24 years and 34 weeks.

There’s this philosophy that the older you get, the more lame your birthdays become.  I’m starting to see the decline in celebratory options already by the ripe old age of 24.  Meaning; party invitations with pony’s don’t get sent out and there are no goodie bags to be collected.  But nonetheless, I look forward to my birthday every year as if I were turning 7 all over again.  (Sidenote: my mom threw me some killer birthday parties back in the day, complete with neighborhood talent shows and themed parades.)  Without a doubt my mom and Brent make sure that my birthday remains special and exciting. Brent and I went down to PC to spend the weekend with Mom and Pop for my infamous birthday weekend. 

Some years we boat, others we camp, but this year being 34 weeks pregnant, things remained a little more local and subdued. After a belly full of mom’s biscuits and gravy, we perused Park Silly Market, enjoyed a chocolate covered banana and some cold beverages, headed home for relaxation, and then closed out the evening with true Chinese dining.  There may or may not have been some shopping somewhere in between. Perfection.  I think the boys celebrated most of all with their rendition of Olympic wrestling with Toby and Allie. 

Everyone knows when you have dogs; you have dog hair.  It’s a never ending battle of picking individual hairs off your everything…clothes, floors, couches, toothbrush, whatever.  So in all honesty, when asked what I wanted for my birthday, I replied with something, anything to help get rid of the dog hair.  I’m the proud owner of a pretty awesome wood floor cleaning system that sweeps and mops all in one, and a Schticky. Yes, a Schticky.  Google it please and then Youtube the commercial.  The world’s best cleaning product comes from a fairly obvious perverted infomercial. Ha-larious! But it honestly is the best thing since sliced bread.  I “schticky” everything the commercial implies, and then some.  Thanks family!

Bird Update: At my 34 week appointment, I measured 40 weeks.  Yup.  My hopes for Rendezvous attendance are sliming.  

Walk, Ride, Rub, Repeat.

 If for whatever reason we didn’t have the 4^th of July, the 24^th would suffice, for celebratory reasons of course.  Out yonder, we have what’s called Pioneer Day.  I’m quite sure I blog about it every year, but just for redundancy’s sake here’s the recap: July 24^th is the day dedicated to commemorate the trek of the Mormon Pioneers who came to Utah in 1847.  So basically, it’s the 4^th of July disguised in wagons and costumed pioneers.  And I love it all the same.  I’ve come to the realization that I don’t really care what the holiday is, but give me a parade and some fireworks and I’m pretty content.  I’m glad I live in a town with a Christmas light parade to tide me over. (Disclaimer: I love the 4^th for all the right reasons; patriotism, freedom, and gratitude of sacrifice.)

I took a chance, and participated in the 4^th parade without incident and decided to go at it again and walk in the 24^th one as well (I do it for the candy, folks).  I got more cheers of support for being for pathetic pregnant lady hustling to keep up with her float than anything else.  Truth be told, I feel great and I’m a little insulted when people are so shocked that I am as active as I am.   Do I come across as the fat lazy prego chick of the community? ‘Cause someone please tell me if I am!  I’ve been told I do a little more than the average 8 month-er.  Brent and I still do our nightly bike rides, I’m still teaching chasing crazed children, I can still ride my horses with minor assistance dismounting and I’ve even been known to walk in a parade or two. We’ve also been playing on our community softball league, but Lilly and I have been demoted to score keeper. Apparently big pregnant ladies and fly balls don’t go well together.  So now we just cheer for the cutest pitcher on the team.  And as long as my hubby keeps up with the foot rubs, I’ll try to keep up with him.

 Need I say it, but I LOVE BEING PREGNANT.  I can honestly say that I have yet to experience most of the horrors I’ve been warned about.  My feet don’t swell (can’t say the same for the boobs), I don’t get cravings, the bird is healthy and active, and I have the most amazing support system.  I realize I have another 8 weeks to go, (is that it…8 weeks?? Ek…) but I’m gearing down for the possibility that my next pregnancy will most likely be a nightmare due to the perfection of this one.  Y’all can rub it in then; I’ll eat crow respectfully. 

Speaking of the bird, at my doctor’s appointment today she measured in at 37 weeks.  That’s medically a full term baby ladies and gents.  So while my body says I’m only 32 weeks along, little miss tweet tweet thinks it’s ok to be the size of an albatross when she comes out.  Not cool Lilly Bird, not cool. I’m keeping the legs crossed for another 8 weeks until I’m good and ready for her arrival whether she likes it or not. 

Until then, I have a birthday to celebrate, a camping trip to plan, and couple of boys to attend to.

 Life is good.

Does she look like me yet?

I still see more Tank than I do Clark, but either way she's a cutie. 

 

The Good, the Bad, the 4th.

It started with a simple suggestion from my mom that my brother Bear, my best friend Sadie, and I should ride our horses in the 4^th of July parade in the Summer of 2005. And not just any parade, but the biggest parade in our surrounding area. Why? Because everyone wants to see three random kids carrying some flags on horseback.   So with three ridiculously oversized red t-shits, three American flags, and three mediocre behaved horses, we were lined up as entry number 12 amongst all the bells and whistles of what is the Oakley Parade.  After a few waves and plastered smiles, we wondered why the crowd seemed to be in a constant state of confusion. Turns out our entry form never made it to the announcer, and the real slot number 12 belonged to that of the Summit County Rodeo Royalty.  Yes ladies and gents, we rode in style the entire route as we so wrongly and unknowingly represented the Queen, as my brother, and Sadie and I accompanied him as the 1^st and 2^nd attendants. 

And for some reason, the 4^th of July still seems to be my favorite holiday.  I’ve decided in the more recent years to steer clear of any parade participation….until this year.  Surprisingly, it didn’t involve a horse, bad fashion, or false identification.  Instead Ashley and I threw candy at the entire Bridger Valley in support of a local political candidate. The day went off in perfection as it was followed by the homecoming of our Idaho family, bratwursts on the BBQ, and a big firework show. 

The end.

Oh wait, you thought this could actually end without mention of the boys and their firework encounter?

Wishful thinking.

Every year Tank ignores the burst of brilliant color happening above him and Zip hides in complete terror.  This year, we happened to take them to the park with us to sit on the blanket and enjoy show.  We thought much of the same would happen; oblivion/denial and mental breakdowns.  At the first bang Tank body rolled into us in surprise of the noise, and then immediately took guard and proceeded to attack the fireworks, barking and all.  Zip, amidst the confusion of Tanks attack mode and his own fear, began to bark fervently at the explosions happening yards in from of him.  Mind you, we did choose rather close seating.  Moments later, we noticed they turned the fear into interest and utter amazement (like mommy like puppy). They literally sat and watched as the fireworks left the ground and flew into the air with a bang setting off an explosion of color. 

I wonder, what do fireworks look like to colorblind dogs? 

Camping.

I have a love for many things. Many, many things….but there are few things that I am as passionate about as a couple of dogs, some crazy family, and camping.  I. love. Camping. And this year we began our tradition of camping in style.  My parents so graciously donated to the we.can’t.afford.fun.things.cause.we’re.young.and.poor fund, and gave us their pop-up camper.  No worries folks, we didn’t trade them our tent. Instead they’re sporting a brand new Airstream…with wood floors no less. 

So here we are, mid week and Brent asks what our plans are for the weekend are.  Nothing.  ‘Cause we’re lame.  So we decide to go camping. The general direction is Mirror Lake Highway and the time frame is till Sundayish.  After a shredded tire, grocery shopping, and a case of the missing dog leashes, we’re driving towards the mountains at 7:45 at night, racing the sun to find a camp site.   The plan: drive until we see something that fits our fancy and if we don’t beat sundown, keep driving until we hit Park City and try again in the morning.  No worries, we found the most luxurious camp site in the tri-state area.  Lake view, beautiful surroundings, good neighbors, and gourmet cooking- all located in Mom and Pop’s home.

After roughing breakfast with Starbucks and Danishes, Mom headed up with us mid morning to find a good spot, and low and behold we found one, big enough for a pop-up and an air stream.  It was just too perfect, mom and pop came camping too.  Loved every second of it, and couldn’t be more grateful to have such giving and unselfish parents.  Thanks momma and poppa! We love you!