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    <title>CSquaredPlus3</title>
    
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    <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:weblog-1654966</id>
    <updated>2009-11-10T13:13:05-07:00</updated>
    
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    <link rel="self" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/typepad/FFwU" type="application/atom+xml" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com" /><entry>
        <title>Resourceful</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/11/resourceful.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/11/resourceful.html" thr:count="29" thr:updated="2009-11-13T17:05:08-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7f3d970b</id>
        <published>2009-11-10T13:13:05-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-10T13:11:19-07:00</updated>
        <summary>When a four-year-old boy has his favorite Lego sword taken away because he's been "battacking" the dog and his brothers and his parents, make sure he doesn't see where it's been stashed. It's possible, he'll pretend he doesn't miss the...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Ross Boy Vocab" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="resourceful" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="sword" />
        
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>When a four-year-old boy has his favorite Lego sword taken away because he's been "battacking" the dog <strong>and</strong> his brothers <strong>and</strong> his parents, make sure he doesn't see where it's been stashed.  It's possible, he'll pretend he doesn't miss the sword for a day or two, then when you least expect it... </p><p>...curious noises are heard coming from his room, which is located above the office where his mother sits quietly writing.  Not terrible noises... just curious.</p><p>The noises cease and the four-year-old boy casually enters the office and ponders aloud, "I wish I could fly," as he sighs.</p><p>His mother smiles and replies sympathetically, "I wish I could fly sometimes too, honey."</p><p>An hour later, the mother makes one of her routine patrols of the house, picking up toys to be returned to their respective bins while dusting banisters with her forearms as she motors up the stairs.</p><p>Upon entering the four-year-old boy's closet, the mother discovers a project has been underway.  A project that had <em>not</em> been approved because it would have most likely resulted in severe injury or death.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf3088833012875709f1d970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Attempt to reach the sword." class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf3088833012875709f1d970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf3088833012875709f1d970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Attempt to reach the sword." /></a> <br /> </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7a6b970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="The ladder." class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7a6b970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7a6b970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="The ladder." /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7afd970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="The climbing rope." class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7afd970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a66f7afd970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="The climbing rope." /></a> </p><p>Perched on the very top shelf of his closet, was exactly where the four-year-old's father had stashed the sword... for safekeeping.</p><p>There were no injuries or deaths, and the boy and his sword have been reunited.  The mother had cocktail hour early that day.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330128757140be970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0014" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330128757140be970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330128757140be970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> <br /> </p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Twenty Years</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/11/twenty.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/11/twenty.html" thr:count="39" thr:updated="2009-11-12T10:13:45-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529d2a970b</id>
        <published>2009-11-04T07:40:15-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-04T07:46:15-07:00</updated>
        <summary>November 4, 1989 Twenty years later... Happy Anniversary, Chris. I like you. You're fun. Love, The Other Chris [the girl]</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Marriage" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="anniversary" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="love" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="marriage" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="twenty years" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><strong><span style="font-size: 14px;">November 4, 1989</span></strong><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529a81970b-pi" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="After the wedding 11-4-89" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529a81970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529a81970b-pi" style="width: 470px;" title="After the wedding 11-4-89" /></a> </p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529b48970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Over the threshold 11-4-89" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529b48970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529b48970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Over the threshold 11-4-89" /></a> </p>

<p />

<p /><strong><span style="font-size: 15px;">Twenty years later...</span></strong><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529c7b970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Over the threshold - November 2009" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529c7b970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6529c7b970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Over the threshold - November 2009" /></a> </p>

<p />

<p>Happy Anniversary, Chris.  I like you.  You're fun. </p>

<p>Love,<br />

The Other Chris [the girl]<br /> </p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Good Sports</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/11/good-sports.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/11/good-sports.html" thr:count="25" thr:updated="2009-11-13T17:08:04-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a69f63ea970c</id>
        <published>2009-11-02T08:53:50-07:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-02T08:49:45-07:00</updated>
        <summary>From the beginning, Middle Boy said he didn't want to do it. Oldest Boy and 4-Year-Old Boy were in. Mary [the dog] seems to enjoy the attention when I fiddle with her, so she's usually cooperative as long as her...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Family" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Holiday" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="costumes" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Halloween" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="mistakes" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Star Wars" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="The Wizard of Oz" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>From the beginning, Middle Boy said he didn't want to do it.  Oldest Boy and 4-Year-Old Boy were in.  Mary [the dog] seems to enjoy the attention when I fiddle with her, so she's usually cooperative as long as her outfit isn't too tight.</p><p>I managed to talk Middle Boy into wearing the costume for pictures only.  Oldest Boy tried to persuade him to wear it trick-or-treating, but Middle Boy was firm.  He wanted to be Plo Koon, a Star Wars Jedi Master.  As far as he was concerned, his brothers and the dog could dress in <em>The Wizard of Oz</em> costumes I so lovingly purchased.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a52a8970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="The Wizard of Oz for Halloween" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a52a8970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a52a8970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="The Wizard of Oz for Halloween" /></a> </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a53c9970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Oldest Boy [12-Tin Man], Middle Boy [10 - Scarecrow], 4YO Boy [Cowardly Lion], and Mary as Dorothy" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a53c9970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a53c9970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Oldest Boy [12-Tin Man], Middle Boy [10 - Scarecrow], 4YO Boy [Cowardly Lion], and Mary as Dorothy" /></a> </p><p>The Tin Man, Cowardly Lion and Dorothy embraced their roles!</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a54e2970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Oldset Boy [12] and Mary" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a54e2970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a54e2970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Oldset Boy [12] and Mary" /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a69fdaf3970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="4YO Boy as Cowardly Lion" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a69fdaf3970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a69fdaf3970c-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="4YO Boy as Cowardly Lion" /></a> </p><p>The Scarecrow?  Not so much...</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a69fdccc970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Middle Boy [10] not happy as the Scarecrow" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a69fdccc970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a69fdccc970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Middle Boy [10] not happy as the Scarecrow" /></a> </p><p><br /> After we took pictures, Oldest Boy began feeling... awkward.  I think I said, "Adorable!" a few too many times.  Middle Boy quickly changed into his Plo Koon costume.  Oldest Boy watched his brother don a cool mask and a light saber.  His feet were growing colder by the second.</p><p>"I don't think I want to trick-or-treat as the Tin Man."</p><p>"You look awesome!  With [4YO Boy] and Mary, you'll be the hit of the neighborhood.  Just wear it with confidence!"</p><p>His eyes started to well.  Chris, standing behind Oldest Boy, looked at me and gently shook his head, as if to say, "Surrender, Dorothy."</p><p>"What are you going to be?" I asked.</p><p>"I can be a Jedi. It's easy."</p><p>Oldest Boy scrambled, removed his make-up and appeared on the front porch ready to trick-or-treat as a Jedi.  Our Cowardly Lion was confused and disappointed.  At four-years-old, he was young enough to want to remain in his costume, but old enough to know he'd been duped.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a68b8970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Two Jedis and a duped Cowardly Lion" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a68b8970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a64a68b8970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Two Jedis and a duped Cowardly Lion" /></a> <br /> </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6a03b86970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="float: right;"><img alt="Halloween 2006" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a6a03b86970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a6a03b86970c-250wi" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px 5px; width: 275px;" title="Halloween 2006" /></a> Mary dressed as Princess Leia for Halloween three years ago.  I thought it would be inappropriate for her to be Jabba's slave Leia [in the metal bikini], but I'm rethinking for next year...</p><p><strong>[Click on all photos to enlarge.]</strong></p><p> </p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Finding My People Is Like Learning to Drive A Stick Shift</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/finding-my-people-is-like-learning-to-drive-a-stick-shift.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/finding-my-people-is-like-learning-to-drive-a-stick-shift.html" thr:count="41" thr:updated="2009-11-13T17:10:04-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a6340646970b</id>
        <published>2009-10-29T12:03:48-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-10-29T12:02:00-06:00</updated>
        <summary>I thought I had temporary arrested development a year or so ago. I'm concerned it's not so temporary. When I was kid, making friends was easy. Whoever I sat next to in class was my friend. Whoever lived on my...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Stress" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="arrested development" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="friendships" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="stick shift" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>I thought I had<em><strong> </strong>temporary<strong> </strong></em>arrested development a year or so ago.  I'm concerned it's not so temporary.</p><p>When I was kid, making friends was easy.  Whoever I sat next to in class was my friend.  Whoever lived on my street was my friend.  It didn't matter if we had opposing interests.  Other than the joy and exhilaration we both received while playing with matches, my childhood friend, Samantha, and I had very little in common.  The story is similar for the friends I made in junior high, high school and college.  Different sports, different boy or girl attractions, different styles and different quirks.  We were simply friends.  </p><p>Of all of those friends, I remain very close to a handful, and even fewer allow me <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/04/range-of-motion.html" target="_blank">full range of motion</a>.  I feel thankful for those important relationships, but I enjoy meeting people and making <em>new</em> friends.</p><p>For many reasons, the past 12-15 years have afforded me few opportunities to cultivate new relationships.  We've lived in four states, have had to help our sons through some challenges [everyone's doing great now], and priorities have made themselves clear to Chris and me.  I've<em> met</em> several people, it's the nurturing and cultivating of the new relationships where I seem to fail.</p><p>Like learning to drive a stick shift.</p><p>I get excited and rev the engine, a little too much gas, then I pop the clutch and take off with a giant jerking motion, followed by several smaller jerking motions.  Then I slow down, because I came on too strong, but I don't get the clutch, the brake and the release from the gas <em>just</em> right, so I kill the engine.  Not enough.  Then I try again, still too much gas, I jerk and lunge, apologize for the whiplash and make promises of a smoother ride in the future, I pull back on the gas and kill the engine... again.</p><p>I assume a level of intimacy too soon, then I recoil and appear aloof.  My throttle's messed up.  I've noticed this as I've reconnected with old friends, and as I've made new friends in person or on the internet.  As a kid, I didn't put any thought into approaching others with a genuine enthusiasm for making new friends.  As an adult, I think it freaks people out.</p><p>Often, I truly don't have the time to cultivate relationships at a moderate pace.  It's speed dating for me, baby.  When I have the time, I'm all your's and I try to pour a month [or more] of "dates" into a brief conversation or email exchange.  Then, I fall off radar.  Other times, I'm overly-aware of my arrested development because it feels like it's been so long since I've had a consistent and moderate pace in life, so I disappear out of insecurity and embarrassment.  Paralyzed by what to say or not say.</p><p /><p /><p>I'm thankful for my tent-post-friends, the ones who afford me <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/04/range-of-motion.html" target="_blank">full range of motion</a>.  With them, my tarp is large and strong.  They all live states away, so If it wasn't for the telephone and email, I'd be permanently, socially disabled.  I've gotten good at having an intense five-minute relationship with the grocery store cashier, the girls and boys who work at various cosmetic and fragrance counters, as well as anyone who's trying to sell me ANYTHING.  One of my tent-post-friends admits to doing the same thing, because she too is isolated and busy.</p><p>I suppose what I'm trying to say is, if you see me jerking spastically towards you, make some room and I'll do the best I can to not hit you too hard, shift smoother and not kill the engine.  Thank you.</p><p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>I Didn't Finish My Post On Procrastination</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/i-didnt-finish-my-post-on-procrastination.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/i-didnt-finish-my-post-on-procrastination.html" thr:count="29" thr:updated="2009-10-26T08:36:20-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a667dddf970c</id>
        <published>2009-10-21T18:37:21-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-10-21T18:37:21-06:00</updated>
        <summary>I had picked up the boys from school, stopped at the liquor store, was driving home and called Chris to touch base... Me: Anything new? Chris: No. You? Me: Not really. I've had an unproductive day. Questioned everything I wrote....</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Stress" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="insecurity" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="procrastination" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="wikipedia" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="writing" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>I had picked up the boys from school, stopped at the liquor store, was driving home and called Chris to touch base...</p>

<p><strong>Me:</strong>  Anything new?</p>

<p><strong>Chris:</strong>  No. You?</p>

<p><strong>Me:</strong>  Not really.  I've had an unproductive day.  Questioned everything I wrote.  I attempted three blog posts because I was procrastinating working on other things.  The first one on <em>Why I Blog</em> turned into <em>Why I Write</em> and it felt too personal.  I wanted to tap into the "attention whore" theory <a href="http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2009/10/19/the-therapist-of-the-blogosphere/" target="_blank">Neil blogged about</a> along with <a href="http://www.notestoself.us/2009/10/cracking-code.html" target="_blank">Kyran's post</a> -- which I still need to forward to you -- but I got sidetracked.  I don't have enough time to do all this.</p>

<p>THEN, I started a post on <em>Procrastination</em> and I got all freaked out that I have a psychological disorder after Googling it.  Wikipedia nailed me.  But I found some great articles on how to resolve my reasons for procrastinating.  So that was good... I still have issues though...</p>

<p>THEN, I thought I need to address my running blog because I haven't posted since the last race, but I want to let that blog go, so I need to post something on CSquaredPlus3...like... about how you're running with me now and I'm trying to talk you into doing the Triple Trail Challenge next summer because Supermodel says she's out.</p>

<p>I hardly even looked at my other projects...</p>

<p><strong>Chris: </strong> I think you should finish the <em>Procrastination</em> post and title it "I Didn't Finish My Post On Procrastination".</p>

<p><strong>Me:</strong>  And have a blank page?</p>

<p><strong>Chris:</strong>  No.  Post what you have written so far.</p>

<p><strong>Me:</strong>  I only titled it, then I went to Google so I could paste a definition at the top of the post.  That's when I got freaked out and had to diagnose myself.</p>

<p><strong>Chris:</strong>  So you have nothing?</p>

<p><strong>Me:</strong>  I have nothing.</p>

<p><strong>Chris:</strong>  So... the content is... light.</p>

<p><strong>Me:</strong>  Very.</p><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p>

<p />

<p>Per <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Procrastination" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a> [Which, according to my sons, is not a good source because, "...ANYONE can post information on there!"]</p><blockquote><p><strong>Procrastination</strong> is the deferment of actions or tasks to a later time. Psychologists often cite this human behavior as a mechanism for coping with the anxiety associated with starting or completing any task or decision. <sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-0"><span>[</span>1<span>]</span></sup>
Psychology researchers use three criteria to categorize
procrastination: for a behavior to be classified as procrastination, it
must be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1"><span>[</span>2<span>]</span></sup></p>

<p>For an individual, procrastination may result in stress, a sense of guilt, the loss of personal productivity, the creation of crisis
and disapproval from others for not fulfilling one's responsibilities
or commitments. These combined feelings can promote further
procrastination. While it is normal
for people to procrastinate to some degree, it becomes a problem when
it impedes normal functioning. <span style="background-color: #ffff00;">*</span><strong><span style="background-color: #ffff00;">Chronic procrastination may be a sign of
an underlying psychological disorder.</span></strong></p>

</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center;">**********</p>

<p><strong><span style="background-color: #ffff00;">*</span>  </strong>Did you read that?  I'm SO freaked out.</p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Fit</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/pretty-sick.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/pretty-sick.html" thr:count="35" thr:updated="2009-11-12T10:23:27-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a63fe17e970c</id>
        <published>2009-10-16T11:13:37-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-10-16T13:57:30-06:00</updated>
        <summary>We had the stomach flu in our house last week. First Middle Boy, then me, then the 4-Year-Old Boy. It was a 48-hour, violent flu. There was pain, moaning, dramatic proclamations -- "I'm going to die!" -- and lots and...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Stress" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="fits" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="flu" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="guilt" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="stress" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="vomit" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>We had the stomach flu in our house last week.  First Middle Boy, then me, then the 4-Year-Old Boy.  It was a 48-hour, violent flu.  There was pain, moaning, dramatic proclamations -- "I'm going to die!" -- and lots and lots of laundry.</p><p>It began with a call from the school informing me that Middle Boy had been vomiting.  The 4-Year-Old Boy and I rushed to the school to rescue Middle Boy.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I was a little irritated when I found out that he hadn't even made it to a trash can.  He threw up sitting in his chair in Strings Class.  He told me he missed his cello, and only hit the bow.  I reminded him, <em>lovingly</em>, that he was TEN years old and next time he gets sick at school, he should GET UP and try to hit a receptacle.</p><p>Middle Boy was very ill.  I was a compassionate mother and nurse, helping him get to the toilet, brushing his teeth for him, wiping his face, feeding him ice chips, and providing bowls and Ziploc bags for security in case he didn't make it to the bathroom.</p><p>It finally appeared his stomach was calming.  Over the course of four hours, he drank ginger ale and ate a few soda crackers as he watched <em>SpongeBob Squarepants</em> on the couch.  I was happy to see color in his cheeks and hear him laugh instead of moan.  Oldest Boy and 4-Year-Old-Boy were in bed for the night.  Middle Boy said his stomach still hurt a little, but he was ready for bed.  I tucked him in, showed him where the security vomit bowl and Ziploc bag were, and told him to come to our room or call us if he needed ANYTHING.  His father and I were there to help him!  <em>Poor, poor child</em>, I thought.</p><p>Five minutes later, as I was climbing into my own bed, Middle Boy appeared in my doorway.</p><p>"I threw up."</p><p>"I'm sorry, honey."</p><p>"In my bed."</p><p>"WHAT?"</p><p>It was horrible.  Chris and I obviously had not communicated well about how much ginger ale or how many soda crackers we were each giving Middle Boy.  There were at least two liters of stomach contents all over the bed, the carpet, the wall, the nooks and crannies of the bed <strong>frame</strong>, beadboard and baseboards... it might have even been on the ceiling fan.</p><p>"CHRIIIIIIS!  I NEED HELP!"</p><p>Chris ran up the stairs.</p><p>"He puked again.  EVERYWHERE.  He needs a shower.  He's already dripped to our room and back to his."</p><p>Middle Boy looked at me sheepishly, "Sorry, Mom.  I thought I was done."</p><p>I know he didn't mean to.  He was tired, probably very comfortable in his bed, and half asleep when he threw up.  But there was something about the brightness of his eyes and the rosiness of his cheeks, that made me think he COULD have gotten up.</p><p>I started cleaning the mess and the more I cleaned, the angrier I became.  I stomped and slammed as I moved wet linens from room to room and searched for the proper cleaning supplies.  I had "sick" fluids running down my arms and on my forehead.  I had been SO careful as I cleaned the vomit messes earlier in the day.  My fate was sealed.</p><p>As I continued to clean, I yelled weird things at Chris and Middle Boy.  I rarely use foul language in front of the kids but I said <em>ass</em> and <em>shit</em> and <em>hell</em> and <em>damn</em> and maybe even the Big Daddy of bad words.  I barked at Chris about picking up Mary's dog shit.  Because, you know, at 10:00 p.m. after your child has puked ALL OVER HIS ROOM, it's important that the dog shit is picked up in the backyard.</p><p>I've cleaned up vomit messes more than once.  All three of the boys have thrown up in their beds.  For many reasons that I clearly see in hindsight, this particular crime scene pushed me over the edge.  <strong>I had a fit</strong>.</p><p>Middle Boy went back to bed in a restored room and made wide-eyed promises to hit the toilet or the vomit bowl... next time.  He was fine that night, although he threw up again the following night.  I'm happy to report Middle Boy came into our room and announced that he needed to vomit.   Chris did a standing broad jump from our bed, ensuring Middle Boy was escorted to our toilet and properly aimed.  No fuss, no muss.</p><p>I apologized the next morning to the entire house for my fit.  The only one who didn't seem phased was 4-Year-Old Boy, probably because he's an expert fit-thrower.</p><p>Please tell me you you've thrown a fit.  As an adult.  With an audience.  While sober.</p><p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>When A Dog Goes Down and Why I Hate Team Sports</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/when-a-dog-goes-down-and-why-i-hate-team-sports.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/when-a-dog-goes-down-and-why-i-hate-team-sports.html" thr:count="32" thr:updated="2009-10-15T11:58:11-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a624a65a970c</id>
        <published>2009-10-09T13:58:34-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-10-09T15:28:43-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Sitting in the office, my back to the french doors leading to the front yard, I noticed a person running quickly towards our house in the reflection on my computer screen. I turned around and saw a tall man wearing...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Mary" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Stress" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Winchester" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="dogs" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Nobel Peace Prize" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="stress" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="team sports" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>Sitting in the office, my back to the french doors leading to the front yard, I noticed a person running quickly towards our house in the reflection on my computer screen.  I turned around and saw a tall man wearing a Snowbird baseball cap taking long, purposeful strides.  He resembled James Taylor.  I felt safe.</p><p>I met him at the front door as he reached for the door bell.</p><p>"Do you know who's dog that is?" he asked as he pointed to the too still, cream-colored, fluffy animal lying in the street.</p><p>I looked where he was pointing.  "OHMYGOD!  YES!"</p><p>Our neighbor's dog had broken through his electric fence and was hit by a car.  The tall man witnessed a white truck hit the dog, throwing the dog several feet.  The truck didn't stop.</p><p>I called my neighbor and spoke with one of her sons.  When her son told me his mother wasn't home, I didn't tell him what had happened to their family pet.  The dog was still alive but had clearly been seriously injured.  I called my neighbor on her cell phone several times over the next ten minutes, as I simultaneously fetched a towel, wrapped the dog, and had panicked discussions with the tall man about where I would take the injured animal for help if my neighbor didn't answer.</p><p>I finally reached my neighbor and she and her husband were only a moment away.  The tall man and I were hunched over the dog when they pulled up in their car.  Within a couple of minutes, the dog was on his way to the nearest animal hospital.</p><p>I'm not a dog person, mostly because I'm busy... and a neat freak, but I have tremendous compassion for animals.  We have <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/07/mary-is-our-dog.html" target="_blank">Mary</a> and I joke about my desire for her to wear underwear [for hygiene purposes].  Chris still claims he plans to make a hat out of her when she passes because he spent $8,000 to <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/07/mary-is-our-dog.html" target="_blank">save her life one summer</a>.</p><p>There's nothing worse than seeing a dog suffer.  When our neighbor's dog had been hit, I was numb with fear and panic.  I managed to do what needed to be done but my heart was pounding and I felt like I might faint from the overwhelming emotions.  I wanted to yell at the tall man, "Help him!  Fix him!  He's hurting!"  I <em>might</em> have actually yelled those things.  It's kind of a blur.</p><p>It's a good thing I'm not an ER doctor.  I'd be no good at that.  It's not that I don't want to help -- because I do -- it's that the intense empathy I experience nearly cripples me.  It's also the fear of not knowing precisely what to do.  Analysis paralysis.  I don't want to do the wrong thing, especially when the stakes are high.</p><p>Just like team sports...</p><p>Volleyball terrifies me.  I've never learned how to hit the ball without hurting my forearms.  I'm the one you don't want on your team because even if the ball comes directly to me, I'll scream to my teammates, "GET IT!"  We've declined many invitations to play on a couple's volleyball league.  Chris knows better.  He's seen me panic in backyard pool volleyball games.  I can't handle the pressure.</p><p>It's the same with softball.  I have vivid memories of playing left field for the Green Eyed Ladies in Winchester, Indiana, when I was a kid.  Hated it.  The ball would land and roll practically to my feet -- I'd look at the right fielder and scream, "GET IT!"  I threw like a girl [still do] and struck out every time I was at bat.  A couple's softball league is also out of the question.</p><p>Had the neighbors not been so close to home, I would have managed to get the suffering dog to the animal hospital.  My adrenalin kept me moving, although I was spinning a bit, and asking the tall man redundant questions and repeating, "This is terrible.  This is terrible.  This is really, really terrible."  Babbling seems to frequently be my modus operandi<span style="font-weight: bold;" />.</p><p>I spoke with my neighbor and the dog is alive.  His condition has been changed from critical to stable.  When he returns home, I'm requesting that they up the juice on his electric fence.</p><p>I may not be able to be crowned The-Queen-of-Grace-Under-Pressure, but I'm always well-intended.  If history repeats itself, I have a shot at being the next Nobel Peace Prize winner.</p><p /><p /><p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Be honest...</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/be-honest.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/10/be-honest.html" thr:count="54" thr:updated="2009-11-11T10:30:48-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b558d9970b</id>
        <published>2009-10-02T13:29:09-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-10-02T13:28:57-06:00</updated>
        <summary>I like comfortable shoes. I'm also a typical gal who likes to look pulled together with my own sense of style. It's a very casual style that I have, but I feel silly if I try to dress like a...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Beauty" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Anthroplogie" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="comfortable shoes" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Dansko" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Frye" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="ugly shoes" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>I like comfortable shoes.  I'm also a typical gal who likes to look pulled together with my own sense of style.  It's a very casual style that I have, but I feel silly if I try to dress like a Junior League-er or keep up with the trendsetters when in reality I'm a quasi-urban-granola meets wanna-be-urban-cowgirl who loves her pearls and a well structured blouse once in a while [maybe that <em>is</em> a <em>bit</em> Junior League-ish].</p><p>I don't work outside the home.  Some days I only leave the house to pick up the older boys from school, so it's just 4-year-old boy and me together... all day.  Other days I take kids to music lessons, karate, run errands [not fancy places], and occasionally meet Chris for lunch.  I'm usually puttering around the house and yard [<a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/09/puttering.html" target="_blank">read here</a>], doing the things that most stay-at-home parents do to keep the house running smoothly.</p><p>Again, I like comfortable shoes.  I've tried to deviate [<a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/08/practical-shoes.html" target="_blank">read here</a>], but I always return to comfortable.</p><p>When I went to Texas a couple of weeks ago for my 25th high school reunion, I packed what I thought were very cute [and comfortable] shoes.  I wore a pair of Dansko Mary Jane's on the plane and changed into a pair of Dansko green strappy sandals, <em>with a heel</em>, when I arrived at my friend Vicki's house because it was hotter than I expected.</p><p>As I unpacked, my two friends, Vicki and Rena, were there chatting as we played show-and-tell with clothes, photos and hair drama.  I showed them the shoes I brought and how I planned to incorporate them into my reunion outfits [this was a very casual reunion].</p><p>Vicki said, "Those look like something my grandma would wear."</p><p>Rena chose her words carefully, "It's just...  well... you look like you stepped out of a <a href="http://www.columbia.com/" target="_blank">Columbia</a> catalog."</p><p>I was shocked.  "You don't think these are cute?!  I'm not a Dallas-girl, ya' know.  This is <em>me</em>.  I live in Utah and I schlep kids around all day.  My life is very casual... and sporty."</p><p>Rena and Vicki wouldn't budge so I didn't wear anything Dansko to the reunion functions.  But I wore my comfortable shoes the rest of the time in Texas.</p><p>My <a href="http://www.dansko.com" target="_blank">Dansko</a> collection:</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b5f3c0970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0038" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b5f3c0970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b5f3c0970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><p>They're not that bad.  Are they?</p><p>I have cute Non-Dansko shoes too.  A few kitten heels, strappy flats, and a couple pairs of I-Look-Ridiculous-In-These-Because-They're-So-Not-Me-But-My-Husband-Loves-Them high heels.</p><p>Maybe it's time for me to change brands of comfortable shoes.  I asked a gal at <a href="http://www.anthropologie.com/anthro/index.jsp" target="_blank">Anthropologie</a> if she liked the Dansko Mary Jane's I was wearing the other day.  She said she did.  I figured she would because... she works at Anthropologie.  I needed the easy stroke.  She mentioned, politely of course, that I might find some comfortable, <em>but up to date</em>, styles on the <a href="http://www.thefryecompany.com/" target="_blank">Frye</a> website.</p><p>I don't know.  Are they that bad?  Be honest.  [Except you, Vicki, Rena, and Dallas-girls.]</p><p /><p /><p /><p> </p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Barbie Dream House And The Chocolate Room</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/barbie-dream-house.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/barbie-dream-house.html" thr:count="18" thr:updated="2009-10-03T17:27:25-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5a68c93970b</id>
        <published>2009-09-29T10:31:11-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-09-29T10:31:26-06:00</updated>
        <summary>The little girl I used to strip with in Winchester, Indiana, -- Debbie -- recently found me on Facebook. It was a glorious day! We fell out of touch nearly 35 years ago, but the memories are crisp, warm and...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Indiana" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Then and Now" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Winchester" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="1970s" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Baby Alive" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Barbie Dream House" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Fantasy" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Pure Imagination" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Willy Wonka" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>The little girl I used to strip with in Winchester, Indiana, -- Debbie -- recently found me on Facebook.  It was a glorious day!  We fell out of touch nearly 35 years ago, but the memories are crisp, warm and happy.  I LOVE when it's a <em>mutual</em> Facebook connection.</p>

<p>I forwarded Debbie the post I wrote about our stripping. [<a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/08/when-i-was-youn.html" target="_blank">Read here</a>.]  Thankfully, she liked it.</p>

<p>Debbie was more than a childhood stripping friend...  I loved playing with Debbie because she was smart, fun and imaginative.  She also had the nicest mother who was permissive but not in a reckless way.  As a single parent, Debbie's mother did a wonderful job providing structure, surrounding Debbie with love, encouraging her... and giving her the <em>coolest</em> room and <em>stuff</em>.</p>

<p /><p class="asset asset-image"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5ff7bbd970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="float: right;"><img alt="Raw-1209129106" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5ff7bbd970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5ff7bbd970c-200wi" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px 5px; width: 150px;" title="Raw-1209129106" /></a>
</p> Debbie had a canopy bed in her girly-girl room and all the best girly toys.  She received a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby_Alive" target="_blank">Baby Alive</a> doll one year for Christmas along with a pack of real disposable baby diapers.  We fed and changed that doll again and again and again.  I think we may have clogged her plumbing because we didn't always provide the doll with the recommended bottle of water between spoon feedings to wash out the red and green Cream of Wheat-like food.  Debbie's mother gently warned us, always with a smile, "Girls, Baby Alive might not work properly... and she might start to smell... if you don't follow the directions."  But she allowed us the choice to gorge Baby Alive.  And gorge her, we did.<br /><p>The item I coveted most of Debbie's was her Barbie Dream House.  I think it was technically the Barbie Townhouse, but it was MY <em>dream house</em>.  It had three stories, an elevator, and cool girly decor.  If I could have twitched my nose like Samantha on <em>Bewitched</em> or blinked like Jeanie on <em>I Dream of Jeanie</em> and made myself Barbie size, I would have been prancing around that dream house in my tiny, tight, high-heel Barbie shoes, and my mini-skirt with figure flattering blouse, dusting furniture while sipping a cup of tea from a teeny-tiny cup and saucer.  Trust me, I tried.  I twitched and blinked so often as a kid, I'm sure I appeared to have a tick.</p>

<p>I would have twitched or blinked Debbie into the scene... as Skipper.  Sorry, Debbie.</p>Today my dream house would look much different than the Liberace-style house I desired in the 70s. [Although a part of me still enjoys sequins, feathers and over the top opulence.  Like a part of me would also like to live in Willy Wonka's factory, or the land of Oz.  Fantasy.]  I've learned that bigger isn't better.  It's more to maintain.<br /><p>I never had my own Barbie Dream House, but I'm thankful to Debbie for graciously sharing hers.  I'm also thankful for Debbie's willingness and shared desire to explore our fantasies, stretch our imaginations and her mother's appropriate and loving support. </p><span style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">I was saddened to learn that Debbie's mother passed away in 1999.  I
would have liked her to know that a day with her and Debbie, was like entering the <strong>Chocolate Room</strong>.</span></span></span>

<p><object height="290" width="470"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RZ-uV72pQKI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="290" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RZ-uV72pQKI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="470" /></object></p>

<p />

<strong><span style="font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span></strong></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Reunion</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/the-reunion.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/the-reunion.html" thr:count="23" thr:updated="2009-11-11T12:50:10-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a591bbcb970b</id>
        <published>2009-09-23T13:12:53-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-09-23T13:12:53-06:00</updated>
        <summary>I graduated from a small high school in Justin, Texas, 25 years ago. My parents moved from Arizona to Texas the summer between my sophomore and junior year. I was once again, the new girl. It really wasn't a bad...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Then and Now" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Travel" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="aging" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="friends" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="frizzy hair" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="reunions" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>I graduated from a small high school in Justin, Texas, 25 years ago.  My parents moved from Arizona to Texas the summer between my sophomore and junior year.  I was once again, <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/02/february-1978.html" target="_blank">the new girl</a>.  It really wasn't a bad thing, the moving.  </p><p>The move prior to junior year was my third school change -- not excessive in my opinion -- and I'm thankful for the exposure to different states [Indiana, Arizona, Texas], the resulting close friendship I have with my brother, and the special friends and memories I've gained along the way.  I feel the same about the moves I've made with Chris during the past 20 years.  I've been enriched, not robbed, by the occasional move.</p><p>As a person who loves to write, I have a pile of experiences and observations to tap into and build upon.  I feel thankful for the abundant material.</p><p>Because I didn't attend my high school for all four years, and I linked arms with a steady boyfriend shortly after arriving to Texas [a very good person who is happily married today], I don't have too many shared experiences outside of classroom time with my graduating class.  As I made my way around my 25th high school reunion, happily hugging and greeting old friends and classmates, I wasn't surprised when a few of the kids didn't remember me.  One guy, who I thought I knew fairly well because I was a lifeguard at our neighborhood pool, I knew his high school girlfriend, and my mother was friends with his mother, actually said, NICE TO MEET YOU! as he left the party Saturday night.  I just smiled and said, "It was nice to see you again."</p><p>Another guy who dated one of my best friends, Vicki [the gal I stayed with while I was in Texas for the reunion], didn't remember me at all.  He was very nice to me at the reunion.  We were talking about my braces and I commented, "...it was either boobs or braces...".  He said, "I think you made a mistake.  Next time you have a choice like that, call me.  You should have gone for the boobs."  I liked him, even though he doesn't have a clue who I am.</p><p>It was good.  The reunion.  There are a few people I didn't get to talk with enough.  I assume others feel the same.  It was impossible to <em>touch</em> everyone in one or two short evenings and feel satiated.  We need a reunion week.  Then again... maybe we don't.</p><p>I drove past my family's old house and places that held powerful memories.  I was stirred, but not shaken. </p><p>I was able to spend time with a friend I used to lifeguard with -- <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/06/forty-two.html" target="_blank">Lynn P. Carlson</a> [the P. stands for pretty].  The day I arrived in Texas it rained.  We were at a bar on that warm, muggy evening and Lynn was trying to remember the last name of a guy we both knew.  She said, "Remember?  He had frizzy hair."  Then she looked at me and said, "No offense, Chrisy."  I love Lynn P. Carlson.  And again, not enough time.</p><p><strong><span style="font-size: 11px;">[LPC is one of the few people who make me forget I have braces.  She makes me THAT happy.  Frizzy hair and all.]</span></strong></p><p /><p class="asset asset-image"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a592245a970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: block;"><img alt="Lynn P. Carlson and me and my frizzy hair." class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a592245a970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a592245a970b-500wi" style="margin: 0px; width: 470px;" title="Lynn P. Carlson and me and my frizzy hair." /></a>
</p> <p /><p class="asset asset-image"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5927e00970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="float: right;"><br /></a>
</p> It was great simply being with my girlfriends.  Looking at clothes, giving each other honest feedback about appearances, thoughts, feelings, and life's problems.  I talk on the phone frequently with these girls, but to feel them physically and share laughs was long overdue.<p /><p class="asset asset-image"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a592802b970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: block;"><img alt="Vicki and Rena - looking at outfits and pictures" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a592802b970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a592802b970b-500wi" style="margin: 0px; width: 470px;" title="Vicki and Rena - looking at outfits and pictures" /></a>
</p><p /><p class="asset asset-image"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5929ff6970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: block;"><img alt="Rena, me and Ashley" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5929ff6970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5929ff6970b-500wi" style="margin: 0px; width: 470px;" title="Rena, me and Ashley" /></a>
</p> <p>I sobbed as I sat in the airport waiting for my plane.  I called Chris and told him how I felt.  He was so compassionate.</p><p>I arrived home after the kids were in bed Sunday evening.  I went in their rooms and kissed them, even waking up my 4-year-old after Chris rolled his eyes and asked me not to -- he'd been ornery earlier in the evening.  Imagine that?</p><p>There's no place like home, and it's true that you can't go back... but I will return to the next reunion.  Maybe with boobs... not braces.</p><p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Jacket</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/the-jacket.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/the-jacket.html" thr:count="39" thr:updated="2009-11-11T12:58:53-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b3c63970b</id>
        <published>2009-09-13T22:53:39-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-09-13T22:53:39-06:00</updated>
        <summary>[I wrote this post for my other blog "See Chrisy Run", but thought I'd post it here too.] Supermodel and I each became proud owners of the Triple Trail Challenge "trophy" jacket on Saturday. The jacket was awarded to participants...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Fitness" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Supermodel" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="goals" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Mid Mountain Marathon" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="trail running" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Triple Trail Challenge" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p><em>[I wrote this post for my other blog "<a href="http://seechrisyrun.com" target="_blank">See Chrisy Run</a>", but thought I'd post it here too.]</em></p><p>Supermodel and I each became proud owners of the <a href="http://www.mountaintrails.org/2009/03/triple-trail-challenge-3-event-stage-race/" target="_blank">Triple Trail Challenge</a>
"trophy" jacket on Saturday. The jacket was awarded to participants who
successfully completed the three required events.  We ran our third
race, <a href="http://www.mountaintrails.org/2009/03/mid-mountain-marathon-september-12/" target="_blank">Mid Mountain Marathon</a>, Saturday morning.  It was much more
difficult than we expected.</p><p>I won't give a blow-by-blow, but 25
miles of the 26.2 were on singletrack.  Rocky, root-ey, hilly,
singletrack.  When I crossed the finish line I searched for and found
the few friends who had run the race prior... the friends who had said,
"<em>Your legs will feel GREAT after running a marathon on trails!  Yes
it's at 8,000' elevation, but the trail's relatively level, just a few
climbs, and it's all downhill after mile 20!  The scenery's beautiful</em>!"</p><p>When I found those friends, I said, "You lied.  About everything."  And they did.</p><p>But,
Supermodel and I each conquered the course.  I suppose the views were
pretty if you wanted to prolong the time on the mountain to stop
running and... look.  My eyes had to remain on the trail or I tripped,
plus the views gave me vertigo.  I was running with a guy for several
miles; he stopped around mile 12 and said, "Let's just take a moment to
enjoy this beautiful view!"  I said, "Pretty.  Now let's GO."</p><p>I fell.  Three times.  It hurt.</p><p>I've never fallen while running on the road.  I fell three times during the <a href="http://www.seechrisyrun.com/2009/08/almost-badass.html" target="_blank">Jupiter Peak Steeplechase</a>
in August, and was determined not to fall during Mid Mountain
Marathon.  I can't tell you how painful it is, physically and
emotionally, to hit the ground in one of these races.  The physical
pain is obvious.  But it's the emotional pain and mojo loss that drains
me.  It's a huge withdrawal from an energy account that has limited
funds.</p><p>I finished though.  I finished with sore knees and a dirty body, but I finished strong.</p><p>[<span style="font-size: 12px;">Looking for Chris and the boys.</span>]</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1bd66970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Finishing Mid Mountain Marathon" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1bd66970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1bd66970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Finishing Mid Mountain Marathon" /></a> </p><p><span style="font-size: 12px;">[I see the boys.</span>]</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b1dae970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="I spot the boys - Mid Mountain Marathon" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b1dae970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b1dae970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="I spot the boys - Mid Mountain Marathon" /></a> </p><p>Supermodel fell once and also finished strong.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1bf3c970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel finishing Mid Mountain Marathon" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1bf3c970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1bf3c970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Supermodel finishing Mid Mountain Marathon" /></a> </p><p>We hugged and cried and were happy that the event, the whole Triple Trail Challenge, was over.</p><p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1c20b970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel and me - End of Mid Mountain Marathon" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1c20b970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1c20b970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Supermodel and me - End of Mid Mountain Marathon" /></a></span></p><p>I called Supermodel today...</p><p><strong>ME:</strong>  How ya feelin'?</p><p><strong>SUPERMODEL:</strong>  Better than I thought I would.  My shoulder and hip hurt.  I think it's from my fall.  How about you?</p><p><strong>ME:</strong>  My quads and calves are sore, and my knees are hammered, but I'm functioning.</p><p>We
talked about what we'd eaten, how we craved salty foods, how our
plumbing had taken 24 hours to return to normal.  Then I asked her if
she'd pop over so Chris could take some pictures of us in our jackets. 
The jackets I convinced her would be SO cool to have.  We'd be like the
Navy SEALS [sort-of] of trail running!</p><p>Here we are in the jackets we ran for, fell for, argued about, and spent $140 in entry fees for!</p><p>[<span style="font-size: 12px;">Click on all photos to enlarge.</span>]</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1ce7d970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="New Asics Trophy Jackets" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1ce7d970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1ce7d970c-500wi" style="width: 230px;" title="New Asics Trophy Jackets" /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b2fb7970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Triple Trail Challenge 2009 on back - COOL!" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b2fb7970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b2fb7970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Triple Trail Challenge 2009 on back - COOL!" /></a> </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b30af970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Back of Trophy jackets" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b30af970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b30af970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Back of Trophy jackets" /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d003970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel pointing out COOL TTC logo" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d003970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d003970c-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Supermodel pointing out COOL TTC logo" /></a> </p><p>I
wanted to do some fun poses, maybe build a pyramid or do the splits,
but Supermodel wanted no part of it.  Chris photographed one of our
famous disagreements.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b3148970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="I'm frustrated with Supermodel" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b3148970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56b3148970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="I'm frustrated with Supermodel" /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d0c5970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel is stubborn" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d0c5970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d0c5970c-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Supermodel is stubborn" /></a> </p><p>I
begged and pleaded, but I couldn't get Supermodel to do a Cirque du
Soleil trick with me in our jackets.  She finally just walked away.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d0ea970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel refused to do a funky pose." class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d0ea970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5c1d0ea970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Supermodel refused to do a funky pose." /></a> </p><p>Maybe after we complete the Triple Trail Challenge <em>next</em> year she'll do it.  C'mon, Supermodel.  It'll be fun!</p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Third Child</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/the-third-child.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/the-third-child.html" thr:count="26" thr:updated="2009-11-11T13:06:48-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b78822970c</id>
        <published>2009-09-10T12:56:51-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-09-10T12:56:52-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Our third [and final] child turned four on September 9th. I think he had a nice day and felt celebrated, but I felt badly because his birthdays are so different than his two older brothers were at the same ages....</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Family" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Supermodel" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="birthdays" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="judgment" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="youngest child" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>Our third [and final] child turned four on September 9th.  I think he had a nice day and felt celebrated, but I felt badly because his birthdays are so different than his two older brothers were at the same ages.</p>

<p>With the first two boys we had parties with friends, games, decorations, treats, pinatas, crafts and adult beverages.  We planned and prepared weeks in advance, allowing each boy to select a theme or a special party location.  At the ages of three and four, the two older boys had preschool friends and had been to age appropriate places, like Build-A-Bear Workshop.</p>

<p>In most ways, Toddler Child is much more exposed than the first two boys were.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy were not allowed to watch shows like <em>SpongeBob SquarePants</em> or <em>Rugrats</em>.  My <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/10/country-mouse-visits-city-mouse.html" target="_blank">friend T</a> was visiting one time [he doesn't have children] and even he commented on the garish and off colors of animated shows for kids.</p>

<p>Oldest Boy [11] and Middle Boy [10] eventually watched <em>SpongeBob SquarePants</em> [Thankfully, <em>Rugrats</em> is off the air.], but it wasn't until they were seven or eight.  We're stricter than most parents we know when it comes to movies and media that we allow our kids to view or play.  Childhood is fleeting.  There's time.  I'm not worried about them missing anything.  </p><p>

Oldest Boy and Middle Boy are beginning to enjoy shows that many of our friends allowed their kids to watch at a much younger age.  The problem?  Toddler Child sees some of these movies and is now one of THOSE children that I used to shake my head in judgment and say, "WHAT are they thinking letting their child watch THAT?"   </p><p>I called Chris one day in a huff because Middle Boy came home from <strong>kindergarten </strong>asking me if he could watch <em>Mr. &amp; Mrs. Smith</em> like one of his classmates.  Uh, no.<span style="background-color: #e6e6e6;"><br /></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="background-color: #e6e6e6;">NOTE:  Brad Pitt didn't stand a chance when he agreed to do that movie.  Angelina Jolie was in her prime and looked stunning.  I might have considered leaving Chris to go adopt babies all over the world with her too.  Poor Jen.  I can't believe she didn't see that one coming.</span></p></blockquote>



<p>Sadly, as exposed as Toddler Child is to certain media, slang, and social ideas [via listening to his brothers], he's not exposed to many social experiences outside of our home.  We don't have him in preschool, by choice, so he and I spend a lot of time together.  He's not quite the parasitic head he once was. [<a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/08/the-view-from-m.html" target="_blank">Read here</a>.]  But we remain very attached to one another.</p>

<p>For his birthday I planned for the two of us to spend a few hours at a dinosaur museum near our home while Chris was at work and the older boys were at school.  Toddler Child was happy with the idea.  I felt guilty because I wasn't throwing a little party, but in reality, he doesn't know what he's missing.  A day out with me when we don't have to hit Costco sounded great to him.</p>

<p>I called <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/03/supermodel.html" target="_blank">Supermodel</a> and asked if <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/05/girl-hair.html" target="_blank">Supermodel Jr</a>. could go with us.  Supermodel Jr. was available.  She's the youngest of six children so she's more exposed than her older siblings were at her age also.  She carried a purse, wore sunglasses and applied her lipstick with more skill than I currently do.  Toddler Child was very interested in her.  I was very impressed by her.</p>

<p><span style="font-size: 12px;">[Click all photos to enlarge.]</span></p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56154f8970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel Jr. and Toddler Child" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56154f8970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56154f8970b-500wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Supermodel Jr. and Toddler Child" /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a561558b970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Supermodel Jr. putting on lipstick. Toddler Child watching." class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a561558b970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a561558b970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Supermodel Jr. putting on lipstick. Toddler Child watching." /></a> </p>

<p>She had Toddler Child hold her purse while she colored.  He looked a little uncomfortable, but politely obliged.</p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5615789970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Toddler Child holding Supermodel Jr.'s purse" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5615789970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5615789970b-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Toddler Child holding Supermodel Jr.'s purse" /></a> <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b7d0eb970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Toddler Child STILL holding Supermodel Jr.'s purse" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b7d0eb970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5b7d0eb970c-250wi" style="width: 230px;" title="Toddler Child STILL holding Supermodel Jr.'s purse" /></a> </p>

<p>After the museum, we had lunch, visited a children's farm then stopped at the bakery on the way home to get Toddler Child's cake.  I watched those two little kids interact, observed their differences and similarities, and was pleased to see how kind and polite they were to one another.  It was a fun and memorable day for all three of us.</p>

<p>Even though it wasn't a party with lots of kids and a pinata, I like to <em>think</em> our third child felt celebrated, and I <em>know</em> that he will always appreciate the gift of enjoying your own company.<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;" /></p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56171f5970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Toddler Child's 4th birthday" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a56171f5970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a56171f5970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Toddler Child's 4th birthday" /></a> </p>

<p />

<p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>I Blinked</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/i-blinked.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/09/i-blinked.html" thr:count="21" thr:updated="2009-09-09T21:43:09-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5974baf970c</id>
        <published>2009-09-02T14:08:17-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-09-02T14:08:17-06:00</updated>
        <summary>As quickly as it began, summer break is ending. Oldest Boy and Middle Boy return to school next week. The school they attend resumes classes after Labor Day so we enjoy a summer break like the kind I had when...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Family" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="back-to-school" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="recap" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="roughhouse" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="summer" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>As quickly as it began, summer break is ending.  Oldest Boy and Middle Boy return to school next week.  The school they attend resumes classes after Labor Day so we enjoy a summer break like the kind I had when I was a kid.  Three full months.  I love having the boys home and will join Toddler Child next week as he mopes around the house muttering, "I miss the big boys."</p><p>Our summer is ending with an assortment of tales to tell, but I've not had the time to chronicle everything publicly.  </p><p>Shortly after giving birth to Oldest Boy, I asked Chris if he got any good pictures or video.  He said, "I decided I wanted to <em>experience</em> the birth of our child, not worry about documenting it."  There's balance in that philosophy.  We have photos and journals that I'm thankful we have, but many, many years from now will any person really care?</p><p><strong>Abbreviated Tales</strong></p><p><strong>Death:</strong>  The boys were prepared for <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/unforgettable.html" target="_blank">Mamaw's</a> death.  They were even prepared for the death of <a href="http://www.fatcyclist.com/2009/08/05/dont-say-she-lost/" target="_blank">Susan Nelson</a>, the wife of blogger, <a href="http://www.fatcyclist.com/" target="_blank">Fat Cyclist</a> [Elden].  But they weren't prepared for the death of their beloved kindergarten teacher who passed unexpectedly due to a pulmonary embolism.  She was only 48.  These three deaths all occurred in August.  We parented through the death of a woman who had battled breast cancer for several years and left behind her husband and four children.  We parented through the death of an older person, blessed with a full and long life.  And we're still discussing the death of a teacher who appeared healthy one day and the next, was gone.  Rough.</p><p><strong>It's Not Funny Anymore:</strong>  I had another incident with the car.  I dropped off Oldest Boy at his teacher's house for an ice-cream social.  As I backed out of the driveway [too fast], I hit the front of her husband's parked car.  No one was hurt.  When I called Chris to tell him what had happened, his normally calm and understanding tone was replaced with irritation as he said, "Are you effing kidding me?"  </p><blockquote><span style="font-size: 12px;"><p>NOTE:  My parents are refusing to take any calls from me if they see I'm calling from my cell phone.  [I only use my cell phone in the car.  For the record, I was NOT on my phone when I backed into the parked car.]</p></span></blockquote><p><strong>Birthdays:</strong>  Middle Boy turned ten on August 30th and Toddler Child will turn four next week.  Middle Boy thinks it's cool to be in the double-digits, and Toddler Child says he wants to be two, not four.  I told him I wish time worked that way sometimes too.</p><p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541715f970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Middle Boy turns 10 - Toddler Child helps" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a541715f970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541715f970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Middle Boy turns 10 - Toddler Child helps" /></a> </span> </p><p><strong>Hummingbird:</strong>  We had a hummingbird in the garage.  It flew around and rested on different brake cables of the bikes hanging from our garage ceiling.  I won't make this tale longer than it needs to be.  We were excited at the time.  You would have thought we had a bald eagle nesting on our trash can.  I have too many pictures of a hummingbird sitting on my bike's brake cable.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541795c970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Hummingbird in the garage" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a541795c970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541795c970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Hummingbird in the garage" /></a> </p><p><strong>History:</strong>  We can't rewrite it.  Isn't that both a tragic and a glorious thing?  For now, this tale will remain very abbreviated.</p><p><strong>Goodbye Summer:</strong>  <em>I can't believe it's over</em>!  I say this at the end of every school year, holiday, vacation, etc...  And I know I'll say it again.  I'm trying to enjoy the last few days before school starts by ignoring the toys that are left around the house, delaying wiping fingerprints where there typically are none, and avoiding yelling up the stairs, "Take it down a notch, boys!" when I hear them roughhousing.</p><p>Today I took my camera upstairs instead of requesting the boys downshift their play.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541a891970b-pi" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Boys roughhousing - Mary watching" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a541a891970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541a891970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Boys roughhousing - Mary watching" /></a> </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541a9a7970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Oldest Boy and Toddler Child playing" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a541a9a7970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a541a9a7970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Oldest Boy and Toddler Child playing" /></a> </p><p>I miss the big boys already.</p><p /><p /><p /><p /><p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Unforgettable</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/unforgettable.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/unforgettable.html" thr:count="36" thr:updated="2009-11-11T13:33:21-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a50c4526970b</id>
        <published>2009-08-21T15:52:33-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-08-22T15:06:15-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Mary Jane Hautem, my grandmother, passed away on August 20, 2009, at approximately 2:00 p.m. She would have been 92 on August 28th. I was able to visit Mamaw in early July when we were in Arizona at my parents'...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Family" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Mamaw" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Video Clips - Family" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="death" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="grandmother" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="grief" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="kindred spirit" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>Mary Jane Hautem, my grandmother, passed away on August 20, 2009, at approximately 2:00 p.m.  She would have been 92 on August 28th.</p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a564d701970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="float: right;"><img alt="Mamaw - July 2009" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a564d701970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a564d701970c-200wi" style="margin: 0px 0px 5px 5px; width: 200px;" title="Mamaw - July 2009" /></a> I was able to visit Mamaw in early July when we were in Arizona at my parents' house.  I saw her twice and knew when I said good-bye to her on the last visit, I'd never see her again, even though I promised a return trip to Arizona, without kids, for<em> </em>only<em> her</em> in August or September.  After our annual family trips to Arizona each summer, which are typically busy and hectic caring for kids and spending not-enough-time with family and friends, I have returned a couple of times a year solo so I could share time with Mamaw minus any other obligations or distractions.</p>

<p>Mamaw's physical and cognitive deterioration were evident in July compared to when I saw her in <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/09/mamaw.html" target="_blank">September 2008</a> and <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/01/conversations-with-mamaw.html" target="_blank">January 2009</a>.  I started to write about the time we spent with her in July when I returned to Utah, but never posted.  Here's a portion:</p><blockquote><p>Chris
and I took the boys to visit her one day.  She was sitting at the
kitchen table when we arrived.  Her back was towards us and when I
walked around to look at her face, her eyes were closed.  She had a
slight smile on her face.  I woke her and said, <em>It's me again. ... Chrisy.  I brought Chris-Boy and the boys with me</em>. 
I looked in her eyes, begging her to know me.  She smiled, but I could
tell she was confused and didn't recognize me.  She was in a different
place in her mind, and I wasn't part of her experience.  But her departure was brief.</p>

<p>After a
few moments she spoke slowly, still smiling and said, "Well <strong>sure</strong> it's
you, Chrisy.  And look at these boys.  Let's go back to my house." [She meant her room.]</p>

<p>We
walked her to her room in the Group Home.  Oldest Boy
played his saxophone for her, Middle Boy played his guitar, and Toddler
Child writhed around on the floor, growling and whining that he wanted
to go home.  Chris and I tried to talk with Mamaw, but she can't hear well.  A true conversation was difficult, but we still managed to connect with her.  I know that she enjoyed
watching the boys, even writhing, growling, rude Toddler Child.  I
think she could have watched them for hours.  She stared shamelessly at
each child, cocking her head, taking in every detail.  At one point she said, "I just love watching their expressions.  Don't you, Chrisy?"</p>

<p>After our visit I asked Oldest Boy if it made him sad to see the effects of age on Mamaw.  He said, <em>No, not really.  I liked it that she was so cheerful.  That made me happy.</em></p>

</blockquote>

<p>A little over four weeks ago, Mamaw was found on the floor in her room by one of the Group Home caregivers.  She had fallen, broken her femur and suffered a brain bleed.  After consulting with doctors at the hospital, and being informed that she would not survive surgeries to repair either injury, Dad and his brother made the difficult decision to move Mamaw to a hospice facility.  The length of her stay at hospice was longer than anyone expected.  It was an unfortunate and difficult process; the dying.  News of her death came as a relief.</p>

<p>Mamaw was a kindred spirit to me.  With no disrespect intended to the important and devoted people in my life, I've never <em>felt</em> more loved by anyone than by Mamaw.  She loved me, accepted me, forgave me, was honest with me, trusted me, apologized to me, and understood me.  I began missing and grieving her some time ago, and I'll miss her thirty years from now.</p>

<p>There was a time when Mamaw and Papaw lived in Tucson, Arizona, and Chris and I lived in Phoenix.  Chris and I spent many weekends in Tucson with them before we had kids.  We even took a week-long trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, when Mamaw and Papaw were 80.  We enjoyed spending time together and were compatible travel mates.</p>

<p><span style="font-size: 12px;">[Note: Papaw died in June 2007.]</span></p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a50db0b0970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Cabo San Lucas with Mamaw and Papaw - Oct. 1986" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a50db0b0970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a50db0b0970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Cabo San Lucas with Mamaw and Papaw - Oct. 1986" /></a> </p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a564a749970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Mamaw and Papaw - Cabo San Lucas, Oct. 1986" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a564a749970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a564a749970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Mamaw and Papaw - Cabo San Lucas, Oct. 1986" /></a> </p>

<p>I have vivid memories of swimming with Mamaw in her backyard pool while a portable cassette player played Natalie Cole's <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unforgettable-Love-Natalie-Cole/dp/B000002H8X" target="_blank">Unforgettable: With Love</a></em>.  We called it our "synchronized swimming" as we side-stroked, back-stroked, and gracefully moved through the water to the music.  Mamaw sang.  Papaw sat in the shade and tapped his foot as he lifeguarded.  He didn't like Mamaw swimming alone.</p>

<p>I know the lyrics to<em> </em>"Unforgettable"<em> </em>were referring to a romantic relationship, but I believe Mamaw sang them to <em>me</em> when we swam, and I can honestly sing them to <em>her</em>.</p><blockquote><p>Unforgettable, that's what you are<br />Unforgettable	though near or far<br />Like a song of love that clings to me<br />How the thought of you does things to me<br />Never before has someone been more<br /><br />Unforgettable in every way<br />And forever more, that's how you'll stay<br />That's why, darling, its incredible<br />That someone so unforgettable<br />Thinks that I am unforgettable too<br /><br />Unforgettable in every way<br />And forever more, that's how you'll stay<br />That's why, darling, its incredible<br />That someone so unforgettable<br />Thinks that I am unforgettable too</p>

</blockquote><blockquote><p>-<em>Irving Gordon</em></p>

</blockquote><p>
A few memories of Mamaw, including the last time I saw her. [The last 50 seconds or so of the video.]</p><p>

<object height="360" width="480"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=6212966&amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;show_title=1&amp;show_byline=1&amp;show_portrait=0&amp;color=00ADEF&amp;fullscreen=1" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="360" src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=6212966&amp;server=vimeo.com&amp;show_title=1&amp;show_byline=1&amp;show_portrait=0&amp;color=00ADEF&amp;fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="480" /></object></p><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/6212966">Mamaw - Unforgettable</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user1718368">Chris Ross</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Women</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/the-women.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/the-women.html" thr:count="29" thr:updated="2009-08-27T14:00:03-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4fc79df970b</id>
        <published>2009-08-17T09:54:07-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-08-17T09:54:07-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Polygamy (Plural Marriage) The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is essential to His eternal plan. At certain times and for His specific purposes, God, through His prophets, has directed the practice of plural marriage (sometimes...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Current Affairs" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Religion" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="FLDS" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Hogle Zoo" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="polygamy" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Warren Jeffs" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><blockquote><em><strong>Polygamy (Plural Marriage)</strong></em><p>
</p>
<p><em>The family is ordained of God. Marriage between man and woman is
essential to His eternal plan. At certain times and for His specific
purposes, God, through His prophets, has directed the practice of
plural marriage (sometimes called polygamy), which means one man having
more than one living wife at the same time. In obedience to direction
from God, Latter-day Saints followed this practice for about 50 years
during the 1800s but <strong>officially ceased the practice of such marriages</strong>
after the Manifesto was issued by President Woodruff in 1890. Since
that time, <strong>plural marriage has not been approved</strong> by The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints and any member adopting this practice is
subject to losing his or her membership in the Church.</em></p>

<p><em>-Taken from <a href="http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?index=16&amp;locale=0&amp;sourceId=9887ec6f164b2110VgnVCM100000176f620a____&amp;vgnextoid=bbd508f54922d010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD" target="_blank">LDS.ORG</a></em></p>
</blockquote>

<p>It was a hot day in late June, the Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City wasn't crowded, and the animals were surprisingly active.  I packed lunches for my sons and myself.  We enjoyed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a picnic table while watching zebras play.  I chose a table away from the others, that was in the shade and clean.  As we were eating, a man and woman wheeled their disabled adult son around us to a table that was more secluded than ours.  They prepared their son for a tube feeding, and fed him.  I watched my sons, interested in their reaction.  It didn't phase them.  They smiled at the three-person family, happily ate their sandwiches and enjoyed the rearing zebras. </p>

<p>As we walked around the zoo, I noticed some young men wearing jeans, long-sleeve, button-front shirts and wide brimmed hats.  The Hogle Zoo is near a historical park where employees wear "pioneer" clothes.  At first I thought the young men were from the park, but then I noticed their contemporary shoes.  Then I saw them join several young girls, a few women and one man.  They were an FLDS polygamist family.

On occasion I see sister-wives shopping for groceries and I'm aware of a few <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2008/11/bloggy-friends-polygamy-and-prisons.html" target="_blank">polygamist homes</a> where I've seen women and children milling around, but I've never seen an entire FLDS family together in public.  I was fascinated.  I wanted to follow them, watch them, eavesdrop, take pictures, and ask questions.  </p><p>Coincidentally, we happened to be on the same general path around the zoo so I was able to observe this family for nearly an hour.  I was not following them, I was following my kids.  It was serendipitous. </p>

<p>What I noticed... </p>

<p><strong>The Girls:</strong>  They ranged in age from preschool age to late teens.  They all wore the classic <a href="http://www.fldscrafts.com/index.php?cPath=1" target="_blank">FLDS dresses</a> and had long, beautifully braided hair.  They were pretty little girls, all fair-haired or red-haired, and freckled.  They looked healthy and happy, spoke freely to one another, their brothers, mothers and father, and moved about the exhibits with the normal pace and excitement of any child.  Some of the older girls had digital and video cameras.  They never looked at or seemed to notice another human being.  It was as if people were invisible, or insignificant, like a tree or a bush.  Aware of it's location, but able to maneuver around the object without looking directly at it.</p>

<p>

<strong>The Boys:</strong>  They too ranged in age from preschool age to late teens.  There were fewer boys than girls, and a couple of the older ones had rugged good looks, and working hands.  Their coloring was like the girls, and again, they were all attractive, looked physically healthy, talked and laughed with each other and their family members, and displayed unabashed excitement and pleasure while viewing the animals.  Their long sleeve shirts were buttoned at the collar and their hats looked like something Tom Sawyer would wear.  The only visible skin, like the girls, was their hands and their faces.  They also did not look at another person outside of their family.  Not once.</p>

<p>

<strong>The Father:</strong>  He was dressed like the boys except his hat looked like a pith helmet.  He was a red-haired man, not nearly as handsome as his sons, and built like... Rush Limbaugh.  His face resembled Ron Howard's, almost soft and appealing, with an expression that I read as both melancholy and content.  He may have been 45-55 years old.  He stayed close to his wives and occasionally he bent down to listen to something a young child wanted to say to him, giving the child a smile and a pat.  He looked at the animals, but he was watching <em>people</em>.  I believe he was constantly taking in the surroundings as the protector of his family.</p>

<p><strong>The Women:</strong>  I saw four wives.  They were dressed like the girls, hair elaborately braided with high bangs, but these weren't pretty women.  They looked middle-aged, tired and frumpy, although I can't honestly say that they looked <em>unhappy</em>.  Their faces likely betrayed their age.  They were probably younger than they looked.  The kids all appeared so physically healthy with rosy cheeks, nice teeth and bright eyes.  The women, in contrast, all had 20-40 pounds to lose and looked like the kind of women who are busy taking care of everyone but themselves.  Two of the women had digital cameras and were snapping pictures of the animals and the kids.  Just like the children, none of the women looked at anyone outside of their family.</p>

<p><strong>My Sons:</strong>  They seemed oblivious to this family.  Other zoo visitors were clearly curious, and I was both surprised and pleased to see how discreetly people tried to satisfy their curiosity.  Glancing at one of the family members quickly, resisting the urge to stare.  My boys didn't even steal a glance.  At one point Toddler Child was in the midst of several little FLDS girls, darting from exhibit to exhibit.  He moved their skirts out of the way if he couldn't see an animal.  I nearly hurt myself trying to take a picture of Toddler Child looking at a crocodile with the girls.  To preserve the kids' identities, I'll only share this one.</p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4fcbfde970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Toddler Child with the FLDS girls" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4fcbfde970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4fcbfde970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Toddler Child with the FLDS girls" /></a></p> I've watched various documentaries about the FLDS sect.  Women [who haven't <em>escaped</em>] claim to be happy and content.  How can they not be when they don't know anything different?  I find it interesting that even with the boundaries established for them, the women are still <em>women</em>.  Because they don't cut their hair, they get as creative as possible with intricate braids, twists and bangs.  The dresses have subtle differences in pleats, buttons, collars, and stitching.  When given a box in which to operate, they still explore every nook and cranny.  Where these women can exercise their girl-power, they do. <p>I don't know why this family was in Salt Lake City at the Hogle Zoo on an afternoon in late June.  They may have been in town for reasons associated with the Warren Jeffs trial.  I'm not aware of FLDS members "vacationing".  The children I saw that day <em>appeared</em> healthy and happy.  Almost typical in their behavior.  Their future is predictable unless they exit the faith.  We know the end of the story.  With the recent attention on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lost_boys_%28polygamy%29" target="_blank">Lost Boys</a> and the practice of marrying underage girls [something the FLDS sect has renounced], perhaps their future will be... I don't know... better?  not so bad?  Their world is so radically different from ours that it's difficult to imagine.</p>The father of this family seemed content and proud of his beautiful children and devoted wives.  I'm convinced <em>he believes</em> he's traveling a righteous path.

<p>To think about this entire family, their beliefs, the obviously hard-working boys, girls, women and even father, their clothing on a hot summer day, wondering if the boys would ever have a chance to marry, knowing none of them will marry for love... in total left me feeling still curious, and uneasy.  But it was the faces of the women, those <em>women</em>, that disturbed me the most. </p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Almost Badass</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/almost-badass.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/almost-badass.html" thr:count="33" thr:updated="2009-09-06T16:46:42-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e110a2970b</id>
        <published>2009-08-10T16:25:17-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-08-10T19:18:49-06:00</updated>
        <summary>[I wrote this post for my other blog "See Chrisy Run", but thought I'd post it here too.] Supermodel and I completed the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase on Saturday. Our concern about the weather was for naught. We couldn't have asked...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Fitness" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Friends" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Supermodel" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="badass" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="goals" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="skinned knees" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="trail runs" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p><em>[I wrote this post for my other blog "<a href="http://seechrisyrun.com" target="_blank">See Chrisy Run</a>", but thought I'd post it here too.]</em></p><p /><p>Supermodel and I completed the <a href="http://www.mountaintrails.org/2009/03/jupiter-peak-steeplechase-august-8/" target="_blank">Jupiter Peak Steeplechase</a> on
Saturday.  Our <a href="http://www.seechrisyrun.com/2009/08/this-time-tomorrow-wine.html" target="_blank">concern about the weather</a> was for naught.  We couldn't
have asked for more perfect conditions weather-wise.  The temps were in
the 40s and 50s, no wind, no rain, and blue skies.  My gear bag was
packed with so many clothing options, it looked like I was going on
vacation for a week.  I wore a sleeveless shirt and no gloves.  I was
very comfortable.</p><p><strong>Race Synopsis:</strong></p><p><strong>Mile 1</strong>:  Up</p><p><strong>Mile 2</strong>:  Up</p><p><strong>Mile 3</strong>:  Up</p><p><strong>Mile 4</strong>:  Up</p><p><strong>Mile 5</strong>:  Up</p><p><strong>Mile 6</strong>:  Up</p><p><strong>Mile 7</strong>:  <em>Areyoukiddingme?</em>
Up  [Without exaggeration we climbed, using our hands, to the top of
Jupiter Peak.  The peak was comprised of loose rock with weeds growing
sporadically.  We could grab the weeds for balance, but there was no
trail and the rocks slipped underfoot.  The view gave me vertigo and
nausea, so I looked quickly... once.  Maybe another time.]</p><p><strong>Mile 8</strong>:  Slightly Down [after scaling the Peak], but then... UP</p><p><strong>Mile 9</strong>:  Slightly Down - Fall Number ONE for me.</p><p><strong>Mile 10</strong>:  Down</p><p><strong>Mile 11</strong>:  Down</p><p><strong>Mile 12</strong>:  Down</p><p><strong>Mile 13</strong>:  Down, Up, Down - Fall Number TWO for me.</p><p><strong>Mile 14</strong>:  Down</p><p><strong>Mile 15</strong>:  Down - Fall Number THREE for me.</p><p><strong>Mile 16</strong>:  Down - FINISH!</p><p>There were varying degrees of intensity and grade with the climbs and descents, but you get the picture.</p><p>For
those who haven't run a hill climb that includes a descent, running
down is more difficult than one would think.  There were a few sections
that were too steep to run, and the runnable sections required
restraint on my part because my knees can't take the pounding.</p><p>Supermodel
and I separated early in the race.  It happens.  We positioned
ourselves at the very back of the pack before the start.  Once we began
running, I realized we'd made a mistake.  There were people ahead of us
who probably should not have been.  We were running on a forest service
road for roughly the first half mile, then we all poured onto a
single-track trail that was 18" wide.  The race began up a hill, so
everyone was dealing with immediate oxygen debt.  I did the best I
could to reposition myself before the single-track.  Supermodel was
doing the same thing, but we lost each other.  We both knew the other
would be okay.</p><p>This was a very difficult event, which made
reaching the finish line that much sweeter.  Chris and the boys were
there to support me, and Chris took several pictures.  Here I am before
I noticed Chris or the boys.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e09d57970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0011" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e09d57970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e09d57970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><p>With yards to go, I saw this...</p><p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a53793a9970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0001" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a53793a9970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a53793a9970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </span> </p><p>Which made me so happy, I almost cried...</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a53799da970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0013" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a53799da970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a53799da970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><p>...before I finally ran across the finish line.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0a1f0970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0017" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0a1f0970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0a1f0970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><p>After
the race, Supermodel and I hugged and congratulated one another.  It's
always a bonding experience to train with someone and complete a goal
together. [We still have two more events ahead of us.]  Supermodel told
me all about her run, and I told her about mine.  We shared and cared
about each other's aches, pains, joys, and victorious moments. 
Supermodel and a few other runners were charged by a mother moose and
her baby around mile four on the course!  </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0eb32970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0035" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0eb32970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0eb32970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><p>Supermodel
also fell, only once, but she was scraped pretty badly.  We decided
it's not your first trail race if you don't leave skin on the trail. 
Just like, it's not a party until somebody pukes.  We're both
officially initiated.</p><p>Toddler Child did not like seeing my skinned knees...<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;" /></p><p> <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0b460970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0021" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0b460970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0b460970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </span> <br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;" /></p><p>Supermodel and I after wiping ourselves with Wet Wipes.<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;" /></p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0aa6f970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0038" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0aa6f970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4e0aa6f970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a></p><p>Before
we loaded up the car to head home, we paid a visit to the results
table.  We were each handed a card with our UNOFFICIAL Overall Finish
as well as our Age Group Finish.  My card said 32nd overall. 
Supermodel's overall finish was very near that.  We asked the woman who
handed us our cards how many people actually ran the race and she said
close to 250.  Supermodel and I raised our eyebrows at each other and
said, <em>Not too shabby</em>!</p><p>The following day, OFFICIAL Results
were posted on a website.  I discovered that our "Overall Finish"
results were for WOMEN only.  The race was timed as a Men's
Steeplechase and a Women's Steeplechase, which is typically a subset of
Official Results in other races I've completed.</p><p>I called Supermodel.</p><p><strong>Me:</strong>  Guess what?</p><p><strong>Supermodel:</strong>  What?</p><p><strong>Me:</strong> 
Official Results are posted and we didn't do quite as well as we
thought.  We still did a great job, but it's a little deflating.  Our
overall finish number was only for WOMEN.</p><p><strong>Supermodel:</strong>  I liked thinking it was for the whole field.</p><p><strong>Me:</strong>  Me too.  </p><p>We
may not have finished quite as well as we originally thought, but we
each did better than we expected we would.  And?  It's possible I
finished the race with a broken wrist.  It's definitely sprained, the
swelling's gone down, and my mobility's returning.  If it's not better
tomorrow, I'll get an X-ray.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a537d19c970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0003_3" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a537d19c970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a537d19c970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><p>Tell me that's not badass.</p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Speedo-Mon</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/speedomon.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/speedomon.html" thr:count="26" thr:updated="2009-08-17T16:29:38-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf7a02970b</id>
        <published>2009-08-06T18:18:04-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-08-06T18:39:05-06:00</updated>
        <summary>We're home for the rest of the summer so that means the boys will have to play with a hose in the backyard for fun, and we'll take an occasional day trip to check something off the list of Still...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Family" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Antelope Island" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="brine flies" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="garden hose" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="Great Salt Lake" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="speedo" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>We're home for the rest of the summer so that means the boys will have to play with a hose in the backyard for fun, and we'll take an occasional day trip to check something off the list of <em>Still To Do And See In Utah</em>.</p><p>The good news is, our boys love playing in the hose.  Toddler Child insists on wearing his <em>fast</em> swimsuit [Speedo], and <strong><span style="font-size: 12px;" /></strong>Mary joins our <em>nearly-mistaken-for-Jamaican</em> children while they play with water.  They wear plenty of sunscreen.  We're proud of our funky whiteness.</p><p><strong><span style="font-size: 12px;">[Click on all photos to enlarge.]</span></strong></p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a52659fe970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Toddler Child and Mary playing in the hose." class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a52659fe970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a52659fe970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Toddler Child and Mary playing in the hose." /></a> </p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf1aaa970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Funky white boys playing in the hose." class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf1aaa970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf1aaa970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Funky white boys playing in the hose." /></a> </p><p>A couple of days ago, Chris and I took the boys to <a href="http://www.utah.com/stateparks/antelope_island.htm" target="_blank">Antelope Island State Park</a> at the Great Salt Lake.  We've lived in Utah nearly seven years and had never taken the time to visit the lake for which the state is so famous.  I called for information and was told by a Very Nice Woman, that there was a beach, paddle boat rentals, a bistro, public restrooms and outdoor showers.  I was told the salt content in the lake is 3% higher than the ocean, only brine shrimp live in the water, and there are several brine flies at the water's edge.  The Very Nice Woman said the brine flies create a black ribbon on the <em>beach</em> and they will separate as you walk through them.  <em>Don't worry,</em> she said, <em>they don't bite, and once you get beyond them it's just you and the buoyant waters of the Great Salt Lake</em>!</p><p>We weren't expecting Maui, but I envisioned a long day on the "island".</p><p>We spent two hours on Antelope Island, and one hour would have been plenty. There <em>is</em> a beach, but it should be called something different because the connotation that goes along with "beach" left us all feeling confused and disappointed.  The bistro was run-down and closed.  The three paddle boats available for rent were filthy and full of dead brine flies and live wolf spiders.  We passed on the paddle boat rental.</p><p>There were BILLIONS of brine flies.  BILLIONS.  The ribbon the Very Nice Woman described, was several feet wide in places. The flies didn't bite; that part was true.  But they peppered the top of the water as far as my eye could see.  They were... icky.  Middle Boy, lover of <strong>all</strong> living things, shrieked as he high-stepped through them to get in and out of the water.</p><p>Chris and the boys getting ready to enter the lake<strong>.</strong> <strong><span style="font-size: 12px;" /></strong></p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf8b76970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Chris and Boys - Great Salt Lake" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf8b76970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf8b76970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Chris and Boys - Great Salt Lake" /></a> </p><p> <strong><span style="font-size: 12px;">[Chris would like it known that he
does not appreciate this picture, but he won't use his Blog Power of
Veto.  I think it's the outfit, old swim trunks and Super Friends t-shirt.  I reminded him he was about to
enter a cesspool so it was important to wear <em>disposable</em> clothes.]</span></strong> </p><p>If you click on the following photo to enlarge, you might be able to see the brine flies [that the Very Nice Woman said would only be at the water's edge] all over the lake.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5267c08970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Oldest Boy, Toddler Child in lake with brine flies" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a5267c08970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a5267c08970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Oldest Boy, Toddler Child in lake with brine flies" /></a> </p><p>I brought my bathing suit, but couldn't get beyond the smell and the
flies.  I kept my clothes on and waded in to my knees, but was miserable as I shooed flies, took pictures, and looked at my watch every 30 seconds hoping the kids would tire of the experience as I tolerated it.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf7c8d970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Me in lake. Ewww." class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf7c8d970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf7c8d970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Me in lake. Ewww." /></a> </p><p>Luckily the boys didn't need too much time bobbing in the brine fly water, and Toddler Child got salt in his eye.  We told him prior to getting in the water to be careful of his eyes, and we also told him there were brine shrimp living in the lake.  He confused the two and cried as we walked back to the car, "I have <em>shrimp</em> in my eye..."</p><p>I'm glad we saw the lake and <em>swam</em> in it [shudder], but I don't think we'll be returning.  It's big, salty, and interesting, but if you want to check this site off of your list of places to see, call me for information instead of the Very Nice Woman.</p><p><em>Still To Do And See In Utah</em>:  <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Antelope Island State Park</span></p><p /><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf81f7970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="The Great Salt Lake from Antelope Island" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf81f7970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf81f7970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="The Great Salt Lake from Antelope Island" /></a></p><p><strong><span style="font-size: 12px;">[The Great Salt Lake from Antelope Island State Park]</span></strong></p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330120a4cf81f7970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><br /></a> </p><p> </p><p> </p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Weapon</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/the-weapon.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/08/the-weapon.html" thr:count="26" thr:updated="2009-08-19T14:13:24-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330115715cda3d970c</id>
        <published>2009-08-01T17:14:31-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-08-01T19:33:03-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Chris was out of town last week. I can now manage the the kids and the house while he's away without hyperventilating or leaving teeth marks on my tongue from biting it with frustration. Toddler Child sleeps through most nights...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Family" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Misc. Daily Thoughts" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Pooch, Dog and Pup" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Ross Boy Vocab" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Stress" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="mom-guilt" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="parenting" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="plunger" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="stress" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="words" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>Chris was out of town last week.  I can now manage the the kids and the house while he's away without hyperventilating or leaving teeth marks on my tongue from biting it with frustration.  Toddler Child sleeps through <em>most</em> nights and we deal with a nightmare, an <em>accident</em>, or a blood sugar issue only occasionally.  I don't think a child has vomited once in 2009.  [I know.  I shouldn't tempt fate by sharing that fact.]</p><p>The week went fairly well.  Except for one day.  It was T-minus 24 hours until Chris was to be home.  I hate coming undone when I'm so close to the end of something that requires a little more from me.  I don't know if I create a self-<em>fulfilling</em> or a self-<em>defeating</em> prophecy in these situations. But I do it almost every time.</p><p>I was singing dorkily in the car while taking Middle Boy to his guitar lesson.  His disapproving, yet ironically not disrespectful, glances told me he was embarrassed by my grooves.  I asked him lightheartedly, "Do I ever do anything that annoys you?"</p><p>"Sometimes."</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"Well...  I can't think of the word... but sometimes... you're... ... ..."</p><p>I knew what he was thinking.  I instantly felt it.  He truly didn't know the word, but he was thinking <em>bitchy</em>.  I waited.  He was innocent and thoughtful as he searched for the word to answer my question.</p><p>"... sometimes you're...  grumpy."</p><p>I asked him to explain and give me some examples.  The look on my face and the tone of my voice told Middle Boy this wasn't going the direction either of us thought it would.  He nervously described how he dropped <em>a perfectly clean, plastic fork on the floor and I got REALLY mad</em>.  I don't remember this, and I told him so.  I wanted more examples.  I was aware of my subtle but palpable shift to defensiveness partnered with antagonism.  My son was aware too, and chose his words carefully as he answered the assault of questions I threw at him.</p><p>When we got home from the guitar lesson I told Oldest Boy about my question to Middle Boy and the answer I received.  He could tell I was irritated and politely and diplomatically supported his brother.  He said some days I'm very patient but other days I get <em>frustrated</em> with them a little quicker than usual.</p><p>What did I do with this honest and valuable information from my sons?  I chastised them.  All night.  I peppered what should have been a pleasant evening with, "And ANOTHER thing..."  I reminded the boys of everything I do around the house.  I reminded them how good they have it compared to other kids.  I reminded them that the "other mothers" who are sooo wonderful have GRUMPY days too.  I reminded them that some kids don't even HAVE a mother.  They were pink-eyed and trembly-lipped a couple of times.</p><p>Toddler Child was lying low.  Happy for once that he wasn't the boy on the receiving end of one of my manic lectures.</p><p>Dinner, showers, bedtime reading routines, all were accomplished successfully.  Toddler Child had been sleeping with something to protect himself and the rest of the family while Chris was out of town.  He requested it for one more night, in case he needed to <em>battack</em> someone.</p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115725140fa970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="DSC_0013" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330115725140fa970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115725140fa970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p><blockquote><p>NOTE:  We're not a gun family.  Chris nor I were raised by parents who hunt, target shoot or have a need for a gun, so we're raising our kids the same.  Our arguments are just passionate enough that if we had a gun in the house, it's possible that one of us would eventually be referred to as "Stumpy".  Or "inmate number 35704-019".</p></blockquote><p>It was after 10:00 PM and all three boys were asleep.  In a span of seconds, I was painfully aware of how heavy I'd been earlier.  Selfishly, I entered Oldest Boy's room, hugged him and apologized for my rant.  He hugged me back and said, "I forgive you."  I repeated the scene in Middle Boy's room.  He's a sound sleeper and didn't respond.  I hoped somehow my words and heart penetrated his dreams.  I would talk to him in the morning.</p><p>Toddler Child hadn't been on the receiving end of my behavior directly, so I chose to let him sleep.  I also didn't want to invoke a <em>battack</em> by a plunger.  </p><p>One weapon had been drawn too long.  It was time to put them all down.</p><p /><p /><p /></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>I'm an Excellent Driver</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/07/crash.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/07/crash.html" thr:count="31" thr:updated="2009-11-11T14:38:24-07:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf30888330115722ee662970b</id>
        <published>2009-07-24T08:44:28-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-07-24T08:44:28-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Earlier this week, in a hurry, I quickly said goodbye to the boys as I grabbed my purse and headed for the garage. "Dad will be home soon. Call either one of us if you need anything. Mrs. Nice-Neighbor-Lady is...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Stress" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="bad driving" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="photo radar" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p><embed align="middle" allowfullscreen="false" allowscriptaccess="sameDomain" bgcolor="#ffffff" flashvars="auto_play=0&amp;id=1_678f516c_785c_11de_8859_0015c5f4d562&amp;meta_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.entertonement.com%2Fclips%2Fnbmlltzpgt.query%3Fimage_size%3Dflash" height="30" id="1_678f516c_785c_11de_8859_0015c5f4d562" name="PlayerText" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" quality="high" src="http://media.entertonement.com/embed/PlayerText.swf" style="float: left; margin-right: 10px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="304" wmode="transparent" /><a href="http://www.entertonement.com/clips/nbmlltzpgt--Excellent-DriverRain-Man-Dustin-Hoffman-Raymond-Babbit-"><img alt="Blank" border="0" height="0" src="http://www.entertonement.com/widgets/img/clip/nbmlltzpgt/1/1_678f516c_785c_11de_8859_0015c5f4d562/blank.gif" style="margin: 0pt; padding: 0pt; visibility: hidden; width: 0px; height: 0px; float: right;" width="0" /></a></p>

<p />

<p />

<p />

<p><br />
</p>

<br />

<p>Earlier this week, in a hurry, I quickly said goodbye to the boys as I grabbed my purse and headed for the garage.  "Dad will be home soon.  Call either one of us if you need anything.  Mrs. Nice-Neighbor-Lady is home if Toddler Child poops!"</p>

<p>I was late for a doctor's appointment.  I usually tap the garage door opener as I exit the kitchen and enter the garage, like most people, but for some reason I skipped this step.  I climbed in the car, realized the garage door was closed, reached up and opened the door with the remote attached to the visor, like most people do when they're pulling IN to their garage.  I started the car, put it in reverse and hit the gas.  <em>Hurry, hurry, hurry</em>.  Then, I hit the garage door.  Hard.</p>

<p>When I was in Arizona visiting my parents in January, I hit their house.  I wrote about it <a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/01/i-think-well-be-able-to-buff-that-right-out.html" target="_blank">here</a>.  These incidents rarely get a reaction from Chris or my family.</p>

<p>I called Chris on my way to the doctor.  He was in a meeting so I left a long babbling message.</p><blockquote><p>"It's me.  The weirdest thing happened.  I was in a hurry and I didn't open the garage door before I got in the car and I'm used to the garage door being open already after I start the car and so I just backed out like I usually do...  Oh, maybe I didn't say I opened the garage door from <em>inside</em> the car...  It's not <em>that</em> bad.  The door was halfway up when I hit it...  I mean there's damage... to the back of the car... and the top where I scraped it pulling back in... and the garage door... I think if you use a hammer you'll be able to fix it so it can shut... it's stuck... I couldn't assess it totally because I was late. ... ... ...  We've been wanting new garage doors.  Those dark steel ones are cool.  Costco has a great deal...  Sorry.  Call me."</p>

</blockquote>

<p>This happened only days after receiving these photos in the mail from the Scottsdale Police Department.</p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115722ede67970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="IMG" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330115722ede67970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115722ede67970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115713a5ab9970c-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="IMG_0001" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330115713a5ab9970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115713a5ab9970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p>

<p>We were on the final stretch to my parent's house after being in the car for TEN hours with the kids and the dog.  Chris regrettably let me drive from Flagstaff to Scottsdale, an easy two hour stretch.  [Did I mention I get carsick?  Driving is an antidote for carsickness.]  We were less than five minutes from Mom and Dad's house.  It was like a horse seeing the barn.  I was photo radar-ed traveling 63 in a 45.</p>

<p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115722ee304970b-popup" onclick="window.open( this.href, '_blank', 'width=640,height=480,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0' ); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="IMG_0002" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf30888330115722ee304970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf30888330115722ee304970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" /></a> </p>

<p>Even though the ticket was addressed to ChrisTOPHER, there's no denying it's me, ChrisTINA.  The document requested Chris either accept responsibility for the offense or identify the perp.  I think I'm going down.</p></div>
</content>


    </entry>
    <entry>
        <title>The Cool Chris</title>
        <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/07/the-cool-chris.html" />
        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/2009/07/the-cool-chris.html" thr:count="30" thr:updated="2009-09-13T08:58:47-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00e5527bf308883301157114fb7d970c</id>
        <published>2009-07-15T12:05:59-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-07-15T12:05:59-06:00</updated>
        <summary>It's my husband's birthday today. He's 42, and yes, I'm older. When we began dating, Chris was a quasi bad-boy with a solid center of goodness. He had that cool swagger without any sleaze. I was a dork. Chris loved...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Chris</name>
        </author>
        <category scheme="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category" term="Chris" />
        
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="cool" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="good people" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="husband's birthday" />
        <category scheme="http://sixapart.com/ns/types#tag" term="still waters run deep" />
        
<content type="xhtml" xml:lang="en-US" xml:base="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/csquaredplus3/">
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>It's my husband's birthday today.  He's 42, and yes, I'm older.</p><p>When we began dating, Chris was a quasi bad-boy with a solid center of goodness.  He had that cool swagger without any sleaze.  I was a dork.  Chris loved me anyway.</p><p><strong><span style="font-size: 12px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">[Dating - 1989]</span></strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;" /></p><p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf308883301157209a3b4970b-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Chris and I before we were married. 1989" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf308883301157209a3b4970b " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf308883301157209a3b4970b-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Chris and I before we were married. 1989" /></a> <br /></span>He used to call me when I was working as a receptionist at a title company and say, "Hello, gorgeous," when he heard my voice.  I melted.  One time he said, "How's tricks?"  I immediately felt jealous.  "Who's Trix?" I asked.  He laughed and explained it was just an expression.  <em>How are things?  I don't know a girl named Trix</em>.</p><p>His cool quotient has always been coupled with a calmness that both soothes and irritates me at times.  He is not shy, but he is humble and the saying "still waters run deep" couldn't be more true when it comes to Chris.</p><p><strong><span style="font-size: 12px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">[Disneyland - 1994-ish]</span></strong></p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf308883301157114f538970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Chris and I in Disneyland - 1994ish" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf308883301157114f538970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf308883301157114f538970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Chris and I in Disneyland - 1994ish" /></a> </p><p>He's a <em>good</em> man; a good <em>person</em>.  I can't say that about too many people in my life.  Today I celebrate Chris.  The cool Chris.</p><p><strong><span style="font-size: 12px; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">[Arizona - 2009]</span></strong></p><p><a href="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf308883301157114fa98970c-popup" onclick="window.open(this.href,'_blank','scrollbars=no,resizable=yes,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0'); return false" style="display: inline;"><img alt="Chris in Arizona - July 2009" class="at-xid-6a00e5527bf308883301157114fa98970c " src="http://csquaredplus3.typepad.com/.a/6a00e5527bf308883301157114fa98970c-500wi" style="width: 470px;" title="Chris in Arizona - July 2009" /></a> </p><p>Happy Birthday, Studbuns.  [He blushes when I call him that.]</p></div>
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