Day 18 - "Drive Bys"


Okay, I'll get the most embarrassing type of drive by out in the open first.  Yes, I have driven by a boy's house that I liked merely for the joy of glancing at his place of residence.  And to see if his car was there.  And then to text him.  But only once.  And nowadays the place that he grew up still kind of haunts me because he haunts me.  So I don't drive by there.  And if I do, I look at the other side of the street.

The majority of my "drive bys" are sentimental looks at places that were once "mine."  If I'm ever on the south west outskirts of my home town, I can't help but take a creepily slow drive by the houses that used to belong to my neighbours.  As for the house that I grew up in, I don't think I can honestly call it a drive by because the speed resembles that of a crawling baby.  But for good reason!  The new owners have changed the place SO MUCH!  Instead of a simple pasture and yard surrounding a plain house, there is now the "nice" yard and a "play" yard, complete with a giant jungle gym.  Heck, they even planted some pretty big trees in this "play" yard which was once a section of the pasture.  As for the pasture, I don't think you can call it that anymore.  They've broken it up into so many smaller sections and corals that I pity the livestock they keep trapped in there.  They've built a bigger porch, a larger shed, and even erected one of those big spotlights most farms have to light up the yard.  It really isn't the place I grew up in anymore, but one can't help but drive slowly by and wonder if the bedroom I grew up in still has the painted black and white checkered floor.

8 Minute Memoirs - Day Eighteen

11.29.2016

Day Seventeen - "A Sibling"



I only have two siblings.  So it seems kind of mean to just pick one of them to write about.  But the funny thing is, when I think about my relationships with my sisters, the best memories I have with them are one-on-one situations.  My husband would blame this on the fact that we are an uneven number, and I might have to agree.  You see, when the three of us are together, nine times out of ten some kind of fight is going to happen.  I assure you we love each other very much, but there's just something about the three of us together that equates with someone getting offended and some kind of fight erupting.  It's been that way since we were little.  Two of us would be playing quite nicely, then the odd man out would want in on the fun and BAM - we're fighting.  It's like some kind of chemical reaction, where one and two combine nicely, so do one and three and two and three, but as soon as you mix one, two, and three together, the reaction combusts.  That's not to say that it's always going to be like this.  We're starting to calm down a little, so in the future I see us being able to get a long just fine.  Heck, the other night the three of us were FaceTiming together and we had a hoot.

Some of the memories I have with my sisters, individually include:

Kassidy: picking the rhubarb from my parents garden with her in Westlock and wearing the big leafs as hats; picking little curly pumpkin or cucumber vines from the garden and putting them down her pants (for some reason I thought this was hilarious); getting in a fight with Kassidy on Boxing Day and using the plastic shape holder my brand new watch came in as a weapon - I broke it on her head, I still feel bad about that to this day (sorry Kass); getting to tag along to her clogging competitions and being amazed at her coordination - whenever I tried to clog she'd laugh her head off at me; playing post office, writing and delivering letters to each other ...

Hannah: laying her on a blanket as a baby and dragging the blanket around the house; playing house with her as a baby and putting her into my new doll high chair - she got stuck and my parents had to play a game of tug-o-war to get her out (Dad holding the legs of the high chair, Mom pulling on a screaming Hannah); pinning Hannah down and spit torturing her, or squishing her face into crazy looks; watching her play with her "pet" ants - at the acreage I grew up at, there was a huge ant hill at the end of the driveway - Hannah wasn't old enough to have a pet, but was jealous that Kassidy and I each had one, so she claimed the ants as her pets and would go sit in the pile and let them crawl all over her - when she was done she'd come home, still with ants all over her ...

8 Minute Memoir - Day Seventeen

11.24.2016

Day Sixteen - "Learning New Things"

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For the most part, I like to think that I like to learn.  I like creating little projects for myself where I can learn a new skill, or simply gain the experience of trying something new.  My most recent learning experience was the process of creating a simple design to be screen printed onto a t-shirt and then having it printed on a relatively large quantity of t-shirts.  I learned that people like cheap t-shirts but not cheap quality t-shirts.  So there's this whole paradox of trying to find a quality t-shirt, getting it screen printed, and then selling it for an affordable price, yet still managing to make a little bit of a profit in order to not completely waste all of your time.  I enjoyed this learning experience.  But what I mostly learned about it is that I don't have the patience or energy to be very good at marketing.  Nope.  Not even a little bit.  Want to know why?  Because I feel safe saying that the majority of all marketing, especially for small businesses, takes place on social media.  And to put it lightly, I really don't like using my social media with the hidden (or maybe really open) agenda of trying to take your money.  I've had people come out of the wood work to see if I want them to coach me in some workout program and so on.  For the most part, I really admire their drive and determination, but at the same time, please just leave me alone.

So that kind of went off on a tangent.  I guess we can say that I don't like learning about marketing.  These days Jon is really the one out in the world learning new things.  He's aiming for med school.  Since getting married, I've been the one with the anatomy and medicine type background since I did a year of Respiratory Therapy.  I've been the one that knows lots in that department.  And to be completely honest, facing the reality that one day Jon will probably be the smart one in that department makes me a little jealous and defensive.  What am I going to have on him if he one ups me there?

8 Minute Memoir - Day Sixteen

11.22.2016

Day Fifteen - "Camping"

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The most memorable camping I've ever done was the first time I went out sans parents.  Just me and my friend Jessica went camping by ourselves in grade nine.  We were pretty hard core adventurers.  We loaded all of our necessities onto my quad and drove probably less than a mile from my house to a grove of trees that had been mutilated by cows, but were still trees nonetheless.  We found a nice patch of ground on the outskirts of the grove, tucked in some smaller, bushy looking trees.  This was the only patch to have only one cow pie per square foot of ground.  So went set up the pup tent and sat around doing nothing waiting for it to get dark so that we could begin "camping."  I can't remember if we ate a cold supper out there alone amongst the cow turds, but I'm sure we were wise enough to bring an ample amount of snacks.  As dark was drawing near, my dad came to check on us.  We were partying hard inside the tent listening to "In the Ghetto" by Elvis Presley.  I can't hear that song without thinking about this right of passage.  I had a good enough sleep, but I did get very cold. It was only April for heaven's sake.  What were we thinking?  I remember waking up at dawn and being exceedingly jealous that Jessica had slept with her winter coat on.  I tried to quietly slip into my jacket and create any sort of warmth for myself.  Getting comfortable and falling asleep again wasn't in my stars though, so I laid there waiting.  And waiting.  And waiting.  Isn't waiting for someone to wake up the worst?  I mean, I could have woken her up, but that would make me a crappy friend.  Finally she woke up and we broke camp, piled back on the quad and drove home.  So basically, this "camping" trip was really just a "sleeping in a tent that isn't set up in the backyard" trip.  But to me it was camping.  Of course Jessica and I bragged about it on Monday to all of our friends.  So a few weeks later, we did it again, but with a whole posse.  This time we hung our bras on the tree branches above the tent.  When we woke up in the morning they were gone.  But only because some sneaky friends hid them in the car.  Yes, we drove less than a mile from my house that time.  And now that I've written all of this out, I've realized there were no fires.  So, is it even really camping if you don't light a camp fire?

8 Minute Memoir - Day Fifteen

11.21.2016

Day Fourteen - "School Lunch"

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When I was in grade one, the kids who stayed at the school for lunch had to sit on the floor against the hallway walls with all the other kids in my grade.  I thought the teacher who sat on a chair at the end of the hallway watching us must have felt so lucky to get to eat lunch with us.  Now I realize that they definitely took turns supervising lunch and it was probably the absolute worst duty to have.  One boy didn't usually stay for lunch, but the day that he did, he had a hard boiled egg in his lunch.  I'm pretty sure I started dry heaving, the thought of seeing him eat a hard boiled egg was too much for my young stomach.

When I was in the Northside School, which was from grades 4-6, all the kids in the entire school that stayed for lunch were shoved into the gym.  I remember bringing a styrofoam ichiban noodle cup for lunch once and having to stand in line forever to cook it.  When I finally had my turn, I totally zoned out waiting.  An older kid behind me in line had to tap me on the shoulder to point out that it had boiled over in the microwave.  It was humiliating and I'm pretty sure I cursed my mother a thousand times for sending me to school with a noodle cup for lunch.

In Junior High the school laid the smack down.  For some reason they made it a rule that if you were staying at the school for lunch you HAD to remain in the gym for the entire lunch hour.  This was probably to keep us from roaming around in the actual school and playing in the stairwells, but it seemed like major repression.  So I decided to strike.  I made a poster and marched around the gym.  But only for one lunch hour because after that they started bringing out the ping pong tables so after eating we would play ping pong.  I didn't feel so repressed after that.

As for lunch in High School, all I remember is that the cool kids ate in the foyer at the two tables.  I was terrified of the cool kids.  The show choir weirdos sat on the floor outside the band room to eat their lunch.  I was in show choir, but I did not categorize myself as a weirdo.  As I type this, I feel bad that those were my thoughts back then and really hope that I do not offend any of the said show choir weirdos if they happen upon my blog.  I apologize for what I thought of you.  In grade 12 I would eat my lunch in the computer lab with the yearbook committee.  It was a great time.  

8 Minute Memoir - Day Fourteen

Day Thirteen: "Your Most Important Hair Moment"


Honestly, I don't think I've had an important hair moment.  But I vividly remember a time that my hair actually upset my mother to the point of making her shed a tear.  When I was in grade nine I begged my mom to do my hair in sponge curlers.  My hair was short enough that when it was done up in sponge curlers in looked more like an afro than like cute little girl curls.  And I thought this was the coolest thing ever.  In retrospect, I'm willing to admit that I did look ridiculous, but the best kind of ridiculous.  Anyway, it's a Friday afternoon, I was rocking my sponge curler afro and I got my mom to drop me off at the Junior High because I needed to decorate for the dance that night.  When my mother drops me off she asks when I'll need her to pick me up.  I reply probably around 10:30pm, after the dance is over and cleanup is done too.  Upon hearing the news that the dance is actually TONIGHT and that I will be rocking said sponge curler afro to a dance, my mom becomes quite upset.  

"When are you going to get ready?"

I respond that I already am.  I'll be going to the dance exactly as I'm dressed then.  Curls and all.

If you were to ask my mom about the next part, she will deny it, say that I'm making things up, but I kid you not.  I have the memory of an elephant.  This has been etched into my memory.

Upon realizing that her daughter cared so little about her appearance, my mother teared up.  And me, being the considerate daughter that I am, said, "Okay bye," and had a spectacular time at the dance looking like Sideshow Bob.

Eight Minute Memoir - Day Thirteen

11.20.2016

Day Twelve: "Decisions"


One of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make was believing a voice I heard inside my head and believing what I felt at a pretty critical moment in my life.  When I was in grade twelve I became close to an amazing individual.  In fact, I'm comfortable with saying that I even grew to love him.  I did.  I loved him.  And I know that he loved me.  And we were both so drawn to each other, but the timing was never right for things to become ever closer than simply being close friends who enjoyed each others company and confided each others dreams.  We had special moments too, moments that I swear will be etched into my mind and heart for eternity.  Moments that have and will forever haunt places and poems, songs and situations because he is still in them.  One of which was when he shared the brilliant news that he had received a mission call.  He went on to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  I wrote him for two years.  I told him I was ready to date, that I was brave enough to talk about scary things like feelings.  And I meant it.  I was ready, but to date.  He came home ready for marriage.  And neither of us were willing to compromise.  So when it became clear that now was not our time or place, he asked me if he could kiss me.  If I could be his first kiss after returning from his mission.  I obliged, this was a kiss I had dreamt of for years, that we both had waited years for.  A kiss that probably had the potential to change how our situation was unfolding.  But I remember nothing more of this kiss than a simple voice which said:

"You're kissing someone else's husband."

I later found out that when we parted ways and he said, "Goodbye," that night, he meant, "Until we meet again."  But after hearing what I did, I have never exchanged a more final farewell, and I probably never will.  I believe I'll eventually be reunited with the loved ones I've had to bury, but with him, we will never, ever be what we were.  And I said goodbye to a big part of myself that night.  I cried until I couldn't see the road driving home.  I sat on the floor in my room unable to sleep a wink that night.  And what made that so hard was that I decided then and there to trust the voice I had heard.  I could have decided being without him was much too hard, and it was for awhile.  I could have passed the voice off as a silly thought in my head.  But I decided to trust it and it hurt like hell.  

Eight Minute Memoir - Day Twelve

I feel sheepish writing on this thing after extended absences. I'm in the middle of one of those mothering-induced identity crises where I don't even know if I qualify for the title of blogger anymore because I rarely do it.  I rarely run these days too, so I'm not sure if I'm even a runner.  I just plum don't have a hobby or passion that offers me a relief from the sole title of mother.  Don't get me wrong, being a mother is an adventure and passion of mine in and of itself, there are just sometimes where I feel absolutely consumed by the role and responsibility and feel depressingly disassociated from myself.  Whoever that is these days.  So allow me to ramble here to myself while I try to get acquainted with the person I currently am.

> I'm trying to eat more vegetables.  The instagram account @simplelife_bykels is the inspiration fuelling that desire.  I've become addicted to brussel sprouts because of her.



> I'm trying to eat more fruit.  The instagram account @earthyandy motivates me to do this with the pictures of her smoothie bowls.


> I've been reading a lot more lately.  I stumbled upon the "Storm and Silence" series by Robert Thier on Wattpad and I love it.  It's currently in the running for an award on Goodreads.  Go vote for it!  Or at least read it.  If you like historical fiction/adventure/romance type stories.


> I unfollowed every single person I'm friends with on Facebook.  It's nothing personal, I just didn't want to have a newsfeed anymore.  The funny thing is that the site must have figured out what I was doing and by the time I got down to my last 25 or so friends to unfollow, warnings started popping up and then I would be ejected from my friends list and have to go back in.  It made the process much more time consuming than I thought, but the evil Facebook must have known what I was up to and didn't want to relinquish it's hold on my soul so easily.  So you know all the awful political crap trolling your feed?  Yeah, I haven't seen any of it.

> I've dipped my foot in the pool that is bullet journalling.  I've always been an avid journal keeper, but my problem always seemed to be that I'd have this specific journal for this sort of writing and this notebook for those things and so on.  The glory of the bullet journal is to streamline things and keep everything in one concise book.  I'll admit it has it's cons, my journalling is now more planner-esque, but there are definite pros.  This is a topic that probably merits it's own blog post.

> My hair is getting longish.  If you knew me and my sisters growing up, you would know that my two younger sisters had beautiful long hair, while I struggled to grow mine to my shoulders.  It just didn't grown and when it did, it would become so brittle and dry it would just break.  I know being a mother is a stage where most girls cut their hair, but I intend to someday have hair as long as my sisters' was.  I'll probably be 70 by then.  The silly thing is that I don't really like wearing my hair down.  It gets braided pretty much every. single. day.

So that's me these days.  Oh, and I've been getting migraines.  The past two days I've woken up at 3am with a migraine.  And then I spent the better part of two other days in bed with a migraine.  Anybody have a secret cure?  Decapitation is almost sounding quite pleasant.


These Days

11.17.2016

Day Eleven: "Losing Things"

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I've lost stuff before.  Once I lost the most beautiful emo, wide leather band watch.  I still cry about it.  I've lost keys, remotes, books, phones, and I'm sure a bunch of other things less painful to lose as well.  I always found those ones.  Maybe because I said a prayer?  That's something I was taught growing up: when you lose something, pray for help to find it.  Jon dang near lost his wedding ring TWICE on our honeymoon.  Once was on the beach near Tortuga Bay where we could swim.  We were wrestling and my hand slid down his arm and hand, slipping his ring off his finger and into the stirred up silty water.  Amazingly, he found it.  The next time he was playing with his ring at his Aunt and Uncle's house when he dropped it and it nearly rolled down a drain.  My mom did lose her wedding ring.  It was a sad day.  She took it off to go boating and the aunt she asked to hold on to it didn't.  Or didn't recall being asked not to lose it.  sad day.  I've lost other less tangible things too.  My virginity, hahahaha.  I've lost my crazy willpower/determination I used to have too.  I really miss it at the moment.  I used to wake up at 5AM just to go swimming at the pool before anyone got there or bike out to Ridge Park and back.  One night a friend called and invited me to go to street wheelers with him in his truck that had a hot tub in the back.  I had already planned to do a practice triathlon the next morning and sad no, I was climbing into bed right then.  I regret that.  I really do.  But I regret not having that kind of willpower anymore too.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Eleven

10.17.2016

Day Ten: "Messes"

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My mom's loft above the garage is a complete and utter mess.  There is just tons and tons of crap up there sitting in this state of limbo called "storage."  It's being utilized for nothing.  Basically the only purpose all the stuff up there has is to collect dust and take up space.  And you want to know what?  It's my mess.  Pretty much all of it.  I'm so grateful my mom lets me keep all my junk up there, but honestly, in my eyes non of it is junk.  It's all the treasure I'm holding onto for the glorious day when I will have a place of my own to call home.  A place where all of that stuff can finally belong and do much more than just collect dust.  There are my old wedding decorations, some of which I fully intend to utilize as decor in my home.  There are some toys I'm holding onto to gift to my children when they're finally old enough to really appreciate them.  There's furniture: dressers, shelves, tables, a bed, a crib, etc.  All stuff that will finally be filled and sat at and laid in once I have a home.  Oh, and the boxes.  Boxes of books.  I'm confident there's at least 100 lbs of books up there.  Maybe even 200 lbs.  Some are so old and dusty the covers are falling off and you can almost smell the hands that held them to read all those many decades ago.  There are cookbooks.  Textbooks.  Children's books.  Novels.  Hundreds of thousands of hours worth of content to be read and digested.  There are clothes.  so many boxes of clothes.  And they're clothes that only fit for a very short window in the life of an infant.  There are also memories.  Memories of games played up there with great big groups of people, such as kissing rugby.  That loft is very, very full and it's a mess.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Ten

Day Nine: "8"

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What I remember most vividly about turning 8 was the donut my mom accidentally did in the church parking lot on the way to my baptism.  Then I also remember the two presents I got: a set of scriptures (bible + book of mormon) and a binder.  I was absolutely ecstatic for my very own binder.  It even had dividers!!  Obviously I used the binder to organize the dealings I had with my secret club which was composed of my cousins and sister.  I was a taskmaster.  We had song practices, exercise to do, thank goodness I had those dividers to keep everything organized.  Our meeting place was the trees by Saralynn's Grandma's house.  We spent hours over there building and running and playing.  Of course we'd take snacks out there too.  A couple sleeves of soda crackers was all we needed for a great time.  Being 8 also meant school.  It meant riding the bus.  8 was probably how old I was when I discovered my kitten's little lifeless body on the side of the road at the end of the driveway when I had gone out to catch the bus.  Kassidy and I ran home sobbing.  My mom quickly calmed us from weeping and wailing to sniffles and tears just in time to shoo us out the door and catch the bus.  Of course, all the kids on the bus saw that ragged dead cat and were staring at it as we climbed on board.  "Look!  A dead cat!"  "Ew!"  "It was definitely hit by a car!"  My poor little heart was broken.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Nine

Day Eight: "Birthdays"

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I love the relationship/expectation I have for birthdays.  It is this: "They're just another day."  The last birthday I remember having any strong feelings about was my 12th birthday.  I was TERRIFIED to turn 12 and go into Young Womens.  What made matter monumentally worse was the fact that my parents were leaving on a trip.  It was a work cruise or something.  I was DEVASTATED.  My mom had always told us turning 12 would be the last age we could have a birthday party for, and here she was deserting me on my 12th birthday.  And she was going to be gone on a Sunday when I was supposed to go to Young Womens.  It was a horrible moment in my life.  Fortunately, I survived.  And then I learned the valuable lesson: "Birthdays are just ANOTHER DAY."  I had some very lovely friends who threw me a party.  And I even got to hang back in primary an extra week because I was scared.  All of this turned out to be excellent preparation for my 13th birthday.  I clearly remember waking up to no birthday banner or pancakes.  I made myself a bowl of cereal and proceeded to eat breakfast half asleep like my sisters.  Suddenly, Kassidy turned to me and asked, "Isn't it your birthday today?" - "Yeah."  Silence.  Probably because she was devastated by the lack of fanfare FOR ME.  "Happy birthday."  And then I got dressed and went to school.  Sometime between breakfast and the last class of the day on a Friday, my mom remembered the day.  She made a desperate attempt to win back my affections - just kidding - to redeem herself - haha, kidding again - and bought a few dozen donuts to my class and surprised me.  I think she was genuinely mortified.  Me?  I really wasn't too phased because I had been abandoned the birthday before and learned that birthdays were just another day.  Nowadays, I think my mom sleeping in, forgetting my birthday, and buying apology donuts is the best birthday memory I have!

8 Minute Memoirs - Day Eight

Day Seven - "Finish"


When Jon wants to tease or bug me he'll say something along the lines of, "Good thing we're done having kids."  He knows I want more kids, so I obviously react (I struggle to learn that he wants my reaction and I just should freak out!).  What I'm getting at here is how does a couple just KNOW they are FINISHED having kids?  I've always dreamed of 6 kids.  That's how many kids were in my cousin's family and I was always so jealous of the chaos and people at their house.  And I wanted that.  I realize the number a teenager may dream or assume she'll have is most likely going to change, but why does it?  And how can you make the decision when you're in that place?  If you've dreamt of 6 kids, how can you just KNOW that actually all you really want is 3 kids?  My guesses would be that you reach the max amount of madness that you can handle, or maybe something out of your control dictates you to make the "finished having kids" decision.  I'm only at two kids at the moment. There are days I do feel like my life is going to be the same level of madness for the next 20 years, but then I remember that I grew up and became more independent and my girls will too.  I'm really just curious about what the future holds.  Will I reach a point where I say, "Actually, 6 kids is absolutely insane, stop now."  Will I regret throwing in the towel before reaching 6?  Like I'm letting down the younger version of myself?  Is there a possibility of hitting 6 kids and still not feeling like we're finished?  Now THAT would be insane.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Seven

9.25.2016

Day Six - "Games"


My favourite games are the ones I play with Jonby.  Heck, even the fact that I call my husband Jonathan "Jonby" is a game to me.  I love adding "-by" to the end of any word that will take it.  But I knew Jon and I were something special because of the games we play.  That's how we met.  We had been in the same institute class on Tuesdays for a few weeks and still hadn't said a word to each other, so finally I broke the silence by saying, "I beat you," after the teacher asked us to turn to a specific scripture.  And I had.  Things have stayed a game since.  Dating was fun because we had our games.  Doubles on a license plate = game.  On drive to visit my family, we'd each pick a type of vehicle and count them as we drove.  Whoever reached 20 first, won.  One of Jon's favourite things we ever did while getting to know each other was play fooseball.  Why?  Because I suck at it and am apparently quite funny to watch.  Anyways, that's how Jon chose to propose to me.  At a fooseball table.

Then there were/are all the games we make up on the spot.  Throwing the keys from one end of the hallway trying to get the lanyard to catch on the door knob was a game at our first home together.  Another favourite game is giving a horribly vague synopsis of a book or movie and the other person has to guess what it is.  Don't even get me started on naming the artist first while we listen to the radio.  That game went from fun to not fun and only because I'm a poor sport.  I was so used to winning and being undefeated, that when Jon started to absolutely school me at my speciality, I was desperate.  I can't even remember what I did, but that game was banned for a little while.  Silly Kristen.  The most recently invented game Jon made up on our way to church.  We were driving along when all of the sudden Jon says, "Guess what song this is."  He then proceeded to sing Selena Gomez's "Can't Keep My Hands To Myself," but in a very poor Spanish translation he was doing on the spot.  It was hilarious and he kept singing translations for me to guess for the rest of the drive.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Six

Day Five - "Little Things"


I know this is way too obvious a thing to write about, but I can't help it - my very favourite "little things" are my girls.  Because they are "little things," but what I love the most are the little things about them that make them both unique.  

I love how Sheriff is missing a little thing - one of her front teeth.  I was devastated when it happened, but now I can't help but think that her toothless grin suits her.

I love how little huffy sniffs and little scrunched face Logan does when she's really happy or excited. Her whole face just scrunches up and she sniffs in and out over and over.  

I love Sheriff's little voice when she's playing (I heard her say, "Don't lose it, reuse it!" the other day while she was playing), or when she's talking to Logan or lecturing me.  She had my intonation and emphasis down pat - ex. "Low - gee, don't do dat!" or "Dat's not a toy!" - said to me multiple times today while using things that were not toys... but I was using them to cook.  Haha.

I love Logan's soft little belly.  It's so squishy and smooth.  She has the best skin I've ever felt.  I could just rub and squish her belly all day.

I love Sheriff's little quirks... the word little really on suits her in terms of physical size - but even then, compared to other kids her age, she's quite big.  She's a little person with a loud voice and strong personality and big will.  

I love Logan's sweet, cuddly personality.  I adore her little snuggles.  She spoons me when she's tired or sad.  It's the best thing EVER.

Sheriff and Logan are my little things and I love them.

8 Minute Memoirs - Day Five

Day Four - "Adventure"


I like to think I'm an adventurous person.  I've done some adventurous things in my life, like skydiving, cliff jumping, and so on.  But as I get older, I'm starting to realize that adventures really are in the eye of the beholder.  Lately, some of my favourite adventures have just been doing things as our own little family.  It was an adventure to pack up the girls and drive over Logan's Pass.  It's an adventure to go out to eat just with us and the girls.  Or go explore somewhere nearby.  So adventures really don't need to be a big deal like the word seems to imply.  In terms of big adventures, the most adventurous part of my life was probably when I lived in Waterton for a summer.  I really wanted to do all the hikes, so I did plenty of hiking by myself.  Didn't really make me nervous at all.  When I hiked to Rowe Lakes, I figured I could scale down the rock face from the upper lake to the lower lake.  I got maybe a third of the way down when my better sense started reminding myself I hadn't told anyone where I was, that I really had no idea what I was doing, and would really hate to get hurt and cut my summer adventuring short.  So I climbed back up.  Another day that summer I climbed Bear's Hump in the dark.  It was actually a little scary, but once I was back on my bike riding to the townsite, I was EXHILARATED!!  Another time I was running around Linnet Lake and noticed a bear cub to my right.  I stopped running and looked to my left to see a momma bear sending another cub up a tree.  I loved my days adventuring in Waterton.  I don't have the same amount of free time I once had for those types of adventures, fortunately, like I mentioned before, adventuring is in the eye of the beholder.  I could choose to think adventuring was only outdoor exploration by myself and thus be at a point of adventure drought, or I can choose to see the little things as adventures as well, which I think I do.  Today, my most common adventures are taking my girls out to explore, especially the ravine back in Tuscany.  I love adventuring with my girls.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Four

9.12.2016

Day Three - "Billboards"


What a strange thing to write about.  Billboards.  I can't say I really like them.  I don't think I've ever seen a billboard and thought, "Gosh, I should buy that / switch to that provider / join that organization / shop there / vote for that person / listen to that radio station / buy a house through that person / go there / or stop eating meat."  Nope.  It's just never happened.  If anything, I find billboards noisy and annoying.  Off the top of my head, the only places I can really think of where I've even seen billboards would have to be anywhere along the I-15 travelling to/within Utah, driving in the Kalispel/Whitefish/Glacier Park area in Montana, and the part of Hwy 1 on the way out to Banff from Calgary.  Sure, they're something to look at, but I'd be fine to just look out the window at the scenery. Yup.  I just blanked.  Umm, the best billboards I've seen would probably be the 10 Commandment ones in Montana around Columbia Falls.  They're set up in a semi-circle, with things like "America Needs God!" or "REPENT!!"  I don't remember any specifics, just that it's super dramatic.  From all the marketing classes I took in university, I understand billboards are a form of selling something - whether it's a product or idea.  I just don't really thing they're a very effective way of selling.

8 Minute Memoir - Day Three

Day Two - "I don't remember"

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I don't exactly remember when it was that Calgary began to feel like home to me.  At first it began to feel more like a place that needed me here because I had things like school, a job, and church callings making me stay put.  I don't remember when those responsibilities made the change from being things I needed to stick around Calgary for, to things I wanted to stay in Calgary for.  I don't remember when the conveniences in Calgary began to be taken for granted and just plum expected.  I don't remember when it became relieving to be coming back to Calgary after being out of town for a week or few days.  I don't remember when it began to feel like my life and friends and things I looked forward to all were in Calgary.  I don't remember when I began to identify Calgary as home, but now that I'm moving tomorrow (what past Kristen would have added a big fat FINALLY to before the word moving), I find myself feeling all of those things and being caught rather off guard.  I don't remember when down south, Raymond, SOAB, was no longer considered home and when Calgary suddenly was.  Am I going to look forward to the next time I get to drive back up to Calgary?  Am I going to cling to Calgary like I did to back home when I first moved up here?  Am I going to constantly wish I was somewhere I'm not?  I hope not.  Because now that I'm leaving, I realize I should have allowed Calgary to become all of those things sooner, rather than fighting it for so long.  I could have loved my time up here longer.

Yup - if you haven't heard, here's the news - Jon and I are moving down to Lethbridge.  Jon has been accepted to the U of L and will be starting a science degree on Wednesday.  

8 Minute Memoir - Day Two

9.04.2016

Remember when everyone used to blog?!  I seriously used to be more excited to check my blog feed than I was to look at Facebook and Instagram combined.  But then blogging died.  My blog even died as well.  It just wasn't that cool anymore.  And it's made me sad.  It's just hard to think of stuff to write about/when you have free time to write your brain is 100% fried by life.  But I have hope.  An author is putting together an 8 Minute Memoir challenge.  Please do it with me!  I promise to read your blog and comment so that you feel more motivated to keep going.  Comment with your blog link!  Anyways, here's my Day One entry.

"I Remember"


I remember when I used to call my mom every night.  I needed to.  It was a coping mechanism I'm pretty sure.  My roommates thought it was strange, but I thought it was weird they didn't need to call their moms everyday too.  I had just moved away for school.  I was living up in Edmonton and every night around 7, I would cozy up in a great big love sack in the living room to phone home and tell my mom all about my day and find out everything I was missing at home.  Now that I think of this, my mom probably sacrificed a good chunk of her relaxing evenings to entertain and listen to a homesick 18 year old.  The phone calls weren't often openly homesick and sad.  I was happy and busy.  Most importantly busy - because that helps you from ever questioning too much if you're really happy.  So the phone call was part ritual.  I guess what makes this a memory is because I no longer have this ritual.  And that's sad.  I'm like my roommates were.  Sure, I still call home, but those calls aren't so much for me anymore.  They aren't purely selfish like they once were.  Heck, they're not even on a landline anymore (yes, I called home on a communal landline the house I lived in had - no cellphone for Kristen until I was almost 20!) - these calls nowadays are on an iPhone with FaceTime so a doting grandma can SEE her grand babies.  I remember when my mom used to bug me about grand babies too.  I thought she was crazy and even a little overbearing.

There you have it - 8 minutes and I'm done.  And you got to learn something that I remember.

8 Minute Memoir - Day One

9.02.2016

I figured out why I don't blog so much anymore. It's because I don't run as much as I used to.  Back in the day when this blog actually had stuff happening on it, I was averaging about an hour run five to six times per week.  Don't get me wrong, I still run, but no where near as much as I used to.

Fortunately, I got in a good long run this past weekend out by Bragg Creek so I actually have a thought in my brain to blog about.  I competed in the 16km Moose Mountain Trail Race and it was a hoot.  Took me an hour and forty nine minutes and I placed 17th out of 55.  *Pats self on the back*

Not me or my race, but a similar idea.  +

While I was getting into my rhythm during the first few kilometres of the race I gave myself a good pep talk.  It's hard to keep a slow and steady pace when you're right out of the gates and see all the crazy fit people float farther and farther ahead of you.  But it's what you've got to do!  Anyways, my racing mantra of sorts is to "narrow the gap."  Let me explain.

For me, narrowing the gap means to slowly but surely decrease the distance between myself and the runner ahead of me.  This works better for me than saying, "pass this person."  It's not about doing things quickly, narrowing the gap never happens quickly.  It's about slowly closing in the distance between the person ahead of me, which then in turn changes to "widening the gap."  Which is, yes, you guessed it, increasing the distance between me and the person I caught up to.

Although I tend to think about a fair bit of things while running (ie. this is awesome! holy crap, this is muddy! I shouldn't have worn these shorts because they have chafed me a new one! etc), narrowing/widening the gap occupied my mind the most.  Obviously I began contemplating the metaphorical applications of this saying.  I feel like there is this version of myself that I yearn to be.  Let me introduce her to you.  Her name is Kristen.  She wakes up at 6:00am on the reg because there are some things she wants to complete before the kids wake up each morning.  She turns to her scriptures with the same anticipation that her phone currently holds over her each morning.  Her phone is more of a phone than a whirlpool of distraction.  She exercises regularly, as in doesn't take these two to three week hiatuses between a good committed effort.  She's more organized, like totally killing it with the bullet journal thing, or at least figured out some sort of system that works for her in keeping her life with it.  She's a better visiting teacher and way more in tuned with how to do her church calling.  She's basically all I aspire to be.  And as you can tell, the gap between her and I is quite enormous.  But it's a gap, which means that I can narrow it.

My biggest struggle with making changes in my life is I always expect them to be completed immediately.  You want to eat less sugar?  Then start by eating NO SUGAR.  TOMORROW!!  I both envy and admire the people who can make 180 changes on a dime, but it's just not me.  I take a much more slow and steady approach.  The same way that I run races.

The race this weekend was a good reminder for me that I don't need to get there immediately.  The best I can do is simply work each day to narrow the gap between current-Kristen and improved-Kristen.  And widening the gap between past-Kristen and slightly-improved-Kristen.

This has been a running time musing brought to you by Kristen.

Narrow the Gap

8.29.2016

Remember how one of my New Year resolutions this year was to finish that stinkin' "Don Quixote" book?  Good news!  I did it!  It was seriously the hardest book I have ever read.  I started it about a month before Sheriff was born and finished it just two months shy of her second birthday.

I was beginning to worry that it wasn't that the book was hard, but that I just sucked at reading.  So I quickly started another book to make sure it wasn't the latter.  The book I picked was "Peter Pan," and I finished it really quickly (which isn't saying that much, because it's pretty short) and remembered how enjoyable reading is.

Anyways, I wanted to share a part of the book that really hit home for me.  After Wendy and her brothers return from Neverland, Peter makes a deal with her mother that he can come and take Wendy back to Neverland once a year to do the spring cleaning.  Peter remembers and gets Wendy for a few years, but then forgets and doesn't show for a long, long time.  Which is where this part happens:

And then one night came the tragedy.  It was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed.  Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow.  Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the floor.


He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.



He was a little boy, and she was grown up.  She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.


"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first.


"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible.  Something inside her was crying "Woman, Woman, let go of me."



"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.



"John is not here now," she gasped.



"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.



"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that he was untrue to Jane as well as to Peter.



"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.



Peter looked.  "Hullo, is it a new one?"



"Yes."



"Boy or girl?"



"Girl."



Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.



"Peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"



"Of course; that is why I have come."  He added a little sternly, "Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"



She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass.



"I can't come," she said apologetically, "I have forgotten how to fly."



"I'll soon teach you again."



"O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me."



She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him.  "What is it?" he cried, shrinking.



"I will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."



For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid.  "Don't turn up the light," he cried.



She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy.  She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.



Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw.  He gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.



"What is it?" he cried again.



She had to tell him.



"I am old, Peter.  I am ever so much more than twenty.  I grew up long ago."



"You promised not to!"



"I couldn't help it.  I am a married woman, Peter."



"No, you're not."



"Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."



"No, she's not."



But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised.  Of course he did not strike.  He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and Wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once.  She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.


I FEEL THIS.  Every day.  I hear the voice inside me crying, "Woman, Woman, let go of me."  I hate admitting it, but I've forgotten how to fly too.  And there are most certainly days when I smile at it all, but they are wet eyed smiles.  For heaven's sakes, I even have not one, but two little girls in their beds right now.  I am only a woman now.

Woman, Woman, Let Go of Me

6.27.2016


This house used to be on Main Street back in my hometown.  It belonged to a man named Spud Kitigawa.  My uncle purchased it, knocked it down, and built something new.  Fortunately, before it got knocked down, I got to spend a few hours exploring.  Spud left a great deal of stuff behind.  Stuff both him and my husband would agree is junk.  But you know how the saying goes.  "One man's junk, is another man's treasure."  Here are the treasures I found.










Here are some pearls of wisdom I found in an old Buddhist text in the basement.













I may or may not have left with a few trinkets...

I don't know why I'm drawn to old things, but I am.  My Grandma Gibb calls me "sentimental."  My husband thinks that I am mental.  But to me, these things really are all treasure.

One Man's Junk...

5.17.2016

I don't mean to brag or anything, but I had the most magical childhood.  Sure, there were growing pains and little heart aches here and there, but overall when I reminisce about growing up I only feel happy and warm.  Don't believe me?  Let me describe my childhood to you.

I don't exactly remember these parts, but they look pretty magical to me.



When I was around three or four, our family moved to a place called Westlock.  I had a sandbox, trampoline, swing set, and best of all, garden in the backyard to play with.  My favourite was the rhubarb.  They made perfect elf hats.




I also had the greatest custom made dresses to wear around.  They oftentimes matched my younger sisters.  Everyone thought we were the cutest little girls at church on Sunday.




As I got older, I was shown to love the outdoors.  Regardless of what the weather may have been like.  


Some of my most fond memories include the amazing places I got to explore.  There were long summer days spent exploring the hoodoos at Writing-On-Stone and building sandcastles along the slow Milk River.  There were days spent in Waterton, hiking the frigid water up Red Rock or the steep steps up Bear's Hump.  Mornings on the road to Calgary that lead to a full day of shopping or the zoo or Calaway Park.  Hundreds of afternoons and hot summer evenings were spent at "the bridge," jumping into the dark, fishy water to cool off.  Sometimes we'd even float the steady canal to keep cool.  As we got older and more adventurous, we'd drive out to Kimball to float the river rapids, sometimes stopping to jump the cliff.  There were more slurpees, snow-bobs, ice cream cones, and popsicles than I can count.  There were Sunday drives that lead to Sunday walks.

Of course, not everything was always a party, but even in retrospect, the things that seemed tedious back then still feel magical to me.  There was always a garden that needed weeding, Saturday chores to be done, but those were small payments made on my behalf for the adventures and fun.

I had a playhouse in the field and horses out there too.  There were pet cats and dozens of kittens; rabbits and scores of bunnies.  As I got older a pet dog was entrusted in my care.  Or that was the theory when the decision was made to get one.  

Eventually I took a liking to baking and the kitchen was loaned to me, no questions asked.  I probably wasted a lot of ingredients, but I was never scolded or lost my kitchen privileges, for that was a place of learning.

There were early mornings riding my bike to school and long angry afternoons riding my bike home against the brutal west wind.  There were special days at school where I got a hoagie for lunch or went on a field trip.

Honestly, I could go on for so much more, but I want you to finish reading this, so I'll move along.

Now that I have kids, it weighs on my mind quite frequently how much I want them to have a magical childhood, like the one I enjoyed.  I had so much.  But now, since I'm a mom, I realize that most of my childhood was made possible by one person.  My mom.


For every magical childhood, there is a mother backstage.  I'm so grateful for all that my own mother did to make my childhood so magical.  I hope that my girls can experience the life and excitement that I did growing up.  Thank you, mom, for setting the bar so dang high.

Magical

5.08.2016

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