No Boys Allowed

I never liked girl's camp...and for a good reason, too.

So to you mothers, here is a tip for you

to help your little beehive have a good time:

 Don’t cut your daughter's hair shorter than the deacons. 

Twice at girl’s camp, I was mistaken for a boy. 

 Now you are probably wondering why

 I was determined to keep my short hair all of my 

childhood when I was commonly mistaken for a boy. 

 Well, for one reason I seriously thought that Demi Moore copied my haircut for

her part in the 1990 movie Ghost, which just confirmed to me that

 the haircut was awesome. (And it was for a 20-year-old, not a 9-year-old).

Also, my sister Page had the same haircut and I loved Page.

Story #1 One June morning in 1993, just freshly twelve years old- the age 

when a girl can attend camp, 

I was loading the bus following behind my friends and cousins.

When I walked past the bus driver sitting at the wheel, 

 I noticed him staring at me looking confused.

I paid no mind and timidly rushed to the back of the bus

 and sat down by my cousins; Katie, Jayne, Casey, and Sarah.

Then I looked forward and saw his piercing eyes glaring at me in the

 long rectangle mirror attached to the windshield. 

You know, that death mirror where bus drivers eagle eye students

 for any monkey business going on during those rides home from long school days.

In my mind, I panicked and wondered;

 why is he staring at me? What’s the deal?

 Then it happened. He could see that I was looking at him, too so 

he lifted his hand up and pointed sharply at me with his finger. 

 I ignored it and looked out the window. 

 Then he yelled,  “HEY!” 

Still, I ignored it again because why shouldn't I?  I didn't do anything wrong.

 But I couldn't help but wonder why he was yelling at me.

 I think deep in my heart I knew what it was.

I already felt stupid.

 Then in the corner of my eye, I watched him pick up the 

bus's loudspeaker, and instantly the bus with nearly fifty loud 

young girls screaming and yapping with excitement came to a halt.

 “Hey, you in the back of the bus!" he yelled. 

“No boys allowed at camp, is this a joke? Who are you here with?” 

My heart was breaking with every word and I knew he was talking to me. 

 All at once, all the girls stood up to see who’s 

devious brother snuck on the bus 

without anyone knowing as a practical joke.  

All the girls began laughing and then and my cousin, Casey looked at me and said,

 “Steph, I think he is looking at you.” 

Tears began swelling as I crept down further in my seat.

 “Hey get off the bus before I notify someone to help you off!” 

He was cruel.  And chubby and I kept thinking to myself, 

well at least I’m not chubby you big chubby loser! 

Finally, he stood up and walked to the back where I was.

 Each footstep shook the bus. The bus was now quiet except for the

 few whispers roaming around.  My heart was racing now. 

What would I tell him, how could I possibly PROVE to this chubby man 

that I was indeed a girl.

 Finally, he reached my seat and put his hand on my shoulder, and said,

“young man, get off the bus."

I looked up with him as a hot tear dripped down my cheek. 

“B-but I’m a girl,” I said nervously.

 He looked at me with an unexpected stare then looked

 at my cousin who nodded quietly. 

 Then he walked away and off the bus. I looked up through my tear-glazed eyes 

as the girls looked at me with pity and embarrassment. 

Clasping their hands over their mouths as if that had happened

to them, they would have died!

I could see through my tears out the window as the chubby bus driver began 

conversing with my leader outside and then nodded. 

 He walked back on the bus and sat down glancing in the back

 through the mirror with awkwardness.

My cousin gave me a side hug then offered me some of her sour patch kids.

"That was rude, Steph.  I'm sorry.  I don't think you look like a boy."

She said holding the treats to me, "the red ones are my favorite."

 Story #2 My second year wasn't much better.

Gratefully, I was able to go to camp with my mom who happened to be a leader 

 We decided at free time to take a walk together on one of the beautiful trails

when we came upon a man they call “Papa Joe”.

 He was a legend at camp because he and his wife had been the caretakers

of the land for years.

He was pilling wood on his quad when he looked up and saw us.

 We nodded and said hello, except he didn’t say hello back,

“Ahhh, Excuse me, sister” 

he said looking at us with an all too familiar glare.

“You know the no boys allowed at camp period rule, right?"

My mom gave him a look that released a thousand fire darts out

 her eyes and said proudly to him,

“This is my DAUGHTER.” 

Then she grabbed my hand and we walked away

 leaving Papa Joe looking more like ‘Sloppy Joe.’ 

“Oh, sorry about that.” He said as we walked away.  

In the distance, I could hear him rattling off a bunch of reasons why

 he excused himself for his ignorant remark.

 As we walked back to camp I said to my mom,

 “Maybe this summer I should grow my hair out?”

She looked at me and said, “Oh, that would look really good on you, darling.

But don't do it because of comments like that, do it because you want to."

(I never did grow my hair out, at least not until I was 20 years old.)

One summer morning years later, 

and just like a character in one of Judy Blume’s books,

 I woke up and looked in the mirror. 

 I had changed. 

 I had turned into a woman! Seriously overnight!  I'm not kidding.

 After that, I was never mistaken for a young man,

and I really liked my short hair.

And this blog will go on and on...

I know, I know, you think my blog is a shrine to 

my husband and I guess in a way, it kind of is, and I don't care.

I would like to share my favorite things about my husband on this blog.

Yesterday, I watched confidently as Christian got out the scissors and

 cut his own hair in the mirror. With talents like those,

 what else could this boy from Arizona do?  

Could he cut my hair? 

So I challenged him, and he surprisingly obliged and cut my hair.

And the best part is, I like it.

What else can he do?  Well, I will tell you:

When I met Christian at my dad's office in Provo, he walked into the room

 with baggy cargo pants and long hair. 

As time went on and we got to know each other a little more, he showed me pictures

 of his recent trip to the family ranch in New Mexico where I learned

he turns into Wyatt Earp for the week and catches

 rattlesnakes with his bare hands.

His cowboy character is quite charming, and as I type this I'm reflecting 

back to one late summer evening when we

 were together at my family's cabin in Wallsburg, Utah.

We decided to ride horses together at dusk, and I 

 I watched in awe as he handled himself around the horses with ease,

like a regular Jim Craig from The Man From Snowy River.

Then he asked me to run and jump onto the horse holding his hand and

swinging myself onto the back of the saddle, like  

Julia Ormond did in the movie, First Knight with the handsome

with “Lancelot” (Richard Gere).

So I did, and I trusted him, too.

Then off we rode into the sunset. 

(This is all true!).

Since we bought our aged, musty dwelling here in New Jersey,

his hands have been hard at work preparing and doing all the

 tasks necessary to fix it up and make it fit for human habitation.

Last week while working on the finishing touches (after a year)

 in the girl's bedroom, he asked me to assist him while

he measured and cut a piece of molding for the wall.

I looked at him as he secured his safety goggles onto his brown eyes.

 A wave of love swept over me as I watched him. 

He had sweat trickling down his forehead and down his back

working in the summer humidity.

 Then he used his nailgun to secure the piece to the wall.

“How does that look darling?” 

He asked me.

As I look around, practically every corner of 33 Harvey Circle

 is something he has carefully constructed with his bare hands.

 I have owned three homes with this man, and never once have we had to call

 a “fix-it” guy to install, repair, or mount anything.

  He can do everything in the house from the pluming to painting to tile and trim.

After college, Christian was offered the best job in this major.

It was no surprise to me of course because he loves what he does,

and he is good at it- really good at it.

In the fall when Christian and I were dating he would often 

come to visit me and pull his skateboard out of the car and ride around.

I'd usually watch him show off

while sitting on top of my car wrapped up in a blanket. 

I'd give him a few claps of encouragement then he'd say:

“Ok watch this one”.

Just like a little boy.

Just a few nights ago, I went to pick him up from the church where he was

spending time with the youth, and there he was in the parking lot with all 

the young men surrounded him in a circle as he was 

dazzling them all with his board tricks.

 I felt like I was a young girl in high school taking home the “star” quarterback.

He jumped in the front seat and I smooched him.

We both glanced in the back seat as our children

looked at us with blank faces.

Someday you'll know how this feels. I thought.

Last night as I was loading the dishwasher he walked into the

 kitchen after putting Oliver to bed,

 and loaded a few empty (and stinky) 

bottles he had found under Ollie's crib.

Then he walked into the bathroom, washed and brushed the girls who were in the tub, 

wrapped them both up in a towel and put on their pajamas.

After that, he told the girls a story (using his hands to add a grand effect), 

 sang them a song with his calming, charming, and masculine voice,

then kissed them gently and shut out the light.

Finally, he picked me up from the couch and took me to bed. 

I had officially married the finest guy ever. 

When Oliver was born at home I was a little nervous to not be

 in the traditional hospital where food was delivered around the clock, 

 nurses attending to my every care, 

and children NOT climbing over me.  

I'd definitely get good rest for about 2-3 days. 

But my husband took care of my concerns by making

 homemade bread, whole-wheat waffles (grinding his own wheat too!),

providing me with fresh fruit and granola in the mornings, 

and making sure I was sleeping every chance I could get.

When I lay on our bed pushing out Oliver, he held my hand and looked into my eyes.

  He shared soothing words of encouragement and love.

  He also changes the oil in the car every 3,000 miles, 

he creates furniture for me, (our kitchen table, my red armoire).  

He redid the bathroom, makes frames for my pictures, pays our bills,

 knows my clothes size, walks the dog, mows the lawn, paints my toenails, 

and occasionally picks out my clothes.

While this post has to come to a close, I can confidently say;

(and in Celine Dion voice singing the song, My Heart Will Go On) 

that his talents, ".....will go on and oooonnnnnnnnnnnnnn".

To a Goose in September

Goosie is ready for September!

To a Goose

If thou didst feed on western plains of yore;
Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet
Over some Cambrian mountain's plashy moor;
Or find in farmer's yard a safe retreat
From gypsy thieves, and foxes sly and fleet;
If thy grey quills, by lawyer guided, trace
Deeds big with ruin to some wretched race,
Or love-sick poet's sonnet, sad and sweet,
Wailing the rigour of his lady fair;
Or if, the drudge of housemaid's daily toil,
Cobwebs and dust thy pinions white besoil,
Departed Goose! I neither know nor care.
But this I know, that thou wert very fine,
Season'd with sage and onions, and port wine.
-Robert Southey

NieNie: on being Proud

I could come up with at least a thousand reasons 

why I am proud right this second:

And today I decided to write a few of them down:

(They are not in any particular order either).

I looked up other words that are synonymous with the word"proud",

 and they are words like arrogant, conceited, puffed-up, pompous, 

self-righteous and big-headed.

I hope I don’t come off that way while writing this post,

but if I do, sorry...but not really.

*I am proud to say I married the most amazing 

handsome man on the planet.

* I am proud to be an American!

*I am proud that Christian can cut my hair at no charge!

And since I don’t have any money anyway, it works out really great.

Plus, I can always find other ways to pay him.

*I am proud to say that after high school I fell in love and got married.

*I am proud that I was born in such a large family and named after my father.

*I am proud that I come from Utah.

*I am proud that I am a member of 

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

* I am proud of my rich pioneer heritage.

*I am proud to say that once I was a ski instructor at Sundance Resort in Utah.

*I am proud to say that I am DRUG-FREE and have been all my life.

*I am proud to say I don’t own an R-rated movie- (or watch them)

*I am proud that I had three children before turning the ripe old age of 23. 

*I am proud and confident to say that Christian adores

 me for every reason possible.

*I am proud of my choice to put off school to start a family.

*I am proud that my father is serving as a 

Representative in the legislature in Utah.

*I am proud that my little family thrives on a vegetarian diet.

*I am proud of the colorful walls in my house.

*I am proud that all five of my brothers and two sisters have served

 missions for The Church (Lucy is currently serving in England).

*I am proud of my in-laws for having eleven children

 who are all excellent people.

*I am proud to say my favorite holiday is Halloween.

*I am proud of the whole wheat pizza I make every Saturday night for my family.

To conclude, I can directly say: I am pretty proud of this list.