even think about running again and by that time I was 8 months pregnant. And then there was the one I attempted to try when I ran a half marathon a week after gaining seven pounds on a cruise. This one didn't take into account an ear infection, bronchitis, or a week in Mexico in January. So I didn't do so well. I started the same routine up when I started training for a half in May of this year, but luckily, I was saved by a wedding in Vegas with Elvis.

And so, for this half, I went back to the drawing board. I looked up different plans and found one that fit perfect. It's three days a week of running (instead of the usual 5-6 days) and included three days of cross-training (swimming or biking). This was ideal because I also wanted to stage my return to the Stansbury Days Triathlon that will be held roughly around the same time.

I coerced--er, convinced--two other friends to join me in both quests and we've spent the last two months furiously working out almost an hour a day six days a week. Sometimes a little more. Sometimes a little less. I devised a little calendar and--more, or less--we've stayed true to it. One friend has only missed two days the entire time. I've missed a few more though. I tend to oversleep. And I get really nervous about running long runs and then I make myself sick so I can't run. And I'm easily persuaded to not go.

So, although the schedule says that today was our second double digit run--10 miles--of the training plan, it was my first. When I was training for the marathon, I adopted a 25 minute run/5 minute walk plan. This was great for the first 30 minutes of every workout, but I struggled starting up running again after walking and by the time the marathon rolled around, I didn't do as well as I would've liked. I vowed this time that I was going to run as much of this race--13 miles--as I could possibly muster.

At the beginning of the training, I was sure I'd croak around 7 or 8 miles of straight running. I had never run that far without walking in my lifetime. However, as the training wore on, I've been able to train my body to do it.

This morning, at 5:30 am after a rough 4 hours of sleep, I started off on a 10 miler. I wasn't 100% confident that I was going to make it without walking, but I was willing to try. I was nauseous from thinking about it all night and I had to really fight that inner beast telling me to go back to bed.

But, man, am I glad I went out. It was incredible and--dare, I say--pleasant. Hard. But incredible. I felt great. We surpassed our time goal by over a minute (that's pretty good for a 10 mile run) and kept under pace for the entire run. We watched the sun rise up over the valley and I was reminded why I love it so much out here. We were the only ones out at such a crazy time (at least I didn't have to wear a headlamp like last week when we had to run at 5 am) and we even got honked at as we ran on the highway (as in "you guys are hot" not as in "move out of my way, idiots). Honestly, where else could you run on a highway?

After a 10 minute ice bath and a 30 minute catnap, I was good to go. My legs are a little sore, and right now--at 9 pm--I'm starting to feel my energy sagging. But overall, not too bad for the amount of energy I expended.

I thought for sure that I would be melting pounds off this summer and I've been pretty dismayed that the scale has been so unwilling to budge. But I feel better, and I'm getting there--lost 4 pounds just this week--and I do have to remind myself that I did just have a baby 8 months ago. My clothes fit better and my overall mood is much better since I've been working out. Though, I'm starting to feel the burn of working out so much and once the races are over, I'm going to scale back until our next big one. But, for the most part, this has best helped me cope with the two-child drama I was lamenting in yesterday's post.

Of course, it helps that I have two awesome buddies willing to embark on such crazy things with me and they both have four kids a piece. I have nothing to complain about.

Roller Coaster

It's been eight months (!) since Aunika was born. It's hard to believe that 2/3 of a year has gone by already.

And yet, I still feel like I'm on this roller coaster. I don't know how some people do it when their second child is fussy or needy, because most days I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water and Aunika is a dream baby. She hardly ever cries and fusses. She's happy and content to just roll around on the carpet or sit in her bouncy chair.

Every Sunday, I sit down and write out my to-do list for the week. I usually try to break up the tasks by day. Mondays are reserved for cleaning. Tuesdays, I go in to Salt Lake and see my mom. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays are up in the air. Whatever needs to gets done.

Most weeks, I can do the bare minimum. Keep the house okay. Get food on the table. Pay the bills. Some weeks are better than others. When it was just Josh and me, it was a lot easier for whatever reason. When I was training for my marathon and running at 6 am every morning, I would come home and have the house picked up by 9. That was nice. Than I had the rest of the day to play. However, Josh was a lot smaller and his toys didn't extend to every available surface like they do now. He's like a little tornado that follows in my wake and destroys each room as I get it picked up.

The laundry situation is only getting worse. It seems to be a never ending parade of dirty clothes. I hate folding it and knowing that in less than a week's time, it's going to look just like this again. Same with cleaning the kitchen. I know that within two hours, it's going to look the same.

The solutions seem so simple. Clean as you go. Do laundry every day or every other day. But, it's always easier said than done. Today, I had great intentions. I was going to get up early, bike and then clean the house. I made it out on the bike, but Wade had to be to work early so I had to take the kids with me. That added 60 (!) pounds to my load. We went close to eight miles, a lot of it uphill, and by the time I made it home, I was beat. It wore me out for the rest of the day. I managed to pick up a little. Having the basement in a state of construction for the last year hasn't helped much either.

And so, to all those second time mothers out there, when does the roller coaster end and you feel normal again? Like you're not always strapped for time? A year? Two years? Never. I'm just so surprised at how much of a shock to my little system of doing things adding a second kid has been.

Life as Hardened Criminals

A few weeks ago, I made a reference to a past that Wade and I don't speak about very often--our lives as hardened criminals. Our most brazen crime was stealing gas from the 7-11.

Why haven't you seen our face splattered across the news? Because we're that good.

But, seriously, there's a story behind it. And a new fan (hi, Hillary) actually picked up the phone and called me to get it. Well, after she called Renae to see if she knew the story. I'm telling you, this blog thing is like a Grassroots campaign. I should run for Mayor or something.

So, anyways...

When I was pregnant with Josh, I would--on occasion--make Wade drive me into the 7-11 to get Slurpees. One night, before we had to pay at the pump and could fill up and then go into the store, we drove the 12 minutes to the 7-11 for Slurpees. We decided to fill up with gas before going into the convenience store.

Wade filled the tank and then pulled the car up to the parking spots in front of the store because the station was fairly busy. We headed inside and I got my Slurpee. Meanwhile, Wade wanted something different to drink and he was over at the Fountain Drink area. I remember there being a lot of people mulling around. All of a sudden I hear this fizzing sound and look over to where Wade is. Soda is squirting out of the machine and all over him and everyone around him. Somehow, the nozzle thing had broken off, landed in his cup and the machine wouldn't shut off.

There were two clerks on duty and one rushed to turn off the machine while the (new) one continued to (slowly) ring everyone up. Wade got a different drink and he came to the counter. We paid and headed home.

A month later, I insist on another Slurpee so we schlep back into town. It was late (I think it might have even been a Sunday too, but my memory on that particular detail is fuzzy...) and we were the only ones at the gas station. We walked in and started pouring our drinks. I remember seeing the clerk on duty look at us and then walk into the backroom. I figured he was pretty brave to leave us with an empty store (you know, with our checkered past and all).

We stood politely at the counter until he returned. He came out of the back room and to the register.

"Did you guys buy gas on July 23 at about 8:14 pm?"

Mind you, it was like August 23 by now.

"Um...I don't know." I replied. "Maybe."

"I think you did. I think you guys left without paying."

Both Wade and I were taken back. We would have never done that.

"Are you sure?" I asked

"Pretty sure." he replied.

I thought long and hard.

"Oh wait." I said. "That was the night that the spigot on the fountain machine broke. Come to think of it, I don't recall ever seeing a charge for 7-11 come through on the card."

Wade mulled it over. "Yeah, you're right. We ran in to get drinks and then got so flustered with the soda machine that we forgot to pay for the gas. We usually pay at the pump."

Then it got kind of awkward. "Do you want me to pay right now?" I asked, mainly because the silence was bordering on intolerable.

"Could you?" The clerk asked "There were five people who stole gas that night. The clerk working that night said you guys are regulars and we'd get you when you came in the next time."

I anted up the money and we paid for our new drinks and left.

Here's the weird part:
(a) We were driving a different car than the one that stole gas
(b) We would only be considered regulars if by regular they mean four times a year.
(c) The gas station is right next door to the police station. We could've been chased and arrested.
(d) He deliberately left us to go look at a picture of us--either one that was printed off or one that was on video. Whatever the media, he knew the EXACT date and time we stole gas. Creepy that there was a picture of us hanging around some backroom of 7-11 for that long. It reminds me of those shots they show on the news where they're trying to catch the robber.

If I wouldn't have been so taken back by the accusations being hurled at us, I would've asked how he knew it was us. But, since my mind was trying to grasp the idea that I STOLE gas, I didn't have the wherewithall to ask. So I guess I'll never know. I wonder if this is their method to catching all gas stealers. Because my guess would be that you wouldn't go back to the store you just stole gas from. But just a thought.

If a 7-11 clerk was smart enough to spot us a month later using some grainy shot from a security camera, than what chance did we have in the real world. And thus ended our crime spree.

Thoughts on My Mind

On occassion, I like to set aside my sarcastic and witty side and write down things I've been thinking about. It can be a little shocking to think that I might have thoughts that aren't all superficial; that I might actually have some thoughts deep (deep, deep) down that sometimes itch to come out. But, make no mistake, if I had any good stories that would guarantee a laugh, I'd go that route instead. Because, frankly, now that my fan base has increased to double digits, I'm a little hesitant to write what I really think, less I should lose a fan or two and drop back down to single number followers.

But, it's been slow in the funny department--well, in the funny department fit for blog-reading consumption, because I do have some great stories about Josh and neighbors and family members that I can't put on here. You'll just have to gain access to my secret blog. So, bear with me while I tell you what I really think.

I've been thinking a lot about religion and spirituality lately. Mostly because of the July 24th holiday. I had ancestors that crossed the plains in covered wagons. I have some that didn't make it. I've seen sacrifices that my own family members have given up for their--my--faith. My grandfather was called to serve a 3 year mission six weeks after my grandma gave birth to twins. There was no special fund to support his family of four (my dad was first born) while he was away. However, both of my grandparents had the faith to send him out into the mission field. 12 years later, he was shot and killed in the line of duty, and missed out on all of his five kids' adult milestones--missions, marriages, children.

I keep my spirituality, mostly, to myself. I think it's one of those things that doesn't need to be paraded around for all to see. Whether or not I'm abiding by the tenets of my faith is nobody's business but my own. I'm respectful of other's beliefs and think it's important to learn what I can of other religions. I've been to several meetings of other faiths. When we were kids, we'd often go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve with a friend of my mom's. When we were in Europe, we caught mass at a cathedral in Paris, mostly because when would we ever have the chance to do it again. I love the Baptist gospel music because it's so full of joy and love and has a beat. However, none of these experiences has caused me to stray from my religion.

So I get annoyed when people throw their--my own--religion back at me. I hate feeling not good enough to be in someone's company because I'm not perfect. I don't like feeling like I'm the only one that feels "this" way. That I'm the only mom that had to threaten their four year old within an inch of his life to get to church--I'm not, am I?--and knowing that a lot of the problem is that he can sense that I'm not all that excited to be there either. And I especially hate that I devote three hours a week to something that I dread. (Yeah, I just said it. Judge me.)

In all due respect, I've tried to be positive about going to church for Josh's benefit. I don't suggest that we stay home. I don't whine (very much) about getting up and getting ready. I don't sabotage the alarm clock. But, still, it's a trial. It's not that I don't have a testimony of my faith or that I don't think it's important to devote time to it. It's that a lot of the reason is because I feel so...inadequate. Like I'm not doing enough. But when I look at the state of my yard and my house and my life, I can't imagine taking on anything new (except for I did--say hello to the new Scout Committee Secretary (yeah, I didn't know they had one either)) and I wonder how anyone gets anything done. It feels like I'm in a constant state of basic maintenance. The problem being that I don't see where it will change and so it's hard to keep plugging along.

This is not a bashing of the church and it's teachings, by any means. It's just that sometimes I wonder if we've interpreted things 100% right. If we're meant to feel this way every week. Because, I can see why people stop going to church. If you wanted church to be a haven where you learn about Jesus and the Gospel and about being a good person, but yet leave every week feeling inadequate and weak, it's hard to want to go every week.

Sometimes I wonder if God is sitting "up there" and shaking his head and saying "no, no. Not like that. It's not suppose to be like that. Oiy." I would like to think that if I try my hardest, but fall a little--or a lot--short, He's going to hug me and invite me in anyways and say "you know, you shouldn't have stressed so much about it."

Wednesday's Wackies

• Aunika weighed in at 18.7 pounds and 28 inches (though I'm pretty sure it was 29 because, again, the nurse didn't stretch her leg all the way out) at the doc's last week. This puts her above the 97th percentile for height and 90th for weight. The doc said she was a "lightweight for her height". Yeah, you try lugging her around and we'll see if you still think she's a lightweight.
• I would have a lot of interesting blog posts if I had a camera phone. Wade points out that a lot of people would be mad at me though, so maybe it's for the best I don't. But the other day at Wal-mart in the fish tank department, there were two aquariums with the sign "sorry, we're sick." When I chuckled and looked over at the attendant, I noticed he was taking new fish out of...cardboard boxes. I mean, they were in plastic baggies full of water, but still. Now, I'm just as much an animal lover as the next person, but I'm pretty sure that Wal-mart is not known for their expensive fish, so if a few of them get "flushed" down the toilet, I'm sure it's not going to sink the company. But the cardboard box fish, I'm just not so sure about that one. A picture of this would have been great.
• Speaking of fish, we've been doing our swim training in the lake this last week. If you've been following my facebook statuses, you know that this has not been without a lot of stress on my part. See, I grew up in West Valley--inner city Salt Lake. There were no lakes by me. I didn't grow up swimming in lakes. I'm a little creeped out by what is in a lake. The first time I really swam in a lake was two years ago when I did the same triathlon. We swam in it twice beforehand. In any case, I plan on writing an expose of sorts on August 16. Mostly because I can't bring myself to research my hypothesises before the race because I'm fairly certain if I knew all that I think I might know on August 16, I won't be getting in August 15. Hopefully, I will have forgotten it all by the time next August rolls around.
• Speaking of triathlons, I staged a "mock" triathlon for my two training buddies and me last Saturday. It was determined that biking is my event. Not that I'm good, just less mediocre than the other two events. But, I do like biking and I could see myself doing some bike races in the future.
• It's been a slow last couple of weeks. Nothing good to report. Though I do have a 10k this Friday (another holiday...) and I'm hoping not to pee my pants this time. Since it's down the parade route in Salt Lake and the sheer numbers of people THERE would make Tooele's debacle seem like a walk through the grocery store at 3 am. If all fails, at least it will make another good story.