17 July 2015

Flashback FridayThom

The Caboose has a lacrosse tournament up in Heber City this weekend.  While we were up there this evening, I asked him if he remembered when we took a ride on the Heber Creeper when Thomas the Tank Engine was 'pulling' it.  He said he didn't.  Bummer.  I thought he was old enough to remember...

I thought I took more photos than I apparently did.  Bummer.  :(

Gosh, he was cute.

He wasn't sure about the train ride.

Thomas "pulling" all the cars.
The real workhorse.

I See How It Is

Shorty, aka my lil MP,  has been in Romania for about a week now, I think.  I really haven't been keeping track.  I'm not too stressed.  Nothing in the news about Putin and the Ukraine so...  But I've been wondering how she's doing.

She posted this photo on FB today with the caption Romania "deployment" 

I think she's doing just fine.

15 July 2015


I recently came across this quote from a novel.
'He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. “You see, there’s a fundamental connection between seeming and being….We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be…..It’s like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story. 
….listen. I’ve got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she’s beautiful, she’ll think you’re sweet, but she won’t believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding…..And sometimes that’s enough.
….But there’s a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you….Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn’t seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.” '
― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind
This...  This is why I cling to his memory.  He somehow knew how to do this.   Though it was many, many years ago, he somehow got me to change the story in my head.  He's the only one who ever has or did.  He convinced me I was beautiful, full of worth.  I don't know why he did it.  Was he just trying to get into my pants--as so many people have tried to convince me over the years.  He seemed to instinctively know how to "handle" me.  Did he really mean what he said?  I don't know.

Because in the end like with everyone else, I wasn't good enough for him either.

But I still remember the brief moment how it felt like to believe I was.

10 July 2015

Somewhere in Romania

She is.

I just don't know where.

My lil MP is on her second deployment and is excited because she gets to do more MP stuff than "cage-kicker" stuff.

Nearly two months down, nine to go.

09 July 2015

Wait, WHAT?!?!

I feel like I've just been sucker-punched.

I love Facebook.  Love, Love, love Facebook.  I have connected with nearly everyone who has ever meant anything to me--from childhood friends to military family to even childhood neighbors and teachers.  (There's that one holdout, though... I have hope that some day I'll see a friend request... )

But sometimes, something comes up on my news feed that shocks me to the core.

Today was one of those days.

I don't have a large extended family.  Both my parents were only children and my grandparents weren't around much when I was a child.  As I tend to do now with the desire for siblings/parents, I would look for surrogate grandparents.  When I was 10 years old, a couple moved in across the street from me.  I loved them dearly.  Still love them dearly.  Although their youngest child (three years older than me) didn't appreciate me adopting his parents as my surrogate grandparents, I longed to have local grandparents--and they were ready, willing, and able.

My dad was their home teacher and every month after he visited, we'd cross the street and have ice cream.  My brothers and I played on their massive front lawn and parked our cars in their larger driveway once we were older.  They sold their house about a decade ago and moved down to Utah to be nearer to that youngest child who didn't really like me.  *wry chuckle*   But then his family moved back to Rexburg and they went back as well.

Max participated at my dad's funeral and Denice was always there.   They give the best hugs.  They're a part of my life, my heart, my family as much as blood relatives are.

I'm FB friends with Denice--or at least I assumed it was Denice--so I see things in the news feed from time to time.  Today it was a photo of grand daughters and I'm assuming Denice with the caption "even though she doesn't know who we are anymore... we hope she knows how much we love her"  I can't even recognize her with the empty look in her eyes that (I'm guessing, like with my own father) comes with dementia, the uncoiffed hair, the oxygen canula on her face.  Is it Denice?  Comments seem to point to it being Denice.

But Max and Denice aren't any older in my mind than they are in this photo at my first wedding reception in 1988.  (Jerome, the man in the blue suit in the middle of the photo, just passed away recently.)

Sucker-punched I tell you.  I had no clue anything was wrong.  My mom didn't either when I asked her.  Maybe I'm in this state of denial that we are all growing older--Max is older than my dad (oh how they loved each other as brothers!) by six months.  That means he's... 92.  Oh.  Um.  Oh.

I hurt.  Hurt for the realization that a dear, loved individual from my tumultuous childhood doesn't appear long for the earth.  I hurt for the shock of finding out!  I hurt for her and her family's suffering as she teeters, not exactly in this world, not in the next.

Oh, I just hurt.

I'm going to go cry some more.  I'm grieving.  It's okay to cry when you grieve.

#TBT Afghaniland


I think it just hit me...  She's gone, again.

06 July 2015

She's Seven Months

I really hope she's full-grown.  Miss Pup-Pup has hit her teenage phase and it's not fun.  She body-slams me throughout the day, chews on Papa's Crocs, chases the kittehs, pounces on my lap if Zoey is on it and utters the tiniest "peep".

But she's a good girl in spite of being a teen.   She retrieves anything we throw, gives the best "high fives", goes into her crate when she is told to.  She handled the Fourth like a pro--the lights bothered her, but not the sound.  She takes naps on the bed with me and loves her chewies.  Loves, loves, loves her chewies.  She is also a true Lax pup.  Very well behaved.

We had a couple torrential down pours complete with hail this afternoon.  She "needed" to go outside but wasn't sure about it.

She loves her doughnut
Hi Mama
 Her ball fell off the couch and she was quite put out
that I wouldn't pick it up for her.
Nap time.  She loves my "grandma couch".
Watching the fireworks
 Just can't wait to get through this teen phase with her testing authority.  Ugh!