Missus Edit-pants

So this week I've been hustling around working on my two editing projects. Okay, mentally hustling around. Most of this editing stuff I do with my bum firmly planted in my office chair, and I haven't gone to the gym since Monday because I had RS meetings Tues morning, my visiting teaching Wed morning, and my own being-visiting taught Thursday morning. So, yeah, I supposed I could have gone to the gym this morning . . . but the kids are off track and I slept in until 8 (thanks hon for getting up with Wyatt at 6:15--3,000 calories worth of brownie points right there) and then took all four kids to get haircuts, bought pumpkins, and then went to Payless with those same four kids and 12% of the population of South Jordan because there was some Oprah 50%-off- everything-in-the-store promotion and my kids all simultaneously grew out of their church shoes last Sunday.

So I haven't gone to the gym. But I have been hustling.

Hustle-job number one has been Irreantum, which is finally all typeset and ready for last-minute proofing. I'm really proud of this issue and think it's going to be the best one yet--all 220 pages of it. Here's the cover. Isn't it gorgeous? It's a window in the Boston temple. We have a great collection of other black and white photography from sacred places around the world in the interior of the journal:

I've also been busy working on Dispensation, finalizing ideas for the cover and working with Chris at Zarahemla on copyedits. Here's THAT cover:

We went back and forth on a number of different designs (39 in all!) and there were a few at the end I really liked. But I decided this one would be best after we changed the background from black (which I thought was too stark) to this rust color. I think it's bold and memorable and pretty cool.

And tomorrow's Halloween! Then (drumroll) in November I'm going to do something called NaNoWriMo. Yes, some of you might think I'm crazy, but Irreantum is all but wrapped up, Dispensation is close, and I've been editing instead of writing for way too long. This is a way to jump start the whole process. You commit to writing 50,000 words during the month of November. I'm not planning to have anything but a messy first draft (or the beginnings of a messy first draft) of the novel I've been tinkering with now for almost a year--but I'm excited to jump in. So during the month of November, Forrest will do his first full marathon and I'll try to write a novel :-). Sound ambitious enough?!?!

Should be fun.

Choo Choo!

Yes, my friends, we've been on the train lately. What train, you ask? The Heber Creeper (special Halloween edition)? The new FrontRunner (with free wifi!)? The Orient Express (wouldn't that be fun?).

No, this is the fourth time we've boarded this particular train, and I've gotta say, the station's in sight. Knock on porcelain.



Wyatt's potty-ing adventure began last week, and despite a few frustrating days and some extra loads of laundry and bouts of spot carpet cleaning, we're making good progress. He's reached station number one (no accidents now for over 24 hours! well, not counting nighttime) and station number two is coming into view. Today he arrived independently at station number two for the very first time. I was on the phone with my mom when it happened. She told me she wrote it in her journal.

Seriously. That takes Grandma-pride to a whole new level.

So we've been doing the potty dance, the boys have been playing sports, Elise has been singing away in the children's choir, and I've been dutifully teaching my class of four students--about which I won't say much just in case one of them Googles me and ends up over here somehow. But who Googles their college professors, you ask? Well, I've actually Googled a few of mine for various reasons, come to think of it. Which takes my nerdiness to the same level as my mom's Grandma-pride, I realize. But my class is full of good people--it's just different when the class is so small. I'm not missing the grading time, though.

I'm also in the midst of finishing up the 2009 double issue of Irreantum. It's going to be, well, awesome. If I do say so. I know none of you read it. But still. Someone will. Somewhere.

Also: Fall Television--Reality Edition. Yes, my friends, let's do the rundown, shall we?

-The Biggest Loser: I'm beginning to wonder if Tracey is a plant. She's a producer's dream. Almost dying on the first episode, stabbing people in the back willy-nilly, suddenly veering into violent crying jags, losing weight even though she's not exercising (much to the consternation of both Bob and Jillian), then inexplicably staying on when she could have been voted off. But Tracey is so weird she's gotta be for real. Opinions? And the lady whose entire family was killed in a car accident a couple of years ago makes me cry if she raises her eyebrows. Highly emotional season so far.

-SYTYCD: Of all the contestants (the final 20 were just announced--let the real show begin!), I think two Utah girls have the best chance of polarizing the audience. We have Ashleigh Di Lillo, BYU graduate and queen of the fakey-smile who made it into the competition by the skin of her teeth, along with her chest-baring, vaguely Lothario-like husband who hails from Springville. People love to hate girls like Ashleigh. We'll have to see if she grows on anybody. And then there's cute little Mollee (two l's, two e's please) with her blond ringlets and High School Musical resume. She's barely old enough to compete at 18 and Nigel's already complaining that she dances too young. And she does seem reaaaaaalllly young--and squealy and jumpy and giddy, which can grate on a person's nerves. But from what we've seen so far she can really dance. Only time will tell. Hooray for Fall SYTYCD!!

-Top Chef: Oh, Kevin--you of the pig tattoo. You remind me of a young Santa Claus. Plus you can COOK (last week's Restaurant Wars notwithstanding). I hope you win because the other three who are gunning for the title--Jen, and those Voltaggio brothers--don't have anything approaching your sweetness factor. In fact, the elder Voltaggio, Bryan, downright unnerves me. I'm sure being in a room with Bryan Voltaggio would be akin to hanging out with with John Stockton. You'd know if you told a joke he'd look at you for a beat or two, then furrow his eyebrows disapprovingly. Cooking (like basketball) is NO LAUGHING MATTER. Also, I miss Fabio from last season. Can't help it. Just do.

-Project Runway. Eh. Still mad at dumb Harvey Weinstein for dumping it over on the Lifetime network. I don't like watching those Lifetime sit-com commercials, and something about the show seems less urgent and more glossified (i.e., Lifetimeized) than it did back in its heyday. But this might be due to the fact that a show like PR can only keep going for so long before it starts to feel tired. Sigh. One observation, though: so many of the female designers this year are drop dead gorgeous! Where do they find these girls? And they're talented, too, which adds insult to injury.

Okay, and yes, I watch a few other reality shows (Survivor--barely and only when I have time; America's Next Top Model--I am ashamed to admit, and isn't Tyra looking SKINNY this season?; and The Amazing Race--also barely because it's getting reaaaaallly old and I'm still irked that it won the Emmy for Best Reality Show YET AGAIN). But as I've explained in previous posts: the vast majority of the time these shows are TiVoed, and I watch them during the magical 8:30-9:30 a.m. dishwasher unload/kitchen cleanup/laundry folding hour. Back in the day I watched the Today show during this portion of the morning, but thanks to TiVo I'm now spared Willard Scott's Birthdays-brought-to-you-by-Smuckers segments and instead get to see blindfolded chefs try to figure out if they're supposed to poach the sablefish or pan fry it.

And, finally, a few more pictures. This time, sports:

That's Ethan with the flag in his hand during the final game of the season. I'm a big fan of flag football. Not nearly as all-consuming as real football, or as dangerous (seriously, there's an article about head injuries in the New Yorker all football players should read)--just fun. Ethan had a great time.
Jonas, doing the soccer two-step. He's scored a few goals this season and really kicked up the intensity. His team doesn't win much, but as Jonas says, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose. It only matters if you play with your friends." Amen.


Elise's picture represents the sport of fashion. It's highly competitive. Just ask Tim Gunn. And can I just say that Elise is rocking the 6th grade? Some nights she has hours and hours of homework, and she deals with it with real aplomb. If patience-with-homework were an Olympic sport, she'd be getting a gold medal. Or at least a silver.

And now Wyatt must have CHOCOLATE MILLLLLLKKK! So I'm outta here.

A Week (or two) of Wilkeyness

Sheesh. It's been a while since I've blogged. Life, you know.

But I do have some photos and commentary to share, all of which have an element of Wilkeyness. So on to the photos! First, fishing:

Forrest took the boys and Darrin and the Wilkey boys fishing on a cold UEA weekend Friday. They bundled up and started reeling 'em in.
Ethan looks too cool for fish, doesn't he? (He was already too cool for school. UEA weekend and everything. Ba dum bah!)

Max won the prize for ginormous-trout-catching. Isn't she a biggie? The guys had a great time seeing that one reeled in.


That's a biiiig fishie! Forrest came home and smoked a couple up, too, and they were tasty.

So that was two weekends ago. Last weekend Forrest and I left the kids at home with Mindy & Pete (THANK YOU!) and took off with a whole gaggle of Wilkeys to visit Moab. Interestingly, I'm a lifelong Utahn who's never been to Moab, never traversed the slickrock trail, never seen Delicate Arch, so we thought we'd round out our year of National Parking (Zions, Bryce, Yellowstone, etc.) by visiting Arches. I was hoping when we woke up at 5 a.m. on Friday to meet the rest of the family for the "unimog" (explanation below) that it would be worth it . . . and it was!

Handsome husband, handsome view.


An actual dinosaur track. I guess they're all over the place up there. See Mom? They ARE real! :-0
This is the unimog, the vehicle which (that?) spurred us to wake up at 5:15 on Friday morning and speed to Moab so we could meet the rest of the Wilkeys for a 9:30 ride. It's basically a big ol' jeepish kinda truck thing (don't you love my technical vocabulary here?) that's all tricked out so it can traverse the Moab terrain and almost tip over, but not quite. The unimog you see here is a bigger version--we were behind on a smaller one.

The couple-shot.


Taking to the hills. They call it "slickrock," which is a terrible misnomer because the sandstone in Moab is just about the stickiest rock I've ever walked on. It's almost like hiking on sandpaper. Made it easier to get over some (SOME) of my paralyzing fear of heights and scramble around a little.


Up, up, up!!


Scanning the vistas.


A bunch-o-Wilkeys, looking happy.


And uuuuuup, uup, up. (This hill was at a 45% angle. Luckily our drivers were good. Or so they told us.)


Later that day we hiked up to Delicate Arch. (That's Forrest and me in the right corner.) This iconic symbol of my state is iconic for good reason--it's breathtaking. Pictures don't do it justice.
This is an example of the type of thing that triggers my height-phobia. Although I went up there with everybody else I had to keep my eyes straight ahead, and I'm afraid that if I brought my kids on this hike I'd have a full-on panic attack.


Pretty picture, no?

At 83 years old, Muriel managed the strenuous 3 mile round-trip hike all the way to Delicate Arch. Here's hoping I can be like Muriel when I'm 83 (although she had 14 kids, so there's a chance she's tougher than me).


This was another hold-my-breath, look-straight-ahead-and-scurry moment. A bunch of us went off the beaten path so we could get a different view of the arch and I decided to be a good sport and go along.
Here we are, post-scurrying.


And here's the worth-scurrying-for view.


(And here too, sans blurry, windblown people.)


Sunset, on the way down from Delicate Arch.

The next morning we explored some other nooks and crannies in Arches National Park.

A rock formation that looked suspiciously like Garth in profile.


The Windows. We also scurried up inside this arch--but I don't have any pictures of it (until Quinn emails them to me, at least. Hint, hint?). This was the scariest scurry for me. I was okay once I sat down but couldn't look behind me, and there were people who had some little kids up in there, running around like mountain goats, and it was all I could do not to yell at them: "Don't you realize your children are going to plummet to their deaths?!?!?!?" Which would have ruined everybody's fun, I realize. (Not the plummeting. My yelling. Although, come to think of it, my yelling would have ruined things a lot less than the plummeting could have . . .)


Another handsome husband, handsome view.


This is a baby rattlesnake that slithered by in the parking lot of Landscape Arch. It ended up under somebody's car, then on top of this woman's backpack. Initially, the woman thought Forrest was trying to steal her backpack, but when she realized he was moving a rattlesnake off of her backpack with a stick her mood turned from indignation to terror to gratitude for Forrest's baby snake wrangling.


And this is Landscape Arch. We hiked in to see it but were running out of time (it was almost 2:00, nobody had eaten, we had to get back on the road to get home before nighttime), so we just snapped a few pics from a not-so-primo spot and high-tailed it home.

We had a wonderful trip. So fun. Nature! You know? And the Wilkeys are a great bunch to hang out with and we're so glad they include us; even without the DNA test to prove our family ties they saved us a spot on the Unimog. Thanks Wilkeys for a great weekend!

(Oh, and to extend the Wilkey Weekend, we hosted Extended Wilkey FHE at our house on Sunday night. Needless to say, our house was full to the brim w/ Wilkeys, but, alas, no pictures. But many chocolate chip cookies eaten and good to see a bunch of kids and grandkids who didn't go to Moab.)

And I'll end with a slight departure: a video that contains to Wilkeyness whatsoever. But it does contain a cute boy and some washable magic markerness:

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.