Return of the 80's!! (In more ways than one...)

You'd think that living in sunny Southern Cal would numb me to the glory of the sun-- that at some point I'd take it for granted, or come to feel a sense of entitlement to it. But I am here to tell you that a beautiful sunny day thrills me just as much after 300 of them per year as it ever did in the less seasonally challenged places I've lived in. After a small run of rain and cold this week, today has returned to delightfully warm and sunny and I had all my windows and doors open for the interior version of basking in it! I looooove it! Of course dramatic weather is exciting and each of the four seasons has its place in my little weather loving heart, but the SUN is therapeutic for me. I know it. I feel it. And I thrive on the medicinal and psychological effects from a good dose of Vitamin A even after soaking it up consistently for six years. Wrinkled prune though I may be...

But this is a side trip. What I really meant to do is post pictures from Valentine's day--aka the awesome 80's dance. Behold, the pleather, the mullet, the neon, and a proper tribute to Jon Bon Jovi...(brace yourself)...


What a RIOT! I kind of have a soapbox about the lack of dancing forums for married LDS adults. We dance and dance and dance while we are single and then we get married and...nada. I have literally been to two church sponsored dances for married couples in ten years of marriage. YET, if you are an adult and find yourself single all over again, what do you do? You dance. Like my mom does. One of my funny memories is of Brian and I sending pretty grandma Kippy off to her dance at 10 pm a few years ago and watching a nice little movie while we waited for her to report back. When she checked in with us again...which was oh, say, 1-ish, we laughed about the fact she had never left the dance floor in that time period and we had never left...the sofa. Yes, she was the swinging single mom and we were the "Who needs to dance? Not us, We're married!" couple collecting calories on the couch.

So clearly I was thrilled that our Elder's Quorum hosted a Valentine's dance this year, and the fact that it was 80's just made it all the more fantastic.

So that's about all I'll say about the dance. The pictures can tell you the rest!

pressing question, advice needed...

Do you stack your drinking glasses in the cupboard open side up or open side down and what is the logic behind your method? I can see a case for either way, and so have never adopted an official way of doing it. The drawback is I find myself going back and forth about the choice every single time I put clean dishes away and it's exhausting. For my sanity, I'd like to have a way and stick with it--so any input would be much appreciated. Thanks from me and my glasses.

P.S. So as not to be all take and no give, her is a tip in exchange for your help:

Blue drinking glasses make water taste better. I know it's true because all but two of mine have broken (some crazy curse going on in my house) and water just hasn't been the same around here. Sigh.

The Crazy Lady at Subway

Well, I'm no Jared--the poster boy for Subway and weight loss--but I am shamelessly promoting rainy day deals at Subway one crazy outburst at a time.

After attending a Mac class today at the Apple store in a local outdoor mall, I walked past a Subway, and since I had no kids in tow, Subway sounded not only good and healthy, but fast and easy too. (With kids, nothing is "fast and easy" that requires getting out of a car, so Del Taco wins over healthy far too often.)

I ordered my usual, spilled my drink (beside the point for now, but may enhance the story as it unfolds) and sat down to eat at a little table by the window.

There are two things you need to know here. One is the kind of sandwich I ordered, because it will lift your Subway experience to new heights. Two is the fact that I am not a generally contentious and/or loud person. Promise. OK, more on that later.

The Perfect Sandwich: Italian herb cheese bread, turkey, and pepper jack (toasted.) Add: lettuce, tomato, cucumber, green pepper, extra pickles, olives, salt and pepper. Spinach is good, but optional. Sprouts are OK but get a little stringy and may be unappealing for the fainthearted. The sauces, however, are mandatory and they are NOT to be altered as they are the thing that makes the sandwich perfect: Honey mustard, sweet onion, and vinegar (no oil.) No mayo or other sauce substitutes allowed. I did, however add an additional ingredient today that accomplished what I thought was impossible: It IMPROVED upon perfection. So I now also recommend banana peppers. In fact, I insist on them.

Back to the story:

Because my mom was back at my house watching my kids, I decided to also take a Perfect Sandwich home to her. Shortly after I had this thought, I noticed a large decal on the window next to where I was sitting. It caught my eye with the phrase: "Rainy Day Deal: FREE 6-inch SUB." And why wouldn't it catch my eye when it was RAINING outside for the first time in several weeks? It was a little hard to read the details of the deal since they were backwards from the inside, but as it turns out, I'm pretty darn good at reading backwards. I even squatted down to read the *smallest print to make sure the deal applied to me. Everything checked out except one thing. You had to order a 32 oz drink with the first 6-inch sub to get the second sub free. What they had given me with my combo order was the regular 21 oz drink. No problem, I would simply order another larger drink and get my free 6 inch sub. My mom would score a drink with her sandwich, and $1.79 for the drink was far cheaper than another sandwich would have been. It all felt so fortuitous.

So I confidently strolled back up to the counter. I had to wait for a lady ahead of me to place an order for several sandwiches, but good deals tend to make me patient, so it was not a problem at all. When it was my turn, I explained I had just noticed the rainy day deal, and would like to get my free sub. Reasonable enough, right?

"But you already paid for your food."

"Yes, and I only got a 21 oz drink, but I'm happy to pay for a 32 ouncer." (So accommodating, I am.)

"But you already paid for your food."

"Yes." (He had said this already, what exactly was the significance...?)

"Well, I would have had to ring you up differently. I can't give you the deal after the fact."

"But I didn't know about the deal when you rang me up."

"Sorry about that. But there's nothing I can do now."

This is the point at which my internal "that's not fair" alarm sounded, and if you know me well enough, you'll know that the only thing that really gets a razz out of me is injustice. Call me a Libra seeking balance, call me a Blue seeking fairness, or call me the moral police seeking moral justice (my husband does) but nothing makes my blood boil more than injustice. Even if it means a work Saturday for walking off campus in the middle of P.E. because the TA said Kathleen and I hadn't done our push-ups. We had. All of them. Boy style. I am completely offended if someone questions my honor, and I expect people to be equally honorable. Is it really too much to ask? Apparently, in this case, the honorable thing to do would have been to educate me about this deal I was missing out on, because the next thing I said was:

"Well why didn't someone TELL me about the deal when I ordered?"

In retrospect, I do realize this was not their job. I mean, it's not like the carnival where a man dressed in red and white stripes stands outside shouting: Rainy day special, folks, step right up! Free subs for rain. Get 'em while their hot.

But at the time, it seemed so wrong that I should miss out on a deal for pure and simple ignorance.

"Sorry, ma'am. There's nothing I can do."

"Well is there anyone who can do something?" (I was starting to get irrational. I didn't care that the line behind me was piling up and customers were getting antsy, I cared about getting my deal.)

"Just a minute."

At this point he leaves to get someone else but when that someone else appeared on the scene, we got no further.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I don't have the authority to do that for you." 

"May I ask who does?" 

"My boss, but she won't be here for several hours."

I had run out of ideas, and was no closer to a free sub than I had been pre-decal. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have processed the fact that if this unjust situation was caused by 'lack of knowledge', I could best restore justice to the situation by spreading knowledge. And who else to share it with, but the line of people behind me?

So I turn around and announce to the line, "Hey everyone. Since it's raining today, you can all get a free 6-inch sub with the purchase of another 6-inch sub and a 32 oz drink! They won't give it to me, so someone should benefit from the deal."This is where the spilled drink becomes more significant. (Crazy AND clumsy!) Oh yes, and the outfit I happened to be wearing? Camo pants tucked into Ugg boots, a superman baseball hat and a hooded outer coat. It felt cute enough in the Apple store, but in Subway, I'm pretty sure it added to the whole crazy GI Jane effect.

To say blank faces stared back at me would be crediting the expressions too much. They were less than blank. They were faces that not only under-appreciated this important transfer of information, but frankly dismissed me on all levels. They weren't sorry I had been wronged. They weren't elated I had paved the way for them to get free food. They were just glad I wasn't their neighbor.

Then I stepped out of line, returned to my table, and sat facing the workers while I finished my bag of chips as if to say: I'll be watching."

None of the six customers used the rainy day deal in their purchase, in spite of my generous announcement--which shows the level of credibility they had assigned to the crazy customer in camo (last year's fashion incidentally.) And although I sat peaceably eating my chips and sipping my drink after the scene I had caused, the "I know what you did last summer" staring down of the workers who had wronged me probably didn't boost my popularity on the "people who don't freak me out" scale.

And of course, since paying for another sandwich would have given the victory to Subway, I left empty handed, which shortchanged my mom from trying The Perfect Sandwich.

I'll be back to claim that deal the next time it rains. (Just not at that particular Subway, as a girl knows when she's worn out her welcome.)

But what will really make this post worth the space it occupies in the ether-- is if YOU claim that deal, too. Cause in the famous words of GI Joe and this fellow camo comrade, "Knowing is half the battle."

Rainy day special, folks, step right up! Free subs for rain. Get 'em while their hot. Just hope you don't encounter that crazy lady in your line.

Thank you for the facelift

Thanks for letting me in on the secret--I can see I'm going to have a lot of fun with this! Who knew I was only two clicks a copy and a paste away from my own fancy-shmance blog!!!

Hope you all enjoyed Christmas! I know I have not left my house or changed out of my PJs since the festivities started (OK, today it's because of a cold, but yesterday it was 100% the fact that I just could stay in my jammies. We all did. It was heaven.)

Today is Cairo's birthday, and Staten had his a week before Christmas so next I will blog about my birthday boys. For now I have cupcakes to frost so I can add another pound or two to those already acquired during the past few holiday weeks. Go sugar!

Merry Christmas to me from you

What I want for Christmas is a fancy shmancy blog. How am I the last person on the planet to figure out how to do it? Where do I go? What do I do? I am not technologically illiterate, well, not in all ways, but I don't even know where to start my hunt for this. One by one, all the blogs I read have been transforming into works of art and even my newest blogging friends have these beautiful backdrops.

When I was recently married my husband flew me to the other side of the world to accompany him on a business trip. We ended up at a very fancy dinner party in Lebanon (of all places) with all these young beautiful lebanese girls dressed all sleek and stylish for the bash. Of course my traveling wardrobe was limited, and there we were in what Brian and I called our middle east "uniforms" of khakis and whites. For me that night, it was a khaki jumper with a white t-shirt underneath. I felt SO NOT CUTE that when I think of that night I feel like a fish out of water all over again.

Now that you know that story, perhaps you will take compassion on me and share your tricks of the trade. I'm feeling not cute. Won't you help a blogging soul in need this Christmas season?

The haircut joke

It's an overused joke, and not very funny:

Person A: I'm getting a haircut today.
Person B: Oh really? Why don't you get them all cut while you're at it.

But Cayman actually needs a. hair. cut.

There is just this one hair that has been growing since he was a baby. The others have all fallen out or been replaced and are mostly uniform in their length. But this one stubborn hair held on. It is just above his ear, and it is going on 4 inches long. Even though it looks odd if you get a glimpse of it, and more than one person has pointed out "the piece of hair that needs to be cut", I can't bring myself to cut it. It tells the story of his whole short life up to this point. Starts out dark (he was born a clone of Cairo--same hairline and haircolor) then all of a sudden the hair goes very blonde. This is when Cayman's look pulled a fast one on us and changed from looking like a stamp of the boys to looking like a stamp of Windsyr. Next the hair settles in on a sort of light golden color, the way it currently looks. See? A story. And I just can't bring myself to end it.

So Cayman remains one small snip away from a balanced do, I remain ridiculously sentimental, and the haircut joke remains kind of dumb, though I can't help but laugh at the fact that my baby needs "a" hair cut.

Any other dumb jokes my kids can bring to life for you?

BEGRATEFUL

Ah, Thanksgiving. One of the few holidays that hasn't been commandeered by retailers and commercialized to the extreme. It's not about decorations, gifts, or even activities--other than the eating, of course--so the few things we are expected to purchase for the holiday are ingredients for that one delicious meal.

Though I'll admit I find it amusing at times that a holiday can revolve so much around certain foods, I also find it rather wonderful that Thanksgiving is really about that: Giving thanks. Acknowledging blessings. Gathering with family to appreciate the good in your life and in the world.

My family has the typical tradition of discussing what we are grateful for during our Thanksgiving meal. We also keep a "thankful chain" that we add to each year, documenting what we are grateful for in links on a paper chain. We try to show gratitude to friends, family, and so many others in various ways, and we pray as a family regularly, which is one of our consistent outlets for expressing our thankfulness. But no matter how much I try to say or do to convey my gratitude in life, I feel I come up short. It's like being in a foreign country and having so much you want to say, but lacking the language to say it. I feel like there is simply no adequate way to express my gratitude.

Which makes this post very frustrating. So much to be thankful for, so impossible to name it all...

Fortunately we saw BOLT today, and Rhino the hamster taught me a new word. A word that will empower me when I feel unable to express myself in situations like these.

His line, something to this effect: "I am awesome. I am soooo awesome, I am beyond awesome. I am BEAWESOME!"

My adaption: "I am Grateful. I am soooo grateful, I am beyond grateful. I am BEGRATEFUL!"

So happy Thanksgiving to my friends and family. I am begrateful for you all!

Two smart for me.

I walked into the empty kitchen a bit ago (having been upstairs curling my hair) and thought: "Oh, my mom must be here." My sister in law's blog was opened on the computer screen, and "Skid Row" was playing festively on iTunes.

But several minutes passed, and no mom in sight. Then my kiddo came in. "Mommy, I want to see that picture." He was referring to one of the pictures on the blog, and that's when I realized HE was the iTune listening blogger, not my mom. When I left to curl my hair, he'd been on a stool at the counter watching a cartoon on the computer. Now the computer was turned the other direction, focused on other business. Though Cairo is two years old, I hardly batted an eye-- I did roll them, I'll admit-- since it meant he'd climbed on the counter and toyed with the computer AGAIN. But that's Cairo. He knows more about navigating that computer than anyone. He knows the laptop too. It was a rough beginning, of course, three times tearing off the keys on the keyboard (for a total of $600 in damage) in his young and wild days. Now that he is two years and ten months, he has shown true maturity in his choices, preferring iTunes and Photobooth to keyboard carnage. I'd buy a bumpersticker if they sold one for such occasions.

This is the same kid, of course, who sends text messages to friends and family on my iPhone that say glsdkfalsddsfp kl jklsjdr rrrsoooooosls,s, and other such enlightening things. He can easily navigate through my 68 applications on the phone, including the camera, iTunes (see a pattern here?) and YouTube, which is the one that alarms me most. He found a talking corndog on YouTube that I thought was clever until it started cursing. I yanked the phone from him aghast and alarmed that my two year old had been exposed to swearing corndogs at the tender age of two when in 36 years, I have yet to meet one. Oh, technology.

Well I just switched computers so I could post pictures from Cairo's photobooth shoots, and found him upstairs in my room (because I'd gone downstairs, of course...maybe we'd do better in a single level home) and this time it was the printer he was playing with. Photocopies, another favorite past time. Honestly, I can't keep up with this kid. But I sure like him.




WAS THAT FOOTSTEPS I HEARD?

IS SHE COMING???
ONE MORE QUICK ONE.
OH NO, I DEFINITELY HEAR HER NOW!

HURRY AND GET OFF, MAYBE SHE WON'T NOTICE.

UH OH. HANDS ON HIPS. SHE'S MAD.

CAIRO. YOU NEED TO STOP. NEVER PLAY ON PHOTO BOOTH WITHOUT MOMMY.


I WOULD HATE TO MISS THE ROLLER COASTER RIDE!

OR THE TRIP TO THE MOON.

AND LOOK HOW WE LOOK LIKE GHOSTS!


OK, MAKE ROOM FOR MY TURN.


NOT FAIR FOR CAIRO TO HAVE ALL THE FUN.


AND THIS, MY FRIENDS, IS WHY I AM LESS EFFECTIVE IN MY "DON'T GET ON THAT COMPUTER" PARENTING SKILLS. MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DO.

The Election Baby

My brother celebrates his birthday on this historical election eve. Lest Darron feel lost or forgotten in the last minute flurry of political shuffle before this year's highly charged election, let us pause to remember this outstandingly great human being. In the maiden voyage of my blog's first year, (a fancy way of saying last year) one of my goals was to pay tribute to my parents, siblings, and in laws through posts on each of their birthdays. I stayed fully committed right up until my sickness, which wiped me off the map for three months. Darron's birthday hit during that black hole in my life, and therefore he is the only brother I have never had the chance to blog brag about. I only have six minutes to write this so I'll speed brag.

Darron was...(and is)
1. So adventurous, always exploring and absolutely in love with all things outdoors.
2. When happy, he's HAPPY. If sad, he is SAD. And he's never excited, only EXCITED.
3. He's musical in many ways but when I think Darron, I think of him on the guitar singing: "I know a boy/(girl) and his/(her) name is_____" (fill in the blank. The song is adaptable to everyone and many of my blog readers have probably had their own verse.)
4. He is a true entrepreneur and has excelled in creating and running some very cool businesses. He has always had the goal of owning a ski resort, and he will someday.
5. Three letters. R.E.R.
6. He loves toys. Snowboard, skate board, bike, quadrunner, landcruiser, rock wall, river raft, kayak...You name it, he loves it.
7. He is capable of balance in life. Plays hard. Works hard. Incredible father. He is not, however, capable of being serious when answering the phone. I have never heard more funny voices come out of one person.
8. He is as kind as they come. You will never hear Darron put anyone down, and he can be trusted with any confidence.
9. He has a heart of gold, and a character of steel. He is greatness personified.
10. He looks great in a kilt on stage singing an octave too high.

Gotta love you Darron. Impossible not to. And by the way Nilsson family (and us Maughans), we owe this guy a "group" novel...let's get cracking!

We Fit.

By now you’ve heard it all in regards to Prop 8. You’ve heard every argument for and every argument against, seen the commercials and youTube clips, read articles, emails, editorials, opinions, and blogs. It’s on the radio, on TV and can be found anywhere and everywhere in cyberspace. Perhaps you are an activist in California, displaying your sign and bumper sticker (until they get stolen), making phone calls, pounding the pavement, waving signs, and working tirelessly to support the issue. Or maybe you are No on 8, for all of your own reasons, and will stop reading this blog entry because of it.

But I hope you’re still reading, and because I feel like it’s all been said (most of it far better than I could ever say it), I’m taking a slightly different approach in explaining my stance.

While eating out with my family tonight, I overheard a conversation between two women comparing the reasons they were “good” growing up. One of the two said she had no choice but to be good, or dad’s whip came out. She then laughed about how that could never happen today without her dad being hauled off to jail, and went on to say that for better or for worse, parents today are afraid to discipline.

Somehow that thought turned my mind to Proposition 8. For better or for worse, we are afraid to bring out the whip, so to speak, to draw a line in the sand. By we, I mean society as a whole, as it has become mainstream to accept alternative lifestyles, and ANY lifestyle, for that matter, really, with one important exception (an exception that goes back to the aforementioned whip). By law, we must not harm our children. Thank goodness for that, and yet…how to define HARM?

There is obvious harm to children who are physical or emotionally abused. But how many other ways can we hurt children quite lawfully, including through divorce, infidelity, and any sort of neglect, to name a few, all of which can happen within a “traditional marriage.” So traditional marriage itself is not always the safe haven we envision when touting the preservation of the family.

In fact, the National Council on Family Relations (NCFR) that I belonged to for many years as a part of my major (Family Science/ Marriage Family and Human Development) is probably the foremost leader in its efforts to redefine family to include just about any group of people. I never saw more transvestites and cross dressers in one place before attending conferences that focused on the “family.” It was a real eye opener for me to realize the majority of people academically studying ‘family’ used the term very liberally, despite volumes of research evidencing the healthy aspects of a two-parent, two-gender family.

So if traditional families aren’t always ideal, and the fight for alternative families has become the quest for countless Americans who truly feel that a Yes on 8 means intolerance, bigotry, and inequality, then why oh why do I still plan to check yes in the little box on the ballot? I have no beef with the “other side.” I have no reason to squelch the marital bliss that I myself feel entitled to for friends, family and plenty of really nice strangers whose sexual orientation differs from my own. I’m not trying to be mean, self-righteous, un-accepting, or ignorant.
I just…(forgive me for this, Postal Service, but I have to!)

“I have to speculate, that God Himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay.”

For all I know the Postal Service is No on 8 (???), but their lyrics nail my thoughts on this nonetheless. It’s not rocket science, it’s my gut that tells me: A man and a woman were made to fit together, with the result of procreation, for a reason. Think Adam and Eve here. Two people. Two genders. One mission. Of course it gets complicated and messy with any number of variables such as hermaphrodites (intersexes), abortion, infertility, adoption, all things that can be used to dilute gender and child-bearing arguments. But my analysis persists: Men and women are most complete in their union.

And that’s the extent of my argument for tonight. We fit.

Do I believe homosexual tendencies exist? Absolutely. Do I have and love gay friends? Of course. Am I relieved to be attracted to the man in my life rather than a woman? Infinitely. Do I believe it can be a huge burden to be attracted to the same sex (yes) and do I know why it happens and how it is fair (not at all).

And yet: However real to me same sex persuasion, it is also real to me that God drew a line in the sand when he created us, by nature of HOW he created us--and it makes a whole lot of sense to me to back Him on this one. He taught us to “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” But I don’t believe the translation of that is to “Live and let live” or “Anything goes”. If that were how He felt about things, He never would have given us a bold set of commandments to live by. He draws the line. He makes rules. He expects us to live them. And He did not mince words in saying: “Honor thy father and thy mother.” Father. Mother. Man. Woman. Two people. Two genders. The reason we ourselves exist.

Same sex couples can be couples. They have rights. They have privileges. They do not need to be married to have them. Marriage is an institution, a sacred union that should exist for those who choose to follow the natural course of a man, a woman, and all the necessary equipment for propagating a species.

Marriages won’t be perfect. Families will be broken, and children will continue to be hurt in a multitude of ways. I wish it weren’t so, but it is the nature of an imperfect world. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to fight for the ideal. We should preserve the framework that is most likely to offer kids a fighting chance in a very challenging world. It is not our place to redefine things that God has already made clear. He can love with a perfect love and still have expectations, still draw a line in the sand. We can emulate this love and acceptance without compromising our stand on this moral issue.

It’s one check in a box, but it’s a mark that can alter the natural course of a planet and a people, and I am not prepared to play God when there already is one.

"W"

I know everyone thinks they have beautiful children. In fact, it is probably one of the many faults of nearly all dads, or at least it should be. But I think I am one of the worst offenders in the world! I think my kids are eye candy.

I am not sure there is anything really wrong with thinking your kids are beautiful. I mean, can it really hurt them to have adoring parents who on countless occasions stand speechless as they hover over digital cameras, or computers looking at images of their little creations, wondering how the good graces of nature could have pulled off something so down right amazing. Nah, I don't think so.

I obviously attribute all the "beautiful-ness" bestowed on my children to my wife. Surely it is not hard to see that the apple most certainly did not fall far from HER tree. In fact, truth be said, our little apples appear to have been tenderly plucked and gently placed right next their delicious mother.

So it is with pride, and with very little hesitation (however, I am sure my hesitation is bound to increase as she moves into older years, when mine are not the only adoring eyes) that I share my beautiful little girl with the world.

Six Days to Six

Windsyr celebrated her 6th birthday two months ago, and the fact that I'm only now blogging about it should surprise no one. Hey, I take my time, but I usually get there. Here's a shout out to my friend Bobbie whose cake pictures on her blog reminded me that I had never posted this here Barbie cake that was way too much fun to make. (2am fun, to be accurate.)

Windsyr opted for no party this year so instead we did a "Six Days to Six" countdown to her birthday.
Each day for six days she got to pop a balloon inside of which she found a piece of paper explaining that day's birthday activity. The activities were all things she had been hoping to do for a long time, and each day she got to spend time with a different person (we were fortunate to have both sets of grandparents in town for the weekend). It went something like this:

Day One: Pedicure and shoe shopping with Grandma Kippy

Day Two: Ice Skating with Mom

Day Three: Ears Pierced with Dad
Days Four and Five: Dinners with grandparents, Great Park Balloon ride


Day Six (Day of birthday): Birthday lunch of her choice (crepes), cake and presents

I'm sure I enjoyed the week as much as she did, if not more, because I love an excuse to celebrate someone--and six days of celebrating is six times better.

Now, I know I am a proud, biased mother but she was unbelievable on the ice. This was her first time ever in skates, and I assumed we would spend the evening slowly circling the rink a few times, with Windsyr on her bottom more than her feet, wanting to rest with a nice grilled cheese sandwich half way through the session. But that was not the scene at all. The whole "getting used to the ice" thing only took about twice around the rink. Then she was suddenly this little ice princess who could skate quickly, confidently, and couldn't wait to get going on her tricks. We spent the bulk of the time in the center of the rink where she worked intently on spinning around and doing fancy tricks, completely undaunted by the spills. She stuck with it until she was able to spin full circles without falling and she looked like she had been skating for a lot longer than 60 minutes. I was seriously so proud of her. Her attention span for soccer last year was about two minutes total. But put this girl on the ice, and there is a grit and determination in her that I could only stand back and respect. And take pictures of, which of course I did.
Here she is gaining confidence in her tricks.
And here is perhaps my favorite picture. A perfectly captured spill.