The Inaugural Day Bash 2009

So, after an upsetting campaign season for Job (and the family), one that included a trip to Boston for fundraising, cottage meetings, and sign waving we scraped off the antagonistic bumper stickers and joined the nation in embracing our new leader and commander in chief. Our family began our festivities by our eight year old memorizing a passage of scripture that states, "We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers magistrates and in obeying, honoring and sustaining the law." Next we enjoyed a lovely cake given to us by friends, and settled in to watch the swearing in and inaugural address. As I watched the vice president stumble through the wording of his oath of office I thought for sure Obama, an eloquent politician and cunning public speaker, would do better. But no, he too fumbled through the most important words the leader of the free world has to declare to us as citizens after we (okay not me) gave him our money, our support and most importantly our vote. Then after his swearing in- the speech. The speech that I felt put every American in proverbial time out. In a speech that should have been uplifting and full of "hope" it was sad and depressing. He said we were "not responsible" fiscally. He said we were failing our children. He belittles our schools. He informed us that when decisions were tough we did not make the right choice. Where is the hope Mr. President? I pray the next four years go more smoothly than his first moments in office. I pray that the racial advances our country has made through this election continue. I pray he lives up to his promises and does not let the people of our great nation down. I'll tell you though, my expectations aren't too high to start with.

My Yearly Letter to Santa

Hey there Big Guy,
So as usual I'm cutting this a little close to the wire. Tomorrow is Christmas eve already. Thanks for granting some of last years wishes. December first wasn't as bad for me. We'll see how tomorrow goes. The Holidays are still spattered with bouts of sadness for Job and I. Could you help the boys to not catch on to that. I want them to remember Christmas like I remember it. It is a time full of anticipation (so much that you think you might explode if you have to wait any longer). It is a time when it is so easy to feel the spirit, if you let it. I'd like them to remember that. I'd also like it to be a time of growth this year (and I don't mean from all the chocolates and cookies). Could you grant us all a little time for introspection and self improvement? I look at all the amazing people around me and I am grateful for their example. I am grateful for their patience and understanding. I am grateful for the impact others have on my and my family's lives.
We have had a great year. A little less stress than the year before. Could you keep that trend going? We've had a few more laughs than the year before, made a few more friends than the year before, and the amount of love, well that is greater than the year before as well. The boys are larger than the year before. That I could do without. Could you stunt that a little? It's getting hard to snuggle.
So, could I ask for just one last thing? As you know I've seen a lot of people come and go while fumbling around on this earth. I've heard people around me say that they want to live a life free of regret. I'm certain that I will not be so fortunate as to live this life in such a way. There will be people I offend. There are mistakes I will make. I might even make someone sad; perhaps they will cry over something I say or do. But, without sounding morbid, and I have no intention of leaving any time soon, could you help me to live my life so that in my next life, when I meet those on the other side, who have gone before me and are cheering me on in my tougher moments, could you help me to not have regrets in that life. That is the moment where I want people to be pleased with the life I've lead. Not so much now.
I suppose that that is all. Have a safe trip tomorrow, the boys have cookies and milk for you, carrots for the reindeer and even a gallon of water for you to take in case someone doesn't put out their fire.
With Love,
Regina (and boys)
P.S. I could use some new boots and glue dots too but, the other stuff is more important.

I PASSED!

So, without knowing how to graph a parabola I took the test and passed with flying colors. I got the e-mail today (unofficial results of course) from the WEST-B testing center and I think my heart stopped. There was no way on a Monday I was ready to deal with the possibility that, perhaps, I didn't pass. But since Job and I share an "at-home" e-mail account I knew I needed to look at it before he did. So with great trepidation, I opened it. Ready to reschedule if need be. Luckily that wasn't the case! HOORAY FOR ME!

Does Anyone Out There Know How to Graph a Parabola?

I have eaten everything I can get my hands on: ice cream, sour dough bread, mashed potatoes, leftover Halloween candy, a box of gobstoppers left over form Madagascar 2...And none of it has helped me calm my anxiety, ease my ulcer or teach me how to graph a parabola. I do however know all the components and utilizations of y=mx+b, could tell you the probability of of drawing two diamonds in a row out of a deck of cards and could remind you to not dangle participles. Yes, the day has come. Tomorrow I take the single most important (and longest) test of my life since my SAT: the WEST-B entrance exam into the teaching program at UW. I'd love to say go Dawgs but I should probably wait for my test results...Now that I think of it what 1st grade teacher needs to graph a parabola anyway?

Holy Crap!

Last week we had the opportunity to explain the proverbial expression of, “our ox is in the mire,” to our children. More correctly our ox would have been in the crap, but we explained the adage to the boys nonetheless. Last Sunday as we should have been getting ready for Stake conference I sent my little one down stairs to put away some empty canning jars. He stood at the top of the stairs and declared, “Look Mom, a river.” At first I thought my washing machine had a leak but with closer inspection that would have been the preferred scenario.
What we found was that our septic tank had clogged producing a geyser of poo in our basement that then created a river of human refuse inches deep in our basement. I seem to remember just such a river in Dante’s Inferno. At least I wasn’t hanging upside down in excrement, just wading through it. Luckily my inability to keep up on the family laundry saved a large section of our basement from fecal contamination. It turns out four loads of laundry is just enough to dam up a stream of steaming sewage. See! Being bad at housekeeping can have its benefits!
So in nine hours we had our guest bed and bathroom completely gutted. We removed drywall, flooring, furniture and vanities. We scooped with shovels and scrubbed with bleach until the inside of my nose burned. Our neighbor came over to lend a hand, just one hand mind you, and he brought his teenage son. They even had the us over for a poop free dinner and the boys stayed for a movie as Job and I returned to our nightmare of a basement. The next day we used a machine that sucked all oxygen out of our house in order to remove the odd nursing home smell.
I surprisingly remained calm through the poopy debacle, and couldn’t help remembering my dad who once told me, after I wrecked a car, “sh*#@ happens!”

Do Tiger Barbs Take Antidepressants?

This weekend I watched a television program about the modern day prophet, Thomas S. Monson. In it he told a story about how at the age of fourteen he saved a drowning girl from the Provo River by dragging her by the hair onto his inner tube and paddling with his free hand to shore. He said that he was embarrassed by the grateful parents of the girl and he didn’t particularly appreciate all the hugs and kisses he received as thanks.
I too saved a life this weekend. My victim, however a cherished part of our family, had no hair to grab. And I have to say I wondered how I would resuscitate a fish. Yes Tiger, our last remaining fish must have been a little sad this weekend. If I could get my hands on some Zoloft samples I could drop them into his tank like Alka Seltzer. Sunday between televised sessions of the LDS Conference I figured it was time to tackle the fish tank. A house of order, right? So with Bucko Grandma’s help we started to disassemble, scrub plastic plants, clean the glass, get the algae off the heater and the fake sea turtles that Tiger has to romp with, and see if we could keep the last little swimmer happy. But No! When I went to get Tiger off the dinning room table where we had put his temporary bowl until his spacious ten gallons were habitable again he, was gone! I called to the boys, “Where is Tiger?” No one knew and then I saw it. Tiger’s lifeless little orange and black body stuck to the berber next to the table. He had jumped. Was his life really that bad? So the counselor in me kicked in (my parents must be proud of all the college they paid for) and without thinking I jumped into action, scooped up the fish and dropped him back into the bowl. He bobbed up and down a few times. How exactly do you do CPR on a fish? They have no lips. I settled for nudging him on the side and then it happened- he swam! A little crooked at first but then his strength came back and we quickly deposited his traumatized little body back to the safety of his tank. I had done it. I had saved Tiger’s life. Now that is impressive. Right? It could become the parable of the suicidal fish. If not a parable than a dang great story none the less. But, do I think this experience will be published in the Ensign? No. Do I think Tiger’s story will be told from pulpits (like the lady saving starfish)? No. Church news? No. But neither do I have to tell my kids that Tiger missed his friends at Petsmart and so we put him on the porcelain subway for a visit like all the fish before him. Funny how we are able to pick them up when convenient and we always find them!

Picture Day!

I remember once my mom making me wear the worst outfit ever for picture day. It was a striped turtle neck and brown pants. I'm not talking cute rainbow colors either. It was earthy: rust, mustard, olive, purple. All the way up to my neck in thin little stripes. Millions of them. She pulled my hair back in barrettes on either side but I thought it would be cooler to take just one side down and let it hang in front of my eye. Did I think she wouldn't find out? The pictures came home and I made up a story about one of the barrettes falling out in P.E. or recess, or something. I'll have to ask her if she bought the lie?
Well guess what? Tomorrow is picture day. The boys have their outfits picked out (they like them) and ready to go but what about me? I get my picture taken for the first time as faculty and I have nothing to wear! I started working at the boys elementary school a mile from my house. Though today I hit a little snag regarding office politics, politics in general and a situation with Job (I'm not even sure how I got involved; guilt by association I guess) the job makes me giddy! The kids are great. The teachers are great. My co-workers are a lot of fun to work with. I get to have a lunch date with my 6 year old anytime I want! What could be better? New clothes for picture day I guess. We'll see if I'm any cuter 25 years later. Chances are: no way! Even without the crazy stripes and colors.