Since First Grade

I've been a bit envious of my kids this past week.

They were able to go back to school.

Growing up, I always LOVED school.  From Kindergarten until the day I graduated from BYU, I loved living in an academic world.  I loved the whole renewal process of each fall when I waved good-bye to summer and welcomed a new level of learning into my life.  Exciting changes that involved a new teacher (or teachers), new school supplies, a reconnection with friends, and a scheduled routine that would keep my mind expanding for 9 months or so.

Oh, I miss learning like that.  

As an adult, I would give anything to go back and relive those years of my secondary and higher education. I would love to take an Honors English or American History class or a Humanities 101 course.  All those GE classes that I sometimes felt got in the way of my Major - I wish I could go back and retake them all.  Retake them and not worry about getting that "A", but take them for the sheer delight of learning, and growing, and understanding.  

I would appreciate it so much more the 2nd time around.

I can retrace my path of loving school and know that it started in first grade with Mrs. Tuttle at Whittier Elementary in southern California.  She was an amazing woman.  I don't really remember how she ran her class, where I sat, or what it was like to be the line leader, but what I do remember is how I felt so loved.  She loved being a teacher.  She loved being the bearer of knowledge and spilling it upon her students.  She was affectionate, and compassionate, and tender.  I know she taught me how to read and that I have been an avid reader ever since.  She loved being with us, guiding us, and helping us develop our minds.  What a gift.

{click to enlarge; I'm on the top row, 2nd from the right}

Like Mrs. Tuttle, I can recall a handful of teachers throughout my schooling who really had an impact on my life.  Teachers that I will forever cherish and look up to.  Mrs. DuBois and Mrs. Townsend from Viewmont - both taught English and are my all-time favorite teachers.  Mr. Handley at Hannah Holbrook elementary - a true cowboy who took the time to sit down and play jacks with us 6th graders at recess and who wasn't afraid to let his emotions get the best of him when he read Where the Red Fern Grows out loud to our class. Mr. Bailey who taught about the Vietnam war with such passion and intensity. Mrs. Smith, at Bountiful Jr. High, who introduced me to A Tale of Two Cities and taught me that a cemetery is eerie so only use "e" when spelling it. Mr. Jackson, high school physics teacher, who was most definitely a mad scientist and disproved my initial inklings that I didn't like science.

They say the greatest form of flattery is when people want to be just like you.  It was because of these teachers that I decided to get a degree in education. While I only taught school for 4 years and then quit so that I could raise my family, I have a feeling that I might return to it someday when my kids are grown.

I have a passion for learning and need to do more of it. 

Earning Money as a Stay-at-Home Mom

This should help eliminate the morning lazies and unmade bed epidemic that sometimes resides in our home during the school year.  My eldest is the most significantly affected.

Don't you dare feel sorry for them.  

These kids have more cash on hand than I do.

{Before you start formulating (or cementing) ideas in your mind of what a wretched mother I am, please know that my first visit and cleaning is complimentary.  

I do have a (small) heart.}

Black Eyed Susans and a Blue Eyed Boy

Oh, if only he could stay shorter than my perennials.

And So Begins '09 - '10

Shhhh!  Can you hear that?  

No?  

Listen harder.  Can you hear that?

Still no?

That's because there is nothing to hear.  The baby is down for his morning nap, his 3 older siblings are off to day 2 of the new school year, and I am sitting alone in the front room in total and complete and undisturbed quiet.

Ahhhh!  

Never did anything sound so good to my overstimulated ears.  

Now, don't get me wrong.  I stand by my claim that I really do enjoy having my kids home for the summer.  BUT, I always really enjoy when they go back to school too.  When the noise level reaches unhealthy decibels and when our days and nights get mixed up and when I start googling sites that carry straight jackets and padded rooms (for me, of course), I know that it is time for the public school system to become reacquainted with my children.

Bless their (monstrous) little end of summer souls.

Here are a few pictures from yesterday.  Day 1 of the '09 - '10 school year.  8th grade, 5th grade, and 2nd grade.  Weren't they all Shaw's age just a week ago? What has Father Time done to my kiddos?  Sometimes it takes seeing them in a photo like this to remind me of how quickly life marches forward.

Thanks to their cousin Jesse, Britt and Taiden have a total obsession with anything motocross. They were so excited that their (coolest, hippest, generous and loving) mom bought them these Fox shirts. Hands down, these were THE first day of school shirts for them.  No question.

New kicks.

Kennedy had to report for her first 8th grade officer duties on Friday.  They helped with the 7th grade orientation day and the officers voted to wear their sweaters on the first day.  She was not thrilled.  Not only was it humid and hot (it rained that morning) but it TOTALLY cramped her style for her first day of school outfit.

Blast from my past backpack for Britt.  Remember that checkered pattern?  I think I had some girly Vans back in jr. high that had this design.

Taiden, aka - Jeff Junior, has had this backpack since Kindergarten.  KINDERGARTEN! He will not let us buy him a new one. He insists on using this until the bottom gives out (which it is very close to doing).  I've tried to convince him that it is OK to buy a replacement but he is set on setting some sort of Gregson family record.  Is he really my son and Brittan's brother?

One of these things is not like the others...  (Grow hair, grow!)

This is Kennedy's 1st day of school outfit worn on the second day of school.

Happy first week of school everyone!

The Ugly American

I really need school to start.

In just 3 short days, our lives will return to some sense of normalcy.  A schedule.  A routine. Gone will be the lazy days of summer.  The days of staying up late and sleeping in.  Of grab-on-the-go meals and swimsuits-can-count-as-regular-clothes kind of days.

I can't wait.

I didn't realize how bad things truly were until last week.  One day, we were having an exceptionally slow morning.  It was 11:00 a.m. and I was still in my PJs.  I don't think I had any makeup on but if I did I'm sure it was leftovers from the day before.  I was wearing my best Phyllis Diller hair and sportin' pink pineapple pajama bottoms with a white t-shirt. Truly, I was the picture of beauty.

There was a knock at the door.  I should have ignored it but I'm still holding out for MY chance at winning $5 million dollars from Publishers Clearing House (minus Ed McMahon...sniff, sniff) so my curiosity made me answer. On my porch stood a clean cut, nice young man.  While flashing his white smile and with an eager edge to his voice, he introduced himself as R. from Estonia. Small talk, small talk, more smiling, "isn't it a beautiful day", more smiling, smaller talk.   I knew I was in trouble for 2 reasons.  First, I am the worst when it comes to door to door salesmen.  I always get really uncomfortable and have a really hard time getting "No, but thank you" across to the solicitor.  I fumble over my words, get terrible hives, sweat, and my tongue goes numb.  "No-wa, I'mb weally not intewested" (numb tongue) just isn't forceful enough. It takes me entirely too long to scoot them off my porch.

Second, I was in no condition to hear a sales pitch.  I was all disheveled.  I still had morning fuzz on my teeth and my breath was certainly NOT minty.  And then there was the matter of my, uh-hum, Sisters.  You know, my retired mammary glands.  They were not bridled yet and were perched where they are most comfortable these days - somewhere down around my navel.  Not a pleasant sight.  Especially when a white shirt is being worn.

{Go ahead...shake it off...deep breath.  Sorry for the visual.}

I carefully folded my arms to keeps things hidden.  It was at that point that I think he really noticed me.  Like, it's 11:00 in the morning and I'm still in my jammies, me. He raised an eyebrow at the pink pineapples and said in a thick northern European accent, "Oh, most women I meet in the morning are dressed like that at 8:00 or 9:00 a.m.  But you.  Maybe you like to wear them until 11:00 or maybe 1:00?"  I know he thought he was being cute but my foot was really itching to kick his hiney clear back to the Baltics.

I was strategically trying to hide myself behind the door as much as possible. He told me that he was trying to earn money for college (oh, here comes the guilt trip) and that he was selling books for supplementing what is taught in school.  He asked about my kids, made some comment about there being a BIG gap in their ages, and asked if he could have just 5 minutes of my time.  I knew I wasn't interested, but why can't I say no?  I am not a wimpy person.  I can hold my own and I am not afraid to say it like it is, but when someone stands on my porch my nerves turn to goo and I can't cut them off before they are 30 minutes into their shpeal.  It wastes my time and their time because I know I'm not going to buy.  But, I can't seem to close my door.

Long story getting even longer, I gave him my 5 minutes.  He asked if he could come in the house or offered to just talk on the porch.  I opted for the latter. Mind you, I was still hiding my body behind the door like a contortionist.  He motioned for me to come outside.  Because I didn't have a spine to ixnay such a horrible idea, I (arms folded and locked in position) obliged. He sat down on the edge of our steps and was half straddling the zinnias planted there.  He patted the step indicating me to come sit down too.  Apparently I was under some sort of hypnosis because, again, I obliged.  He pulled out his pamphlets talking about his products.  He fired question after question at me.  I answered as briefly as I could.  I was waiting for his eyes to start watering because his personal Estonian space had most definitely invaded my personal American space and I'm positive that my 'xactly breath was about ready to knock him flat.

The birds were chirping.  Neighbors were strolling.  Cars were driving by and friends were waving.  I was in the most uncomfortable situation and I had no way of getting out.  The front door was open and my kids kept walking by looking confused, worried, and then quite amused. I was desperately looking for a rock to hide under.  I would have been thrilled had a mother ship come for me, or had one of the neighborhood hooligans suddenly experienced spontaneous combustion.  ANYTHING would have been better than this awkward, smelly, droopy sales call.

I finally managed to choke out something about needing to attend to my baby. He asked for a few references, I waved my hand in some arbitrary direction, and scampered back into the house.  I was mortified.  Kennedy giggled.  Shaw jabbered away and I gave him a big squeeze for being my rescuer. 

I then proceeded to order a 10' x 10'  No Soliciting billboard for our front lawn. 

Just So Ya Know

Last night as I was recoloring my cutie patootie cupcakes for my header (the color intensity of the original ones just wasn't sitting well with me), Jeff walked past the kitchen table where I was working.

"Perfectly imperfect and learning to be content, huh?", my knows-me-too-well-and-is-always-calling-me-out husband said.

"Um, yep."  

I'm still doing the learning part.  My blog title doesn't say "Perfectly Imperfect and just fine and peachy and completely comfortable with it".

Be warned.  I'm a work in progress.

Does This Blog Make Me Look Fat?

I don't Twitter.

In fact, I didn't even know what Twitter was until my mom pointed out, 6 months ago, that my newest blog header had an uncanny resemblance to their logo.   

Tell me how my computer illiterate mother knew about Twitter and I didn't. 

Twitter's

Mine

Granted, their bird is a little more lean and svelte than my chunky chirpie, but you get the idea. I am NOT a poser.  Never want to be and slap me if I ever start acting like one.  This was a simple mistake.  I am not a Twitter wannabe.  

For fear of legal retaliation, I felt it was time for another blog face lift.  

Not really.  I mean not really about the legal retaliation part.  I'm serious about the face lift part.  That part was true.  The other part was a feeble attempt at adding some drama to this rather dull post.  Whatever.

Lucky for me I have an awesome sister-in-law, Amy, who is an extremely talented artist.  She paints murals professionally and does a fabulous job. Since I lack in that department (I can't even draw a circle that looks good) I asked her for some help.  I requested line drawings of cupcakes.  Above is what she came up with.  Ain't they purdy? Since she graduated with a degree in design and colors are her specialty, I hope she doesn't cringe at my choice of Crayola tones. 

Amy whipped these little cups of sweetness up in no time at all.  She drew them while washing the dog, folding the laundry, doing family history, and baking a souffle (yes, all simultaneously). She's THAT good.

Thanks, Amy!  I owe you.

Trying to See Clearly

Like Lemony Snicket, I was planning on sharing with you a series of unfortunate events.  A sordid tale of last Friday's unpleasantries and mishaps in the Gregson's outside sewer lines.  A post in which I would be pouty, and glum, and fish for sympathetic comments at the (now) far distant prospects of getting my new couch.  I had every intention of adding a farcical spin to the story about how some universal force must have placed this 3" rock into our exterior sewer lines. A rock that is now equivalent in value to several new pieces of furniture, or a trip to an exotic location, or a nice chunk of change in our withering savings account.

Blah, Blah, Blah-Bitty, Blah, Blah, Blah!!!

As I fired up my computer this morning and reviewed the list of blogs that I love to read, I saw it.  The post that has, most tragically, been a year in the making.  The post that took more courage and guts than I think I could ever muster.  You can see it here.

Many of you probably already know what I am talking about.  On August 14, 2008, a couple from Arizona was flying in a small plane with a friend.  The plane crashed.  The friend was killed but the young couple somehow survived. The husband and wife were severely burned and miraculously lived through the ordeal.  Stephanie, of the NieNie Dialogues,  was a very popular blogger before her accident and the blogging community rallied around her in her time of need. You may have seen stories on the local news or the Today Show.  The family had an outpouring of support and love from people all over the world. With the help of Stephanie's sister who kept her blog up and running even when she was in a coma, her blog continued and easily had over 10,000 hits on it daily.  

I, like thousands of others, followed Stephanie's story.  As a woman who was madly in love with life, she was such an example of femininity, of taking great pleasure in motherhood and being a wife, and having a solid foundation in our Savior, Jesus Christ.  It was such a pleasure to be able to peek into her world.  A world in which she chose to focus on the positive, and the beautiful, and tried to make her life what she wanted it to be - happy.

I wept this morning as I saw her picture.  Not because of the scars or the drastic change in her appearance, but because she has persevered and risen above such a tragedy.  Yes, she has admitted to the pain and to the dark nights, but she has shared her testimony and her incredible strength.  She counts her infinite blessings in every breath.  Tiny steps that bring her closer to her full recovery.  A figure of stoic bravery.

So, as I thought about the rock that had occupied so much of my energy over the weekend, I felt ashamed.  Here I was licking my wounds because of an inconvenience of time and money.  A superficial snag in my life.  A molehill that I had most certainly made into a mountain.

Sometimes, in this discombobulated head of mine, I lack in appreciation for what I have.  I often suffer from a dyslexic thinking error involving my wants and needs.  I think about all of the wants that I want.  What I don't have or what I can't afford or where I can't go or what I can't do.  Reality is, all that I need I've already got.  I have the gospel and its truths.  A loving and supportive husband who provides for our family.  Not lavishly or excessively but comfortably.  I have 4 amazing children who bless my life daily and who teach me patience, and kindness, and charity, and more patience.  Without them, our lives would be empty.  

We are alive.  We are healthy.  We love each other.  We are a family.

As I looked at Stephanie's new face and the true series of unfortunate events that she has gone through, I realized that I really need to look at my life and see it through a new set of eyes. Eyes like hers.  Eyes that see the tiny blessings that are bounteous all around me.  Eyes that focus on the simple abundance that our Heavenly Father provides us daily.  Eyes that see clearly - only true happiness comes in those things with eternal relevance.

And a couch isn't one of them.

How Many Friends Does it Take to Deliver a Baby?

The evening started out innocently enough.

Pasta.  Lots of pasta.  And friends.  Lots of friends.

Megan, a highly entertaining Canadian gal who speaks in hilarious high pitched tones when she's nervous or excited, was amongst our group.  She is due to have her 4th baby in 2 weeks. She generally has such a sparkling wit about her but last night she just wasn't herself.  She was horribly uncomfortable, a little bit on edge, and not full of her usual comedy.  We were concerned.  Several thought she might be in labor.  Several more concurred with the idea.  A phone call was made.  The doctor was out of town but the on-call doc would suffice.  Someone suggested that they wanted to take her to the hospital.  Several more jumped on board.  Megan agreed; she's always up for any sort of social gathering.  

Her husband agreed to let 4 of us take her to the hospital to have her checked out.  He would be called immediately if there were signs of any real active labor.  As at-home moms, we jumped at the chance to have some spontaneity. Whisking a friend to the hospital at 10:15 p.m. with the chance of seeing her water break in the parking lot is WAY more exciting than watching the evening news.  

"This would be so much fun if it wasn't ME," Megan kept saying.

Oh, boy.  It was fun.

She was sent to a room and given a gown that was 2 sizes too small.  Chyrese and I went downstairs to admissions.  The looks and raised eyebrows and confusion over the situation was quite funny.   "No, her husband is not here."   "Yes, we are just her friends."   "Yes, she wants to be an organ donor but do you need to do an evil chuckle when you ask?"   "Yes, she does want you to have on record and in your database that the name of her baby will be Kristen Chyrese G----.  We promise.  She told us."

Upstairs, they hooked her up to monitors, did a urine test, and we waited. Waited for the fireworks.  Waited for the shrieks of agony.  Waited for the peaks on the print outs to indicate that her sweet little baby girl was ready to have her birth day party.

But nothing.

Long story short, she ended up just having a bladder infection.  That was the cause of all of the pain, pressure, and discomfort.  Not a squeal.  No flinching or eye rolling.  No stirrups.  My camera cried a tear or two.  No live action shots.  :)

But a whole lot of laughing, and teasing, and story telling.  Oh, the topics of conversation that manage to surface in a hospital room!  A night we'll soon not forget.  The night that 4 women hoped to be there when precious K.C.G was born.

WAY, WAY, WAY more fun than sleeping. 

Ambulatory

Finally...

Post note:  the screaming in the background is from Lagoon.  It literally is a stone's throw away.  We actually don't even notice it any more.  The most prominent screaming is from the Tidal Wave.  Anyone who has been on it knows that the 2 "sides" compete for the loudest shrieking.  Scream....pause, pause, pause.....scream.....pause, pause, pause....  It goes on for hours like that.  At least they're happy sounds.  One of the screams may have belonged to Kennedy since she was over there with friends when this video was taken.

Travels

The world is a book,

and those who do not travel

read only a page.

- St. Augustine

Sometimes when I think about my childhood, I find that there are big gaps in my memory. I think I must have been a very inattentive kid because I can't remember a lot of the daily details of my youth.  I don't remember what I got for Christmas when I was 7.  I can't remember what my favorite outfit was when I was 10 nor do I remember who I loved to sit by on the bus when I was 8.  

However, I do find comfort in the fact that, though my mind may be riddled with lapses of recollections, I do remember family vacations and experiences that went hand in hand with such occasions.  The amazing growth that came with seeing a view of the world that was past the end of my street.  The education that naturally ensued.  These memories are fastened securely in my brain with no chances of rattling loose anytime soon.

Things like eating my first frozen banana while staying on Balboa Island, CA. Giggling at my dad as his fear of heights got the best of him while taking a very tiny, rickety elevator ride to the top of the St. Louis Arch.  Riding the subway in New York City.  Staying with an Amish family in Pennsylvania. Smelling damp and musty cathedrals across Europe. Seeing family grave sites in Scotland.  Hearing the romanticized tales of a western ghost town in Custer, ID. Listening to Hooked on Classics as we drove across the country. Imagining a life inside the Palace of Versailles.  

I could go on and on.  Family times that I will always cherish.  I was blessed to have parents who saw the benefit of traveling.  A mom who saw value in experiencing close proximity to what we read or saw in school textbooks. Hands on exposure to the huge world out there.

Sights and sounds, smells and sensations.  Bits and pieces of people and places compacted into small remembrances.  Seeing life as others see it.  Adding to one's personal history.

That's what life is about.

I will be forever grateful for those lessons I lived.

While Jeff and I don't currently have the fundage to take our kids to see the four corners of the world, we still see the positive effects that even small trips have on our family.  Time spent away from work, and household duties, and annoying clutter of life.  Focus spent entirely on those nearest and dearest to us.  

Oh, and there's nothing better than retelling family anecdotes long after the occurrence took place. Isn't it amazing how vacation stories tend to get bigger and better and more elaborate as time passes?  

Last week we headed up to, what the kids like to refer to as, our second home. Jeff's family owns a cabin on Echo Lake in Montana.  It is affectionately called "the cabin" or simply "Echo". Our annual trek takes place the first week in August and always consists of lots of cousins, too much eating, and plenty of swimming and water fun.  The cabin can comfortably sleep 20+ people and every year we're packed to the gills.  This year, 5 of the 6 siblings were there with their families.  We missed Brent and Amy and their kids but are crossing our fingers that next year they will make it.

Our kids' stories and memories of this trip are already well formed and mulling around in their heads.  They hated to leave but they know that next year a new batch of magic in Montana awaits them.

Every year we take a family picture from the deck of the cabin in this exact spot.  The scenery remains the same, but unfortunately the subjects get older with each passing summer.

Shawski loved the boat rides but hated his life jacket.

Jeff's new passion is kayaking.  He got one for his birthday and was anxious to use it on the beautiful waters of the Swan River.  He and the guys (Jeroen, Ryan, Jeff, Sherman, Darin) went on a route they thought would take an hour and a half...

...but it actually took them 4 hours!  They had a blast and were all very grateful for Sherman's entertaining singing of show tunes.

Turtle hunting in turtle bay.

Taiden masters the rope swing.

I did manage to get 12 miles run through the course of the week.  Huckleberry shakes, Brown Cow ice cream, Canadian treats, Sherman's cinnamon rolls.  Running was necessary!  As I ran past fields of horses on gorgeous tree lined roads, I wished I had John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads" on my iPod.

Two of Kennedy's greatest joys - relaxing at Echo and reading an engaging book (The Hunger Games - really good)

Here is my friend Marianne with her family.  She and I were roommates our Freshman year at BYU.  She's from Canada.  Through her I met Brent Gregson (who became my best guy friend at the Y), and then through Brent I met his older brother, Jeff.  A long and funny and complex story that I will dedicate a whole post to sometime in the future.  Marianne and her family also own a cabin at Echo so we get a quick visit with them every year too.  She smuggled some Canadian treats over the border for us to enjoy.  Although she ate one of my Big Turks while en route, I still love her and enjoy our continued friendship.

Jeff and Shawski observing our maniac children on the tubes.

4 kids, weak bladder, white legs, not even a drop of homemade vanilla and still skiing.

Jeff tried wake surfing for the first time and had a blast doing it.  

Look!  No rope!

After Taiden told Darin that he wasn't good at the tube game (getting other people to fall off), Darin came at them with a vengeance.  If you click the picture to enlarge it, you'll see the message on all of their faces.

"Welcome to the Cousins' Club Cafe.  May we take your order?"

The Cousin Club Cafe provided lunch for the adults on Saturday afternoon.  They offered a complete menu with a variety of burgers (ever tried an Inferno Burger?) and a talent show.

Here we see Sarah singing, Brittan doing some scary creature using his hoodie, Kennedy and Britt doing an optical illusion, and Nathan doing bird calls.  They even had a tip jar which we happily filled.

Any of the kids who learn to water ski get their names put on the Golden Ski.  Here are the triumphant skiers so far.

Not pictured:

• I lost 4 of my 5 damaged toenails while on the trip.  Dang Ragnar Relay training!  Yes, I did take a picture but, no, I will not post it here.  Too graphic and hideous for the young and faint of heart.  Just know that they are disgusting and I am likely to have old woman toes for the rest of my life.  They may not even allow me in for pedicures with feet like these.
• Brittan caught the stomach flu from cute little cousin Leah and it hit his system the day we drove home.  He threw up 11 times during our 10 hour drive.  11 times!  Poor Britt was such a trooper.  He was so lethargic and could barely muster up the strength to walk. There are 11 paper cups of Gregson gore along the highway through Montana and Idaho.