Week(s) In Review...Middle of September

There really are too many pictures to choose from, but here are a few of the things we did on our trip to Washington...

We ate at "Yummy Mongolian Grill".  It tasted good, but be careful how much oil you put on your creation.  I was on the toilet quite a lot after this one.

We went to Kid's Club - best invention ever, and I'd like one for my backyard, thankyouverymuch.

We went to the courthouse for Robel's adoption, (naturalization?), and also sealing at the temple.  Sadly, no picture of that one.  Doh.

Andrew and Todd went on a kick-butt bike ride.  Andrew's favorite part of the trip, so says he.

We chilled.  With bike helmets on.  Safety first.

We swam in Grandma's tub.

And met Juliana.  To-die-for cute. And she loved me.

So we cuddled.

And we went to the zoo.  Tommy and Michael both yelled at me for taking their picture.  Apparently they are not as big attention whores as my kids are.

We saw some Norman relatives.

And went to the beach.  Swings on the beach - awesome.

And to the Rose Gardens in Portland.  I love that place so very, very much.

We caught fish...(and criminal records...doh again)...

and snakes!

And we visited.  Mostly at decibels that prevented any actual communication.

And we finally took that group shot I've been meaning to get.  

And in spite of everything that kinda sucked and/or went wrong, we had a good time visiting with everyone. 

A re-post. Forgive my lack of originality.

This is a re-post from last October. Today I've been thinking of Mike and our entire family's sorta messed up issues all across the board. I really do wonder how things would be now if he were here. But I think we all know how he would want them to be, and there's no reason not to let our lives and relationships be something that he could be proud of - not embarrassed by. And we're getting it right in some ways.

I miss him. Andrew misses him. But we'll see him again in the not-to-distant future. I don't want to feel like I did on that day that I hugged Andrew at the airport and couldn't look him in the eye afterward. Head high, no shame, smile on face, arms open wide.

*****************************

Years and years ago you told me that if Andrew didn't marry me, you'd adopt me into the family anyhow. I guess you must have loved me as much as I loved you. Family always was important to you. You showed us that every time we saw you. I remember one time you went to the fridge and got a whole heap of string cheese and brought it to your chair just inside the front door, and when one of the grandkids came inside, you would give them one, without saying anything. A few kids later, they were all catching on - Grandpa has snacks! Everyone who hadn't gotten one yet came running into the house to collect their treasure from you. It was simple, like your love for them. Just plain, simple, without strings love.

The September day that I came to your house to ride to the airport with you to pick up Andrew from his mission, I was a ball of nerves and excitement. You could tell I was on the verge of needing a big dose of Ritalin, and you calmed me down- and then you made sure that I knew I was not supposed to hug Andrew until he had been released. Ah. Yes. Got it. So when Andrew's plane landed and he finally emerged, I thought I would just have to live with a smile and a handshake. Everyone got a hug but me, and then someone said, "Just hug him!" I didn't need to be told twice, but I also couldn't look at you when I did it. I was afraid of receiving a rebuke. But you didn't get upset. You waited until we were walking back to the car and you said to Andrew, "Don't look now, but Bethany grew a nice booty for you." I was mortified, and we were even!

One day not too long after that, I had to be the one to tell Andrew that you had had a stroke. It was a hard day. But harder than that was going to visit you in the hospital and holding my grown husband afterward in the parking lot as he sobbed huge tears for you. He shook in my arms and wept at the thought of losing you. I think that until that day he thought you were too strong to die. You had never stopped being his invincible super hero. It turns out you weren't invincible, but you're still his hero. He misses you, and I know that he thinks of you every time he hugs his own children. He wants to be the kind of Dad that you were.

So much has happened since you left. I wonder today how things might have been different if you had been able to stay. Your family has struggled without your sensible leadership, your comforting guidance and your honesty. I wish we could all just sit with you one more time and have you set us all straight. I don't know for sure, but I imagine that you've been watching us, and mingled with the joy of some of our accomplishments and blessings, you've had disappointments too. I'm sure that, had you been here through some of the rockier times in all our lives, you could have kept us all together with a little more love and all of your smarts. I think we all still needed you.

The last time I saw you was when my Ethan Baby was just three days old, and you had come to our house after Dallin and Alex's baptisms to meet him. It's true, on the outside you looked like you felt terrible, but you were holding your tiny grandson, and you were radiant. I am sad for all my kids who won't get to know you or hug you in this life, and I'm sad for the memories that are fading. But I'm glad for the strength you were to me while we had you. I'm glad for the example you were, for who you were. And I'm glad that you were part of my life here.

Tomorrow would have been your birthday, and so I will honor you by giving each of my kids a hug from you, and by treating my family like you would if you were here.

.....Here we go again! My, My! (But don't tell THEM that, it would just make it worse.)

In fifth grade choir, I learned a bizarre song that was stuck in my head for twelve years.  Twelve years.  Anytime my brain fell idle, it would subconsciously pull the weird lyrics of that song to the foreground and I'd run it through my head for a few days until I couldn't handle it anymore and had to sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" out loud until I felt I'd been cured of "Aye, yi, yi, yi, In China they never grow chili..."  In fact, just writing those words, I'm having a relapse.  I thought I was alone in this never ending oddity, but I have since learned otherwise.


My sister-in-law, Susie, came to visit last spring, and she and her three kids must have listened to the Mama Mia! soundtrack all the way from Portland to Kaysville.  As far as musicals go, that one isn't on my top fifty list of favorites, nor do I think that Peirce Brosnan or Meryl Streep are particularly talented vocalists; but to each his own.  By the time they arrived, both of Susie's boys knew every word to every song on that CD.  I can still hear Jayden singing, "Don't go wastin' your emoooootions..."  It was a lovely rendition, but not all that pleasant to hear over and over again.  After about two days of listening to the Schmitz Boys performing the songs of Mama Mia!, my own kids started to sing along and I had to cringe.  Mama Mia seemed a little too girly.  Not that I'm worried that my boys would start wearing skirts and obsessing over shades of lipstick or anything, I'd just rather they had some other musical selection imprinted in their brains, because here's the real stink - it's been six months since our house was invaded by little boy voices endlessly chanting, "Mama Mia!", and it remains the only phrase of any of those songs that my kids can remember.  So they just sing those same two words over and over and over and over again.  

I now know exactly what hell will be like when I get there - I'll be forced to sort through stacks of third grade homework without the aid of Cherry Coke while the Mama Mia! soundtrack is playing in the background, stuck on that one phrase like an eternal broken record.  Thanks, Susie!  Love ya!

If I could tell him.

Years and years ago you told me that if Andrew didn't marry me, you'd adopt me into the family anyhow. I guess you must have loved me as much as I loved you. Family always was important to you. You showed us that every time we saw you. I remember one time you went to the fridge and got a whole heap of string cheese and brought it to your chair just inside the front door, and when one of the grandkids came inside, you would give them one, without saying anything. A few kids later, they were all catching on - Grandpa has snacks! Everyone who hadn't gotten one yet came running into the house to collect their treasure from you. It was simple, like your love for them. Just plain, simple, without strings love.

The September day that I came to your house to ride to the airport with you to pick up Andrew from his mission, I was a ball of nerves and excitement. You could tell I was on the verge of needing a big dose of Ritalin, and you calmed me down- and then you made sure that I knew I was not supposed to hug Andrew until he had been released. Ah. Yes. Got it. So when Andrew's plane landed and he finally emerged, I thought I would just have to live with a smile and a handshake. Everyone got a hug but me, and then someone said, "Just hug him!" I didn't need to be told twice, but I also couldn't look at you when I did it. I was afraid of receiving a rebuke. But you didn't get upset. You waited until we were walking back to the car and you said to Andrew, "Don't look now, but Bethany grew a nice booty for you." I was mortified, and we were even!

One day not too long after that, I had to be the one to tell Andrew that you had had a stroke. It was a hard day. But harder than that was going to visit you in the hospital and holding my grown husband afterward in the parking lot as he sobbed huge tears for you. He shook in my arms and wept at the thought of losing you. I think that until that day he thought you were too strong to die. You had never stopped being his invincible super hero. It turns out you weren't invincible, but you're still his hero. He misses you, and I know that he thinks of you every time he hugs his own children. He wants to be the kind of Dad that you were.

So much has happened since you left. I wonder today how things might have been different if you had been able to stay. Your family has struggled without your sensible leadership, your comforting guidance and your honesty. I wish we could all just sit with you one more time and have you set us all straight. I don't know for sure, but I imagine that you've been watching us, and mingled with the joy of some of our accomplishments and blessings, you've had disappointments too. I'm sure that, had you been here through some of the rockier times in all our lives, you could have kept us all together with a little more love and all of your smarts. I think we all still needed you.

The last time I saw you was when my Ethan Baby was just three days old, and you had come to our house after Dallin and Alex's baptisms to meet him. It's true, on the outside you looked like you felt terrible, but you were holding your tiny grandson, and you were radiant. I am sad for all my kids who won't get to know you or hug you in this life, and I'm sad for the memories that are fading. But I'm glad for the strength you were to me while we had you. I'm glad for the example you were, for who you were. And I'm glad that you were part of my life here.

Tomorrow would have been your birthday, and so I will honor you by giving each of my kids a hug from you, and by treating my family like you would if you were here.

I love you,
Bethany

The Down-side of a Good Metabolism

Let's talk about food, shall we? I love to eat. The best time of day for eating is about 5 seconds after all the kids are in bed. It's the first moment of the day when I can completely relax, and relaxing sometimes equals food.

When I was a child, my parents would send my sisters and I to bed and then waste no time in plugging in the hot air popcorn popper and pulling out a bag of Mn'M's and pouring them into a GLASS bowl, so that we could hear them chink-chink-chinking into the dish, and our mouths would water as soon as we could smell the butter melting in the microwave. Oh! the taste of real butter on top of steaming popcorn and sprinkled with salt... We lay there in bed, sure that Mom and Dad did this just to show us how much they despised us and loved nothing more than being pure mean. We whispered to each other that if they couldn't indulge while we were there to share the feast with them, then kinder parents would have at least waited until we were asleep and oblivious to the prepping of goodies before they settled in to watch their grown-up television. But I digress.

I have never had a favorite food, but I sometimes order a dish in a restaurant that I don't really like just because it comes with garlic bread. I am a sucker for a good piece of garlic bread. It can't be mushy - it ought to be crispy and full of flavor to the point that if you ate an entire plate of it, you would die from salt overdose. Other than that, I like just about anything that doesn't contain raisins or coconut, ie; the Devil's Food.

It is a sad day around our house when Drew has committed another atrocity and there is no candy or chocolate to provide comfort after cleaning up whatever disaster has occurred. Chocolate is therapeutic, but I must admit that anything conceived of Mr. Wonka is also uplifting. I never grew out of my appreciation for Nerds or the giant, soft SweetTarts that come in a four pack and, unfortunately, two of the flavors have to be lemon and green. That's right, Green. I'm not actually sure what fruit flavor it is supposed to be, so it is referred to as Green.

While we're on the subject, why do food manufacturers insist on putting undesired flavors in the packages with the good flavors? For example, does anyone ever go for a lime popsicle when there are still Banana and Root Beer to be had? Not in our house. We push and shove and knock each other down to get the Root Beer, and then we let the kids choose from whatever is left. People eat the lime popsicles when the only other snacks available are mushy apples or the cookies that a neighbor brought over which nobody will eat because we have never been inside their house and do not know if the kitchen those cookies were baked in is sanitary. (Or because we have been inside and now know that their cat is allowed to preen himself on top of the kitchen counters.)

My mother is a fantastic cook. Anything but grilled cheese, which she will burn, even if she stands right in front of the stove, spatula in hand, staring, waiting for the perfect moment to flip. It's an unfair curse, really. Experimentation is her true forte. She makes a French roast with red cabbage that I can't even explain justly. And pork chops with homemade mango salsa, and Latkes, and just about anything you can imagine. Aside from that, I dare you to find someone who can make a more beautiful, flaky and simply delicious pie crust. You can't. Don't bother. But the meat loaf. I can't tell you how much we dreaded meat loaf when we were kids. The meat loaf itself, was always fine, no complaints. But meat loaf always meant lima beans. Mom used an electric frying pan, put the meat loaf, potato wedges and lima beans all in the pan together and fried it until the meat loaf was done, which meant the potatoes were crisp on the outside and perfectly soft on the inside, but the lima beans were usually blackened. And not in a spicy, Cajun way. They were just black and hard and covered in grease from the meat loaf. We ate them because we were afraid not to, but we hated it. And yes, I can speak for myself and every one of my siblings on that one. Years later, I realized that fried to death and covered in grease is actually the best way to eat a lima bean.

My family is not unique in it's love of food. Every holiday we have our standard favorites that can make or break the buffet spread, but so does everyone else. I had to teach my husband that Crab Dip on Christmas Eve is just that - a dip. Not a side dish. He knows that now, but it doesn't stop him from scooping it by the spoonful onto his plate and then throwing a cracker on top to make it look legitimate.

I grew up never having to worry about how much I ate and where on my body it might land. I was blessed with a metabolism that loved to work over-time. In high school I wore pants 2 sizes too big for me just to make sure they were long enough for my 5 foot 10 and a quarter inch frame. I weighed around 120 pounds. Then came my early twenties and giving birth to two children. About 2 months after Ethan was born, I settled in at an acceptable 135 pounds. Then came Drew, and exactly 10 months after he was born, I finally got back to that blessed 135, and I got there without exercise or dieting. Patience and time is all it took. (Go ahead and hate me now if you want to, but rest assured, my comeuppance is hurtling towards me with frightening speed.) Exactly one week after I returned to that 135 pound pre-baby weight, I found out I was pregnant with a very unexpected fourth baby. (Curse my body for spontaneously deciding to ovulate again without the aid of medication, and curse myself for being so stupid as to think anovulation is acceptable birth control. Not that we don't love Trent to death.)

So here we are, another ten months after child birth, and I cannot get below 142 pounds. Fine. I can live with 142. What I cannot live with is where those 7 extra pounds, plus the last few ounces of breast tissue I had that shrunk into oblivion decided to set up camp. Right behind my belly button. Standing naked in front of the mirror is now comically sad. I look like a character from a Dr. Suess book - dangly arms with a narrow chest which slopes down into a round, protuberant belly, then back into skinny legs. I take comfort that at least I am not as hairy as a Suess creation.

So if the trend continues; 120's in my teen years, 130's in my twenties and 140's as I creep up on my thirties, then I will weigh 180 pounds by the time I am seventy, but it will all be in my mid-section so that my stomach enters a room before I do and may in fact be able to flip light switches up or down of it's own accord if I should happen to turn around too hastily.

And that, Dear Readers, is the plight of me with my super powered metabolism that died off on me after I've lived 29 years and packed them full of bad habits that I will now have to break if I ever want to fit back into my jeans. I have, count them, one..two..three..four..five..six..seven..eight..nine..ten..ELVEN pairs of jeans, and I can only manage to squeeze myself into three of them and retain my ability to walk while slightly bending my knees.

I am going to have to start exercising. I am going to have to stop eating every time I walk through or past the kitchen. I am going to have to change everything I have taught myself about self control, (which so far has only been something that other people have to worry about.)

The bright side is that I came to this realization after we had already made our trip to Washington and eaten like there was no tomorrow. So please enjoy these pictures of people eating that I took while we were away. (I was determined to find a way to post pictures of our trip without actually writing about it, and what do you know? I've done it twice now. I'm sure there will be more!)


ALMOST all the kids eating Tacos in a Bowl at Susie and Nate's house. Wouldn't I love a table this big?


The Kamahaku Family at Mo's. Aren't they beautiful?


Andrew in food heaven. He had been dreaming of Mo's halibut fish n' chips for weeks, and I think all of us enjoyed them more than we should have. I find myself even now, wishing that I had eaten them more slowly.


How come Susie gets to look cute when she eats? Hmm. Anyway, she's eating Cherry Delight which I believe was made especially for Andrew since he is Sandy's favorite child. (He isn't really the favorite, I'm sure, but Sandy does love making her youngest son feel special!)


Cameron and Jayden eating the ice cream that Todd and Andrea brought for all the kids. I don't think that my kids ate a vegetable all week.


Trent apparently loves potato salad. The more dill pickle, the better!

Now that I think about it...

I just can't stand to leave things so negatively. It's true, I feel like life is kicking my butt right now, but that's life. I'll get through it, and by the weekend things will be great. So why waste the energy having fits of self-pity? It's kind of like the video posted below - Sometimes, you get taken out by something smaller than you that sneaks up from the side and pummels you with a cheap shot. ;) You might lay there for a while thinking, "Dang! That hurt!" But then you get back up and kick some butt of your own!! Bring it on, Life!!

(Thanks to Mason and Aiden for giving me some perspective!)