Open letter to my baby brother...

Dear Bill,

Today would be your 38th birthday.  You've been gone for just over 4 years now.  I miss you a lot.  My kids miss you too.  Ryan has your Mountain Man drawing in his room and often talks about how talented you were.  Maddie fondly remembers you playing soccer/frisbee/whatever with all the kids in Mom's backyard and every time we are all together she tells me how much she misses you. 

You've been on my mind a lot lately so I wanted to share some of my favorite memories of you.

I still laugh at myself for calling you my "baby brother" until you were over 6' tall and we were in our teens.

I remember sitting on the yellow couch in the living room tickling each others feet for hours.

I remember the zip line Rick strung up in the back yard and we would take turns climbing the big maple tree to zip down to the swing set.  I can't remember how many time we fell.  Were you the one on it when the PVC pipe/handle broke?

I remember playing night games with the Crumps or swimming in their pool all summer long.

I remember eating watermelon with you and all the Maloufs on the 4th of July and on the 24th when we were so young.

I remember sleeping outside on the trampoline in the summer time and often having to grab our stuff and run inside because the sprinklers would come on.  Why didn't we ever figure out to check to make sure they were turned off?

I remember you trying to sing the country western songs on the radio while we rode in the back part of the old station wagon while sticking our feet out the back to "wave" at the people in the other cars.  You didn't know the words, but boy did you fake it!

I remember how you would trap, catch, and keep just about every wild animal you could.  We had ducks in the bathtub, a cougar in the basement, and who knows how many snakes, ferrets and other creatures!

I remember coming to visit you one day when you were in Jr. High and I was in High School.  I tried to give you a hug in the hall and you pushed me away.  You were so embarrassed!

I remember you being so mad that Jeff and I eloped!  Then you threatened to kill Jeff if he ever broke my heart. 

I remember how you laughed so hard when I accidentally sprayed "coyote scent" on my hair right before Jr.'s wedding.  Jeff still laughs about that, too.  And for the record... I'm really not an idiot... you had the scent in a hairspray bottle for heaven's sake!

I remember you coming the hospital when each of my kids were born and insisting on wearing a mask so that you wouldn't get any of them sick... even if you weren't sick at the time!

I remember the way you held each of my kids and fell in love with them. They fell in love right back.

I remember you playing ping pong with Maddie and Ryan.

I remember that you are one of only two people on the planet who called me "Min"

I remember wishing we were closer and saw each other more often.

I remember worrying about you.

I miss you, Bill, my baby brother.  I know you're in a better place now and I know we will see each other again, but I miss you.

Peace,
Your "Big" Sister
Min

Stick Boy, Justin Poo, Danger Girl, Monk, and Velcro

Do nicknames say more about the person who has the nickname or about the person who gives the nickname?

When CJ lived with us many years ago, we called him Stick Boy.  He was so skinny and was on the track team.  He literally looked like a stick figure running around the track and on the cross country courses.  We still call him that every once in a while, but it doesn't seem to fit as well now that he's about 6'2" and 200 lbs of muscle.

Justin has always had a nickname.  Justin's real name is Justin Paul, but he has often been called Justin Poo.  A cute little nickname, that like CJ's, doesn't really fit him now.  I remember one day we were teasing him a bit with his name calling him things like, Justin Case, Justin Time, etc.  CJ had a very clever moment and called him "Justin Poo-Paul Over." I admit that I'm giggling to myself right now. What can I say? I think it's funny. Justin didn't think it was.  Yes, we still call him Justin Poo and I think he tolerates it.

Maddie has had several nicknames.  Her Aunt Annie gave her the nickname Maddie Mo when she was about 18 months old and it sure has stuck.  A lot of people call her Maddie Mo.  When she was about three, we realized that she had no sense of self-preservation and started calling her Danger Girl. Between running into the Pacific Ocean naked in December when she was four, and sticking her hand in a cow's mouth at Wheeler Farm when she was five, I think Danger Girl was a good call. This year, Jeff has bestowed Maddie with yet another nickname -- Junior.  He is the only one who is allowed to call her that though.

Ryan began life as Bug or RyBug.  It fit until he, too, was about three and we identified that he also carried the Danger Gene and lacked a sense of self-preservation like his sister.  He then became Distructo Boy.  He had stitches on his forehead when he was two and knocked out three of his front teeth when he was three. Yep, Distructo Boy.  That lasted a while until he became Monkey Monk which was then shortened to just Monk.  I still call him that sometimes and he still answers. 

Grayson had a nickname before he was even born.  Maddie started calling him G-Man as soon as we decided on the name Grayson.  After he arrived he quickly earned the nickname Velcro.  He has this amazing ability to "stick" to another person.  He wraps his little legs and arms around you and won't let go and can't be shaken free.  It's almost creepy. This last year we've also been calling him Muggin.  This nickname came about because he would try to call people "Cotton Headed Ninny Muggin" (after an insult used in the Will Farrell movie Elf), but he would get it all mixed up and say "Cotton Headed Niggy Mutton."

I have two nicknames: Mean Mindy Jean and Bud.  I'll have to tell you about those in another post.

What's your nickname?

Open Letter to my daughter...

Dear Maddie,

Last week you turned 14.  It's hard for me to believe you are that old already.  I can still remember so clearly bringing you home from the hospital to Grandma Pat's, sitting on our bed and with tears running down my face saying to your dad, "I don't think I can do this."

It is an awesome responsibility to be a mother.  I wasn't sure then if I would be a good mom, and honestly, I still wonder that some days.  I hope that I have done you right and as you transition from being a little girl to a young woman that you will know that I have always done what I think is best for you and I have never tried to do you wrong.

I love that you cry at commercials and t.v. shows like "Little House on the Prairie." I love that you are passionate about your family and friends. I love that you experience life with wonder and emotion. I love that you are my friend. I love that you laugh out loud at funny things and don't hold back when you are excited about something.  I love that you and your brothers are friends and get along quite often.

When I was describing you to someone, they said, "She lives life in superlatives." That describes you so well!  Everything is the "best" or the "worst."  Right now, for you, there are no inbetweens.  You love it or your hate it.

Being 14 can be a challenge sometimes.  I know because I remember that time in my own life.  It has sometimes been frustrating to watch you be a little girl one minute (crying about a baby bird) and such a grown up the next (taking care of your brothers while I'm at work).  Sometimes I'm not sure who I'm dealing with - Maddie the little girl, or Maddie the young woman.  I hope that I can help you navigate this exciting and difficult time so that you don't have to experience too much heart ache.  I know I can't protect you from everything, and I don't think I would really want to, but I hope the transition to adulthood isn't too painful for you.

I love you Maddie Mo.  You make me happy.  I am so honored to be your mother.

Happy Birthday!

Love,

Mom

My First Day in the "Couch to 5K" training and The Baby Bird

I have not done any formal exercising since... well... since ever, I guess.  Seriously, the last time I worked out with any consistency was in 2000 with some friends at Dixie Middle School in St. George, UT, but I'm not sure I experienced any measurable results and it only lasted a couple of months. However, this past weekend, I made the committment to run a 5k.  I told my friends.  I told my coworkers.  I'm now blogging about it.  I am serious!

I'm thinking of doing the Turkey Trot in November as the culminating event for this experiment, torture, exercise.  I downloaded a great Couch to 5K app on my iPhone to help me with my training. I push start on the app and a pleasant English woman tells me when to walk, when to run, and gives me small words of encouragement.  She is a nice running companion because she doesn't care that I look like a beached whale struggling to make it back in the water.  She doesn't care that my "running" is only slightly faster than my walking with just a lot more "up and down" motion going on.  I like her.  (Once I'm feeling better about my running skills though, I hope I can update to the "totally sexy Irish Man voice" to help motivate me.) I finished my mile walk/run and was only sucking wind for a few minutes.  Yes, I said a mile.  Only a mile.  Don't laugh.  Well, ok you can laugh. I am. The people who saw me walking/running/sucking wind yesterday are, too.  See you at the Turkey Trot in November!

When I got home from my walk/run, Grayson and I found a small, dying, baby quail just inside our back door. I'm pretty sure this was a victim of our dog, Sammy, attempting to play.  This little bird was so tiny!  It was about the size of a ping-pong ball.  It was struggling to move and it's little chirp was not very strong.  Grayson had to hold it, and then show it to Maddie, who then also had to hold it.  Being the callous and uncaring mother that my children always remind me that I am, I told Maddie to hold it, then go throw it in the garbage can outside. (I know, I know... BIG MISTAKE!)

Grayson was being obedient for once and followed my instructions to wash his hands.  I laid down on my bed to die recover from my walk/run.  About 10 minutes later, Grayson came in and, after making fun of me because of the sweat still running down my face, informed me that, "Maddie can't do it." 

I went outside to find Maddie standing in front of the garbage can sobbing.  Not crying, not sniffling, but SOBBING!  She looked at me with her mascara stained cheeks and red nose and cried, "I can't do it, mom. I can't do it."  I took the little bird from her and tried to open the garbage can to take care of things myself and she WAILED, "NOOO!  Please don't do it, mom."

Sheesh.  What was I supposed to do now?  I did what any exhausted and pain suffering (yes, my muscles were starting to hurt by this time) person would do... I tried to appease her.  "Should we take it inside and wait until it's dead before we put it in the garbage?" I asked.  She nodded - tears and snot flying - emphatically. She then asked if we could bury it instead of throwing it away.  "Of course we can, sweetheart." I told her.

So, I took the feathered ping-pong ball inside. Maddie got a small tupperwear container.  We put a nice bed of paper towels in the bottom on which I gently placed the bird.  We put the bird on the windowsill to wait for it to "pass on."  Grayson asked if he could go dig the "grave" for the bird.  I rolled my eyes.

Maddie went back to sweeping the floor, but was still crying.  Grayson watched her for a minute and then said to her, "Maddie, I'm not trying to be rude, but 'man up'."

Classic.

It took every bit of energy I had left to not go over and give him a high five.

About every 10 minutes after that, Grayson wanted to check on the bird to see if it was dead so he could go dig a grave.  Maddie would look at it and cry more.  I asked Ryan, who was playing the Wii this whole time, if he wanted to see the bird. He didn't.

I finally told Maddie and Grayson that I was going to put the bird back outside "so it's mommy can find it and take care of it."  Grayson followed me outside and helped me dump gently put the bird in the tall grass by the fence. He then wanted to dig a hole right then because the bird's mom might not show up in time. He informed that in the morning he was going to check on the bird "first thing" and if it was dead, he'd take care of it so I wouldn't have to. Isn't he a gentleman?

Maddie finally stopped crying.

This morning, the bird was gone.  It's mother must have found it and taken it back to the family nest to nurse it back to health... right?

Oh yeah, my legs are really, really sore!