I'd feel sorry for him, but I'm not that nice...

Advice from Peter: When riding at top speed down a hill on a mountain bike it is best not to let go of the handlebars, even if you are really thirsty.

Last day of school

Say hello to my Spanish 105 class

Today was finals. (7 credits down!) I went into Spanish with an 88%, so I planned on having the liberty to bomb the final, which I did successfully today.
BUT WHO CARES??!! Who thought I could possibly get a "B" in this bleeping hard class?
The other kids dismiss my test scores as they lament about theirs because they think I "always get good grades." Maybe they think Spanish grammar is inborn. This is when I look at them and say, "Umm, and I study more than all of you combined."
So you can all be sure now that there is a God because not only have I passed this class, there is a good probability I'm getting a "B."
I hear the choir a singin' already...

I have never actually lived in Utah before, unless you count before my memory. I've heard lots of things in my day about what a “Utah Mormon" is. I have always taken the view of undecided on that one--until I moved here.

In the two-and-some years we have lived here there has been many a time we have shaken our heads at our fortune. The schools are better, the neighborhood is idyllic, and the temple is fifteen minutes from my door. Fifteen minutes. We walk to church, my son is on the fast track to Eagle Scout, and my girls are involved in Stake plays, school programs, and have two separate Achievement Day activity groups. Our Young Women sang in a General Conference session last year and this year the General YW President actually came to our Girl’s Camp. I thought surely we had moved to Zion itself.

But it hasn't been like that. Take my neighbor "Jane."

I have never hit the right cord with Jane it seems. I don’t spend all my time educating my children from the best books or creating stimulating activities for their minds. I have been known to drop by unannounced with a something sugary and/or chocolately and expect adult conversation. We play loud music in our garage, our lawn is known to have an excessive buildup of toys (and other miscellaneous things) and I have been known to throw in the very occasional “hell” here and there in conversation. Very occasional. Really.

But I have tried with Jane. I have really tried. I’ve offered to watch her kids, taken over a cumulative kitchen of food in various forms and made a general effort to be friendly. Yet still I cannot get a spontaneous “hello,” or “how are you?” or even, “Man, those scones you brought over on Sunday that were still piping hot to thank my husband for going to scout camp were incredible.”

I saw her in the library again the other day and she didn't even acknowledge me. And yes, she did see me.

There is a reason I have failed to fit in here—which is simply because it may not be possible.

It is likely I’m not the first to be blinded by idealistic expectations of unconditional sisterhood and acceptance in this area of the country. I swear sometimes I think I am invisible in this house. Not once in the three months when Peter was gone this tax season did someone actually come over to ask me how I was doing. Don't misunderstand, it wasn't that I wanted anyone to actually do anything. I realize lots of people are struggling right now. It is just the idea that someone even knows I'm here. I already feel like enough of a freak at school, thank you very much. I don't really need it elsewhere. Interestingly, it seems when I ask others how they are doing they look at me like I've just grown an extra appendage right in front of their eyes. I guess people just want their privacy?
Have you ever felt like standing out on your lawn and yelling, "Hello??? I'm here!! Doesn't anyone just want to go to Target with me and talk about that new movie with (insert hot guy movie star)?"
I'm guessing not. But I have.

I’ve decided it isn’t really important to me what a person's personal choices are, I can still be friendly to them, especially when they live feet away from me. I personally don't believe there is only one way to practice your religion. However, I do think that a genuine sisterhood applies across the board, whatever your religion is, just by virtue of being neighborly. Some of the people I have known with the most integrity have been those who claim to be atheist. So what gives?

I've lived here 2 1/2 years. I'm giving it 4. After that I've concluded that most of my friends are likely to be colleagues at my future job.

I'm here (sort of)

When I went to my parent's house I found quilts I forgot I even made. This one here is Aaron's.

My dad's

Picture quilt with Chinese fabric--made in honor of mom.

Lily's

This is evidence I have done other things in my life besides homework. Right now that is pretty much my life. We had all but decided I would stop going, but changed our minds and feel really good about continuing. Three years is going to go by either way, right?
I took Spanish 101 and 102 at Ricks College sixteen years ago. BYU requires a whole lot of foreign language in the humanities majors. Kid of frustrating. I do want to speak Spanish, but they are really tough classes. I go every day of the week for 2 hours and spend any other time I have studying for it. I am also taking a creative writing class, but that is so much more manageable. I'm not a creative writer--more of a creative reader I'd say. At least when it comes to anything fiction.
The plan was to retake Span 102, but the adivsor said go ahead and take 105. Spanish was one of the biggest things that was holding me back from graduating just because it seemed so daunting. 16 more credits had I retaken 102. I decided to do it in the summer so I could devote all my energies to school without worrying about getting kids to school, etc. It has been a sacrifice for everyone, but has actually gone as smoothly as it could I suppose. If I can just get though this class that only leaves 8 more credits of Spanish.
One of our assignments required us to write a 2-3 pg paper in Spanish. Frustrating because not only do I have to write it, but I have to come up with a story. What the heck?
Creative writing has been better. What is the teacher going to do--tell me what I have written isn't creative enough? Good thing for that tender mercy.

Feeling old again. I am an exceedingly serious student, while the other students around me focus on the latest pop culture and who is twittering what. During the breaks they watch YouTube videos and talk about their weekends. I was with this boy and girl working on a group activity and completely felt like the third wheel. There was some obvious flirtation going on and the guy was directing all the questions at her--not that I was taking it personally. I must say I don't think he stood a chance with her. I prefer to work with a guy who constantly picks at the zits on his upper arms. No competition there I can tell you. The other day my inner mother/lecturer came out and I flicked him and told him to leave them the heck alone because they are getting all scarred up.
Kind of reminds me of when I was in the creamery with my family and I walked up and pulled up the pants of some girl who was showing a significant amount of her rear end, if you know what I mean. Don't think for a second I regretted it. I have the right to protest public indecency. Kids weren't so impressed. Does anyone but me wonder why it is people can't feel the breeze going on there? Because if half my hinney was hanging out I'd know it.

Visiting with my dad

After spending a week in Tehachapi to visit with Peter's family I actually traveled in a plane (which I seriously dislike) last week to visit my dad in Sebastopol, CA. I took Sarah with me, and I think the reason I didn't have my usual panic attack on the plane is because Sarah was having one for me. No need to worry when someone else is, right?
Traveling with my dad is all about the food. It isn't about what you can see, but what you can eat along the way.
Just when you think he could not possibly eat any more--he does. And then? More. Absolutely unbelievable. And yet? Skinny as ever! Some things in life are just not meant to be fair.

We had clam chowder in Bodega Bay and then ate fish and calamari that night in a restaurant overlooking the bay. We ate to-die-for dim sum in San Francisco, where I had my first soft-shell crab. I had a "Black and White" shake at this burger type joint right off the ferry. It was there that I was tasted the most fabulous seared tuna burger ever. We had more calamari clam chowder in sourdough bread on Fisherman's Warf.
Can I just say that seafood is one thing I miss about California?

Sarah was traumatized by the buses in San Francisco and was repelled by the smells in China Town. I was forced to use my self defense, "Stay BACK!!!" with some freak while walking at night back to the hotel. Very good cultural experience for Sarah:)

Such a great break for me to have right before I started this term of summer school. And bonus--Peter was broken into his role of Mr. Mom while I fight through this six week Spanish class. The house was in very impressive shape when I got home. He did laundry for hours the day before I got home. I've gotta say ladies, I've utterly underestimated his hidden housecleaning abilities.
Guess that is what you get for being a control freak.

Who knew it really doesn't matter how the dishwasher is filled? Who knew my 13-yr-old son could empty it? Rebecca (8) is adept at mopping floors and John can actually clean his room. I know as a mom I have only done an injustice to my kids by not trusting them to do more.
Won't be making that mistake anymore:)

Note to my slaves--as I keep promising you about all those piano lessons--you'll thank me later.
Love, Mom

Loser Blogger

Well, it has been a while. I'm not gonna sugar-coat it though. This month has been tough.
So here is the short version.
For those of you who may not already know, Peter and I have been contemplating moving back to Tehachapi, CA for several months now. His dad is retiring and Peter, who has been working there remotely since we left, has had the opportunity to take it over. If you didn't know this, don't feel left out. We haven't wanted to share this with people until we had made a final decision.
This has been a very difficult choice. We love it here in Utah, our kids are happy and we are all quite settled in. The schools are great, we love our ward, it is beautiful . . . you get it. But financially we have a good business in California. We'll just say if I had a dollar for every hour we have spent in agonizing debate over this I'd be able to buy myself something pretty nice.

We settled ourselves into the idea of it. We told the kids to prepare to leave. We killed ourselves fixing all things broken in the house, installed a new light fixture, repainted the living room and bath room--basically gutted the house. Hauled stuff to storage, staged every room, touched up paint and got the house ready to show. I almost collapsed with exhaustion. Peter left for CA a few days before the virtual tour and some women in the ward came in and saved my life by helping me clean the bathrooms, move furniture, touch up paint, make beds--whatever I hadn't been able to do over the preceding 9 days of hell. Friday morning the photographer came, did the pics, realtor puts the sign up in the lawn. No one is happy.
Saturday morning I have a big yard sale. I've never had one before because Peter thinks they are trashy. But he wasn't here so, you know.
Saturday night we talked and realized we just couldn't do it. It just didn't feel right.
Peter got home Wednesday and pulled the sign out of the lawn.
I'm pretty sure our neighbors (ie ward members) think we are nuts. I don't really blame them.
We just got everything back out of storage on Monday and are still unpacking boxes.
But heh, my house looks really good. My friends think we should all pretend to be selling our houses once in a while. It is very motivating.
So that is where it stands. There just isn't a perfect answer for us right now.
Pics at the bottom of blog.

Skating

The last time I remember going skating was my freshman year of high school. (That would be 20 years ago folks.) It is possible that somewhere between then and when I graduated in 1992 I went again, but not that I recall.

The first hurtle, of course, was to ask for a size 11 in womens.
I know. It's bad. I made Peter do it. I think they just gave me a ten in mens.

We had so much fun! It took me a while to get back into the swing of it--at first I made the kids hold on to me. But eventually I got back into it and was whirling the girls around the rink. "Mom! You're going too fast!"

There were some kids there who obviously do this kind of thing pretty often. They were all in sync with the music and had dance steps, break dancing, etc. The music was mostly 80's Pop and such--
Hello" Thriller!"

No doubt we'll be doing this again.
Peter and I think we should dress up for "Disco Nite" on Saturdays so we can get a discount. We have the greatest pair of brown polyester pants we've used on many a Halloween for Peter that would be just perfect.