One Way Out

What is this picture? Well, I must admit, I was stalking a blog from a friends site, and the certain blog talked about all the strangers in our photos. Well, a dozen or two people from China have me in their photo. Back in 2006, Neal and I spent some time in Shanghi. We were at this buddhist temple, and there were tons of tour groups. It was funny. Most of them wore matching visors and followed their guide who was holding a flag high in the air. Anyway, there was a group taking photos, and I decided to jump in and wave for the camera. Neal thought I was crazy, but he got a great action shot. Somewhere, some Chinese man is showing his photos to his friends and saying, "Funny, but I don't remember this giant American woman being in our tour group."

Say hello to my little friend, the Chinese Hobit.



Neal likes to call this here photo "Where's Waldo?" Can you find me?



Here's me and my luvah. That was a fun trip.

On another note, the sign twirlers are out again. A couple of times a year, Mattress World hires some homeless-looking dancers to twirl signs at the stop light. I hate it. They are there all day, every day. And they wave at you every time you drive by.

There's no way to avoid them. There's only one way out of my neighborhood, and it goes right by them. There should be another way out of my hood, but for some reason, it's permanently barricaded at the end of the street. It's weird. When the sign twirlers are out, I wish I could "Luke Duke-it" through the barricade, just so I don't have to sit at the insanely long light and find clever ways to avoid the twirlers with my eyes.

Today I was grateful for the Target snack bar. Abby and I enjoyed a warm pretzel and cold diet coke while we waited out the worst of the rain. I think Abigail is proud of herself for finally mastering the straw. Good girl.

I'm enjoying my Abby time. Finally, for the first time since having her, I feel myself returning to normal. I've felt out of sorts since I had her. But now, I'm back in sorts. Which means something is about to happen. . . that's how it always works.

I think part of it has to do with school starting and things quieting down. I love the time I've had to spend with each of my girls one-on-one. I hung with Sarah till Kate was born. Then, when Sarah went off to school shortly after, I hung with Kate. Then, Abby was born just 2 months before Kate started K-garten. It's awesome! I have a friend who insists she can't have another kid unless she has two more, because the older ones are in school, and it's terrible to have one alone all day, too far apart from the sibs. Rubbish I say! It's heavenly! It was just me and the baby at Target. All by ourselves. And she sings, and screams, and smiles at me. Just me. Because everyone else is elsewhere. I love this part.

May I Kindly Stop Talking to You Now?

About 6 months ago, I was at Costco with Kate and Abby. We were eating our hot dogs and noticed an old man standing there with his hot dog and drink. He looked confused as he looked for some place to sit. He was alone. Then, I saw something that really touched me. There were four men who looked like nice, professional guys who obviously worked together and were on a lunch break. One of them said to the old man, "Hey! Come on over here and sit with us!" They scooted over and made room. Kate said, "Mom! Did you just see what those guys did? That was so nice!" I continued to watch them as they included the old man in their conversation. He looked like he was in heaven. They were genuine, and asked him about himself. I seriously felt like crying.

I've thought about that many times since. How often do I totally ignore those around me? Lots. Maybe I should try and be more inclusive and smile more at people. Who knows? It might make them have a better day.

I took a trip to Costco today. Abigail and I split a hot dog and swirly frozen yogurt. It was good. I had an interesting experience while eating. Sitting next to us was a couple who looked like they were "salt of the earth" types. Kind of odd-balls. I could tell they might be a few cards shy of a deck. Know what I mean? The woman, who desperately needed dental work, said something to Abby (Everyone does. She's so cute, and then she throws crusties at any and everyone who looks her way). At first, I kind of wanted to smile, not look her in the eye, and just get on with my hot dog. But then I thought about the lonely old man. I decided I would say some pleasantries. . . . .

Total regret.

At first, it started off innocent enough. Talk of my insanely delicious baby and how she wanted the ice cream so bad. Answering questions about how old the baby was, how many kids I had, etc. Then, the conversation went somewhere that sent my "Coo-coo" radar buzzing. The lady suddenly scoots really close to me, and starts telling me all about how terrible the DHS people are (the state people who take your kids away). Her breath just about knocked me out. GAG!!

Both the husband and wife are going on and on about how the state came to their house because their niece and nephew had belt bruises on them, and the DHS lady was so mean, and the state doesn't care, and "you should be careful what you do! You don't want to get your kids taken from you! They can just do whatever they want, those people!" Seriously. They were passionate as they told me this whole, crazy story. I was just nodding and "uh huh" ing.

Then, the guy asks if my kids take the bus to school. I said "yes, they do." He then said, "You should be careful. There are all sorts of bad people out there who want to hurt kids. The bus isn't a good place for them." As he's saying this, my hair starts to stand on end, and I got a really bad vibe from the wierdo. I suddenly think "child molester." And then I remember something really scary that just happened to my nephews in the toy section of Target. My radar was beeping like mad. I also thought of my sister who was flashed by a "potato" man as she walked home from school, and my cousins who were flashed in their driveway. And, don't forget my mom and her visiting teachers screaming as they watched a naked man walk up the street. Come to think of it, we laugh pretty hard at those stories now. Oh Oh!! And all the scary things that happend to me when I used to ride the city bus to work and school.

"I'm talking to crazy people!!" I thought to myself. Crazy people with horrible breath. "Well," I say as I wrap up the partially eaten hot dog. "I've got to go now. Have a nice day!" I couldn't leave fast enough.

Next time I'll think twice before I talk to strangers.

Allow 6 to 9 Weeks for Delivery

Neal's Star Trek Tee finally arrived yesterday. Remember? It only took about 3 months! I was hoping it would arrive before his birthday, but no. On his birthday, there was a card in the mail from Kellogg's that said that the offer was so successful, they ran out of shirts and had to order more from the Chinese Star-Trek t-shirt company.

When Neal got home from work yesterday, he put the shirt on straight way. Then, he complained that I didn't get him yellow, because that's what Cap'n Kirk wears. Then, he said I should start checking e-bay and find him every color. Oooooooo!! The possibilities. I think he likes his shirt. So did the girls. I love my nerd herd.

So, the other night as I was driving the tithing van home from a presidency meeting at my counselors home, I heard a new sound. It was terrible! It sounded like something clunking and rolling really loudly. It was in the back. The rear axle is hanging by a thread, so says "Car Talk," and clunks every time I turn a corner. I assumed it was something afoul in that general area. "Great." I thought. The next morning as I was doing the school-pool, the sound was still there. Time to take the van to Mike the Mechanic, I guess.

When Kate got home from school yesterday, she said, "Mom, why is there an apple on the roof of the van?" Now THERE'S yer problem! While at Stephanie's house, I parked under an apple tree. The apple was rolling around every time I turned corners. The roof rack is keeping it from falling off. It's still there. I'm going to see how long it takes for it to disappear. Last night at YW, everyone kept saying, "There's an apple on your van." Yep, there is.

Gas Station Food

Yesterday, during the 1.5 minutes I was able to sit in Sunday School, I heard a story. The teacher was talking about being rescued. Back in her poor college days, she was pregnant and traveling with her husband through the vast nothingness of Wyoming. Their fancy Ford Escort broke down at a 7-11 in the middle of nowhere. They called a parent from the pay phone, and had to wait for 4 hours until they were rescued.

I got to thinking - if I was pregnant and stranded, 7-11 would be at the top of my list of places I'd want to be stranded. They have a slurpee machine, big gulps, donuts, candy bars, chips, magazines. Seriously, what more could you need? I must admit, I'm a sucker for gas station food. I'm very grateful for "pay-at-the-pump" because every time I enter a gas station, I have the urge to buy sustenance. I always get the diet coke, of course, but I also want something to wash down. It must go back to my days as a child spent at the Holiday Oil, spending all my babysitting money.

That's what I learned in church on Sunday. Impressive, I know. Oh, and I learned that Abby, who just started walking on Friday, can do laps at the church now. She's got a short learning curve, that one does.

Yesterday was our annual "Primary Program." It's where all the kids, ages 3-11, sing and speak in sacrament meeting. They did awesome!! I don't think the chapel has ever been that reverent during the sacrament. They have some great leaders and teachers, and it's really showing.

Sarah was asked to play her flute during the closing song. They sang "Families Can Be Together Forever." She practiced and practiced and practiced like a champ. And she was oh, so nervous. I felt like throwing up, I was so anxious for her. There were a couple of high notes, and she had to have some good breath control. I prayed my guts out that she would do good, because I know how nervous she gets and how much she HATES attention. Kate runs the attention department in the Peton family.

Well, her practice and my prayers paid off. She did awesome! That was a fun parenting moment. I want my kids to know they have talents, and to get out there and use them. It builds character, dang it!

Take me, for instance. I have this thing for gas station food. . .

All Swept Up

I finally went running this morning. It's the first time I've been since my marathon at the end of May. After a marathon, the idea of running always seems repulsive to me. But then slowly and surely, I start to miss it. The P90 has been keeping me company lately, but I'm sick of the cardio routine, so I decided to run. It felt nice.

If anyone is craving chocolate cake, please come to my house and help yourself. We've got 3/4 of Kate's cake left, and 1/2 of Neal's cake. Take it all, and I'll throw in some ice cream.

Kate had a great birthday yesterday. She was boss for the day, and was so excited that she didn't have to sweep the kitchen floor. Last Saturday, she was punished and put on sweeping duty for a week. It was kind of funny. She did a crappy job sweeping the floor, and Neal called her on it. She put on a snotty face and said, with her hand on her hip, "You see it! You sweep it!!" Neal didn't like that. So she's been my sweeper all week. The practice is paying off, because she's getting better!

Anyway, Kate was excited because she got a red bike. When we bought it, we thought we would save 10 bucks and assemble it ourselves. We stayed up till almost midnight the night before, trying to do the dang brakes. They're all screwed up. Now, if she is seriously injured in a bike accident, we can't pin it back on Toys R Us for faulty assembly. It's all our fault. I'm starting to think it might have been worth the $10. Liability sucks.

Does anyone else think it's funny when a 14 month old baby rolls around on the floor and screams when she doesn't get what she wants? I'm in trouble.

Happy Birthday Neal!

It's my man's birthday today. Remember his little boy hoodie from last year? That was funny! He's 36. Suddenly I'm realizing that I will be sleeping with an old man someday. That "someday" is getting closer. . .

It's Kate's birthday tomorrow. Seven. It seems like she's been alive forever.

For Neal's breakfast, I actually put butter on his toast. He deserves butter today. And I made his fried eggs extra runny. Kate liked the candle I put in his toast. Just making it special, that's all.

I'm excited for Neal's gifts. We got him season 11 of The Simpson's. I know season 12 was just released, but season 11 was 10 bucks cheaper. I'll get season 12 next year. Guess who will be watching The Simpson's tonight!

I also ordered him some special shoes. But the UPS man hasn't delivered them yet! What's up with that? Me and the UPS man are tight. He's let me down. I'm just going to have to print out a picture of Neal's shoes that will have to suffice for now.

The shoes are special because they are a replacement to his beloved shoes I insisted on throwing in the garbage the morning of garbage day so that Neal didn't have a chance to dig them out. Let me tell you about the Timberlands. . .

Once upon a time, during Neal's first year of law school, his dad gave him an old pair of shoes because they hurt his feet. Neal, being the practical Peton that he is, jumped at the chance for a free pair of shoes. They were only "gently" used. Thus began the love affair with the Timberlands. He wore them everywhere, almost every day. They went through 3 pairs of laces, and occasionally got re-seasoned by yours truly when I couldn't stand the look of them anymore. The soles got thinner and thinner. If you looked at them from the back, they were totally sloped. Yet he kept wearing them - on through law school and beyond. He would even wear them to work when he needed brown shoes. I told the man, "Neal, you really shouldn't wear hobo shoes to work. Your clients will wonder if you live under the bridge with the other hobo's." But, he insisted on wearing them.

This is a man who is methodical in nature. He has his favorite ties, his old mission birkenstocks, the polo shirt he wore to my Sadie Hawkins dance when I was a senior in high school. He could have a $5 bill in his wallet for 3 year before he finally spends it. And even then, he would hem and haw and ho and hum and contemplate before he ever spends it. I think he suffers from spending constipation. Anyway, I threw the old Timberland's out last spring when I couldn't take it any more. I bought him a nice pair of brown dress shoes. But he complains about them how they're "not comfortable, and they're not my Timberland's."

He has been sad ever since. Just the other day, he came home from work and said, "I was so excited to come home and put on my Timberland's, then I realized they were gone. . . forever."

So, I got online and hunted till I found a pair of shoes I think he would like. Something similar to his beloved shoes. I will know I was successful if I am posting a similar post in about 10 years about how hard is was to get rid of the "Birthday shoes from '09."

I love Neal.

Screamer

Sorry about the last couple of angry posts. I'm not a fan of angry blogs, or angry tv people, or angry reality tv. I can't even watch the first part of American Idol because I think the judges are too mean. So I feel really bad about my school bus rant and the whole racial thing yesterday. I haven't been in a bad mood, and things are going well, so I don't know why I had the negative vibe going on. Guess I was just mad, that's all.

I'm currently experiencing an interesting parenting phenom. I really don't know what to do about it. You see, Abby is a screamer. Not just a "scream here and a scream there," but a loud, piercing, Ring Wraith/Nazgul kind of scream. And it's getting worse. It's turning into 10th degree tantrums. They're kind of funny, actually, because she's just so spitting mad. She clenches her fists, gets on her tippy-toes, and howls like the damned. I seriously know what the scriptures mean when they talk of "weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth." And believe me, that girl has some teeth. A whole mouth full of them.

It started about the time we went camping, and then when I was in Utah, my parents got a dose of Abby-mad. It really hasn't let up. It's getting worse. The problem is, she wants her mama. All the time. The only time she is content to play quietly by herself is when she's unrolling all the toilet paper and playing in the toilet. But that's not a pass-time I'm willing to adopt.

I've never dealt with this before. If I have, I don't remember. But it's starting to get a little annoying. I'm beginning to wonder how nursery is going to work out in January. Currently, Neal can make it back to our ward by the 3rd block, so he takes her while I'm in YW. But next year, the schedule changes and I will only see him in our ward once a month. I'm really banking on nursery to take care of the 3rd hour problem for me. But so far, it's not looking very promising.

Although it is really annoying when Abby lets out one of those 'scare your pants off out of complete silence' screams, I AM having fun with it. You see, there's this lady in our ward. She obviously hates it when my baby scares her out of her pew. I dodge daggers throughout sacrament meeting and Sunday school. I could get offended, but then I'm like, "I'm alone at church with my children every Sunday but one a month. And I take the baby out when she screams. So to anyone who doesn't understand, sucks for you, because I'm going to sit next to you!! BWAAA
HAHAHAHHAHA!!" I actually look at the lady when my baby girl lets loose. It's become a kind of game for me. Sometimes, I even try and sit close to her in Sunday school.

I think I should maybe put my sabbath day energy to better use.

Scared Straight

I propose a new law. Parents get a one-time free pass to scare the hell out of their children's peers. I'm not a confrontational woman. I avoid it like the plague. I also don't believe in fighting my children's battles. But when Sarah comes home and tells me that D. Nunez called her white trash today, I would gladly turn in my free pass. Sarah put up with D's crap all year last year. For some reason, it's ok for her to say all kinds of "white-trash-this" and "white-trash-that" to Sarah, but if Sarah were to say anything about D.'s ethnicity, then I think I would be visiting the principles office to discuss Sarah's expulsion because she's a bigot.

I really want to contact the school, but Sarah is adamant that I don't. She said she doesn't care, and it doesn't hurt her feelings (Sarah is awesomely nice and wonderful, by the way). But I do care. And since I don't want to make the morning paper or see the inside of a squad car, I'll keep my hands to myself. But really, I want to put on a "robber mask" and chase D. down the street with a squirt gun full of hot sauce

Twinkies Do Not Belong in the Trash, My Dear.

As I was packing Kates lunch yesterday morning, I asked her if she wanted a Twinkie.

Kate: What's a Twinkie?

Mom: It's one of these (show her some left-over twinkies that were not used from the deep-fry-and-have-totally-stinky-farts-for-24-hours YW activity).

Kate: Oh, is it like those Zinger things?

Mom: Yes, kind of, but without the frosting. I'm sure you'll like it. Hostess is this amazing company that doesn't make anything that tastes bad. It's all super fabuloso.

Kate: Ok.

So when she came home from school yesterday (on the bus, by the way. Problem solved), I asked her how she liked her Twinkie. You can imagine my shock and astonishment when she told me that she didn't like Twinkies. So she threw it in the garbage. WHAT?!?!?! A delicious Twinkie wasted like that? Blasphemy!! Horror!! Sometimes I wonder where she came from.

Which reminds me of something funny she said when she was 3. She had just done something extremely cute, as always, and I said, "Kate, where did you come from, anyway?" To which she replied, without missing a beat, "Mex-ti-co."

Here's a picture of the Young Women in our ward. Aren't they purdy? This was a great night. K., the girl in the white, was baptized. It has been such a neat experience watching all the girls answer her questions, befriend her, and wrap their arms around her. We've all grown from this experience. K. was so determined to be baptized, not even a cracked vertebrae, from a car accident the day before, could delay her. She was in a lot of pain, but told everyone that she wouldn't wait another day. It's amazing how much the young 'uns can teach us.

The Wheels on the Bus

A few pictures of our trip to Utah, then on to the acid rant.

Kate with her cousins. Dang, they're cute.

Me and Abigail and my sister, Lindsey. She's gonna have another baby!

Camping at Ledge Fork with my parents and Uncle Dieter. Wow, Kate! Where's your mother? Does she have a brush on hand?

Abby is the a shoulder "low-rider." She leans back so far, I'm afraid she's going to fall.

Abby and her Uncle Dieter in my parents tent trailer.

My amazingly funny 91 year old Grandpa Gil.

Another visit with my fighting Grandma Ginger. I love that lady. Abby, why do you frown so? In every single picture, you look like you want to smack the photographer. Chill baby, chill!!

Reese and his GF, Laura. She's a nice gal. The girls love her and want her for their aunt.

Yesterday was Kate's first day of 1st grade. At the close of school, the school calls my house. I wasn't home. I was running all over town. Neal's mom was at my house with the feverish baby. Here's how the conversation went down:

School Lady: How is Kate getting home from school today?

Mable: Why, she's taking the bus, of course. Same as she's always done, same as her sister before her, all the way back to the beginning of time.

School Lady: No, she's not taking the bus. The school bus people have not put her on the list.

Mable: Well, what do we do then?

School Lady: Come and get her.

Neighbor who was at the school and over heard the conversation: I'll take her home.

Thanks to my neighbor, my child made it home. I was across town, and I had the car seat, so Mable would have had to walk the sickster up to the school. Not ideal.

When I found out what happened, I got really mad. Really really mad. I called the school. They told me the boundaries had been changed. I disagreed, because I had just received the bus schedule in the mail, and the same old stop was still there. The school told me to call the district. So I did.

I think they're retarded at the bus base. The line was busy forever, of course, because they're retarded. I'm sure there were many other parents calling about their problems too. I finally got through at 4:58, just 2 minutes before they closed. The bus base lady had absolutely no answers. She said there was no bus stop there, I said there was and always had been. Then she told me I didn't live far enough from the school to get bus service. Well, tell that to the generations of bus riders who have gone before, from that same bus stop!!

This morning, I watched a bus drive right by a group of kids waiting at the old stop. Then, I saw them go home, and their mom had to walk them to school totally late.

I've heard from an inside source that there IS a stop there, and it should be figured out. We'll see. As for now, I'm angry. But, it has reminded me of my bus stop experience on the first day of high school back in 1991. . . . (fade to memory). . .

Picture this: My Sophomore year, first day at Cyprus High, Home of Scholars and Champions. It was the end of August, and I was wearing a sweater, of course, because for some reason I always thought I had to wear a cardigan or sweater or turtle neck or some sort of hot clothes on the first day of school when it was still 95 degrees outside. Anyway, I was also sporting my new duffle bag. A BYU Cougars duffle bag. I loved that bag.

The bus stop was right in front of our house. Always had been. Well, we waited. And waited. And waited. No bus. Finally, my older brother and I, Justin, Sam, Becky, Jason, the Anderson girl, her neighbors with the blonde hair (I forget their names), Michael and Annalisa go tell our mom's there was no bus. A couple of mom's who happened to be home or have cars, took us to school. Very late. AND, my locker wouldn't open, so I had to carry my BYU duffle bag around all day, full of books. Back then, only the TOTAL nerds carried their bags around all day. I remember being very embarrassed, and thinking that everyone knew and was looking at me, and judging me.

Well, our mom's did some investigating, and the Granite School District had decided to move the bus stop without telling us. So, we had to walk all the way to the 16th ward stop, or all the way to 6000 W. to catch the bus.

Having the bus experience yesterday made me mad. Maybe I still have some feelings of abandonment or resentment lingering beneath the surface. I'm surprised at how mad I am. I'm afraid I've ranted far too long. I must stop. Moving on. . .

Last night for Young Women, we had a "deep fry" night. As a result the entire church smells like a the kitchen of a Skipper's restraunt. Each of us brought various items to deep fry. Like twinkies, oreos, candy bars, zuccini, potatoes, yams, and onions. Then, we battered and fried them. I like to call this activity the "Heart Atttack Fry-Down" activity. It was fun though. I liked the oreo and the twinkie. Very good. But, as always, the sweet potatoes won the cake for me. I love sweet potatoes in any and every form. I didn't eat too much, and left last night feeling ok. The grease was settling pretty good.

So, I thought. As soon as I went to bed, I felt like puking. My stomach hurt, and my bowels rumbled. I tossed and turned all night and every time I would wake up, I would imagine the grease smell, and feel sick again. Seriously did not settle well.

1624.7 Miles

The distance from my driveway in Salem, to my parents driveway in Salt Lake City, and then back to Salem, is 1624.7 miles. That's really far. We have made that trip 9 times in the 5+ years we have lived here. Five of those trips were man-less, and required myself to be the sole driver. It's not very fun, but we make the most of it.

Last Tuesday, I left my husband home and drove to Utah with the 3 kidletts. We had so much fun camping in the Utah mountains with my parents and new little brother (Dieter the dog). The kids call him Uncle Dieter. I think my parents love him more than they love their children:) I miss the Utah mountains something fierce. Neal and I spent so much time in the mountains as a young couple. Some summers, we would hike 3-4 times a week. After work and school, we would load Sarah up in the kid carrier, and hike a trail. Then in the winter, we would spend far too much time and money at Brighton Ski Resort. Ohh, I miss those days.



I got a double dose of the mountainous beauty while in Utah. First, camping with my parents at Ledge Fork near the Smith and Morehouse Dam, then having my first experience at the annual Swiss Days in the Heber Valley.

I grew up in Utah, and never once attended Swiss Days. Shame on me. If you have never been to the Heber Valley, then you haven't lived your life. It's beautiful!

I attended Swiss Days with my 4 sisters. Being the crafty type (my sisters), they were worried about my well-being. I have a history of hating crafts, and hating crowds. Well, there were both on Saturday. But, much to my surprise, I had a blast looking at all the booths and buying a few things. It was so nice to be in the beautiful mountains, surrounded by beautiful people (my sister's). It was so refreshing.

Saturday night, my little brother flew home for a few days respite from army life. I finally got to meet his girlfriend. She's awesome! I'm hoping she'll be my newest sister in law this spring. Then, I'll get another trip to Utah!

What do you do while trapped in a car for so very long? Well, we Peton's like to get silly. Our last trip to Utah was full of plenty of that stuff. Here are few conversations we had on our way home:

As we were driving past one of many fields of cows, Sarah said, "Mom! I just saw a cow lift up its tail and pee right out of the butt! That's weird!"

Mom: Sarah, maybe that's just how they do it.

Sarah: Or, maybe it was just a girl cow, and that's how they pee. Because the boy cows have those Rocky Road things. . . or . . . what are they called again?

Mom: Rocky Mountain Oysters. Or, in other words, cow testicles. Or, you could just call them cow nuts.

Sarah: Oh yeah! Rocky Mountain Oysters! Granny used to eat those! Yeah, they're just testicles. I keep thinking they are called tentacles. I get them mixed up.

Then, it was Kate's turn to make me laugh. In the upper part of the Columbia River Gorge, there are tons of giant wind turbines. Our little Don Quixote, pointed out the window and exclaimed, "Look Mom! Look at all those windshields!"

As always, my trip to Utah was far too short.

On another note, if anyone happened to be at Houck Middle School this morning around 7:40, and saw a woman walking back to her car, holding back tears after dropping her oldest off at the "middle-world," and she was wearing a BYU t-shirt, and finally dissolved into tears when she got into her car, and also proceeded to write a very long run-on sentence, and she looked strangely like me, you are mistaken. That was not me. It must have been some other mother. Why would I cry as I realized my oldest just took one more step away from me, towards her own life? That would be wussy.