Last year at the Utah Valley Marathon, we passed a herd of horses in a pasture at about mile seven. You can see how excited the horses were at about 23 seconds into this video. It was my favorite part of this marathon (especially since the race went down the crapper at about mile 17).
This year, at about mile nine (or mile 2 into my leg), some horses alongside of the Ogden marathon (and relay for me) shared a similar experience. Thank goodness. What a fun way to spend a morning.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Grandpa
After my paternal grandmother passed away, the whole family was a bit worried about grandpa. After all, he was a diabetic, he would be lonely, he would be in this big old house by himself, his sight wasn’t great, etc. There was a list of potential problems. But, he was also in pretty good health, he was mobile, he was lucid, he was good-natured.
Our family (his son) lived less than three blocks away, and we visited often. (Probably not often enough, in retrospect.) Another son lived about six blocks away. A daughter lived about a mile away. The last daughter lived about 7 miles away. Yes. This exercise in distance is important, because you won’t believe what happened.
The family that lived in a neighboring town owned a skinny, single-wide. Grandpa offered them HIS HOUSE if they would just come and live with him for the rest of his days. The house was definitely big enough with a yard and a pasture and two-car garage (which was a big deal in our town back then). They refused. I guess they didn’t want to do this because they lived next door to my uncle’s mother, and they were already taking care of her. Fifteen years later, they have inherited her house, so all is OK.
Anyway, even though we were all so very close, no grown-ups could be bothered to care for him. Everyone was married, so there were eight grown-ups who could have done this, but they didn’t. Yes. I’m bitter. No. I don’t know all of the reasons for the decisions that they made. Yes. I’m probably overreacting and harboring these negative feelings for too long. No. It hasn’t blackened my soul. Yet.
So, the decision that they made was this: two grandkids would live with him and help care for him. The choice was made for those kids (literally, kids) to be me and my cousin. Even though there were kids in their teens, she and I were chosen. I can’t remember exactly how old I was. I want to say 12. If that’s the case, she was 10 as we are separated by exactly two years.
Dear Reader. Could this really be a good idea?
So, I stayed Sunday night through Friday morning, and since she was younger, she stayed Friday night through Sunday morning. This went on for about a year.
I wouldn’t trade that time with him for any amount of money in the world.
He put up with my dramatic tween attitude, and took care of me much more than I managed to help him.
Every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, I would wake up and make breakfast for us before I had to catch the bus to junior high. I would fry up some bacon, and when it was done I would drop some eggs in the grease. Two for him, and one for me. Nothing is better than eggs fried this way. Very few things were as unhealthy, for sure, but tasty! Two pieces of toast and butter for both of us, usually with lots of jam for me. A tall glass of milk washed down the whole breakfast, and I was on the bus by 7am.
We sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table to eat, and we talked and talked and talked. Today, I have no idea what we talked about, but it was nice to have the attention. I come from a family of five kids, one of whom always seemed to be having a friend live with us. My mom was famous for taking in “strays” of the two- and four-legged variety. We were always finding a way to squeeze someone else into a spare bed, a couch, sometimes even the floor. I can still remember many of them: Casey, John, DeAnna, David, and more, I’m sure. I think that I was the only person that didn’t have someone live with us, but my best friend was there almost every day, so it was the same thing. So, anyway, it was nice to have his attention without five or six or seven other kids/teens vying for the same thing.
While we ate our breakfast, he would give himself his insulin injection. Right there at the table, he would un-snap his shirt, expose his tummy, and just pop that thing in. At first, it freaked me out, but it was a non-issue after about a week or so.
On Wednesday, I had piano lessons before school. My oldest brother would pick me up on his way to work. We would leave at like 5:30am so that I could get to lessons by 6am. On those days, grandpa would get up extra early to make ME breakfast. For some reason, his always tasted better than mine.
In the evenings, I would arrive after stopping at home to practice piano. We would watch TV together after dinner. I would go to my room to practice my clarinet. I’ll bet he wished that he was losing his hearing instead of his sight! We always found something to talk about.
I grew so close to him during this time. I’m sure that my cousin felt the same way even though she only spent two days with him instead of five. He missed my grandma, for sure, but I’m glad that SOMEONE could be there for him.
Then, it all ended.
One night, he got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or take some medications or something. I don’t even know. He fell in the kitchen, and he couldn’t get up. He hollered for me several times before I woke up. (Have you ever tried to wake a teenager?) But, I DID wake up. I got into the kitchen, and couldn’t help him up. I was too small, and he was too big. He wasn’t fat, to be sure. In fact, he was a rail. But, I was just 12, and scared. I think that had something to do with it.
So, I called my parents, and they called the other sister. Everyone converged at the same time, and it was all chaos.
And, I felt like I had failed him. In a way, I did. But, really? I was 12.
So, I can’t remember if they called the ambulance or not. I think so. But, it was all precautionary. Nothing was broken. His hips and legs were fine. He was probably just bruised a bit.
My cousin and I were no longer responsible to stay with him. His own children and their spouses took turns for a week or two.
Then, against his wishes – very much against his wishes – he was put into a nursing home. Oh, it was a nice place. Very nice. But, it was an hour away from all of us. For a bunch of people who didn’t visit enough to begin with, this was the end of visiting. (In the time that he was in the home – four months? - we visited once.) He begged and pleaded and cried. My grandpa cried! And, still, he was still shipped off to die.
And he did.
I believe that he died of a broken heart. I know that’s dramatic and a bit ridiculous, but I think that it’s true. I am 42. It has taken me 30 years to get to the point where I almost forgive myself for not hearing him yell for me after his fall. But, it is still hard to not feel like I failed him.
When he died, I was away at 4-H camp. I was canoeing with three friends. My mom, one of the advisors, called me in off of the lake and told me. I treated it with the nonchalance of a snotty girl who had just turned 13 and returned to the canoe with my friends. But, inside, I was devastated.
I realize that this is epically a first-world problem. I realize that I’m yammering on and on about something that other kids in developing countries face to this day, 30 years later. But, why put such a young person in a position of such great responsibility?
At the time, I didn’t really think through it (because I was 12) to realize that I could wake up one morning to find him dead. Truth be told, I didn’t think about that until just this moment while writing this post! What the hell would I have done if he had died in his sleep? Or had a stroke? Or had broken something (think: hip) when he fell so that every move I tried to make or help him with would have resulted in agonizing pain and certain tears from both parties? I was desperately unprepared for any of those things. I didn’t even know the emergency phone number (our rural area didn’t have 911 service at the time).
But, on the flip side, if I was qualified to care for him before his fall, why wasn’t I given a second chance? That, too, was demoralizing. I already felt like I had failed him, but the fact that I truly wasn’t good enough, ready enough, old enough, strong enough really drove the point home. The 12-year old inside of me still says “I will do a better job next time.”
I sound like I’m angry that I “had” to do this. I’m not. I never was. It didn’t matter that it meant lots of nights where I couldn’t hang out with friends, but that
never mattered. It still doesn’t. I’m grateful that I got to spend that time with him. Now that I’m older, I realize how special the time was, and I’m almost sad that I didn’t get that same time with my other grandparents.
I am, however, still a bit ticked that he was shipped off to die – that nobody else (a bit older/wiser/stronger/better) stepped up to help him – that we couldn’t afford to hire someone to help him – that he had to beg his own children, and they wouldn’t/couldn’t accommodate him.
I’ve never asked them about any of this, so this is an extremely one-sided story. I don’t know if I ever will ask them about it – partly because I don’t want to know.
And, why are children – in any place or culture – being asked to provide this kind of care? 12-year olds should be worried about their first junior high dance, the cute boy/girl in the next desk, clothes, books, movies, magazines, mowing the lawn, making the bed. Kids shouldn’t be changing soiled grandparents, caring for babies, picking up cans for recycling in order to buy milk, family members who are meth-heads, making their own dinner every night. As a country, we have the resources so that no kid should be put in this position, but we squander those resources on a million meaningless things or unjustified wars. What about other countries where the resources are less abundant? UG! It’s just so much and it frustrates me to no end!
At the end of the day, I was lucky. Despite how irritated, angry, and woeful I might sound, my time with him was a blessing. I still think of him almost every day.
Our family (his son) lived less than three blocks away, and we visited often. (Probably not often enough, in retrospect.) Another son lived about six blocks away. A daughter lived about a mile away. The last daughter lived about 7 miles away. Yes. This exercise in distance is important, because you won’t believe what happened.
The family that lived in a neighboring town owned a skinny, single-wide. Grandpa offered them HIS HOUSE if they would just come and live with him for the rest of his days. The house was definitely big enough with a yard and a pasture and two-car garage (which was a big deal in our town back then). They refused. I guess they didn’t want to do this because they lived next door to my uncle’s mother, and they were already taking care of her. Fifteen years later, they have inherited her house, so all is OK.
Anyway, even though we were all so very close, no grown-ups could be bothered to care for him. Everyone was married, so there were eight grown-ups who could have done this, but they didn’t. Yes. I’m bitter. No. I don’t know all of the reasons for the decisions that they made. Yes. I’m probably overreacting and harboring these negative feelings for too long. No. It hasn’t blackened my soul. Yet.
So, the decision that they made was this: two grandkids would live with him and help care for him. The choice was made for those kids (literally, kids) to be me and my cousin. Even though there were kids in their teens, she and I were chosen. I can’t remember exactly how old I was. I want to say 12. If that’s the case, she was 10 as we are separated by exactly two years.
Dear Reader. Could this really be a good idea?
So, I stayed Sunday night through Friday morning, and since she was younger, she stayed Friday night through Sunday morning. This went on for about a year.
I wouldn’t trade that time with him for any amount of money in the world.
He put up with my dramatic tween attitude, and took care of me much more than I managed to help him.
Every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, I would wake up and make breakfast for us before I had to catch the bus to junior high. I would fry up some bacon, and when it was done I would drop some eggs in the grease. Two for him, and one for me. Nothing is better than eggs fried this way. Very few things were as unhealthy, for sure, but tasty! Two pieces of toast and butter for both of us, usually with lots of jam for me. A tall glass of milk washed down the whole breakfast, and I was on the bus by 7am.
We sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table to eat, and we talked and talked and talked. Today, I have no idea what we talked about, but it was nice to have the attention. I come from a family of five kids, one of whom always seemed to be having a friend live with us. My mom was famous for taking in “strays” of the two- and four-legged variety. We were always finding a way to squeeze someone else into a spare bed, a couch, sometimes even the floor. I can still remember many of them: Casey, John, DeAnna, David, and more, I’m sure. I think that I was the only person that didn’t have someone live with us, but my best friend was there almost every day, so it was the same thing. So, anyway, it was nice to have his attention without five or six or seven other kids/teens vying for the same thing.
While we ate our breakfast, he would give himself his insulin injection. Right there at the table, he would un-snap his shirt, expose his tummy, and just pop that thing in. At first, it freaked me out, but it was a non-issue after about a week or so.
On Wednesday, I had piano lessons before school. My oldest brother would pick me up on his way to work. We would leave at like 5:30am so that I could get to lessons by 6am. On those days, grandpa would get up extra early to make ME breakfast. For some reason, his always tasted better than mine.
In the evenings, I would arrive after stopping at home to practice piano. We would watch TV together after dinner. I would go to my room to practice my clarinet. I’ll bet he wished that he was losing his hearing instead of his sight! We always found something to talk about.
I grew so close to him during this time. I’m sure that my cousin felt the same way even though she only spent two days with him instead of five. He missed my grandma, for sure, but I’m glad that SOMEONE could be there for him.
Then, it all ended.
One night, he got up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or take some medications or something. I don’t even know. He fell in the kitchen, and he couldn’t get up. He hollered for me several times before I woke up. (Have you ever tried to wake a teenager?) But, I DID wake up. I got into the kitchen, and couldn’t help him up. I was too small, and he was too big. He wasn’t fat, to be sure. In fact, he was a rail. But, I was just 12, and scared. I think that had something to do with it.
So, I called my parents, and they called the other sister. Everyone converged at the same time, and it was all chaos.
And, I felt like I had failed him. In a way, I did. But, really? I was 12.
So, I can’t remember if they called the ambulance or not. I think so. But, it was all precautionary. Nothing was broken. His hips and legs were fine. He was probably just bruised a bit.
My cousin and I were no longer responsible to stay with him. His own children and their spouses took turns for a week or two.
Then, against his wishes – very much against his wishes – he was put into a nursing home. Oh, it was a nice place. Very nice. But, it was an hour away from all of us. For a bunch of people who didn’t visit enough to begin with, this was the end of visiting. (In the time that he was in the home – four months? - we visited once.) He begged and pleaded and cried. My grandpa cried! And, still, he was still shipped off to die.
And he did.
I believe that he died of a broken heart. I know that’s dramatic and a bit ridiculous, but I think that it’s true. I am 42. It has taken me 30 years to get to the point where I almost forgive myself for not hearing him yell for me after his fall. But, it is still hard to not feel like I failed him.
When he died, I was away at 4-H camp. I was canoeing with three friends. My mom, one of the advisors, called me in off of the lake and told me. I treated it with the nonchalance of a snotty girl who had just turned 13 and returned to the canoe with my friends. But, inside, I was devastated.
I realize that this is epically a first-world problem. I realize that I’m yammering on and on about something that other kids in developing countries face to this day, 30 years later. But, why put such a young person in a position of such great responsibility?
At the time, I didn’t really think through it (because I was 12) to realize that I could wake up one morning to find him dead. Truth be told, I didn’t think about that until just this moment while writing this post! What the hell would I have done if he had died in his sleep? Or had a stroke? Or had broken something (think: hip) when he fell so that every move I tried to make or help him with would have resulted in agonizing pain and certain tears from both parties? I was desperately unprepared for any of those things. I didn’t even know the emergency phone number (our rural area didn’t have 911 service at the time).
But, on the flip side, if I was qualified to care for him before his fall, why wasn’t I given a second chance? That, too, was demoralizing. I already felt like I had failed him, but the fact that I truly wasn’t good enough, ready enough, old enough, strong enough really drove the point home. The 12-year old inside of me still says “I will do a better job next time.”
I sound like I’m angry that I “had” to do this. I’m not. I never was. It didn’t matter that it meant lots of nights where I couldn’t hang out with friends, but that
never mattered. It still doesn’t. I’m grateful that I got to spend that time with him. Now that I’m older, I realize how special the time was, and I’m almost sad that I didn’t get that same time with my other grandparents.
I am, however, still a bit ticked that he was shipped off to die – that nobody else (a bit older/wiser/stronger/better) stepped up to help him – that we couldn’t afford to hire someone to help him – that he had to beg his own children, and they wouldn’t/couldn’t accommodate him.
I’ve never asked them about any of this, so this is an extremely one-sided story. I don’t know if I ever will ask them about it – partly because I don’t want to know.
And, why are children – in any place or culture – being asked to provide this kind of care? 12-year olds should be worried about their first junior high dance, the cute boy/girl in the next desk, clothes, books, movies, magazines, mowing the lawn, making the bed. Kids shouldn’t be changing soiled grandparents, caring for babies, picking up cans for recycling in order to buy milk, family members who are meth-heads, making their own dinner every night. As a country, we have the resources so that no kid should be put in this position, but we squander those resources on a million meaningless things or unjustified wars. What about other countries where the resources are less abundant? UG! It’s just so much and it frustrates me to no end!
At the end of the day, I was lucky. Despite how irritated, angry, and woeful I might sound, my time with him was a blessing. I still think of him almost every day.
Friday, October 26, 2012
The copper mine
A couple of weeks ago, we took advantage of the free admission at Kennecott Utah Copper and took the boys for their first trip. This is the first time that Bub and I have been there since 2000 (?) when Tony came out to visit from NJ.
The visitor's center is nice. It's not extensive or huge, but it is interesting. It's a bit much for five-year-olds, but still fun. We had hoped that they would have really understood the magnitude of the sheer size of the place, but it's still a bit much for them. The dump trucks that drive through this area are as big as a 2-story house. I kept trying to explain to the boys that the "little" trucks were actually semi-trucks, and the "big" trucks were actually ENORMOUS. Even though they didn't really "get" it, they enjoyed it. We all did.
Here's a photo of the boys standing next to one of the tires that belongs on an enormous truck. Keep in mind that they boys are each just over four feet tall.
That makes these tires at least 16-feet tall. It's mind boggling.
A long time ago, they used to have one of the trucks parked next to (and dwarfing) the visitor's center. It's too bad that they don't have that anymore.
The drivers actually need a ladder to get into the trucks. It's crazy. One of our friends, Merlyn, drives one of these trucks. She's a badass.
Then, Meatball got ahold of my phone and managed to take some pictures - all of them were of the tire. I'm only including two of them. I won't torture you with the other seven photos....
On the way home, we crossed the top of the mountain - up through Butterfield Canyon and down Middle Canyon, enjoying sandwiches and cheese on the drive home.
The visitor's center is nice. It's not extensive or huge, but it is interesting. It's a bit much for five-year-olds, but still fun. We had hoped that they would have really understood the magnitude of the sheer size of the place, but it's still a bit much for them. The dump trucks that drive through this area are as big as a 2-story house. I kept trying to explain to the boys that the "little" trucks were actually semi-trucks, and the "big" trucks were actually ENORMOUS. Even though they didn't really "get" it, they enjoyed it. We all did.
Here's a photo of the boys standing next to one of the tires that belongs on an enormous truck. Keep in mind that they boys are each just over four feet tall.
A long time ago, they used to have one of the trucks parked next to (and dwarfing) the visitor's center. It's too bad that they don't have that anymore.
The drivers actually need a ladder to get into the trucks. It's crazy. One of our friends, Merlyn, drives one of these trucks. She's a badass.
Then, Meatball got ahold of my phone and managed to take some pictures - all of them were of the tire. I'm only including two of them. I won't torture you with the other seven photos....
On the way home, we crossed the top of the mountain - up through Butterfield Canyon and down Middle Canyon, enjoying sandwiches and cheese on the drive home.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
The next FIRST lost tooth
I was so bummed that Meatball lost this tooth while I was at work. He was pretty dang excited about it, though! They called me at work and told me all of the details. I was worried about him being all freaked out about this because he gets very anxious about stuff like that.
Unfortunately, Bub and I both forgot how much money the tooth fairy left for Peanut just a couple of months ago. Luckily for us, Meatball remembered! (Of course he did.) I'm happy to report that she fluttered her little wings and managed to leave him $2, a little toy, and a mini candy bar - just like Peanut received. Whew!
Unfortunately, Bub and I both forgot how much money the tooth fairy left for Peanut just a couple of months ago. Luckily for us, Meatball remembered! (Of course he did.) I'm happy to report that she fluttered her little wings and managed to leave him $2, a little toy, and a mini candy bar - just like Peanut received. Whew!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Utah Museum of Natural History
Last month, my employer celebrated the company's 85th anniversary in style. In addition to giveaways and lunches and gifts, we were treated to a morning at the Utah Museum of Natural History. The whole company - at least all 1500 who are located at the home office.
I spent the majority of the morning taking pictures of my teammates for our work blog, but I did get a few minutes to take in the amazing-ness that is the museum. It was recently re-located and is completely awesome. My employer helped fund and furnish the gems section.
I can't wait to go back when I have the entire day to spend checking things out. Here's something that I thought was pretty interesting. This is just a visual that shows the different kinds of rock and soil in the US. Utah has more varieties of rock and soil than any other state.
Here you can see the specific detail of Utah as well as the entire contiguous US. Pretty cool, right?
But, the part that I was really excited about was the actual fossil area. I cannot wait to take the boys to this part of the museum. They were freaking out over the photos on my phone.
These fossil heads mounted on the wall really freaked me out a bit. First, they are very scary looking. Second, almost every one of them were as tall as me. THE HEADS were as tall as me. That is crazy!
So cool!
I spent the majority of the morning taking pictures of my teammates for our work blog, but I did get a few minutes to take in the amazing-ness that is the museum. It was recently re-located and is completely awesome. My employer helped fund and furnish the gems section.
I can't wait to go back when I have the entire day to spend checking things out. Here's something that I thought was pretty interesting. This is just a visual that shows the different kinds of rock and soil in the US. Utah has more varieties of rock and soil than any other state.
But, the part that I was really excited about was the actual fossil area. I cannot wait to take the boys to this part of the museum. They were freaking out over the photos on my phone.
So cool!
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Cute niece and grand-niece
Grand-niece. That sounds awful. It makes me sound so OLD.
The trouble is that I have THREE grand-nieces and ONE grand-nephew!
I blame my sister. It's all her fault.
Doesn't make them any less cute, though, does it?
This is my cute niece, JKW, and her sweet and adorable daughter, AML.
The trouble is that I have THREE grand-nieces and ONE grand-nephew!
I blame my sister. It's all her fault.
Doesn't make them any less cute, though, does it?
Monday, October 22, 2012
Excellent report cards!
We recently had the PLEASURE of our first parent-teacher conferences. The boys' teachers are wonderful. WONDERFUL. The boys love them - adore them! In fact, when he found out that he wouldn't have the same teacher next year, Peanut cried and cried. Bub finally had to tell him that she was kidding!
During both of the conferences, we were told that they are very friendly - a sweet euphemism for "talkative." Bub looked at me like it was MY fault. Yes, I will admit that when I get going, I really talk up a storm, but it takes me a lot to get to that point. Otherwise, I'm pretty reserved and quiet. SHE, on the other hand, didn't shut up for the entire conference. Like, seriously, didn't shut her pie hole! And, she didn't even know that she was doing it. Both of the teachers looked at me like they were astounded. I just shrugged it off. I'm used to it.
Anyway, they both got all A's in every single topic. Peanut could use some more practice with his handwriting, but otherwise, they are rockin' it. They are both in advanced reading and very high math.
Their teachers love spending time with them. We are SO PROUD!
So, we came home and had celebratory cupcakes after dinner!
They are such awesome boys!
During both of the conferences, we were told that they are very friendly - a sweet euphemism for "talkative." Bub looked at me like it was MY fault. Yes, I will admit that when I get going, I really talk up a storm, but it takes me a lot to get to that point. Otherwise, I'm pretty reserved and quiet. SHE, on the other hand, didn't shut up for the entire conference. Like, seriously, didn't shut her pie hole! And, she didn't even know that she was doing it. Both of the teachers looked at me like they were astounded. I just shrugged it off. I'm used to it.
Anyway, they both got all A's in every single topic. Peanut could use some more practice with his handwriting, but otherwise, they are rockin' it. They are both in advanced reading and very high math.
Their teachers love spending time with them. We are SO PROUD!
So, we came home and had celebratory cupcakes after dinner!
They are such awesome boys!
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