Cousins

One of the things I like best about living in Utah is cousin access. Nothing makes me happier than seeing my kids enjoy their family, and I know they really love their cousins. Even Ethan was excited when he heard that Bella, Ayva, and Lilly would be joining us from Thursday to Sunday last week . . . and when a 13 year old boy is glad to see three female cousins age 6, 4, and 16 months, you know your family ties are pretty tight. Double-knotted, I'd say.

Mindy and Pete's girls were with us while their parents took a little trip to the land of trolley cars and Ghirardelli chocolate. (The last time I visited good ol' San Fransisco was when I was 23 years old, pregnant with Ethan, and Forrest and I and another newish high school teacher chaperoned the journalism kids from West Jordan High for a conference . . . and we missed our plane home. And it was spring break weekend. Oh, heavenly day, we had no idea what we were doing. A little shudder runs up my spine whenever I think of it. Sprinting through the airport, gaggles of trusting teenagers trailing behind me, gasping for breath, watching as the plane pulled away from the concourse, thinking, "Holy crap! I'm IN CHARGE of this mess." Ah, adulthood.)

Anyway, I digress. While the girls were here things were pretty busy--they were good girls, to be sure, but nine people in the house is nine people in the house--and I'd planned to take some pictures. Alas, I only took one. It'll have to do:



It was fun to have the cousins here and to inject a little girliness into our otherwise male-dominated environment. And I'm glad Mindy and Pete were able to take off and have some time alone. Oh, time alone. I love time alone.

But to amp up the level of cousinliness, Amy and Dave came to town and brought their two offspring along (since one of them is three and the other is one, they have this habit of tagging along with their parents.) We had a fun Sunday dinner with them and Tony & Cindy and then today while the big kids were in school we went to the zoo. Love the zoo! Especially on a beautiful day like today. So--pictures:

Touching the "water ball." A must at Hogle Zoo. (I like how this photo captures his reflection. Double cuteness.)
It was a day for babies at the zoo: baby giraffes, baby tiger cubs, baby meerkats. But the baby to beat all babies was the newborn elephant. Oh, what a cute, cute animal. She galloped around the enclosure, played with the big red balls, and I thought this was a pretty cool shot of the baby nursing while the mom got a little lunch for herself. Wyatt loved it.
Awwww. Right?

And this is little Miss Macy. Dear Macy: You are so cute. I love your hair. My hair was your color when I was your age. None of my children inherited it, but I'm glad to see somebody did. I'm sorry we kept ignoring you in your stroller while everyone else looked at stuff at the zoo, but next year you'll like it a lot more. Promise. Love, Aunt Angie.

Cousins: A profile.

Riding the tigers. I love how Jack's hat was always just a little skeewompus. Jack is three. Jack can read. He's a supergenius and Wyatt loves hanging with him.

The obligatory Famous Lion Drinking Fountain Photo

And the obligatory Do You Measure Up Stretch Your Arms Like a Gorilla Photo. Although they changed it! It used to be one gorilla--a male, probably, those zookeeping sexists--but more enlightened zookeepers now have a male, female, juvenile and infant gorilla. Much more equitable. But Grandpa is, and will always and forever be, the Silverback Male.

It was a fun day, and it's been a fun cousin week. Here's to cousins! And Grandmas and Grandpa and Aunts and Uncles and Brothers and Sisters and the whole lot of you. Love ya.

More Triathloning, Roundworm, The New Yorker, and Foundations of a Happy Marriage

Forrest ran his last triathlon of the season--and his first ever Olympic length triathlon--on Saturday. It took place up at Daybreak, a mere stone's throw from chez Hallstrom. It was billed as the one-and-only open water swim Tri in the Salt Lake Valley, which was true, until

(bum, bum, baaaaahhhhh)

ROUNDWORM!

I was going to post a picture of a roundworm, then googled it, then decided that nobody needs to see a picture of a roundworm. Especially an unexpected picture of a roundworm. You're welcome.

Anyway, a few days before the triathlon three cases of roundworm had been confirmed in South Jordan, and we soon learned that these poor souls caught the lovely infestation at Daybreak beach. It's very rare in the US . . . but apparently it made its way to suburbia. Just in time for the triathlon. Ick. Racck. Urgghpllth.

So, needless to say, the first ever open water swim in Salt Lake County did NOT take place. They did attempt to salvage it by having the participants take three laps in their little ol' club pool, but Forrest tells me it wasn't quite the same, as one would expect.

After the "swim" ended Forrest called me (he left his cell phone in his shoe in order to cut down on his transition time), and I hopped on my bike, stuck a New Yorker magazine in my camera bag, and rode up to the event so I could cheer for my dear husband. Left Wyatt at home with Elise and Jonas (Ethan was at an overnight Scout camp involving bikes and a tarantula--long story) and huffed and puffed up the hill just in time to see Forrest whiz on in after a 23 mile bike ride and head out for his six mile run with a smile on his face.

A part of me wishes that I could be one of those super-cool, hard-core triathlon chicky-babes and do one of these things WITH my husband, but the fact that I had to huff my way up one small hill made it pretty apparent that such thing is never going to happen. That and the idea of an open water swim--with or without the risk of parasitic infection--would scare me right out of my neoprene wet suit. But luckily Forrest's love of me isn't contingent on my cardio endurance. He fell in love with a girl who brings a New Yorker magazine to a triathlon, not one who ever intended in competing in one. I'm not much of an athlete--no, never was--but I'm a heck of a conversationalist. Give me a topic! Any topic! (Okay, except sports--sometimes I wonder if I really AM Dennis Sweat's daughter). For example, just a few minutes ago--right as I was in the middle of this paragraph, in fact--Forrest called from LA and we had a great little exchange about Gadhafi's recent address to the UN as well as possible interpretations of the dream Forrest had last night where he was holding a poisonous frog and couldn't let go of it.

That, my friends, is the foundation of a loving marriage. That and having the same opinions about movies and making each other food.

But moving on, the other big news of the week is Wyatt's in his big boy bed! We have a lovely old bed that once belonged to Forrest's Uncle Rich. It has carvings of a sailboat on the footboard and the headboard, and both Ethan and Jonas slept in it when they transitioned out of the crib. But, for both of them, I didn't have the time or wherewithal to refinish the thing, and it was in dire need. Lot of scratches and a really worn finish, and a gigantic letter "R" on the headboard from a sticker Uncle Rich put there, I don't know, 45 years ago? But Forrest and I finally got our act together and refinished it. It doesn't look perfect, but it looks much, much better, and Wyatt's been thrilled to go to bed in it the last two nights. He hasn't even tried getting out (fingers crossed).

Now the kids are getting home from school. Scheduled for tonight: Ethan's parent teacher conferences, Jonas's soccer practice, Ethan's flag football practice, Elise's Africa Map homework, Young Men's, and finishing the reorganization of the cupboards above the desk in the kitchen. (Yes, I'm reorganizing this house one space at a time. And it's not because I saw an episode of "Hoarders" on AMC and got scared straight. Promise.)

A Chill in the Air

It's 6:30 a.m. on a Tuesday and I'm sitting on the couch with an open window behind me and thinking, "Dang. I'm a little cold."

And tired. Wyatt!

But back to the cold thing (because whenever I think about the tired thing I realize that in a few weeks we'll be setting our clocks back and then we'll REALLY be in trouble with the early waking). Anyway: cold. All of a sudden it feels like fall. It's had to believe that just one week ago, we were doing this:


Elise and Ethan both did great on the wakeboard

Forrest, of course. Good picture, no?

This one's Uncle Tony, showing off his mad wakeboarding skills. I like the hand placement. It's like he's saying, "What?!?! I'm just hangin'."

The booooooyyyz. (And Aunt Cindy's left eye.)

And Jonas. Jonas decided to have a "dry day" at the lake, which was fine. It was a touch chilly--the dang wind!--and Mom had a dry day too.

So that was Labor Day (thanks Tony & Cindy and Mom & Dad for making it so fun) . . . and now it's fall. We're in the thick of homework and early rising, soccer and Children's Choir, and Ethan's starting up with flag football here soon. Did I mention that I pulled Elise and Jonas out of piano? Long story--she was an excellent teacher, but the pace was a little too intense for my particular kids--and I keep planning to teach them myself.

And planning. And planning. Why is it so hard to teach your own kids a musical instrument? Or at least hard for me?

We're talking to Wyatt about potty training. Right now we're still in the talking stage, and he's very circumspect about the whole thing. Meaning he sits on the potty for 5 seconds and then says, "No potty down there, Mom. No potty!"

I've been going to the gym again more regularly--during the summer I was riding my bike or jogging outside--and my dumb ankle is STILL giving me trouble. Step in a hole at Sundance and give yourself months of ankle soreness! I keep thinking it's better, then I go and try running and I'm right back where I was--not in huge pain or anything, but sore and stiff. Man, I'm getting old.

I fell off the Weight Watchers wagon and have not yet clambered back on board. Eeh. Made chicken enchiladas for dinner last night--a recipe that contains sour cream, cream of chicken soup, and two kinds of cheese--and man, they were good. But I also bought some candy corns from Harmons after resisting the last two times I saw them, and between me and the kids, they were all gone by 8:00 p.m. Candy corns are my sickening autumn candy equivalent of Brach's Chicks and Rabbits in the spring. So, while I'm not on WW anymore, I must remind myself: DO NOT buy the candy corns! You will regret it!

And speaking of devouring, Ethan and I just whipped through the second installment of the Hunger Games series: Catching Fire. Between that book and The Likeness, which I mentioned last post, I've had some really fun reading lately. Now I'm overcome with that vague, let-down feeling when you've powered through a good novel and don't have anything equally compelling left to read. And I feel guilty admitting this, but I bought Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude two months ago because I KNOW that any writer worth her salt ought to read that book, and it's been sitting in my office the whole time, mocking me with it's pretty green cover. I keep waiting for a sufficient burst of intellectual energy. Or something. One Hundred Years of Solitude, I promise, I will read you. Someday. Soon!

And now it's 7:12. Ethan will be heading out the door in ten minutes, so I'd better haul myself off this drafty couch and commence our out-the-door routine. Fall! It's here.

Peaches, Class Size, and Irish Swearing

I didn't have one occasion to take a picture of anything this week. Nope.

Well, I suppose I could have taken a picture of my newly-organized food storage room. (Seriously. It's AWESOME.) But I didn't. I'm really whipping that basement into shape, though, I tell you what. And now when the zombies attack, we won't have to wade through gigantic Halloween spider decorations and rubbermaid bins full of baby clothes and a broken-down swing in order to find the kidney beans.

We have LOTS of kidney beans. Kidney beans are very important to Forrest. Both dark and light red. Come over--we can have chili anytime.

You know what else we have a lot of? PEACHES. From our very own trees. I know! We grew peaches! And guess what? They're delicious. It feels slightly miraculous that we can grow delicious peaches all by ourselves from a little tiny dwarf peach trees in our back yard in suburban South Jordan. Delicious peaches seem like they have to come from an orchard in Idaho, or at least from my Aunt Karla's property in Mapleton. But we grew our very own and today I even made a tasty little cobbler, which I'm taking over to Grandma and Grandpa Sweat's for dinner as soon as I finish writing this. Turns out Grandma Sweat made peach icebox dessert (my cobbler was a whim)--so tonight we're having Cold Peaches and Warm Peaches. Mmmmm.

Hey! I just remembered! I have a picture of one of our peach trees. See? I haven't left you picture-less.


I'm so proud of our scrawny little tree.

What else? I started teaching again for the semester. I've been really nervous because I had nine students a week ago, but during the last week before school started I lost SIX of them (not taking it personally) and only had three on the roll on the first day of class. The SL Center "prefers" that you have five but have "occasionally" let a class carry with as few as three. Luckily, on the first day two more students showed up, so I'm good to go with five. All women. They seem like a good group, but I'm going to miss my Winter 09 class--a creative writing class works best with 10 or so, I think. It will be interesting to try and make it work with this small of a group. But at least I'm getting paid! And less grading. That's always good. Silver linings and all that.

Oh, and I also got the completed manuscript of my anthology of Mormon short stories off to the publisher. Hooray!! Now it's just proofreading the galleys, getting author approvals, finalizing the cover, all that good stuff.

I also read a really good book this week. The Likeness by Tana French. I'd seen her previous book around (called Into the Woods) but hadn't read it, and picked this one up on a whim at Target. Man, that chickie can WRITE! Technically, the book belongs in the mystery/thriller genre, but French's prose is just gorgeous. Gorgeous! I love myself a good literary mystery. They're few and far between. Warning, though: The main characters are Irish cops, so there's some language. What does it mean about me, though, that if I imagine the swear words spoken with a lilting Irish accent they don't offend me as much?

The kids are doing great in school--happy, swinging along. They seem to like their teachers and their classmates and have not (yet) caught the swine flu. So all is well.

And after that stream-of-consciousness rundown, we are off to Grandmas for a Peach Party!

p.s. I can't wait to hear what Barack Obama tells all the school children on Tuesday. Perhaps he will ask them to create a child army. Or do their homework. Either way, it's SINISTER!!!!