Shameful Shed Shenanigans

I am a royal idiot.

Yesterday afternoon, I was playing in the backyard with the little guys while our man was at a church meeting. We were having a lovely time examining the growing pumpkin in the garden and running around on the grass. Then the punk asked me about the little glow stick that his primary teacher had given him. I cracked it for him, but in the bright sunlight, we couldn't see the mild orange light emanating from the stick, so I had a brilliant idea. "Let's go into the dark shed, Buddy, and I'll show you how it glows!" So, with my camera strapped over my shoulder (it is attached to me all day on the 12th), I led my 3 year-old into the hot, dark tool shed. The basher was busy playing in the dirt, so I didn't bother disturbing him; we would only be a minute. I pulled the wooden door closed behind me so we could enclose ourselves in darkness to marvel at the magical glow that was looped around the punk's wrist.

"See, Buddy? Pretty cool, huh?"

He nodded.

Then I pushed the door and immediately realized that I was the dumbest person on the planet at that moment. The door had locked behind us and there is no latch inside the shed. The basher had just realized that we had gone into the normally forbidden tool shed without him, and came over to yell at the door in hopes that we would include him in our game. As I foolishly tried to figure out a way out, his yells turned to cries and then sobs. I knew we were okay; my man was due home any minute, and we had ample air. We even had plastic chairs to sit on. The basher was physically safe. He would not leave the other side of the shed door, and therefore, was unable to get into any mischief. But the poor guy was completely distraught. With the latch securing the very top of the door, I was able to push the bottom out a few inches in order to hold his hand, which gave him minimal comfort. With my words of comfort and my soft touch, he was able to stop screaming and just breathe in hiccups like one does after a very hard cry.

I tried to feed a rope with a hook over the top of the door in order to catch the latch, but it was on the other side of the door jam, and unreachable. I even tried wedging a shovel in the door like a crowbar, and using my supermom strength to muscle the door open by breaking the lock, but 1) we weren't desperate enough to do that kind of damage to the shed and 2) the basher would not leave the door, and would have been knocked over if I had beaten the door down. He kept sticking his fingers and even his arm in the space that I created when I pushed from my side.

We were stuck in that stupid shed for a good 45 minutes while our cheeks reddened with heat and the basher's cheeks reddened with despair. 

Finally, my man pulled into the driveway. Through my 1-inch view, I saw him come straight from his car to the backyard. He had seen the basher and thought we all must be hanging out. Then, as he told his mom while laughing so hard he was crying, he saw that the basher was standing at the door of the shed by himself. Then he noticed that the door was being pushed from the inside and a hand was sticking out. He heard, "TIM!" and the hand from the shed waved frantically. I saw his face, bewildered at first, and then understanding dawned and he burst out laughing. I laughed sheepishly from inside the shed, knowing what I must look like to my man who likes to tease. 

He freed us, gave the boys a hug and a kiss, and laugh/cried while he called his mom and attempted to explain the idiocy he had just witnessed.

Having Fun Is Hard Work

The slogan of this year's Utah Arts Festival is "Look Dirty. Have Long Man-Hair." I didn't see this slogan in print, but I did see lots of festivalers who took it to heart. 

We took the boys to the Arts Festival in the hope that with exposure to art, music, and diverse crowds (scruffy dudes included), they will develop an appreciation for our lovely city and the people in it. It is my hope that my man and I will always be able to provide a level of exposure to the arts, sports, social groups, and nature that will enhance our boys' lives and help them to grow up to be self-aware, compassionate, and educated. All these hopes and expectations, however, must be tempered during a family outing with two little guys. The lofty goal of cultural enlightenment takes a back seat to the immediate realities of heat (100 degrees), hunger, fatigue, and little-boyness.

We spent 90% of our time in the Art Yard where the boys visited the musical instrument petting zoo, listened to an animated storyteller, enjoyed sandwiches and chocolate milk, and made their own works of art. Maybe someday, we'll be able to visit the grown-up section of the festival. Until then, we will do our best to balance education with enjoyment.

Me: "You look confused."
Tim: "That's just my face."

When The Cat Is Away

When my man is out of town...

I clean more. Because if I don't do it, no one will. This is sometimes the case even when he is around, but a girl can dream. A girl can dream that the dishwasher will unload and reload itself overnight, right? It's funny. When the man's not here, I clean more. When he is here, I clean less in the hope that he will pick up my slack in the kitchen, but that's why the house is messier on weekends. Here's the flaw in my plan: although we used to share the housework equally before we had our boys because we were both working, cleaning the house is primarily my responsibility now, and rightly so; it's part of my job description. So on days when the man of the house is not working, he's too busy catching up on things like yard work and painting and repairing (things I never do) to think about the dishes I've been neglecting.

I stay up too late. Why? Is it because I am subconsciously waiting to go to bed with him? I don't think so. We don't always go to bed at the same time. When we do, it's because he announces his intention to hit the sack and I race him upstairs so I don't have to turn off the lights. I think it's because I am too busy enjoying being enveloped in sweet, sweet solitude. The combination of silence and freedom is intoxicating. If I were to go to sleep, it would be at the expense of this rare privilege, and that would just be irresponsible time management.

I regret my late bedtime every morning. I stay up later and later each night and get grumpier and grumpier each morning until he comes home.

I spend the entire week in a near-constant state of half-fear. Fear that a ghost-child will pay me a visit in the dark basement. Fear that someone will break in and I won't know which child to rescue first. Fear that I'll fall through a black hole and it will be days before anyone figures out that the boys have been subsisting on animal crackers and raisins from the kitchen floor.

I eat a late dinner. I was going to say I eat a very late dinner, but let's face it: 8:30 is not very late. It only seems that way because everyone in my house is asleep except me. Yes, when I am acting the role of a single parent, I sometimes wait to enjoy my dinner until the boys are in bed. That way, for one meal, I get to sit down, taste my food, and enjoy more than two consecutive bites. But hey, if I'm going to consume my calories after hours, this isn't a bad way to go, eh?

Gourmet Grilled Cheese

havarti cheese

mozzarella cheese

butter

honey

fresh basil, chopped

tomato, sliced

crusty multigrain bread

Butter 2 slices of bread and place in frying pan, butter side down. Top one slice with havarti and one slice with mozzarella. Cook until golden on bottom and the cheese starts to melt. Place tomato slices on mozzarella side and drizzle honey on havarti side. Place under broiler for a few minutes to heat tomato and melt cheese completely. Sprinkle with basil and assemble sandwich. Enjoy!

Let's Hear It For The Girls

Friendship. It's on my mind. Tonight I find myself incredibly grateful for my girlfriends. There was a time in my life when I didn't feel like I needed my girls as much. Namely, during the dating and newlywed phases. All I needed, all I wanted, was my man. I didn't care about chatting with friends I had known all my life when a brand new man was in my arms and on my lips.

But I am now 8 (lovely) years into my (perfect) marriage. (Ha!) The honeymoon is over (just barely) and I have rediscovered how much we women need each other. For support, for inspiration, for ideas. For running, for food, for conversations about boobs. For laughing, for crying (sometimes in the same breath).

I am fortunate to have many different girlfriends who have been in my life for different amounts of time, but who are all important to me. Last week I brought post-surgery dinner to a friend I've had since before Kindergarten. We have always been chums, but there have been times in our lives that have brought us closer than other times. As children, we jumped on the trampoline and had picnics in the front yard and played barbies. Now we talk about kids and husbands and our changed bodies. The kind of longevity that our relationship has is remarkable. I love her and always will.

Yesterday a newer friend delivered some chocolate cake to my house while I was away at a yoga class. (I am kind of, but not really, embarrassed to say that I ate all three pieces before going to bed.) I have known her for only the two years I've lived in her neighborhood, but her presence in my life has taught me so much about friendship and motherhood, photography and running, loving oneself and loving others.

Tonight I had dinner with some friends I've known for 14 years. At the end of the night, I said goodnight to a fellow redhead and was reminded that we will always be there for each other when we both need it. A couple years ago, we were going through similar difficulties with our families. Through our pain, we found comfort in our friendship and even now, we can rely on the honesty, the healing, and the faith that we found together during that time.

Because of my friends, I am stronger, more creative, more giving, more inspired, and more full of chocolate cake than I would have ever been alone.

I Am Woman

I had about 20 kills today. That's what my friend and former Ragnar teammate calls it when you pass a fellow runner during a race. But by comparing my speed to the speed of my fellow chicks on the road, I am comparing apples to... apples with two bites taken out of them. Let me 'splain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up. (Name that movie.) I completed my first triathalon this morning. (TriathaMom) But I'm cheating a bit when I say that. My teammates and I completed our first tri. Together. We did it as a relay! Heidi swam 300 meters. Susan biked 12 miles. And I ran the 5K. So as I passed those 20 women during the run, my pride was tempered because I knew that most of them had already completed the two other legs of the race that my teammates had done for me.

As I passed these fellow contestants, I cheered words of encouragement. "You're awesome!" "Looking great!" "Way to go!" Racing events bring out the cheerleader in me because I have been brought to tears when strangers have cheered for me during a race. I'm just paying it forward.

Later today, I joined my three string quartet members at the beautiful Memory Grove to play a wedding. It was a gorgeous (albeit hot and sunny) afternoon. We enjoyed playing the ceremony, then chatted about newborn babies while we were packing up. My violist and cellist very recently gave birth to sweet baby girls.

On my way home, I flipped on the General Relief Society Broadcast to hear an all-woman choir sing. Tears filled my eyes as the power of women hit me. I had spent all day surrounded by women. The triathalon, my quartet... We are all women trying to feel good and do good, for our families, for our clients, for ourselves.

I actually thought about my boys at home and found myself wishing for a moment that I had a daughter who I could teach how to be a strong, confident, smart, capable woman. I always knew, for instance, that girls could do math because my (female) math teacher taught me so. But then I realized that I do have a great opportunity to teach my boys about us female types. I can show them that their mama is strong. She is brave. She is capable.

At least, I can tri.

Heh heh.

2nd Time's The Charm

During last year's Ragnar Relay, I ran 5.5 miles around Rockport Reservoir minutes after puking my guts out. (See my blog post here.) Today, I had a much more enjoyable time at the reservoir. We joined my man's parents, brother, and his girlfriend for an end of summer water party. We packed yummy sandwiches, fresh fruit and veggies, and brownies. The basher wanted some of that action, but was not allowed to indulge in the chocolaty goodness because, as the punk says, "He doesn't have any teef!"

There are very few times in my life these days that I don't acutely feel the weight of motherhood pressing down on me (literally and figuratively. The boys are getting heavy). Even when we are having fun as a family, my primary role is to bring all the right things, make sure the little ones eat and wear sunscreen, and manage their safety and enjoyment. So when my man and I left the boys on the beach with their grandparents and took the Jet Skis out on the lake, I was surprised at the euphoria I felt when I squeezed that throttle. Pure bliss! Wind in my braids, sun on my face, cool water spraying my legs, and two free hands to steer the Jet Ski? Ahhhhh...

A Saturday List

1. We've been putting together a swing set this afternoon. And by "we," I mean "Tim." I helped him hold this piece though.

2. It's hard work.

3. The punk helped his dad by placing this fat piece of grass on the plank. See? We're all very helpful around here.

4. I'm grumpy today.

5. It may have to do with my lack of exercise and bounty of treats this week. Nah, that can't be it. I'm never hard on myself about that stuff.

6. While the boys were napping and my man was being manly, I went shopping for a new swimsuit because my giant boobs broke my old one. It's being held up by 2 safety pins, and who knows how long they'll hold?

7. I hate swimsuit shopping. Almost as much as I hate red licorice and PBS telethons.

8. I get to go on a date with my man tonight! Asian Star (my choice) and Captain America (his choice).

9. I think I'll get myself gussied up! And by that, I mean wipe the slobber off my shoulder and brush my teeth.

10. Remember when I used to fit into my clothes? Good times.

Good times.

Creatively Refreshed

I'm going to be honest. Doubling my number of offspring has made my life more than twice as hard. At least, that's the way I perceive it. It's quite rare that I have any time alone between the hours of 6 am and 9 pm, whereas with only the punk, I could at least count on a quiet moment during his afternoon nap. I have not yet been able to coordinate the boys' nap schedules to happen at the same time so I am always holding, listening to, feeding, touching, reading to, playing catch with, changing, singing to, or cleaning up after one or the other, or both. In the four months since the basher entered my life, I have realized that having time to myself is very important to my sanity, but that it just doesn't happen very often. Hence... crazy mama.

I remember driving in the car with my mom when I was a child, and asking her to turn on some music. Sometimes she would just say, "No, I'm enjoying the silence." I thought she was totally bonkers. Now I say that.

Yesterday I left my three boys at home for an hour while I pretended to be a photographer. I shot some family pictures for my cousins downtown. Then after returning home for only an hour, I left again for 5 more hours to play a wedding with my string quartet. By the time I returned home at 10 pm, I was more rejuvenated and alive than I could ever feel after a day at the most luxurious spa! I had spent 6 whole hours being creative and using skills that I have developed over the years. Skills besides patience and sibling management. For just a few hours, I was able to do something that produced immediate results.

I understand that I am incredibly fortunate that I have the opportunity to stay home with my boys. Not everyone who wants to be a stay at home mom gets to do so. I am doing what I had always hoped I would be able to do. But it felt so great to take off my mama hat for half a day and work on something that challenged me in a completely different way.

Three cheers for a supportive husband who is able to support our family financially so I can stay home AND who easily picks up the slack when I go gallivanting! I really needed it.

Visit Strings of Elegance here.

Spaceships and Pirates

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. BLASTOFF! With floor mat puzzle pieces as our spaceships, we zoom into outer space with one objective: the moon. I can see the earth shrinking away from us out of the round window of the ship, but when I point it out to the punk, he just looks puzzled. As we land on the moon, I ask him what he can see. He looks around. "Trees," he says. When we descend from our spaceships, he announces to Pirate Mama that we are going to hunt for some treasure. "Aye, Pirate Calvin!" And a-hunting we go. Rocks, pine cones, and weeds fill our treasure wheelbarrow.

When negative thoughts creep in about early mornings, muffin tops, whiny demands, and piles of laundry, I try to push them away with musings of my pirate astronaut punk and his little brother who happily comes along for the ride.

At The Ranch

As always, we had a lovely time at Grandpa's ranch. My family has celebrated our nation's birthday at the ranch every year since I can remember. When I was a kid, we brought only our old, stained, ripped clothes to the ranch because there was only one bathroom and about 50 people. The kids didn't have priority in the tub. Now things are a little more civilized (3 toilets, 3 showers, and a shaded bowery with picnic tables), and there are fewer people that stay at the cabin. (We still celebrate with the whole extended family, but most families opt to stay overnight at a motel in town.) There are still only two tiny bedrooms though, so everyone who stays at the cabin sleeps either on the deck or in a tent. I don't understand why my fellow Johnsons would ever choose a motel room over the rhythmic crickets, milky stars, and campfire aroma. My annual trip to the ranch nourishes me in a way that a schedule, a computer screen, and a pillowtop mattress never could.

I miss you Grandpa. We all do.

Light Bulb Moment

Yesterday, I was still trying to get myself ready when my mom came to the door at 9 am. The boys were dressed and fed, but my hair was still wet. I put the basher down for a nap and Grandma Caryn played outside with the punk while I finished getting ready. Then she stayed with the boys while I went grocery shopping. Who would have thought that grocery shopping by myself would be such a luxury? I returned home and unloaded the groceries from the car, put them away, started the chicken in the crock pot, unloaded the dishwasher, loaded it with the dirty stuff in the sink, and made two fat turkey sandwiches for my mom and me. As we were enjoying our lunch outside with the punk, I told her that I had been trying to hurry through all these morning chores so I could begin my day. As soon as I had that thought, I realized that I had it wrong. These things that I was trying to cross off my list ARE my day. I don't have the luxury of "getting ready" for the day. The minute the basher starts squeaking is the minute my day begins. As soon as I came to this realization, I felt relief. The stress of trying to "get ready" melted away and I was able to take a step back and watch the punk enjoy his drippy popsicle. Because cleaning his face and clothes is just another part of my day. And this day is a good one.

[mmm... melty goodness]

[oops... melty goodness on the ground]

Existentialism

When a girl is evaluating her life and trying to sort it all out,

When she is trying to break bad habits and implement good habits,

When she is trying to figure out the reason for the existence of those bad habits in the first place,

When she is attempting to determine if she has the guts to become the person she wants to be,

It's best if she has something like this to look at:

Tonight

I am thinking about my punk. He is:

joyous

silly

happy

energetic

He is great at:

kicking a ball

singing songs (his rhythm currently out-performs his intonation)

loving his brother

reciting poetry

Today at the grocery store, I was holding him in my arms while we filled the last space in the cart with fruits and veggies. I gave him a hug and a kiss. He took my face in his warm hands and tried to kiss me on the mouth. I turned my head so he could kiss my cheek, which he thought was hilarious. So of course, he did it again and I turned my head again. We ended up laughing ourselves silly by the bananas with his hands squishing my face.

Tonight as I lay my head down to prepare my body and mind for another exhausting day, I will remember this and be happy.

Another Decade

A couple years ago, when I was so very young... like, 28 or something... I looked ahead at the big 3-0 and thought, what's the big deal? I didn't understand why anyone had a hard time with this age. It's not old. However, in the weeks approaching my birthday, I did find myself looking forward to June 10th with some emotion. It's the end of my 20s. The beginning of the end of young-looking skin, great metabolism, and perky boobs (although that's more the fault of my two hungry babies). I am now called "Ma'am" instead of "Miss." But you know what? I am looking forward to this decade as a time of confidence, comfort, and family. 30 is my year! Here's how I celebrated this momentous occasion.

Uncle Davey came over for a couple hours in the morning to sit with the boys...

So I could do this...

And this...

And this...

Then my man flew home from his business trip to sit with the boys so I could go out for sushi with my ladies.

When I got home, I spent some quality time with the basher boy...

Then I spent some quality time with myself.

Then with my family.

My friend Amy and her 3 beauties came over with a beautiful little one-person cake and candle, and a handmade card, written by my two piano students. They knew I had already celebrated with a surprise party that my man threw for me last week, so they decided I needed to have something to stick a candle in to make a wish on my actual birthday. I also had visits from my beautiful mother in-law and my lovely cousin/best friend Brooke.

We tried to make the basher laugh. He managed a tiny giggle. (His first laugh was elicited by his grandpa on his 61st birthday, earlier in the week.)

My man and the punk and I enjoyed some $5 pizza for dinner.

After the kids went to bed, I practiced my violin for a few minutes in preparation for a string quartet gig the next day.

Then I took a moment to make a wish and blow out my candle.

30 years old? Bring it!