Milestone Day

Today oldest daughter and I took a little time to embark on the search for the perfect white dress. She will be baptized in a few short weeks, you know.

In the car, on the way to the store, we discussed baptism. I told her she would have an interview with the bishop so he could help her understand her decision to be baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And then I said he would probably ask her why baptism is important. In all her humble cuteness she confessed she didn't know why baptism is important. And then she re-thought what she had just said and declared she might know why. And she told me baptism is so important that even Jesus was baptized. We discussed that baptism is essential for salvation and after she is baptized, she will receive a special gift- the gift of the Holy Ghost. Plus, she will be an official member of the Church.

As we sorted through organzas, silks, satins and chiffons, I couldn't help but think back on the eight short years we have been able to get acquainted. She is the one who introduced me to motherhood. It is she who first taught me that the husband is the best kind of father there is: patient, capable, wise enough to use even the small moments as teaching opportunities, and proud- so proud of his children. She is the one who first taught me the joy of volunteering in the classroom. Who else but she could have been a better example for her brother and sister? She has brought me fulfillment and fun and laughter- because she has a tummy she calls Frankie.

In the dressing room as she giggled in gladness at the puffs and the poofs while I zipped and buttoned and tied ginormous sashes, I delighted (delighted- truly the only word that fits) as I watched her embrace femininity as she twirled and admired her beauty in the full length mirror.

We talked of which dress she liked best. And how does one even choose? So we weeded out the least favorite and worked our way up. In the end, she made her decision. And she was excited. And giddy.

It was a good day.

A few days ago I told her she couldn't turn 8. But, darn that girl, I think she is going to go and do it anyway. A genuine rebel, that one.

Just for fun, that little blonde girl and I decided to show you the top three contenders. And allow you to choose your favorite. And in a few days, we will reveal her choice. So fun.

And seriously, the pictures don't do these dresses justice. I think they were sewn by angels for angels. They are that beautiful. Plus, don't you think all baptism dresses should be worn with bare feet? I'm convinced they should!

Dress A

Dress B

Dress C

So, cast your vote. Vote for your favorite and the one she chose. Fair warning though, she is like the best white dress try-er on-er ever! It's like the Summer Olympics- and you're the judge! Woot!

A Letter

Dear Olympics,

It has been so awesome to see you again. I have missed you- but I know that the time we have spent apart has been necessary so that you could get such a great show together. And I know you hate to be away from me. So, I can excuse your absence. Plus, I can tell you have gathered some extraordinary athletes.

I have to say that the husband has been very supportive of our affair. Could a girl have a better husband? Um, no.

I love your winter show- it always reminds me how good you look in white. And I never knew you could look so good in Vancouver! A new favorite look for you.

The children are even loving the events this time around. Oldest daughter cheers for whoever I cheer for. Middle daughter cheers for whoever has the cutest outfit. I don't blame her- don't come to The Olympics if you don't have a cute outfit. And little son likes the events with the most action. And the biathlon- because it has guns.

I know it's been a tough one so far, but you are holding up beautifully. And you have convinced me to visit Vancouver. Wow. I mean, WOW!!

Maybe you could give me a little advice on how to chase gophers out of my new yard. We have many. Perhaps you might like to use them as the target for the biathlon? Just a thought. Let me know. We have many- like I said.

And all I can say is, thanks for being faithful to me- what with all the fast women that you have there. You are truly awesome. Oh, and I'm digging the U.S. snowboarders' pants.

Love,

Stephanie

P.S. We have renters! I know you were concerned. I saw it written all over your face- and I know that was the message you were sending last night when a certain male figure skater was wearing a black outfit with hot pink corset lacing and a matching tassel. I knew that tassel was your "concern" signal. I picked right up on it. Next time you are in Avondale, be sure to eat at a certain dining establishment off Dysart and the I-10 and tip that blonde waitress generously- she has a rent check to send in.

Love Letters

Dear Olympics,

I'm kind of laughing inside that you turned down Chicago.

Just be careful in Rio. I hear they have a lot of nakeds down there.

Can't wait to see you in 2010- I will be spending every free moment watching you. Like always.

Anyway, thanks for the laugh! I needed it.

Love,

Me

A Modest Proposal

I just received this. Thought I would share. Please don't be jealous- just be happy for me.

Dear Stephanie,

First (I like to do most things in firsts, seconds, and thirds), let me apologize for getting back to you in over world record time. Not the norm with me, let me assure you. I have been quite busy with the games. I am sure you understand. Now that the games are over and I have a little time to catch my breath, I just want to say that I loved hearing from you and love that I could spend these last two weeks with you. And, of course I remember you. I look forward to every other year so that I can share it all with you. I know you have been watching me, and I am flattered.

Second, I am completely crushed to know that you are married. However, I do know the husband and believe you have made a fine choice. I believe that with my schedule, I could not offer you all that you deserve. But, I did leave you a message on the jumbo-tron. You would have to go back and watch the tapes of volleyball, swimming, soccer, equestrian, archery, badminton, bmx and wrestling and pick out every third letter that appears next to a consonant in words that are two syllables and hyphenated to decipher my proposal.

Third, I loved the games this year. They were wonderful. So many worthy competitors. Many who put in years and years of training and dedication to win my medals. I did give many away. But, I assure you, my biggest medal belongs to you. Don't worry about all those who are vying for my attention, you will always have it. You are my best and truest lady.

You know those opening and closing ceremonies? They were all for you. The ladies dancing with the bells on their dresses symbolize the bells of our love. The flame that burns is for you. The flags fly for you. The athletes are for you. Everything I do, I do it for you. You are my golden girl. If I could have you bronzed, I would.

The silver lining to all of this? I will return in 18 months (February 12, 2010) and I know that you will be right there, watching. And, maybe, do you think you could make it to London in 2012? I would really love to see you there. And I will play our anthem just for you- at every commercial break.

Yours forever,
The Olympics


P.S. I'm glad you liked the hand sanitizer.

Put it on the Jumbo-Tron

I only have two thoughts going through my head at this precise moment: 1) I LOVE the Olympics!! and 2) I have a massive pounding headache. Since there really is no substance to item number 2, let’s just focus on my first point, shall we?

I do. I LOVE THE OLYMPICS! I love the Olympics so much I could marry them. Except, I love my husband more and we are already married (except if the Olympics were a girl, I could use another wife (and not in a polygamist sort of way- just an extra helper sort of way, which in that case what I really need is a maid) because she could help me with the cooking and cleaning and driving, blah blah blah. But that really sounds weird, so NEVERMIND). But, I think the Olympics are a boy anyway, so maybe I should just send the Olympics a little note. Yeah, I think I’ll do that. It will say something like this:


Dear Olympics,

I don’t know if you know me- we have every other year together. I am the one with the half-way curly hair. I just have to tell you that I watch you all the time. You really make me smile.

Remember that one time when Michael Phelps won like 11 gold medals? Yeah, that was cool. I’m pretty sure I could get 13, maybe 14.

I can’t believe I am about to say this, but what the heck, I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!! I have had a crush on you for a long time now. I have one of your shirts. I've had recurring dreams of you giving me one of your rings. In fact, my parents would have loved to see us end up together. They are the ones that introduced me to you in the first place. (they would make great in-laws)

I really loved you in Salt Lake City when we came to see you. You had it all together, you were so organized. I always knew I wanted someone like that. But I got a little intimidated because there were a lot of people vying for your affection. You were such a gentleman. You knew how to treat the ladies. You had extra port-a-potties for us at every venue. You even had hand sanitizer.

I just have to ask: if I weren’t married, would you marry me? You can just check yes or no. Or, since you have access to lots of scoreboards and stuff, you could just program a proposal into one of those and I would be like, “Oh my gosh, YES! Except I have a husband now.” But it would be cool because the whole world would see it.

I’m sorry I can’t accept your proposal right now. (Does that break your heart? Because I know for a fact that the Olympics has a big heart.) But I will be devoted to you till I die. I just gotta focus on my husband right now. You only come around every other year and he is here for me everyday. So I think you will understand when I say that I just owe it to him.

I will tell my children and grandchildren about you! Let’s still be friends. Don’t ever change. Keep in touch, and call me over the winter.

Regretfully,
Stephanie

I'll Send the Therapist's Bill to Sam

All I wanted was to go to Sam's Club and get my bulk pack of 720 diaper wipes, garbage bags, gogurt and some treats for our Olympics Opening Ceremony party. Instead I ended up treating middle daughter to the most traumatic moment in her young, 4 year old life. Way to go, Mom!

It was meant to be a quick in and out stop. Go ahead and laugh. Because I know you know as well as I know that there is no such thing as a quick in and out stop at Sam's Club.

We were headed to the back of the store for those trash bags when we happened upon the Halloween display. (I know! It's only August. But I guess if we can already be in school, they can have the ghouls and goblins out.) So, we pass by the automated life-sized zombie guy.

I have little son and middle daughter in the cart seat (I just want to mention how much I LOVE the carts at Sam's due to the double accommodation of the seat. It is genius!) and oldest daughter walking alongside. Oldest daughter sees the monster and stops to take it all in as I continue making my way to the trash bags.

As soon as she has seen enough of the zombie, she hustles and catches up- giving the full report, "Brother, sister- you have to see that thing. It shakes and changes faces and everything!"

Immediately middle daughter declares that she must witness this spectacle. I assure her we will go back by on our way to the gogurt. Her pleadings become more intense as I am distracted with the task of deciding which bags to select: force flex with ties or the generic with 10 times more bags in the box. Once the decision is made and the bags are placed in the cart we proceed to the "gotta see" scary man.

As we near the ghoul, the automated shaking begins and ghostly sounds ring out. We are still behind it- not even head on- and middle daughter lets out a terrified, blood curdling 10 second (at least) scream of intense fear that stops all the shoppers in our immediate area. Almost as soon as the scream begins, she starts crying inconsolably. I have never witnessed (nor do I hope to ever witness again) my daughter in such a state of fear. Her little body literally shaking.

I quickly push the cart away from the display and position it to the side of the aisle so that I can make an attempt at reassuring her that all is well. My heart was aching for her as I could see that she was scared beyond description.

I have to admit, my first thoughts were, "Bring on bedtime. We are having nightmares at our house tonight."

Finally we were able to comfort her enough to get that gogurt, check out and get home. The rest of the afternoon she was in constant fear that we were going to go back to Sam's and she would have to see that scary guy. Obviously, this experience damaged her little secure self.

As soon as the husband got home from work she related the entire story. Now, I know I have a wonderful husband and this is why: as he was talking it through with her, they decided to give that scary monster a name. Frank was suggested, but middle daughter asked, "Can we just call him Underwear?" It was brilliant! Out of this scary situation, she was able to place a funny name on the experience and laugh about it. Thank you, husband! The gold medal goes to you. (What is your national anthem?)

The scene was recalled a few times during the Opening Ceremonies, but there were no nightmares.

Yesterday as were getting ready to go to Target, middle daughter pipes up with, "I don't want to go if Underwear is at Target."

We went. He wasn't there.

Growing

I am ashamed and embarrassed to admit it. We have always had a rocky relationship. I think you just learn how to put a smile on your face and go on like things are all normal and that you are perfectly happy. But really, it has been one of the greatest trials of my life. I think the only time that things were really great between us was in the 90’s. Other than that, I can probably count on one hand the days that I have been satisfied with our relationship. But it takes a crisis to realize how much something means to you.

I have always known that my hair didn’t really like me. But, honestly, who wants to accept that? Who?

I have crazy naturally curly, way-too-thick hair that has a mind of its own. You can’t make it do something it doesn’t want to do. So, really, the only time that I could just go with it was in the 90’s when big, curly hair was in. I just learned to put my desires aside and go with it. You just have to learn to be unselfish. And I truly was happy. And I thought that was what I wanted. Until straight hair became the order of the day.

My journey of appreciation climaxed last summer when I purchased a new flat iron. I was ready to get better results and took it into my own hands. I had been RELIGIOUSLY straightening my hair for the past 6 or more years. Subconsciously thinking that straightening out those curls would straighten the problems between us. So, when I got that new red and silver flat iron- from Sally's- with more than 10 heat settings, I was pumped.

Immediately I cranked it to the hottest setting and let that baby get HOT. I ritualistically divided my hair, affixing the appropriate clips to hold the upper layers in place so I could work on the under layers. And so I began to flatten out those curls. Strip by strip. I watched as this magic iron slid through my tresses, steaming as it went. Then I began to smell the scent of very hot, not quite burning, hair. But I was not alarmed because my hair was straightening beautifully. In under 15 minutes, my hair was completely sleekly straight. It was a monumental moment. The best results I had ever achieved on my mop. And, I knew I had hit gold.

The next day, after washing my hair, I was ready to repeat the process. I began to blow dry my hair and immediately knew something was not right. Instead of frizzing out and going out of control, my hair was blow drying straight. What? One would think that I would be ecstatic. Not so much. It was in that moment, a moment of sheer terror, I realized what I had done. That beautiful new red and silver flat iron had melted the curl right out of my hair. I was mortified. What had I done?

Do you know what this meant? It meant that I no longer had the option of letting my hair go curly when I didn’t have time to straighten it, because the way it dried was so unattractive. I couldn’t just dry and go like I could with my curls. I am here to tell you that it truly is in a crisis that we realize how important some things are to us.

So, here we are, a year later. I have learned a few things 1) you cannot turn your 10 heat setting flat iron to the hottest setting, 2) curls can melt out of hair, 3) no matter how much I complained about it before, I really did appreciate my hair all along, and 4) I would be sad to lose it.

My curl is finally growing back in. It is funny to see my hair with the curl at the root and then straight about two inches after that, all the way to the end. But I am embracing it- like The Prodigal Son returning from a wayward life.

In the end, I know I was the selfish one in this relationship. My hair gives and gives. I take and take- expect and expect. (Although I do give it good conditioner.) I am the master, it is the servant. Still, I don’t love that it usually looks its best right at the end of the day- just as I am brushing my teeth and getting in to bed. What is up with that?

I think our relationship is on the mend.


P.S. Go USA!!!