Clark Riding Lessons

Objective #1:

See that cool new button over there? ---------> 

(It looks something like this)

Click it.

(Good job)

Ok, now that you’re back here, where you belong, you probably noticed it took you to a fabulous Facebook page for “Clark Riding Lessons”. Send me a friend request. 

Objective #2:

Do you love me? Want me to succeed? Be happy in life?!

I teach horseback riding lessons. Spread the word. Thanks.

Six Hours Later...

We're back! Another year of Cody Fire School is under way, 

and I must say I'm pretty excited to be here. 

Casual Tuesday

This is the part where I say something witty as an introduction to today's post but taking care of a batallion of berserk animals has caused me to lose what little sense I'm capable of making on any day that's not Friday or Saturday.  


Anyhow, as much as a hit that Easter was, I want to update on more than just the blessings of Easter Sunday. So, sorry if I duplicate any details you might already be privy to. If it makes you feel better, I promise to include some fun pictures. Promise.

Let’s talk about my fingers for a second. Long story short: I got in a fight with a hot glue gun, and apparently it won.  Till we meet again glue gun….till we meet again.

Next, remember my short lived Sunday Briefing blogs and how I rambled on about my stoppage of the nail biting? Not only are they blistered all over, but they are nailless. Honestly, how did you not see that coming?  Ya well, that was short lived because I am back to my nubs. Actually, I’m pretty sure I have bitten them as short as they have ever been. There goes my hand modeling career. Crap.

So you know the boys? The furry ones? Well, everyone knows my dog drama, right? No? You mean you don’t actually READ this crap? Whatever.  Long, long ago Zip escaped from our backyard and the coppers found him and wrote us a lovely “canine at large” ticket. Fixed the fence, fixed the problem. Flash forward. We move. Zip finds and/or makes a hole in fence on first day. Zip escapes, same lovely cops write us another lovely ticket. Two weeks later, zip repeats the process and gets out again. And because I am the one who calls the cops in the first place to tell them he is out, we get another ticket. In no way am I blaming anyone here. He is our dog, and our responsibility. And if we can’t obey animal’s laws, we most definitely deserve the tickets. But nonetheless it’s FRSUTRATING!!  They have actually cut us some many breaks; it’s amazing Animal Control hasn’t shot him.


 Actually, Zip only runs. He’s not aggressive or a nuisance…just horny apparently. It’s not like the dog has anything to run away from. It’s the hotmommas he finds around town he is running too. Anyway, in accordance with the town, if your animal commits three offences, you have to go to court. And they can potentially kick your dog out of town. So I went to court. I would have appreciated a large crowd with posters outside protesting that Zip keeps his citizenship, but I didn't see anyone. I must have walked out the wrong door.


 Zip gets to stay alright, only after I pay a billizon dollars to compensate all the hard work animal control does. Ya know, there are so many dogs “running at large”, and it just so happens that mine is one of the few that gets caught.  Life ain’t easy being the Chief’s kid, I tell ya. Got to love the politics of a small town. It is what it is!

If you live in the Uinta County and you don't work at the mines you're either a. trying to get on at the mines or b. are already in the hiring pool. The mines is where it's at. And by "it" I don't mean your dream job of happiness; I mean the money. We are the people stuck in the hiring pool. This is how FMC's hiring process works. If you know someone who works there, you might get an interview. Then a second interview. Then testing. Then they stick you in the "hiring pool". And here, you wait. Pretty much like sitting at the doctors office. You know you'll be seen eventually, it's just a matter of time. But boy, when they call your name, you better be ready. Well, Brent has been in the hiring pool since October. They only keep that hiring pool open for 6 months before they start a new one. Yes, you have to start the entire process over if they don't pick you. That means applications, interviews, and testing all from the beginning. October to April is six months...and we obviously have no FMC. BUT! Yesterday, we received a letter saying "we aren't kicking you out just yet...we will keep you in until next October, so don't get your panties in a bunch just yet; you still have a fighting chance". Or something like that. 

• Funny- I am usually the one to handle Brent's work e-mails via his account, and to make my life easier, I saved all of his job prospect Human Resources' e-mail addresses to his contacts. WELL. Brent received a funny e-mail, and decided to send it to all of his best buds. So that little "add all" button was clicked, and the e-mail was on its way. I had happened to notice "Cyndi Johnson-FMC" and "Union Telephone-HR" and about 5 others included in the list. After rolling on the floor laughing for a good five minutes, Brent lets me know that "he does this all the time" having no idea that his potential bosses are getting his "God is good" or "You know you've been married forever when..." forwards. Uggggggg. So Cyndi from FMC apparently didn't appreciate "why God is a woman" forward and told us to take her off the list. She obviously has no sense of humor. Woops. Please still hire him FMC, please.

The sun is shinning and there is snow on the ground. I'm wearing flip-flops and a skirt.  If you think it, it will come. Whose with me?!


....I forgot to take out the trash...again. Crap. 

So regardless, my husband and I will continue living happily ever after. 

 Until next time folks.

Don't Tell Me I'm Too Old!

Easter, like most holidays is most commonly escalated around the enthusiasm of small children. Kids get to murder chocolate bunnies with their mouths. Kids get to wake up Sunday morning to baskets filled with useless annoying green stuff “Easter grass” and candy. Kids get giant stuffed bunnies to accompany them on their egg quests. Kids get special bunny pancake breakfasts with life-saver eyes and candy corn noses. Kids get to run outside and push each other down while hunting for those plastic eggs I love so much. Yes, kids get all the glory. Kids…and Liz.

I am the proud owner partner of this shiny new toy I commonly refer to as my husband. He is the BEST Easter bunny on the block, correction; world. I think it’s pretty clear I have a slight obsession with reclaiming my childhood with every holiday, and Easter is no exception. I made my demands preferences known with egg hunts and SOLID chocolate bunnies. Has this kid ever let me down? I think not. Sunday morning I had eggs galore to find, and a hidden message to decode that lead me to my hidden basket and goodies (giant stuffed rabbit and FOUR solid chocolate bunnies included). Breakfast, of course, was complete with the bunny pancakes. This is no mature adult old he’s dealing with. Brent is in for a lifetime of immaturity and frantic holiday mania.

::: Bunny pancake disclaimer: As I handed Brent his pancake a la bunny, I start hearing cries of help coming from the plate. “Nooo I can’t hear! Not my eyes! You’re killing me!! I can’t breathe!!!!!” Yes, my husband was expressively narrating the asphyxiation of his breakfast. Death was ruled murder by digestion. Poor thing never had a chance. ::: …and here I thought was the one with maturity issues.

 Though my husband has become accustomed to my alternative lifestyle as a 7 year old, the Bridger Valley has not. They apparently don’t realize the importance of the phrase “you’re never too old for whatever”.  Every year, the town puts on a huge egg hunt at the Fort. They hide over 4,000 eggs, and divide the areas into age groups. As little Grace and I walked up to the map to locate our appropriate hunting grounds, I noticed they were missing the 20+ section. Surely, there must have been some mistake, so I opted to join in on the 6-7 age group instead. I’m faster and could get more eggs that way.  Less competition. Kidding. (No, really, I am kidding…but I wouldn’t put it entirely past me.) Instead I opted for the photographer position and took pictures of Faith and Grace as they stole all my fun. (You’re wasting my fun time!!!)<---- You’re welcome, Trista.

The people that can actually take credit for Grace and Faith, Trista and Dale.

Faith, Christopher, Jason (and his new hair do) and Timmy posing with a less than desirable portrayal of the Easter Bunny. (Somewhere in the E.B. Code of Ethics it should state you shouldn't have chew tobacco covered teeth while interacting with small children. Just sayin')

Easter night was spent at the grandparents’ house, as we compared the smells of people vs. brown or white chicken eggs. Ashley learned a lot about chickens and their lack of respect for color coding their offspring, and possibly a thing or two about super glue not being all that super when it comes to shoe repair. Grandpa learned that when grandma say to dispose of “A” cat, she doesn’t mean all of them. I assume he will also be learning how uncomfortable his couches are to sleep on.  We sat around embarrassing the crap out of and reminiscing of Clark childhood (and some adult) mishaps, as grandpa sat in the corner taking it all in, learning a little more than he probably wanted to. 

•        Disclaimer #2: I really missed my Momma, Pop and Bear on Easter. Brought back so many childhood memories. Love you guys!

And now I feel as though I have properly portrayed Easter as everything it shouldn’t be. Mission failed. So I’ll redeem myself by telling you how beautiful the sermon was in church. I had the opportunity to sing a ‘special’, a quartet with three other lovely ladies with voices of angels. We sang “That Old Rugged Cross”.  So moving. So beautiful.  God is good, and thank you Jesus. 

The End.  

Delayed

I love Easter time. It stems from my early childhood. I love everything about this time of year; it’s my very own “new year’s”.  I feel like everything has a new beginning come Spring. As a Christian, I look the Easter holiday as my time for resolutions, new promises, restoration and fulfillment.  So this is my season for change. Bring it on!!

So last year, I focused on not much more than my 'lellow egg and wedding plans. This year is so much different. Which is totally awesome. Every year that I live in Wyoming I am convinced this is the year that a. I will get (get; as in, be on the receiving end of the eggs. The one in search of those little plastic shells of heaven.) a stellar Easter egg hunt and a solid chocolate bunny and b. I’ll get to do it outside. As of yet, I have gotten one egg hunt and a ground covered in snow. So here’s to a Easter full of Christ, egg hunts, and good weather! ...and a chocolate bunny.

My EMT skills have been put to the test this past two weeks, as I served as the medic for the regional wrestling match. My goodness those kids are intense. And not just the kids! A gym full of children (5-16) running around in blue or red singlets (not ‘onesies’. Do not call them that…woops) And then a complete overtake of fathers running around coaching their child every minute of the day, followed by the moms who tuck the alternative onsies singlets into their front pocket with the head gear attached, I think this is a way of signifying their status. The kids crouch down into position, and it’s like WWE live happening right before my freakin eyes.  It’s pure amazingness .  Parents scream profanities words of encouragement as the kids sometimes forget what the heck they’re doing and get the deer in headlights look as they squirm around on the mat. My kid will most definitely be a wrestler. 

The weekend before, Miss Hillary Rose  came to town to visit mawh.  Normally she brings me a cool souvenir or some awesome pictures of a recent night out, but this time she brought me the coolest thing ever. Her new boyfriend. Ian goes above and beyond for her. They compliment each other very well. I told her if she didn’t stay with him, I’d more than likely consider having two husbands. Juuuust kidding. Brent’s my one and only, and if secondary husbands were legalized a choice, Tim Tebow would be my first pick. They are pretty cute together.  Just saying, Hill.

We had a great ski weekend in Park City thanks to my mom and pop. It was nice living the hot tub life style for a couple of days.

Not a whole lot else has changed. I’m starting to figure out my life is pretty lame, but I’m blaming it on the crappy weather. 

Shot guns with a hint of Spring.

Differences between Utah and Wyoming, more specifically Park City and Lyman.

When God says it's time for Spring...Utah actually obeys, while Wyoming protests until late June. (I say this as it's a blizzard in Park City. Go figure.)

SLC drivers cut you off in traffic for (usually) a legit reason (probably caused by another out of state driver), Wyoming drivers do it for the heck of it on a 10 mile stretch of open road.

Contrary to popular belief: diversity. 

You can't just leave your car running when you run into the store in Utah. Turns out, you end up sprinting across the parking lot to retrieve your keys and pull the hijacker out of the drivers seat

The tallest building in Wyoming is the same size as the Utah hair poof.

Wyoming wind has a constant direction and intensity. Utah wind can't pick a direction or a speed, therefore constantly spewing your perfect hair in every which way...therefore ruining your poof.

Things grow and multiply in Utah extremely well. That includes babies and shubberies.

The housing market: Prices are jacked the crap up in Lyman because a. materials cost the same BUT b. no one knows it exists thinks to move there. You can buy triple the house in Salt Lake that what you can in the Bridger Valley (Surprisingly)

Utah: your dog gets out; it gets hit by a car. Wyoming: your dog gets out and it gets shot. It's a loose, loose.

People from out of state are more willing to come visit you in Utah, for the fear they might blow away in Wyoming. 

Wyoming: You don't really have neighbors. Sucks when you need a cup of sugar, but great for...everything else ;)

The mountains are prettier and you can ski on them in Utah. 

 or

The news actually pertains to you in Utah.

I love my Utah and my Wyoming. Right now my loyalty is staggering. 

oy vey.

Kitty Cats and Laundry Baskets

I’ve always been quite the social butterfly, but never have I been so blessed to be surrounded by a group of friend so close to our hearts.  I love Sundays for a number of reasons. Mornings start with a hot cup of coffee and good morning kisses.  By 10:30 we’re off to Church, and about two hours later we find ourselves hanging out with the coolest cats around.  Our church family means the world to us, and we love hanging out with everyone.  They have become so much more than “church friends”, but the closest and dearest of friends we could have ever hoped for, and more like family.  Which brings us to today. 12:30 rolls around and Operation “Subway for lunch and showing off the new Clark residence” was ready to commence. We loved having the Hilty boys and girls and the Duncan ga(y)ng over.  I haven’t written a lot about our their precious children, so I will do so now.  (PS. Moms and Dads, Brent and I totally love you too, it’s just, your kids are way cooler.) 

So Mr. Dale and Mrs. Trista have these two adorable children whom we have adopted as our nieces. Little Miss Grace and litt(er) Miss Faith. We adore these girls, and some would say that they possibly adore us. But only because we bribe them. And let the record show that for my entire life, I loathed the idea of having girls. I wanted a house full of boys. I kinda like being the only Princess. But oh, how my mind has changed. Thanks a lot Duncans.  Now my future children have expectations to live up to and I’m worried I might not like them as much. Ha!

DuncanSquared

The Hilty Hoard of six are such a fun crowd! Nicole and Daylon’s boys are a boat-load of fun and they know everything about everything! And their two little(est) girls are just a cute as they come, so full of spunk!  We love getting to spend time with them, and I have learned so much about racing cars, star wars, and any movie ever made.  I don’t have any (biological) nieces or nephews, so being surrounded by these youngsters is such a hoot! 

 Hilty Clan

Anyway, you can get a little glimps of the Life of Faith and Grace on their rockstar mom’s blog here. Now that lady is ha-larious. Catch up on Aliens in your undies and Attic safety tips on proper shoe attire. 

So, today we all gathered at our house for lunch.  The boys nestled right on in to the racing video game, and aside from the occasional hoot and holler of racing drama, we heard little from them.   The trio of women enjoyed conversation and company while sipping coffee. Rewind: where are the other chillins? Let’s see…the boys are playing games, the baby is sleeping peacefully in her car seat (which is NOT located in the car for the time being, for the sake of being called bad pet and child care provider) and the parental units are hanging out. That leaves a couple of munchkins and a husband unaccounted for. Brent, willing and freely (he only accepts donations of hugs and high fives as payment) hung out with the girls who are so tightly wrapped around his little pinky finger.  Our conversations evolved around future lunch dates together feeding the homeless, sexy men our loving husbands and shopping sprees how to spend money wisely.

While Brent and the girls conversed mostly on their plans for the day. The options were as follows:  1. Spread dirt around with a broom Sweep every room in the house. 2. Drink soda out of fancy cups. 3. Capture the cat Stella in a laundry basket and keep her in there forever 4. Have a(nother) high-heel/fire fighter boots fashion show 5. Play in the attic (minus the high heels- fire boots permitted) or 6. Crawl up on the bed and take a nap. But don’t worry, major decisions like this weren’t left to chance…. the Candy Land game spinner decided their fate.  There was a little dispute on which number it actually landed on, so decisions were postponed to a later date—an investigation is pending.  Moms interfered as the Internal Affairs unit, and broke up any underground black market happenings and sentenced the kids to a long car ride home. 

I’ll say this: It might most definitely will be a long time before Brent and I have any kids of our own, but first off, it is so cool to see what type of father my husband will be; the best. He has a way with kids. Let the mental capacity comparison jokes begin! And secondly, being surrounded by such great girlfriends and even cooler beautiful amazing kids will suffice for quite some time.

Yay for good food, good friends, and a great God! Whoohoo!

Ps. the kitchen is undergoing a makeover. It’s currently having an identity crisis and will hopefully revel it’s new self soon.

A Triumphant Return

Apparently, when you combine moving to a new home and installing a doggie door, it equals missing animals (as mentioned in previous post).  Zip, we know is savvy and quick on his feet, so I wasn’t too concerned with his whereabouts. But as for Frankie, he’s just a cat.  Though smart, I doubted his ability to a. find his way home and/or b. avoiding the dangers of the outside world.  (No, the ducks were most certainly not a replacement, but a great mind-shifter project.) I blogged about the need for one more miracle from the Man Upstairs, and alas, he never ceases to amaze me. At 8 am this morning, Frankie’s meow filled the hallway as he waltzed in to greet us.  He’s in great shape and is as “Frankie” as ever; as if he never left.  What possess a cat to run away? He must have heard my calls every day as I walked the neighborhood in search of him. In the past, when Frank would venture outside his 4 walls, he would cower and rush back inside at a blowing leaf.  For him to leave for a week is totally outside of his character. Apparently he’s a littler cooler than we all thought. Welcome home Frankster.

Side note: I realize that I obsessively document every movement blog a lot about the furry kids, and somewhere lost in the translation it may have come across to ‘someone’ that “I don’t take care of my animals”.  The horses, in their best interest to keep from getting hit on the highway, went up to Trista’s house/aka Animal Palace of Fun (are you getting sick of being mentioned in this blog yet?!), to stay. And everyone else is accounted for. So, if by constant attention, treats, walks, toys, and love ‘you’ happen to think I can’t take care of my animals; you just wait till you see what kind of lifestyle these ducks get. I fully plan on teaching them how to use the doggie door. Poor neglected 

animals.