I Told You There Was More... Just A Few...

For those of you just tuning in, the documentation of our adventures up to this point start on the post below this one. Extreme fatigue caused by extreme living resulted in extreme blog laziness halfway through my previous post. SO, here are the rest of the pics. 

**AHEM** In no particular order....

Now, my husband has never been known around town for being young at heart. In fact, he's always been a rather old soul. SO, you can imagine how smitten I was watching him at Seven Peaks the other day.... running from slide to slide...  lit up like an 8 year old... throwing elbows and bulldozing his way through the lines. Makes mama proud. Anyway, I snapped this tasty little morsel and it was too good not to share:

Just look at that face. I know it's blurry but you can still see the glee and delight shining through.

Little family shot before we got down to business. And by business, I mean whipping down waterslides and being awesome in general.

This is a pic I took at Tautphaus Park in Idaho Falls. When we noticed my dad had gone missing we were relieved to find him at a picnic table reading. Because I didn't recall him bringing any reading material along with him, I thought perhaps he had found some rare manuscript or artifact that was holding his attention. You'll all be thrilled to hear that it was, in fact, a copy of the children's book, "I'm a little Tea Pot." 

The book was so riveting, so thought provoking, that he sat in a deep reverie for a good 15 minutes after finishing it. I'm not sure what happened as he read that book.... but I do know he insisted my mom sanitize it and bring it home. It is now a part of the Grammy and Papa children's library.

 

Living in the Bay Area, Leah grew accustomed to parades and events that encouraged exhibitionism. Welp, you can take the girl out of the Bay, but you can't take the Bay out of the girl. 

She love love loves her soccer ball. And gets a little smug when she retrieves it successfully.

On our obligatory trip to the Green Belt in Idaho Falls. It doesn't matter how long you've lived there, or how often you visit, a trip to I.F. would not be complete without a little jaunt to feed the geese. 

Me and Mera and Tub at Guru's in Provo. 

The littles... loving each other... and the rendition of the Itsy Bitsy Spider that all of the adults at the table were performing in perfect four-part harmony. 

Enjoying the 3D IMAX at Thanksgiving Point. We were all able to successfully bypass the security guard with our 3D glasses intact. Unlike the security guard at Seven Peaks Water Park who, while wearing an actual gun on his hip, searched my diaper bag and confiscated all of my baby food due to the "dangerous nature of the glass containers." Dang it all. Completely foiled our plans to bomb people on the free fall with pureed chicken sticks and pears.

At first glance I was very happy with this next little family shot. Everyone smiling, looking at the camera, nice background, you get the idea. However, upon further inspection of my little angel.....

I realized that she was, indeed, making a mockery of our special family moment.

Tune in next time!

Our First Update---I know, I know, Your Day Just Got WAY Better

After spending the first 10 days of our vacation in Idaho Falls at my parent's house I'm feeling very refreshed... and sad to be gone... but grateful to feel like my adult self again. Kinda. Ok, not really. Seriously though... being at the 'rent's house reverts me directly to my 10 year old self. It didn't take long before I found myself yelling, "MOMMMM!?!" no matter where I was in the house, no matter how far in proximity my mom was from me, whenever I needed or wanted anything. Also, to this day, the mere sight of my dad (a man of rather large stature) perched in one of his several overstuffed recliners (thrones, as he calls them... which, come to think of it, is also his name of choice for the toilet. He's gonna get it) provokes an immediate response in me to climb up into his lap and settle in for the long haul. This phenomenon can be quite unsettling when either or both of my sisters are around... often resulting in a violent scuffle for the coveted spot under my dad's arm.

This morning I've been feeling quite put out being a full time mom again. My mom is super Grammy and is thrilled to feed, bathe, change, teach, and play with Leah on a full time basis. Really, who am I to interfere with a Grammy's greatest joys? I humbly sacrifice my own desires and let her. At any rate, when Leah filled her drawers this morning and I realized that I was going to have to change her myself (or recruit Sam) my feathers were more than ruffled.

NOW! On to more stimulating blogging... PICTURES. I've got lots so hold on to your seats ladies and gents....

And it should be mentioned... there are no less than 8,000 pictures of yours truly and company coming up. So only continue if you really, really love me. You know you do.

OH, and one more thing. Because there are so many pics, trying to arrange them in any particular sequence would be pretty much the worst thing ever... so don't be judgy. 

ANNNDDD... just kidding. Here we go!

A couple self-explanatory Mesa Falls pics:

 West Yellowstone IMAX--Go to Yellowstone, watch IMAX film on Alaska. Makes sense. 

What is it about men and fire? Seriously, it's like cat nip. Sam and my dad couldn't even bring themselves to enjoy our little evening "fireside" because they were so insistent on tampering with the flames. Rearranging the wood, adding more wood to the teepee, rearranging again due to excess smoke produced by the flame, adding kindling, rearranging again, etc. etc. My mom and I were so annoyed by the end of the night that we left them out there by themselves to reevaluate a few things. Sure showed them. When we returned, they were both peeing on the fire.... well, not really peeing. But I'm sure one of them suggested it. Then they probably shared a nice awkward moment.

This is my dad's "patronizing my mom" face. Peter Pan stance and all. Sam standing by, taking notes.... practicing the face...

We dubbed him Lord of the Flames after he emerged from the nearby bush with this big stick. Unfortunately we had to strip him of his title when he started practicing unrighteous dominion.

This is what Leah thought of the park...

This was pretty much my best hair day ever. Had I known what I looked like, I wouldn't have been so hasty to hop in front of the cam.

This is what my mom thought of the park...

What could a dear sweet wife have done to warrant such a stinky look from her husband, you ask? Get caught sneaking a bite of his huckleberry ice cream, that's what. 

Don't hate us. Just love us.

This is a rare moment captured on film of a little native boy luring Leah by performing this hypnotic tribal mating dance. Just look at the intensity in his eyes...

Sam's sister, Liz, brother, Seth and Turkey Sub. We randomly ran into them at Yellowstone. No... no we didn't. Seth agreed to allow his appearance on my blog under one condition; that I include that he is the "cute, single bro-in-law." I told him that I'm pretty sure all of my readers are married but this minor detail did not seem to deter him. Watch out ladies!

Sam's dad and stepmom's house in Alpine is pretty much a wonderland--complete with two trampolines, dozens of fruit trees, a swing set and THIS little gem:

Seconds before the geese converged and... goosed me

I have about 30 more pics ready for posting but just had a sudden depletion of love and motivation in terms of this blog, so that's all for now. But don't you worry, there's plenty more where this came from. 

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow...

Goodbye sweet sandy beaches, lush rolling hills, and breathtaking rocky coastlines. Thank you for always providing a Sunday afternoon destination. 

Goodbye sweet Ghirardelli Square. I forgive you for force feeding me all of those hot fudge brownie sundaes and for so dutifully expanding my waistline and rotund (luscious) derrière.

 

Goodbye sweet Twin Capital Mortgage where I spent 2.5 years working and learning about business, myself, gangstas, debauchery, and the many exciting and creative ways one can use the F word. 

Goodbye sweet Chutney, Houstons, Grand Pu Bah, Southbeach Cafe, Holy Grill, Bob's Steak and Chophouse and the hundreds of other eateries we have frequented while living here. I will miss you. And I forgive you too for ganging up against me along with your friend, Mr. Ghirardelli. 

Goodbye sweet raging liberals, who feel the need to have a "parade/naked fest" for every cause, and who spit on my car and scream your opinions in my face... no matter how sweet, meek and timid I am.... 

Goodbye sweet government sponsored homeless folk. You always made my strolls through down-town fragrant and worth while. 

Goodbye sweet skyline, lit up at night. Thank you for giving me goosebumps every time I crossed the bay bridge.

Goodbye sweet Oakland Temple. You were my calm during the storm.  

Goodbye sweet crack heads of the Tenderloin district. Thank you for always putting a little spring in my step whenever I had to visit your turf.... and for always talking to yourselves instead of to me.

Goodbye sweet UCSF. Thank you for delivering my beautiful girl and for keeping us both safe during my pregnancy....  and for the little gelato shop strategically placed between the OBGYN's office and the parking lot. 

Goodbye sweet Bay and Walnut Creek 2nd wards. I'll always be grateful for family away from family. 

Goodbye sweet Golden Gate Bridge. Even though your lanes are far too narrow and I would wet my drawers every time I crossed you, you are beautiful and gave me passage to Muir Woods, my favorite place. 

Goodbye sweet Avalon Towers, Park Regency Apartments, Archstone Walnut Creek, and little no-name mangy studio in the Tenderloin. You gave me shelter during the hardest and the best times of my life. My memories of each of you will be wonderful... well, except for you, Park Regency. 

Goodbye sweet San Francisco. I will miss you. You let me grow up, toughen up, wise up, and discover myself. With you, I became a "career girl," a wife, and a mother... all for the first time. Because of you, I believe I can move and live anywhere with confidence. You're going to be a tough act to follow. We'll see if Chicago's got anything on ya. 

Goodbye sweet Bay Area.... FOREVER!!! Well... at least for now... 

 

The Gatekeeper and Me

What is it about having a good, hard, ugly-face cry that makes you feel so much better? Seriously. It's so therapeutic. My sister, Mera, and I affectionately refer to this kind of crying as "doing the gatekeeper." Ya know, from the Wizard of OZ, when Dorothy is telling her sob story to the Emerald City gatekeeper and he starts blubbering uncontrollably? Anyway, for the past few weeks, I've been in a bit of a numb, task-oriented frenzy getting ready for this move. I haven't felt emotional or stressed at all. In fact, I've been really motivated and feeling completely EUPHORIC about the month-long vacation we are about to take. This is all good and well except, unbeknownst to me, Old Faithful has been brewing under the surface. Last night... the gatekeeper came to town. 

I had just gotten Leah to bed and joined Sam on the couch to wind down from a delightful Sabbath. (Really, it was delightful. We had a splendid dinner with friends and a visit from Sam's sister, Liz.) It didn't take long before I physically felt all of the endorphins in my body give me the finger (in unison, no less) and suddenly, it was as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders. In a matter of seconds the water works began in torrents and I started spewing out all that was wrong with the world and how I, particularly, was so picked on. I made some absurd proclamations about how I planned to live my life from that point on (which included never doing anything I didn't want to do... among other equally embarrassing things) and cried so hard I thought my head was going to implode. 

Sam held me close in his lap and waited patiently for me to finish my tirade. Once he knew I was done, he girded up his loins, inhaled deeply, and began the pep talk... but I didn't need it. The weight had already lifted with my big, fat, ugly-face bawl fest. He had spoken no more than 10 words when I looked up at him and sheepishly said, "I feel a lot better." He simply responded, "Oh baby, you always feel better when you cry." 

And that was it. 

For the rest of the night I was deliriously happy. 

Today as I think back on last night's fireworks (with the signature morning post-cry splitting headache) I am thankful for a couple of things. First, for Ibuprofen. Second, for my tender husband who, while his mind was no doubt blowing listening to my theatrics, simply let it go as soon as I was ready and still loves me this morning in spite of my instabilities. And last, for the ability to so painlessly (minus the headache) release all of my pent up moving-stress and other frustrations in a matter of minutes and be fired up and ready to go for the next several months... till the gatekeeper strikes again.... 

QUICKLY... (what would a post be without a glimpse of the turkey sub?)

Just took this little shot and I must say, when Leah first wakes up in the morning her hair looks like something out of a high fashion magazine:

AND... I'll be showing her this pic when she's full of teenage angst and hating her mother. Then she'll feel sorry:)

A Stranger Among Us....

So, I had a "Sleeping with the Enemy" moment yesterday when I discovered something very distressing about my husband. Something he has managed to keep hidden from me these past 4 years. Before I explain, a bit of background is in order... 

My mom (no surprise to those of you who know her) comes from a long line of packrats. This heritage made for an interesting upbringing where I was encouraged to collect and keep everything. My mom's all time, hands down, favorite place on EARTH is the good ol' Deseret Industries. Her mantra: "one man's trash is another man's treasure!" I remember one especially bizarre day when I was in high school, watching my mom coming up the drive, lugging a medium sized, sky blue, old fashioned suitcase behind her. She was ecstatic as she prepped the room for the unveiling of her newest treasure. A suitcase full of old, valuable baseball cards? Nope. A rare collection of WWII memorabilia, perhaps? Not a chance. This particular suitcase was filled with hundreds and hundreds of POGS. You know, those little plastic coin-shaped things that you hit with the bigger plastic coin shaped whatevers and it's some sort of game or something? Yeah, that's right. Bare in mind that I was in high school at the time and am the youngest in my family and never even liked pogs when they were popular when I was in elementary school. Her reasoning for the purchase? "It was only $3!" That medium sized, sky blue, old fashioned suitcase full of pogs was never opened again and never budged an inch from its resting place behind our living room recliner the entire rest of my high school career. I remember some years later asking my mom whatever happened to her pog collection. Her response: "What are pogs?" Precisely. Needless to say, this little "tendency" of my mother's turned me into a near compulsive thrower-away-er. That's right. I said thrower-away-er.

So, last night I was sorting through our closet in preparation for our move and started feeling ultra claustrophobic at the ridiculous amount of t-shirts Sam has acquired over the years. No less than 47 to be exact. He presently wears three of them. I called Sam into our bedroom to help me sort and as I held them up one by one, he proceeded to tell me the sentimental story that went along with each shirt and why he was justified in keeping it. 

Seriously? This is the shirt you wore to your first job like 12 years ago so you want it?? This is the shirt you spilled soup on at your favorite family's house on your mission and the stain still smells like the soup so it means a lot to you?? 

This charade continued with his collection of ties, shoes, and dress shirts. "No! I really do like that one, I just forgot about it!" I was only able to get rid of about 5 articles with his permission. Anyway, the sobering truth of it all is that Sam is indeed a packrat and now I have to go through the painful process of de-packratting him. A process that requires emotionally attaching him to many inanimate objects and then ripping them from him life. Just kidding. BUT, I will be sorting through his collection again tomorrow while he's at work. Anything he hasn't worn in the last 6 months...TOAST. 

In other breaking news.....

So thrilled Leah has learned to give an intentional stink eye. It's become quite alarming to strangers who try to get her to smile. She loves doing it, so she bursts into laughter or smiling each time. These pics were taken in sequence out to dinner the other night:

Stink eye...

Smile...

Stink eye...

Smile....

Stink eye...

Smile...

Stink eye...

Smile...

And a couple of pics of her luscious locks as of late. It's getting so curly and floofy! My mom always took pics of the back of my hair when I was a babe because it was equally curly and floofy... so it had to be done...

P.S. I got into a full on scuffle with my one year old today. She kept coming up to me and snagging things out of my hands or off of my lap in a nasty way... giving me stink eye... taunting me. I had to take a time out when I realized I was in a tug-o-war with her over my phone and was shouting, "Give it! Give it! It's mine!!" Yes. Proud to be me.