30 Day Swimming Challenge

June 2013

If you are my friend on facebook, you're probably sick of reading about me taking my kids swimming. Sorry.
The great photos are all at the bottom.

When I was a little kid my mom put me in swimming lessons every year from the time I was 5.  I think I stayed in level one for about 5 years.

I was terrified.  They wouldn't let me wear goggles and the chlorine stung my sensitive eyes.

The instructors demanded that I open my eyes under water.

I hated them.

Eventually I learned how to swim well enough to have a good time.

Fast forward a lot of years. . .

Last September we bought everyone in our family a Pass of All Passes.   These are awesome! They have so many places we can go for free or very cheap that the passes are "paid for" very quickly. We've hardly used them due to my two surgeries and busy school schedule. We mostly bought them to enjoy Seven Peaks this summer.  We have visited Trafalga and Holllywood Connection.  This Saturday we are seeing the play Tarzan. All of that was free.

The next step is to go to Seven Peaks.  I plan to take my kids twice a week for the summer.
Just over a month ago I realized that we would get a lot more use out of the pass if we could go during the day without Daddy.  I also realized my six children would probably drown with only me to watch after them.

The boys could swim already. The girls needed swimming lessons, but there weren't any starting until June.  So, since I specialize in my own kind of crazy, I decided to teach them all myself.

I bought a 30 day pass to the Gene Fulmer indoor pool, about 7 minutes from my house. It cost $95 for my family of 8.  Swim lessons cost $35 for 8 lessons( 30 minutes long). I knew I could do better than that and for less money if I would just commit my own time and energy to my kids. I vowed to go every day but Sunday with as many kids as were available.

Today is the last day.  We will go swimming after lunch.

We have gone EVERY SINGLE Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday for about an hour.  I really think I deserve an actual 14KT gold star for this, cause, it was not easy.

But, it worked.

Do you know the feeling when you see your baby walk for the first time?

I've had that feeling almost every time we've gone to the pool. As I have witnessed my children gaining new skills and the pure joy they feel in accomplishing something that seemed impossible, I too feel that amazement and joy.  It's hard to adequately describe.

Reuben (14) and Tim (12)could already swim, but had never passed the scout swim test for camp. Now, they are ready.

Amy (10) couldn't swim at all.  She swims. She floats. She jumps in the deep end. She is working on different strokes.

Clara (7) also couldn't swim.  Her crowning achievement last week was jumping into the deep end and swimming across and back.  She swims and floats and is working on the back stroke.

Audrey(5) did the death grip whenever I brought her into water deeper than her shoulders.  Now, she loves to swim underwater and float on her back or tummy.

Emmeline(3). She is the most delightful.  Every single day Emmeline pushes herself a little but more.  She loves to jump into the pool and float to the top. She screams at me to put my arms down so I'm not trying to catch her.  She jumps off of the steps and swims underwater to me, probably 4 feet.  She loves to "go under"! She can float on her back by herself.  The best moment was when someone asked me if she had been taking swimming lessons for a long time.

It has been worth it. The 30 extra loads of laundry has been worth it. The extra time has been worth it. The extra gas was worth it.  Taking two showers every day was worth it.  Scrounging for dinner or eating it quickly was worth it.  Being exhausted and wet every day was worth it.

I'm going to miss it.

Clara broke two pair of goggles in three days.

Amy was thrilled to be able to see under water

Once Audrey figured out she wasn't going to die, she swam like a fishy.

I had to wear my glasses in the pool so I could see my kids.  I'm pretty blind without them and I can't tolerate contacts. 

Emmeline, floating on her back all by herself

Big girl!

She gets her cheeks from me

You know it's love when you put on a swimsuit M-Sat for a month.

floating

Reuben

Tim diving

Reuben jumping in the deep end

Audrey. Sorry about it being sideways

"I'm a big girl. I can jump in by myself!"

See?  

In the Quiet Heart. . .

I've had some thoughts bouncing around in my head for about a week.  They are thoughts about suffering.
I can look back on my childhood and recognize that I rarely suffered.  I had adequate food, clothing, and shelter.  I had fairly good health.  I experienced childhood and teenage maladies like the cruel peers, pressure to achieve, stomach flu, chicken pox, a broken bone, migraines, and debilitating menstrual cramps.  But, most of the time I was healthy and happy. I know I was pretty lucky. But, I still experienced trials and sorrows.

 And they were real to me.

They were just as real to me and hurt just as much as the more grownup and lasting trials I have been blessed with as an adult.  Some of my suffering I made public knowledge, like when my dad MADE me move to Russia. That was not cool!  How dare he?!  I let everyone know what an awful thing he was doing to me.  Some suffering and heartache I kept inside, but of course it affected who I became. The ones that were kept inside probably affected me the most, because they festered and grew.  They were things that I can now view as silly or irrational.  I thought I was fat.  I thought I was ugly.  Typical teenage stuff.

But, it was real to me.  And I've been thinking lately about a type of statement people sometimes make. This statement is hurtful, although it might not be meant that way. It comes in many variations, but it has the same point:

You are not suffering as much as I have suffered/suffer now.

You think that's bad?  I know somebody who. . . .

Well, at least you don't have to deal with. . . like I do.

My friend is really suffering, going through. . . . you are lucky that isn't you.

You're too young to know real suffering.

Just wait until you are older. Then you will really have problems.

"In the quiet heart is hidden, sorrow that the eye can't see.  Who am I to judge another, when I walk imperfectly. .  " Savior May I Learn to Love Thee- LDS Hymn

My grown up trials, over time, have settled that thought in my heart.  Who am I to judge?  Who am I to look at you and judge your behavior or the level of your pain, when I can't see into your heart, into your head, or into your past?  What quiet sorrows reside in your heart?  Who am I to belittle the suffering of another person?

Who am I to judge another?  Yet, sometimes I do it, in my heart, and sometimes even out loud.  Cause, dang it all, I haven't figured out perfection yet!  I'm weak.  But, I'm learning, at least, about this one thing.  My own trials have opened my eyes.  I used to look at people and think things like,"Oh, they have it so good. Look at that new car, that huge house! Her body is perfect. She can't possibly have any worries.  I've got so many more kids and mine don't behave as well as her kids. My life is harder."  Or before I had kids, "My kids will never have snot running down their faces or eat food off the floor."

It's so easy to judge what you don't understand.

And then something broke inside of me.  As I became lucky enough to have my own sorrows that the eye can't see, I realized that just about EVERYONE has them.  Is my life harder than some people's?  Probably.  Is my life easier than a lot of people?  Definitely.  Does it matter?  Is it a competition?  Does it mean God loves me more or less?  No.

I guess what I have learned is it feels a lot better to say things like:

Wow. That must be hard.

I've gone through some hard things too.  I know it's difficult.  But, I believe you can get through.

I've gone through something like that. Do you want to talk about it?

OR

I've never gone through that.  I can't imagine how hard it is.

*****
Maybe I'm off my rocker.  I don't know.  It's a distinct possibility.  And maybe I'm on to something. Maybe the world would be a better place if we would delete all sentences beginning with" You think you have it bad. . . "  and replace them with love, sympathy, empathy, compassion, tolerance, patience.  Come on people, let's just be perfect.  You go first.  :)  Oh, wait, we aren't perfect! Rats! Then I guess it would be good enough to just remember, "Who am I to judge another when I walk imperfectly?. . " and just delete the judging.

Get REAL!

I CANNOT hold it in, or I might burst something I wanted to keep intact, like my sweet spirit!  I have to let it out in a blog.

If you are a sports fan, you should probably stop reading now, because what I write might make you question everything you hold dear.  Or at the very least, it will really irritate you.

Last night I went to a REAL Salt Lake soccer game with my husband. He didn't make me do it, but I knew he wanted me to go with him.

He did go to yoga with me on Tuesday night.  And for reasons which I will never be able to process, he did not enjoy yoga.  I know, SHOCKING!  How can you not enjoy yoga?  I really and truly do not know.  Really. And Truly.  It's defies belief.  But, there it is.

So, I decided I would try to put aside my loathing of sporting events not featuring my offspring, or at least someone I know, and agreed to attend the game with him.

We arrived at the freeway exit at 6:37 for a 7:00 game.  I thought that was plenty of time.  Uh. No.  It took 6 minutes to exit the freeway.  It took another 5-7 minutes to find a place to park for free.

I couldn't see the stadium from where we parked.


It took about 10 minutes to speed walk to the stadium.  That was probably the best part of the night.
As we walked Judd "warned" me that the person who gave us the tickets, the Regional Commissioner for AYSO, the soccer league my kids play with, wanted to give me a present- a REAL present. He wanted to know if I would prefer a bobble-head or a scarf.  Oh goody!  By the time we got there, I had figured out a plan to turn a scarf into a bed pillow for my REAL loving brother in law.

We stood in line for another 10-15 minutes.  The fans in front of us were very friendly and entertaining and I enjoyed talking with them. After having our bodies scanned, stripped searched, and sprayed with disinfectant, they let us in.  Or maybe they just scanned people's purses. Anyway, there was security.  And thank goodness! I wouldn't want all those drunk people bringing their knives and guns.

We went inside and wandered aimlessly until Judd decided to ask directions, at which point we were directed to walk to the other side of the stadium. Unfortunately, math must not be the strong point of the man who helped us, as we ended up walking around about 75% of the way until we found our section.

We had good seats and were sitting next to a quiet family.  Good. Very good.

By the time we sat down, about 15 minutes into the game, the other team had scored two goals.

And that pretty much sums up the game.  There were no more goals. For the rest of the game.

Wow.

Fun.

I can really see why you guys love this stuff.

(Insert sarcasm)

It was kind of fun to watch the athletes kick the ball around and try to score.  And I quite enjoyed it when a player would fall dramatically to the ground, rolling around in supposed pain, only to pop up and keep playing 2 minutes later.

Seriously though, the soccer players were good, and I don't really have any problems with how the game went.

It's just that. . .

I am not a fan.  I do not care if REAL wins.  There, I said it.  Cast your digital stones at me now.  I just do not care.  I don't care AT ALL!  I don't care if they are the team in my city.  Big deal.

So, when people stood up to watch something, I didn't.  It felt kind of nice.  I don't like feeling anxious and worrying about the outcome.  

I just watched the crowd.

I watched the 40 or so fans for the other team, with their bare brown painted chests swaying to the beat of their constant song, hanging over the railing 4 stories high, waving scarves, huge flags, their mother's tablecloths, and probably their underwear. Alright, I'm just kidding about the last two items.  They had drums going and feet stomping and hands clapping, and loud singing for the entire game. 2 hours straight.. They had spirit. Good for them. Really.  I'm glad they can enjoy this so much, even if it did mean that I had to do some yoga breathing to feel calm.

I watched the security everywhere, watching us.

I watched a lot of people carry big plastic glasses of beer.  I watched one person at the beginning of the game, already drunk, cause her friend to spill his beer.

I watched the vendors carrying cotton candy and popcorn on a pole, up and down, up and down, up and down.  I watched people pay $6 to buy them.  $6!  Now, that is something I can feel outrage about! That is a rip off!

But even worse was people paying $6 for an inferior, half melted slushy.  Crazy fans!

At least water was free.  And I had a nice long drink after waiting behind all the people filling up their water bottles at the water fountain under the sign, "Please be courteous. Do not use the drinking fountain to refill water bottles."


I watched a photographer with dreadlocks that stuck out all over his head, 6 inches straight up, like a living Sonic the Hedgehog.  And I wondered how he could be comfortable walking around with his bum crack showing and his pants 6 inches too low.

I did some more yoga breathing when they forced the fans to pass a big parachute like banner thingy bopper over their heads.  It must have covered 100 feet of people at a time.  I didn't like that.  Can that really be legal?

I watched all of the fans wearing their incredibly ugly Real apparel.  The colors are UGLY.  Maroon. Royal Blue and Gold. It's hideous. And the scarves.  ..  vomit! They look like something out of Harry Potter and they should stay in the realm of fiction too.  I would not be caught dead wearing something so grotesque!


I observed a lot of interesting hair- mohawks sprayed red, gold, and blue, Real shaved into people's hair, yarn hair, no hair, gold mohawks. . .

I listened to the obnoxious squeaking of a toddler's shoes as she came and went, came and went.  Her Grandma thought it was so cute!  I know she did because she said something every time   If those shoes lived at my house, they would be in Becky's operating room -YESTERDAY.

I watched and listened as the fans collectively stood and yelled, "Ref, you suck!" over and over again.  I do not even allow the word "suck" to be used as an insult in my home.  I cannot comprehend the behavior of these people.

I watched one man two row ahead stand up and flip the birdie to the ref whenever he didn't like a call.

I watched his wife laugh.  I watched his teenage daughter learn from him.

I watched the guy in front of me alternate between taking photos with his expensive camera and his phone.  What do people DO with these pictures?

I watched and I saw that people enjoyed the atmosphere.  There were families there with young children.  They were dressed in matching clothes.  This was fun for them.

I don't get it.

The end of the game looming, we got up and left 10 minuets early to avoid the crowd. This was Judd's idea.  We didn't have to leave early. We were probably in our seats for an hour and a half, including a 14 minute half time break.

 Judd walked away from the stadium at crazy man speed.  On the way out he said," Thanks for coming. That was fun!"

Trying to remain polite, I said nothing, but smiled weakly.

Dissatisfied with my response, he repeated himself.

So, I just said, "What do you find fun about that?"

I did listen at the time, but I can't remember what he said. I think it was something about watching the players.  Somehow he was able to ignore all of the great and spacious building behavior and focus on the game.  Okay, that's cool, for people who like that sort of thing.

Now, in order to even things out, I shall list the positive things about attending the game:

1. The tickets were free.  I don't really understand why somebody would pay for this experience.

2. As a halftime game, somebody scored a goal and now we can redeem our tickets stubs for free haircuts at Great Clips.

3. Um, I think 2 was pretty good.

So, in conclusion, I would like to say that was a strange experience, and I think enough to last me for quite some time.  I just don't understand these fans.  I think we have a different definition of get real.

Parking Strip Update- Two Years Later

Two years ago, in April of 2011, I dug up my parking strip.  I planted some perrenials.  I filled in with some annuals. It was really beautiful the first year.  And when the bulbs came up last Spring, I was in Heaven!
So, it's now been two years and my bulbs have had a chance to multiply. The perrenials have spread.  So, I thought I'd take a picture of the garden in Spring and share it on my blog.

If you plant it, it will usually grow!

No Soliciting

7 months ago, while recovering from my totally awesome jaw surgery, my parents got me a bunch of artsy crafty things to do at their house.  They were fantastic things to do that felt productive and helped me pass the time of being extremely agitated and uncomfortable.

One of those projects was a "No Soliciting". My mouth didn't work, but I could text, so I texted a friend who cuts vinyl and asked her to cut out the words.  I got a board and painted it black.  It took her a while to cut the vinyl, and I wasn't nagging her. Then, when she gave it to me, I promptly misplaced it. It turns out it was in a file folder.  Um. Okay.  I'm sure that was a good idea for some reason.

I went and located the board, which I happened to know was lodged behind my dresser.  Why?  Well.  It fell back there, and I left it there.  Why?  I'm a pig, okay?

So, my daugther noticed this sign, which I am working on getting ready to affix to the outside of my house.

"What is soliciting?", she asked.

"It's when people come to your house and try to sell you stuff."  I answered.

Judd piped up,"It's too bad that we can't keep a big bag of flour by the front door and just grab a handful and, poof!, throw it in the face of every solicitor!"

Gee, that really is too bad. That would be fun.

Anyway, it got me thinking.  And what I'm thinking is that this thought is fodder for a great internet brainstorming session... .

But, I need you to participate.

What would you like to do to solicitors?  What's the worst thing you have actually said or done to a solictor?

Come on, spill.

I'll start.

1. What I'd really like to do:  Oh. the possibilities are endless.  My daughter is in Saturday's Warrior right now. At one point the missionaries in the play are trying to find people to teach. They approach someone and say they have a wonderful news for her. She replies, "No! I've got great news for you! Did you know you can save 15% on your car insurance by switching to Geico?!"

So, I think it would be really fun to turn it around to every solicitor.  I could say, " I don't have any need for what you are selling, but have I got a deal for YOU!  How would you like to buy some of these neat little drawings my daughter produces?  Or, maybe you need a broken oven?  I've got one right here in my garage.  What?  You say you can't afford it. Don't worry.  We offer free financing. 90 days same as cash. What's that?  I can't hear you. Where are you going?  Oh, well., maybe the next solicitor will want to buy something."

2. What is the worst thing I've actually done.  I think the worst behavior I've ever had with a solicitor was when the cleaning product people came around, for the 6th time in  years.  I told my husband to go deal with them.  He let them bully him into calling me to the door. I said no, but he insisted.  I was equally angry with him as I was with the solicitor.  I came to the top of the stairs and just let loose yelling.

"I know your product is fabulous!  And I don't care!!!  I'm not buying it!  I don't want it!  I make my own cleaners and I could eat them if I wanted to!  I don't care how good it is or what you have to say! No! You are wasting my time and I am wasting your time! "

I can't remember what else I yelled in my tirade, but after some feeble attempts at a response, the guy closed the door as he ran away!  Woo hoo!

Okay, normally, I would feel guilty. But, those people are so aggressive, and I'm so tired of them wasting my time and trying to make me feel bad. I can't get my new sign up fast enough!

Now, it's your turn.
1. What would you like to do to solicitors?
2. What's the worst thing you actually have done/said to a solicitor?

Go!

Milk Box Magic!

A couple of days ago, I decided to clean out my nightstand.  The first thing that you need to know, if you don't know it already, is that I am a pig by nature.  I'm just naturally messy.  I put things in wrong places, stupid places, and on the floor. My nightstand, that I had cleaned out not too long ago, was again a disgusting conglomeration of hair bands, jewelry, orthodontic rubberbands, tissues, receipts, money, and all manner of strange small objects.  It's an ugly nightstand to start with and it was just really embarrassing.  I've noticed that if I  organize well and use containers to keep things that I am able to actually effect change in my habits, at least for that area. So, after cleaning it out and using some little bags and containers on the inside, I decided that the open shelf on the bottom needed containers too.

 They needed to be cute, fit perfectly, and be free!  

The idea vanished as quickly as it appeared.  

Then we went to Costco, and after spending oodles of money on food, I found myself contemplating the milk boxes,and wondering if they would fit in my nightstand. 

And they did.

3 of them fit.

Perfectly!

So, instead of cleaning, which always waits for you, I spent my morning sewing covers for these milk boxes.

First I scored the tops and glued them down inside to make them stronger.

Then I traced the boxes on some fabric my Mom bought from Home Goods.  It was $3 a yard and I had started with 2 yards.  Part of it became a new cushion cover for my rocking chair.  The rest, added with some muslin and cream colored fabric I inherited from Grandma, was perfect for this project.  The only money I actually spent was for the Muslin, about 2 years ago.  I thought I wanted it for a project and later decided it was wrong. So, that was about $1 worth of fabric.  

I had no idea what I was doing and I didn't want to look up a tutorial.  

I just figured it out as I went along.

They are not perfect.  Even I can tell that. But, they turned out pretty cute, and I can live with the imperfections.  It's much cuter than a milk box!

One of a Kind Table Runner

Have you ever heard that every thought has already been thought?  Every idea has already been had?  Every story has already been told?  This is such a lie!  Every person is unique, a one of a kind story that is different than every other person.   Just like every snowflake, no two people are ever alike.  It's amazing when you think about that. There are endless possibilities of combinations of traits and experiences that make each human an individual.

What does this have to do with my post title?  Well, it has to do with sewing because sewn creations are like people or snowflakes. They can be unique creations, impossible to replicate exactly.  I have come to really enjoy the creative aspect of sewing. There is a combination of precision and free expression that comes together to make something beautiful and one of a kind. It is highly unlikely that anyone is even capable of replicating the table runner that I just made.

It was for St. Patrick's Day.  I finished it today. Oh, well. It is just green and neutrals so I can use it at other times too.  I got the idea to make a table runner because I wanted to practice making half square triangles. We've been doing a lot of them for quilt class and I stink at them.  My sister got a special ruler that makes them easier and faster so I borrowed it and concocted a plan.  I looked up an idea on the internet and I found this:


http://quilting.about.com/od/Easy-Quilts/ss/Easy-Scrap-Table-Runner-Pattern_2.htm

I didn't follow the exact directions for dimensions because I had some 7 inch pieces of fabric that I wanted to use. So, that determined the size of my squares.  I just looked at the picture and said, "I can do that."

The creativity for me came in my fabric selections.  Some of them were from 7 inch squares I won as prizes at quilt class. Some of them were from fabric I inherited from my grandmother. Some of them were fabric from the 80's and 90's that my mother in law gave me when she was cleaning out her fabric stash. One was the leftover pieces from a sheet my mom gave me that I cut up and put in a blue jean quilt. Nobody else is going to have access to those exact fabrics in that combination.  It's unique. It's different. It's one of a kind. It's weird and I didn't sew it perfectly, even though I tried. But, I like it.  I would love to make a scrappy table runner in blue.  Who wants to donate a square of blue fabric so that it can be unique?