In Like a Lion . . .

. . . and out like a lion, too.

I am ready for warmer weather. Inside and out. Sometimes my own mind is as stormy as the weather outside. Sometimes I am restless, and wanting . . . something.
I hunger, but don't know what it is that I crave. I just know that there must be something bigger and better and more exciting and more fulfilling; and I want it!
I need to move; I need to run and yell and jump and kick and wave my arms and exercise my mind and do a million things. I need to move on and up and out. I need something to happen.

I may be expected to look and act like a lamb, but there is a lion here.

Here's the Answer:

I bet you can just hardly wait! The first picture was taken in September 1983 at the Homecoming dance, and the second picture was taken in February 1984 at the Jr. Prom. But, no, that is not the only difference. The difference is this: In December of 1983 I had jaw surgery to correct my terrific overbite. So Tami was very close when she said the difference was my teeth, but Stephanie wins the prize (although it seems she had some inside knowledge). On the other hand, Tami did say that I looked attractive, so maybe she wins. ;-)

From the time I was 14 until I was 18, my mouth underwent all kinds of trauma so my smile could go
from this

to this.

See, besides the excessively crooked teeth and the fangs, I had a huge overbite. I could put my forefinger sideways between my top and bottom teeth; my lower teeth touched the fleshy stuff just behind my top teeth (sometimes even cutting it) if I shut my mouth tightly. So when I got my braces in October of 1981, I also got a treatment plan that included jaw surgery. Over the next couple of years, as my teeth got straighter and straighter I wondered exactly when this surgery would happen.

It was finally scheduled for December 5, 1983. So in November that year I was going to see the oral surgeon all the time, and I had all kinds of impressions taken of my teeth and bite. (My favorite—NOT—was when they stuck this big, waxy plate (which was about the size of a dinner plate, I swear) in my mouth, and I had to bite down on it without shifting my jaw forward or backward at all. They had to do this one about three times before I got it right. (Gag me with a dinner plate!)

I went to the hospital on December 4. I was actually kind of excited, and not really super-nervous to go and have this major surgery. I did get really dizzy when the hospital staff drew my blood for all the preliminary testing they had to do; not dizzy from the blood-draw itself, but when I saw the six little vials of my blood.

That evening Dr. Lind and three other kids and their parents, and my parents, came into my room to discuss the whole procedure. He was doing similar operations on those three kids on the same day as my surgery. (I was going to be third in line.) Basically, the surgery would be like this: they would saw through my lower jaw, move it forward to the right place and put screws in to hold it there. My mouth would be wired shut for six to eight weeks—so I couldn't do any damage to myself while I healed—giving my body time for new bone to grow and fill in the empty space in my jaw. [I think of this now, and I can't believe how calm I felt about the whole thing. It's really grisly, isn't it?]


I spent the night in the hospital, and the next day they came in and prepped me for surgery. I'd had general anaesthesia before, and every time this is what happens: They give me the I.V. with the drugs in it, and then they get busy doing other things. I lie there and watch them, and I'm thinking, "I don't feel sleepy at all. Hmm." I keep watching them, and pretty soon I realize they are coming toward me with scary-looking instruments. "Oh no! They think I'm asleep and I'm not!" Then someone asks me a very difficult question, like my name, and I am completely gone. Amazing how that works.

The next thing I knew, I was lying in bed and a light, cool spray—as if from a humidifier—was misting the lower part of my face. I don't know if I tried to talk—No! I think I tried to pull that thing off of my face. But someone came right on over and let me know that the surgery was done and I was doing fine. Actually, I was really groggy and out of it.

The next day I was given a lunch menu. I had choices of grape juice, apple juice, orange juice, tomato juice, V8, chicken broth, beef broth, milk, chocolate milk, and jello (not set-up). They encouraged me to choose as many as I wanted. I stayed in the hospital for one week; during that time my family came to visit me pretty often. One time my brothers, Wendell and Mark, were visiting. They made me laugh which caused a little twinge, so they called the nurse, who gave me some pain-killer, which quicky put me to sleep. As I drifted off, I thought what a bummer it was that all my company would be leaving now. It got pretty boring in the hospital; I'm not one to enjoy lying around doing nothing. Once in a while, maybe; but not all the time. :-)

Well after one week in the hospital, I got to go home. Between the day that I checked in and the time that I checked out, I lost ten pounds. They sent me home with a pair of wire-cutters that I was to carry around with me at all times, in case I threw up and found myself choking on it—in an emergency like that I could cut the wires so my mouth could open. But, they said, that wasn't very likely; probably if I had to throw up it would come out my nose. Great.

My only other instructions were how to keep my mouth clean (no toothbrushes); and to keep "eating," but not to use a straw—the suction would be strong enough to mess things up in my mouth—and not to eat very hot foods. Well, eating was kind of difficult. It wasn't just the wires holding my mouth closed, but there was also a U-shaped plastic plate between my top and bottom teeth. The plate had impressions of the surfaces of my teeth in it, so it would fit perfectly and not slip (remember the impressions made with the wax dinner-plate?). The only empty space was in the very back of my mouth—where there's no teeth.

My first Saturday home I was so hungry that it was painful; I was sick to the point of headache and severe nausea. My dad asked me what was wrong, and I started crying when I told him I was hungry. (Somehow my family and friends seemed to understand me very well when I spoke, in spite of all the mouth-gear.) Dad was willing to get me anything I wanted to eat; and if it had to be liquid, I wanted Skipper's clam chowder. So he drove me all the way to Skipper's, bought some clam chowder and took me home. I went to lie down while he fixed it for me, and I fell right asleep. When I woke up he brought me the soup, which he had very sweetly put through the blender for me. That was the most awful-looking thing I'd ever seen! You wouldn't think that putting soup in a blender would make it look so bad, but it turned this really awful, inedible-looking gray color. (Canned chicken-noodle-soup looks even worse!) After all the trouble Dad went to, I did eat the blender-chowder, and it still tasted very good; but I couldn't bring myself to blend up my food any more. I existed for the next two months on Lipton Cup-a-Soup, sometimes thickened slightly with instant mashed potatoes (mmmm. Think about how yummy that is!); I drank a lot of milk—including strawberry-flavored milk, fruit juices and tomato juice or V8 juice. Eventually I got to a point where I could slurp up yogurt and milkshakes too. To this day I do not like Lipton's chicken-flavored soups, and strawberry milk is intolerable—not even strawberry ice cream for me! (Although I still love V8. Go figure!)

I don't remember having a lot of pain, except for the one incident in the hospital. But I must have, occasionally, because I remember telling Wendell how awful the pain-killer tasted. He said it wasn't yukky; it tasted like bananas. And to prove it, he stuck his finger in and tasted it. I just thought he was weird. To me that medicine tasted truly awful, and was to be avoided unless I was half dead with pain. (Strangely, one year later when I had my wisdom teeth out, I was allowed to use the same pain-killer if I needed it, and . . . it tasted like bananas).

Since I'd missed the first week of school in December and Christmas break was coming up, my mom let me skip school the entire month of December. So I spent a lot of time with Wendell and Mark, who were just out of the Navy. They took me to my check-ups, and took me shopping a lot. One time when we were out, I saw my reflection in a store window. Now I had seen my reflection in the mirror plenty of times and it was obvious that my face was very swollen, but because of the lighting at the store I saw for the first time how bruised up my face was—all yellow and green and purple! I was shocked, and I told my brothers, "I look terrible!" They said just to tell people, "You should see the other guy." That was the first time I'd ever heard that phrase, and I thought it was very funny.

It snowed A LOT that winter. Lots of times when I was out with my brothers there would be big, fat snowflakes flying down. When I was feeling better I wanted to drive the car sometimes. But my mom didn't want me to drive; she said, "If the car slides and you get stuck, you won't be able to scream." You can't argue with that kind of reasoning (especially with your mouth wired shut), but I did get to drive sometimes after all. Fortunately, I never needed to scream. Whew!

The whole time my mouth was wired shut—from December 5, 1983 to January 31, 1984—I craved apples and pizza. I didn't miss the Christmas food too much; I still got egg-nog, which I like, and after the Christmas dinner Wendell made a truly excellent turkey soup (which I didn't blend up, but had some of the broth). But I was always saying that I wanted an apple or some pizza. The day I got my wires cut my parents were going to take me to lunch any place I wanted to go. I was so excited—we would definitely go out for pizza!

Was I in for a surprise! First of all, remember the handy wire-cutters I was supposed to carry around? Well, the nurse had a really hard time removing the wires from my mouth. She really had to pull and struggle with them. I'm sure I could have done nothing to save myself in an emergency. (Although the wire-cutters came in really handy for craft projects later.) But the real surprise came when she finally did get the wires loose. My jaw just dropped open—just like you see in cartoons. Thunk! Owwwwie!! I had never considered that those facial muscles would be so weak. It was a real effort to close my mouth again. Dang! So much for pizza—and certainly no apples for a while. But my parents took me out to a Mexican restaurant, and it was soooooo yummy! In fact, Mexican food is still one of my very favorites.

It literally took years before I no longer felt the exercise of chewing food—the muscles in my temples would hurt from it every time I had a meal. (If you don't believe me, you can ask Bruce—and I didn't start going out with him until more than a year after my surgery.) Suddenly I discovered that apples had thick, tough skins, salads were really a lot of work to eat, and bread was really, really chewy—never mind meat. (Hmmm. Is all of this why I am such a foodie now?)

About a month after I had my wires cut, I was in Dr. Lind's waiting-room, waiting for a check-up. There was this girl there talking to her mother, but I couldn't understand a word she said. I felt really sorry for her—what could be wrong with her? And then I realized that her mouth was wired shut. My goodness! Is that what I sounded like? (Is that my voice? Is that my voice?) I asked my brothers about it later and they said, yes, I sounded just like that. I was amazed that they ever understood anything I said to them.

Well the whole thing was kind of amazing. Was it worth it? I think so. Would I do it now? Heck, no! I don't think I'd be that brave! But maybe I would. I do think it was worth it; I rather like my smile.

And Bruce likes it too!

Instead of a going on a trip to the Bahamas, We . . .

got a few new school clothes and shoes for the kids.

We also . . .

had major repairs done on our van and our car,
and got them registered;

got caught up on a whole bunch of bills and
paid our "stupid-fees" . . . I mean, library fines;

replaced the kitchen faucet; (Yea!) :-)

:-) and bought a family pass . . .

:-) good for one year . . .

. . . at the local fitness center! :-) :-) :-)

All in all, we are pretty happy with the way things turned out.

Can You Tell?

Aside from the obvious—fabulous 80's hairstyle, dresses, backdrops, etc—can you see a difference between this picture:

and this picture?

Leave your guesses in the comments, and I'll reveal the answer in the near future.

Here. I'll even put them right next to each other, so you can look more closely. :-)

Can you tell what the difference is?

Dumb!

I pulled a muscle in my right calf last night. :-(

Jason was saying he could jump really high without bending his knees—if he's in the swimming pool. This was in reference to a conversation/contest we had a few weeks ago, when he asked if I could jump without bending my knees at all. It just so happens that I am very good at jumping without bending my knees, having learned it in ballet class when I was about 13. What you do is pull up all your muscles tight to your center—tighten the back and tummy, squeeze the butt cheeks, pull up the legs—and then you just point your feet hard. So, in slow motion, you would rise up on the balls of your feet, and then keep going, pushing off with your toes. That last little push from your toes propels you into the air, and you can just bounce up off the ground, doing it over and over again—like a bouncy ball.

So last night I told Jason it was cheating to do it in the swimming pool. Then Lindsey started jumping, but she was bending her knees slightly. So I stood up to show them how it's really done. I got in six or seven jumps, but then I think I shifted positions too fast—my weight wasn't centered right. And as I went up I felt a terrible "POP"—like a violin string breaking—in the back of my leg. Pulled the muscle for sure. Bruce got me up to bed, and got the leg propped up and put it on ice. I was very sad; not just because it hurts—and it does, a lot!—but because that was a really dumb way to injure myself.

Since then I haven't been able to walk properly. In fact, this morning it is hurting all the way up my hamstrings, and my toes feel tingly—which is really annoying! I can't straighten the leg, or flex the muscle. I have a wonderful limp—and to get around I have to keep my leg slightly bent and keep up on my toes, supporting myself heavily on countertops, walls, furniture . . .

Well I looked online. Rest, ice, compression and elevation for at least the next two weeks, and then I can start working at being as good as new. What a drag!

Dumb!

A Lovely Evening

Well, the Relief Society Birthday Social turned out great! :-)

I worked on desserts all day Monday, getting the ice-cream roulade, the double chocolate cheesecake, the strawberry candies, and the raspberry trifle all made that day. (Is your mouth watering yet?) My kids were out of school Monday and Tuesday, and every time I started on a new dessert, one of them would ask, "Who is that for?" or, "Is that for us?" I felt a little guilty saying that none of the goodies were for my family, but I promised to bring them back anything that was left over.


Yesterday I spent the entire day cooking as well. I started in the morning with a lemon-meringue pie, then the chocolate mousse pie. Yesterday afternoon was a jumble of making the garlic chicken, the rolls, the salad dressings, dipping strawberries in chocolate and arranging the strawberry bouquet (which looked absolutely spectacular!). I was whipping cream and garnishing the pies by 5:00 and made it to the church by 5:20—just in time to reheat the chicken before the social started. We got the dessert bar and salad bar set up and then the ladies began to arrive.

Some men from the ward served the main course to us at our tables. Everyone liked the meal and they raved about the desserts. The only bummer was that almost no one ate the strawberry candies—I think they thought they were those styrofoam, glittery fake-fruit-things you can buy. (One of my good friends actually said that she thought the bouquet was really roses; she had forgetten her glasses.) But after I took a candy and ate it, they all got the idea.

Dessert Bar

About 45 women—and the bishop—showed up for the party, and we had a great time visiting during dinner. Then there was a short, but very nice program. It was a lovely evening.


And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: I will post the recipes on my cookbook blog. So check it out every now and then, over the next little while. Enjoy!

p.s. Unfortunately for my children, there weren't enough desserts left over for them to all try some. Fortunately for them, I am a nice mom and promised to make them their choice of dessert this weekend.

Hi Kim!

This is a picture out my back door at 4:55 pm today, March 9.

What was that you said about spring?

This is springtime in Utah: sunny, perfect weather for a week or two, and then suddenly . . . snow.

As for Daylight Savings, I really do like the longer sunlight hours too. But can't we just pick a time and stick with it? (Maybe we could just go forward half an hour, and call it good?) Bruce says we should just use the ancient practice of sleeping and rising with the sun. How does that work out for an insomniac?

Whose Idea Was This Anyway?

Daylight Saving Time started this morning. I have, for as long as I've been aware of this silly practice, thought it was . . . well, silly. And a big, dang nuisance.

Let me tell you what happened this morning: First of all, I woke up at 5 a.m. I considered this an indecent time to get up on a Sunday morning, and went back to sleep, only to reawaken at 6:00. So I lazed in bed, debating with myself whether to get up early or not. Then Bruce's cell-phone alarm went off at 6:30. Hmmm. This is unusual—he usually sets it for 7:30. But I thought that maybe he was turning over a new leaf, and wanting to get up earlier on Sundays. He ignored the alarm, and so did I. But by 7:00 I was really, truly, wide-awake and ready to start my day.

Standard Sunday-morning practice around here is that I get the kids up at 7:30, thinking that an hour is ample time for us all to get ready for church (after all, all the kids bathe on Saturday night, so it shouldn't take that long to get dressed, etc). When I see that they are ready enough for me to leave them (i.e: out of bed), I go have a shower and get myself ready. By 8:30 I am all ready to go, only to find that a few of my kids went back to bed, the little girls are playing games in the living room and their dress-shoes are lost, and half of the remaining kids apparently haven't ever heard of a comb. Usually, we barely make it to church by 8:55, even though the church is only a five-minute walk from home (and we drive there). 8:55 may not sound so bad, since church starts at 9:00; but I am the ward organist and I'm supposed to be there by 8:45 playing prelude music.

Well, since I was up at 7:00 this morning, I thought I'd get the kids up early so that maybe we'd get to church on time. And then I had an even better idea: I'd get myself all ready first, then get the kids up at 7:30 (as usual) so I'd have more time to supervise them (and boss them around, as necessary). So I did. I shaved my legs, showered, got dressed and fixed my hair, and was pleased to find that I had indeed accomplished that much by 7:35. Then I strolled through the house to wake up all the kids.

When I got back to my room Bruce asked me what time it was. 7:42. "Well, what time did my alarm go off?" 6:30. That had him puzzled for about 15 seconds. Then he says, "Is it Daylight Savings today?"

Oh, crap!! I am not an hour early at all—I am minutes away from being late again!

Well we did not "spring forward," but at least I got to church on time today. Bruce stayed home to get the kids ready and walk to church with them later. We survived this one.

Now that the crisis is past, I thought I'd look up just who had this brilliant idea of Daylight Saving Time. I'd heard that it was Benjamin Franklin, which took him down a few notches in my estimation. But I went to Wikipedia, the source of all true facts and enlightenment, and looked it up. It was not Benjamin Franklin (although apparently he mockingly suggested something similar to the French). My faith in Ben Franklin is restored.

No. This silly idea is attributed to another man, William Willet, who wanted more time in the evening to finish his golf game.

Well that is worthy of disrupting my sleep pattern (which is sketchy, at best) and changing the schedules of the rest of the world, forever more. But I'll get over it. After a period of adjusting, I'll get used to it. And then we'll "fall back."

But right now it is 4:00 instead of 3:00. Maybe I should think about making dinner for my family.

The Votes Are In

Well, the poll is officially closed. And we ended up with 63% of voters choosing the Rich 'n' Luscious desserts and 36% for Chocolate Decadence. (Funny fact: all us old women (you know, those of us who have reached 40) said definitely chocolate—as if there were nothing to debate.)

But there's been an interesting turn of events:

The RS secretary is a very good friend of mine and I had originally told her that the only desserts I could think of were all chocolate. (This was before I had finalized the two different menus that you voted on.) So last Sunday she sent around an announcement saying that our dessert bar would have "a decadent array of chocolate desserts." What she didn't know was that late Saturday night I finally did hear back from the second counsellor, and she thought it would be better to have a good mix of different things.

So, I have decided to do a little bit of everything. We are planning for 60 people (which would be a surprisingly good turnout), so I figure five different desserts should be plenty and a very good variety. That way everyone can taste as many things as they like, and I can probably bring home enough left-overs for my family too. I will be a busy girl Monday and Tuesday!

Anyway, thanks for your votes; it was fun!

19 Years

Last Monday, March 2, was our 19th wedding anniversary. My marriage to my charming, thoughtful, fun-loving, charismatic, funny, handsome Bruce is the absolute biggest source of happiness in my life. There is nothing I like better than to be with him.

So, I thought I'd try to list the major events of our married years:

1st year, 1990: Well, we were newlyweds; how much better can it get?

2nd year, 1991: We were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. Soon we were expecting our first baby.
3rd year, 1992: We had our first baby, Michael!
4th year, 1993: My parents left on their mission to Portugal. We moved in with Bruce's Grandma White just weeks before Grandpa White died.
5th year, 1994: Bruce graduated from SLCC with an Associate's Degree in communications and video production. We moved into my mom's house. I am expecting a second baby.
6th year, 1995: Jason is born! Mom and Dad return from Portugal. Bruce and I make a decision and a HUGE leap of faith and move to Tennessee so Bruce can get a Bachelor's Degree in audio engineering. Bruce's Grandpa Ward died.

7th year, 1996: Bruce is in school at MTSU. He delivers pizzas for Papa John's at night to support the family. Lindsey is born! We buy a trailer-home (it is the same price as renting an apartment, but with the benefits of being our own place and having a yard for the kids to play in).
8th year, 1997: More schooling. I am pregnant with baby number four.
9th year, 1998: Brandon is born! Bruce takes me on the Date of the Century. He graduates in December! We sell our trailer, pack up and move back home to Utah! Bruce's Grandma Ward died. I think maybe I might be pregnant again. (This was a big year!)

My Dad's a Grad!

10th year, 1999: Bruce gets a job as a sound engineer for Acclaim Entertainment, a video-game company. Ryan is born!

11th year, 2000: The world as we all know it does not come to an end. We buy our own, real, non-movable house! Bruce gets laid-off from Acclaim two days after we make our first house payment. He starts working nights for Fairchild Semiconductor while he looks for something better.
12th year, 2001: We decide to home-school our kids. Kaylie is born! Bruce gets laid-off from Fairchild Semiconductor. He starts working for ARUP Laboratories.
13th year, 2002: Rachel is born—what a surprise she was!
14th year, 2003: Jessica is born! (We really need to slow this down.)
15th year, 2004: Bruce starts in Primerica. We decide to send the kids back to public schools.
16th year, 2005: Bruce decides to work on his Primerica business full-time; it's harder than we thought. Bruce's Grandma White died this year.
17th year, 2006: Life just goes on. Good and bad. I'm glad we are together. Bruce starts working as a substitute-teacher; he loves working with the little kids. We get our kids enrolled in charter schools—we like this MUCH better than regular public school. 18th year, 2007: Bruce gets a long-term sub job that ends up lasting the entire year.
19th year, 2008: Bruce teaches 1st grade on an alternate license this year. He loves the kids, and the kids and their parents love him. But we discover that he earned more as a long-term sub than he does as a full-time teacher. (Go figure!) We win, and lose, a trip to the Bahamas.

I guess we've had some ups and downs; all kinds of happinesses and all kinds of stresses. (Who doesn't?) But it is good, and we have continued to grow closer and closer. I love Bruce with all my heart, and he dotes on me so much it is almost silly. Our marriage is our safe, joyful place; the place we turn for peace, renewal, happiness, and sometimes just out-and-out silliness. We hear so many people say that a marriage is hard work. We have never felt that way. If it is work, it is delightful work. What can be better than having your very best friend to tell everything to every night, and to wake up with every morning; to work and play with every day? I am so glad that we will be together forever!

What will the 20th year, 2009, bring?