tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19782035936790375262024-03-21T16:07:06.366-06:00Plan BI am a middle aged girl living an ordinary life with extra ordinary experiences to share, if you look at them the right way. I believe there is nothing more hilarious than what happens to us everyday! So laugh out loud!Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-53896005428721439582014-02-11T20:05:00.001-07:002014-02-11T20:05:56.070-07:00Don't You Forget About Me....<div class="MsoPlainText">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Hello Friends!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I am sharing an article I recently wrote for my company's January news letter. I am on the Diversity & Inclusion Council and so this is my personal story about how this issue impacts my life. If you want to, please share your story. I received so many emails from all across the country after my article was published, and that is just within my company. Trust me, you are not alone.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Don't You Forget About Me....</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the holidays come to a close, we put away the
decorations that remind us of such a happy time of year, and say goodbye to
loved ones, I often get a little sad. Mostly because it is so much work, and I
live in Utah where January and February are very cold and snowy and the skies
are gray.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year was even more emotional for my siblings and me.
My dad is suffering from severe, degenerative Dementia, or Alzheimer’s disease.
It has been just over three years. My mother is the primary caregiver, but in
the last year, her physical and emotional health has degenerated from the
stress of taking care of my dad. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is estimated that as many as 5.1 million Americans may
have some form of Dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. And that number increases as
the population ages. Alzheimer’s is not a part of the normal aging process, but
the risk of developing the illness increases with advanced age.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My dad is 77. In June 2007, he and my mom moved to
Barbados to serve on a religious Mormon mission. He had just retired after 46
years working at Hill Air force Base managing the online Military Defense
Department. He had also just retired from the Army National Guard as a Full
Bird Colonel. My dad was a planner. He had made good investments, their home
was paid off, and he had two pensions coming in plus social security. My mother
had worked teaching school for over 30 years, and she retired before they went
and had her pension and Social Security coming. They were thrilled to be moving
to the Caribbean for the next three years. Frankly, so were we! <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our first trip down to the island was for Thanksgiving in
2008, and they were thriving among the very diverse environment on the island
of Barbados and loved the people and their way of life. My dad was becoming
quite the local photographer, and my mother was speaking a combined form of
English and Rastafarian; she still does. “We be comin’ for suppa ‘round say
6pm. Now you all be havin’ a bless-ed Sabbath,” my 72-year-old mother will say
in a voicemail. She loves those people with all her heart.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We visited again in April 2009, falling more in love with
Barbados with every trip. Their time on the island was coming to an end, and
they had mixed feelings about coming home. We decided as a family to take one
last trip to the island in April 2010 before they came back to Utah in June
2010. However, when we got there, things were very different. My Dad was very
quiet. While he had always been quiet with three daughters yapping away all the
time, this was different. He had always driven when we were on the island, but
during this trip, he got us hopelessly lost several times. My mom’s left knee
was now bone on bone and would have to be replaced when she returned home, so
she was walking with a cane. I watched as my dad got out of the car, shut his
door, and walked right into the restaurant, church, or wherever we were and let
my mom struggle to get out; something did not feel right.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When they returned home at the end of June, it was worse.
He could not find the bank or the grocery store or any of our homes. He could
not drive anymore. Within the last three years, my dad has rarely recognized
friends and neighbors. He knows I am his daughter – but not which one. I have a
twin sister, a younger sister, and we all look similar. When I see him, I just
say, “Hi, Dad! It’s DeeAnn!” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m the only sibling who still wears glasses, and I keep wearing
them because every once in a while, my dad will recognize me by my name because
of them. In fact, this past Christmas Day my Dad said, “Merry Christmas, DeeAnn!
When did you start wearing glasses?” I just said, “Merry Christmas, dad. I love
you!” and took a moment to compose myself. I often get emotional after
receiving a very special gift. I hold it close to my heart as a memory because
I really do not know if I will ever get another one.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alzheimer’s is cruel. Most of us, just like my dad, work
all our lives for our families. My dad worked for 45 years. He took the van
pool to Hill AFB every morning at 5 a.m. for work, was gone one weekend a month
and two weeks in the summer, and did four years of active duty for the military
so he and my mom could travel and enjoy their home, family, and grandchildren
debt-free after retiring. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My dad took us to summer camp with him to California each
year, and we spent two weeks on the beach and went to Disneyland and Sea World.
We were with the other army moms and our summer “army brat” friends. We stayed
in family housing and went to the chow line to eat and loved every minute of
it. All you take with you are your memories – unless you have Alzheimer’s. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took a trip to New York last year and went to Ground
Zero. I brought my dad a book about the tragedy and the memorial
reconstruction. He must have asked me 10 times as we looked through the book,
“Who did this?” “Why did they do this?” and “Where did this happen?” He
remembers nothing about 9/11. Remember, he’s a retired Full Bird Colonel from
the Army.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, my dad rarely speaks and barely leaves his home.
Crowds make him feel anxious, chaotic, and afraid. He is frail and thin and
does not remember what it is like to feel hungry or thirsty. He does not
remember what regular items (toothbrush, razor, soap, or shampoo) are for. He
also needs a home health care nurse, which my mother takes to mean that she’s
somehow a ‘failure’ as a caretaker. That is the rock and the hard place my
sisters, brother, and I are facing right now.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know I am not alone. I am certain there are many team
members going through similar life experiences. If so, reach out. Hey, you play
the cards you are dealt, but that does not mean I could not use a tip or two. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, keeping a sense of humor is crucial. My dad
wears a patch for his memory. When I take care of him, he always asks why he
needs that patch. I tell him that it’s to keep him from smoking. He says, “I’ve
never smoked in day in my life!” and I say, “Good thing you wear the patch!” He
laughs, every single time.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You
can find many resources regarding</span></i></span></i></div>
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Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-78972175778139401152013-12-29T00:02:00.000-07:002013-12-29T00:19:36.030-07:00Happy Holidays 2013!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesQmBpejQiDer8lfq2uu3VbfnQHLvifjQpbx9SuDhBEehVGjVR9XqNmEYb9wG9LMpqH9UYhFoE9KPH5lk0hGmuhoVZHQIpp2UEO5keRGbxve4h8XfGCnhf1GsxKtBSItJ8gYTZOy9JLj-/h85/Christmas+Border.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy Holidays everyone! Once again, another year has passed us by faster than we could imagine! We hope all of you are happy, healthy, and ready for 2014! As always, we are not ready for anything but are experiencing everything! Here is a little info about what 2013 looked like in our neck of the woods.<br />
Keith and I celebrated 25 years of marriage in May of this year. The Silver Anniversary. We took a long weekend to enjoy the sunshine at a resort in Arizona and spent most of our time trying to decide if we could get along for the next 25 minutes let alone the next 25 years. So after a painful, few days we decided the best course of action was to try really hard not to be butt-heads to one another, stay medicated, get help and look for silver linings. Then we went for Mexican food. <br />
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Keith is still working at Hudson Printing and golfing as much as possible. Right now, he is enjoying movies, shoveling snow and vacuuming. Keith has recently been asked to be the Elders Quorum President in our local church. This post requires a lot of responsibility and organization and he is a little nervous. Keith leans towards a shoot from the hip, go with the flow, wait until the last minute kind of thing. I have been told he will really need my help and support. Frankly, I believe it is probably the end of the world. I am hoarding Ramen noodles and cold cereal and trying not to be a butt-head as I mentioned previously. On the upside Keith will be working with a lot of our neighbors around his age and making more friends…as it seems many of these guys also golf and enjoy Smash Burg<br />
Zachary turned 20 this year. Yep, let that one just soak in. Yes, I feel old too. Zach also works at Hudson Printing full time. He works four days, 12 hour shifts, and 3 days, 12 hours on the off weeks. He has 3 or 4 days off each week. On Thursdays and Fridays, Zach volunteers for half days at Jordan Valley Seminary for Special Need kids. So far, it has been quite an experience. Zach helps in two classes most often assisting the kids with the activities and getting from place to place with their disabilities. Some days you may see him chasing a ‘runner” or trying to help an agitated student (who may be bigger than he is) to get out of the classroom and down to talk with a counselor by just holding his hand. Whatever the task, Zach is learning a lot and having a great life experience. The highlight of this year for Zach was buying a new truck, which, he did all on his own. He makes the payments, pays for his own gas, his own cell phone and gym membership. Recently he learned how to do laundry…now I am just waiting for him to do a load…voluntarily. He “talks” to lots of girls via text (over 10,000 a month!) but rarely meets up with any in person. However, I am not allowed to be involved with that….but if you know a nice girl…<br />
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My little bird Holland is 14 this year. She is a freshman at Hillcrest High School. For Holland and for me this has been a big adjustment and we are still adjusting. Holland was very excited for high school. I, on the other hand was not. Holland weighs about 90 pounds soaking wet and what she will eat has dwindled to potato chips, chicken strips, and pepperoni pizza only from Pizza Hut, Reese’s peanut butter cups and a milk chocolate Ensure that I insists she drinks every day. Imagine my surprise when I went to pick her up and found her standing next to a 6 foot 300-pound Samoan senior with a full goatee and wearing his football jersey and waiting for his bus. She looked like Flik from A Bugs Life. No worries though, Holland was craning her neck to chat with Senior Football and started smiling and waving when she saw me. This is not the hard part. Holland thrives on routine and a schedule. So the whole A day (4 classes on one day) and B day (another 4 classes the next day) and then B lunch on A day and A lunch on B day and what day are assignments due? This is where the Autism hurts Holland the most. Holland drew the short straw I guess and ended up with A lunch on B day. This means she goes to 7th period, Math, for 35 minutes and then takes her lunch. After lunch, she has to go back to 7th period Math for another 45 minutes. Super. We went over and over this before school started. After about a month I kept getting email notifications that Holland was absent for Math. I asked her if she was skipping Math. She said no. Then one night her Grandma asked her what she liked most about High School. She said, “On B day I get two lunches!” I sat there as the wheels turned and the cogs clicked into place in my head, this takes a little longer these days. The light went on. Holland was going to Math, taking her lunch and then taking the next lunch with more of her friends. Why not? Hey! Mr. Math! How about an email, a text, or a phone call or a note home or a snail mail or a freaking smoke signal?? Boy was Holland as mad as one very skinny wet hen when I had to tell her she had 45 more minutes of math ahead. <br />
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I am still working for Wells Fargo and I celebrated 25 years with the company this year. Wells Fargo has been very good to me and we are all very lucky to be working at this time. So as with 25 years of marriage, at work I try not to be a butt-head and look for silver linings as much as possible. In fact, about May of this year I made a sort of resolution. I decided to make an effort to approach every day with a kind heart and to give people the benefit of the doubt that their intentions are good. I want to respond positively and take the high road in every situation if I can. This is harder than it sounds. Mostly with strangers because, honestly, people are weird, present company included. Just recently, I was driving home from work. I was trying to open a new Christmas CD I had purchased earlier that day. Why are CD’s so frigging hard to open? I mean honestly! I have the damn CD in my lap and I am trying pick at the stupid sticker with my fingernails and then using my teeth to try to rip open the cellophane and I am weaving. I am quickly correcting myself back into my own lane and no one is honking at me so I think I am okay. I stop at the light and here is my chance to get this thing open. Suddenly I hear someone screaming “Hey there! Ma’am!” I look up and this woman in the passenger side of a gold minivan next to me is hanging out her window yelling at me. She has frosty hair and frosty lipstick and wants me to roll down my window. So I do. Frosty the snowbird yells, “Are you okay? Have you been drinking? You have been weaving all over the road! I wrote down your license plate number and I was going to call the police!” I say no, I am fine. She yells at me again “Are you texting?” I say no. She comes right back “Show me what’s in your lap!” Are you kidding me? At this point, I am thankful for Prozac and I really want to throw one at her. Instead, I slowly hold up my CD and say, “I am trying to open this CD and I’m having a hard time.” She just stares at me. The light turns and I drive away. I wonder if Frosty the butt-head will turn me into the police. If so, what will I say? She should mind her own bees-wax and get a new hair-do? I finally get my CD open with very little weaving, and listen to “Joy to the World” by Celtic Women all the way home, via the high road…I think. </div>
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May the road rise to meet you and may you try to meet it as well. Have a very lovely Christmas with all those you care deeply about and who loves you too.</div>
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Love, Keith, DeeAnn, Zach & Holland Beltz & Bayja</div>
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Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-81285815927953387502013-07-04T17:48:00.001-06:002013-07-04T17:48:35.140-06:00Plan B: Everyone is a little Autistic...<a href="http://planbdsb.blogspot.com/2013/07/everyone-is-little-autistic.html?spref=bl">Plan B: Everyone is a little Autistic...</a>: Hello Friends! It's me, the inconsistent blogger, back again! Half of 2013 is gone, can you stand it? As you may remember Summer is ...Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-2581643420036625582013-07-04T02:19:00.000-06:002013-07-04T02:41:53.380-06:00Everyone is a little Autistic...Hello Friends!<br />
It's me, the inconsistent blogger, back again! Half of 2013 is gone, can you stand it? As you may remember Summer is my favorite time of year and so I hope everyone is having a super summer so far. <br />
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April was Autism Awareness month and I was asked to participate in a Diversity presentation in Fort Worth Texas in May that included some Autism Awareness and how Autism impacts my life and my daughters life and the life of our family day to day and how we cope. The event was to be held for my company and all of my peers and our partners and management from across the country. That's a lot of people. There was a definite "Yikes" factor at work for me this time. I have spoken to large groups before but in my business and among my peers I have never been asked to speak about how a topic impacts me and my family on a personal level.<br />
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But, 'Yikes" factor aside, I am an Autism Advocate for parents and kids and will speak to anyone that will listen about my life and my daughters life with autism, cards on the table man. Ask me anything and I'll give you more information than you every wanted in the first place. My middle name is "TMI" and that is fine by me. The presentation went very well and I had many people want to talk afterwards about their son or daughter, or a grandchild or niece or nephew or friend.. The fact is that when I spoke the word Autism I instantly made a connection with over half of the audience. But if I had more time, I would have had the other half no problem...because everyone is a little Autistic. <br />
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First, don't panic, being Autistic, a little or a lot, is not even close to the end of the world. In fact, didn't we all survive the end of the Mayan Calendar world? It was just like the day before the end of the world wasn't it? So we can learn a valuable lesson from the Mayan's; a) Maybe what feels like the end of your world, is just another beginning, remember that today, the present, is a gift, and 2) Maybe the Mayans are just like regular people and just ran out of space on that calendar. How would they know how serious everyone would take it. Mountain and molehill...who knows?<br />
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In fact, the older I get the less I see a need to actually panic. I find that when I catch myself feeling panicky (if that's even a word) I feel silly. My inside my head voice says "Oh for heavens sake, stop this. Calm your damn self down and carry on with what you need to do to address the situation within the limits of your control. Unfortunately, many times it takes longer than I would hope to catch myself and usually do or say at least one very silly or hysterical thing before the "smart cookie" side of my brain kicks in. <em>Exception</em> - if I am being chased by a big dog or other large animal, wait I take that back because if a chicken or a goose was chasing me, that would merit valid panic. See everybody has a thing.<br />
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This is why we are all a little Autistic. ANXIETY! With children (and adults) who are diagnosed with Autism you may not find a single symptom the same in every case. There are many commonalities you might see, but way more differences. Just like people <em><u>without </u></em>Autism. I find the common factor to be what causes an individuals anxiety level to rise (big dog, aggressive chicken) and how they are able to cope with that anxiety...or not. (Run away willy nilly!)<br />
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For example, why do you think so many stores and designers are making shirts and tops and blouses that are tag less? Do you think it's because a good portion of Autistic folks cannot cope with a tag in their shirt scratching or even touching the back of their neck? While this is true, of course not! Although Holland, my daughter will cut the entire piece of the shirt with the tag out of the back with those nubby school scissors leaving a big scraggy hole or 'notch' in the shirt to alleviate that particular anxiety. <br />
But the point is, almost everyone in the world gets bugged by tags in the back of their shirt! It causes them a certain level of anxiety they don't like. The difference between a little Autistic and diagnosed Autism (among other things) is how high that level of anxiety goes (I cannot think about or focus on anything else because this tag in my shirt is making me feel crazy, literally) and how well we are able to cope or progress forward with the task or situation at hand in spite of our anxiety. ('I'm cutting up my stupid shirt while my teacher is in the rest room.) <br />
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Holland hates tights. She has hated them since she was a baby. She would cry and pull on the toes of the tights trying to get them off for the duration of church, or the wedding or funeral etc. At about two years old I was pleased to realize that Holland had inherited at least part of the 'smart cookie' gene when she just started snagging her tights wither finger until she could rip a ginormous hole in them and step right out of her tights and carry on! So, it's been leggings ever since. But her ability to find a way to keep on moving, however destructive (holey shirts and ruined tights) told me that she could learn to cope and that for her in her life, we can find a way. <br />
Now frankly, tights and tags have been the least of our issues as most parents or folks who work with Autistic kids would agree. But the principle is the same. Unlike many disabilities, Autism <u><em>does</em></u> discriminate. Some children are super high functioning and can respond, adapt and learn more quickly. Others have more severe delays and their anxieties can stay locked inside making it nearly impossible for them to speak, which makes learning and coping extremely difficult and challenging. But many of our Autistic brothers and sisters are just somewhere in between. Trying to live in a very socially dominated world that no matter how high functioning, they simply don't understand. None of that comes naturally and learning it and practicing it, and I mean accepted and <em>expected</em> social behavior, takes a lot of work and effort for these kids AND it makes their level of anxiety shoot the moon. <br />
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Remember how you felt the very first day of Jr High School? Or the first day of any new school? Imagine feeling that way every day of your life about several things during those days. Now imagine not being able to articulate why you are feeling that way to anyone, even your Mom. How frustrating would that be for you? If you think "a lot frustrating" you may <u><em>start </em></u>to understand Autism. <br />
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So all I can tell you now is what I have learned so far in my journey called life, that just so happens to include Autism. I cannot stand ear buds, they hurt and so I prefer head phones. I use a Blackberry Bold because I cannot tolerate the touch screen key pad, it makes me...yes...it makes me mad to use it so I don't. I will not eat zucchini in anything but zucchini bread. Just thinking about it makes me have a dry heave. In fact, I have avoided the squash family altogether until just last year ( I am 47) and now I only eat spaghetti squash on my own terms. I refuse to shave my husbands back, neck or chest no matter how many times he has asked me in 25 years of marriage. I think it's gross and just thinking about it makes me have a dry heave. I could go on and on. Because <em>we all have a thing...or three.</em><br />
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But I can identify these things and find my way around them in my world and carry on with no problem except a hairy husband. (Still gross.) Most of us do this every day. That is the difference between being a little Autistic and having Autism.<br />
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Last story. One April day before her 5th birthday, Holland and I were in TJ Maxx in the check out line. Holland had found some Polly Pockets she wanted and I agreed to buy. While in line she was pretending with the dolls and talking to herself and all of a sudden she became aware that some people in the line had turned and were looking at her. She stopped and came close to me and said "Mom, am I weird?" I prayed a little prayer and then said "Little one, everyone is a little weird." AND THEN, I kid you not, this kid came up to stand behind us in the check out line. I glanced around and saw him, who was probably 6 or 7, wearing Woody pajamas and a full cowl Batman mask and his snow boots. Holland turned and was face to...well...mask with this Lone Dark Knight Ranger and they just looked at each other for probably a full minute, saying nothing. Holland's face was serious...for Woody the Batman I can't say. Then slowly, Holland turned back around and reached up to whisper to me. "Yeah Mom, everyone is a little weird huh?" I said "See I told you." and we smiled at each other and went to the check out. <br />
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Whoever dares say that God doesn't answer our prayers...or have a sense of humor...is 100% wrong! I thanked Him for that little miracle in a mask and snow boots who appeared at just the right moment all the way home. <br />
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Every once in a while it really does go your way, if you look at it from the right perspective.<br />
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Later, Dee<br />
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<br />Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-26018331089838828692012-12-21T13:01:00.002-07:002012-12-21T13:20:22.811-07:00Christmas Letter 2012Hi again, <br />
I am back to post our 2012 Christmas Letter! I wish you all a happy 2013! I will try to blog more this year. I do like to write and I do like the blog thing it's just I already have a full time job and the blog could be a full time job. Both of which I like. :) Take care and remember life isn't always what you expected but it's how you look at it. It's mostly hilarious...<br />
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So another year has gone by too quickly. We sure hope you are all happy and fine. As for us, we have had another year of happy times and challenges and that’s about right for life. So here is a little bit about what is going on with us.<br />
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2012 was a big year for Zachary! He turned 19 in October and graduated from Hillcrest High School in June and also from Hillcrest High’s Seminary. We were very proud of him (because Lord, that was painful!) and he was very ready to be finished with school. He worked very hard on his grades (not a moment too soon) and was able to wrestle for Hillcrest for half the season until he had to have his wisdom teeth out over the holiday break last year. Unfortunately, Zach had huge wisdom teeth (ironic as he seems to lack wisdom) and the holes left after his teeth were out left his jaw too fragile to wrestle. But he traveled and conditioned with the team until the end of the season and had a super experience. Currently Zach is driving his beloved Jeep and working full time on the press at Hudson Printing and dating a new girl every weekend. Making up for lost time in High School it seems. He is a miser with his money (except with the girls) and if you can get him to pry open his wallet and after the moths fly out, you will find it full. This is a good thing because if he doesn’t get registered for school soon, he will be paying for his own gas, car, food, cell phone and underpants.<br />
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Holland is 13 and in the eighth grade. This will be her second and last year in Middle School since she will go to Hillcrest High in the 9th Grade. (Don’t even get me started) She loves school except she actually forgets that school is for ...well… school, rather than a place to hang out with her friends. She gets awfully crabby when I remind her about Math homework and Reading logs and she actually called me a nag. A nag, rude. I never knew I was such an irritating person until Holland brought it to my attention. This was my favorite line, “Mom, your voice is hurting my ears.” Actually Keith told me that years ago and I didn’t believe him. Holland loves Art…the class, not the boy. The boy would be Chris, or maybe it’s Chase or someone else, I can’t keep up. She is already planning to join the Golf Team and the Tennis Team at Hillcrest and she is also registered for Drama…trust me, she’s a natural. No braces, no zits, no worries…13. <br />
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Keith has had has another great year at Hudson Printing which is good since we have recently gone credit card free! Yes, you read that right! As of October first we went to debit card and cash only. Keith and I have both had to really watch our spending. Regrettably, we watch each other’s spending and peck each other to death like ducks. I must say, Keith is getting more anxiety and excessively grumpy as he ages. He is obsessed with the cleanliness of our house. Unfortunately, I am getting less anxious and somewhat lax about the cleanliness of our house in my old age which severely compounds Keith’s OCD issues. Rats! (Not literally…not yet anyway.) Bless his heart, he golfs and works in the yard and cleans house like his mother to try not to be mad at me. But in the end, he will fuss and fume like Yosemite Sam. To his credit, he is a very good golfer and our yard is beautiful! To be fair, I’m not like a pig in a wig or anything when it comes to housekeeping, but I’m no Patty Beltz either. <br />
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In fact, I admit I’m getting older. I have symptoms of the MEN-On-PAUSE and it’s no day at the beach. Although it feels like one sometimes IF that beach was so hot and sweaty all of a sudden that it made your underwear stick to your skin and your upper lip sweat just because you tried to put a 12 pack of diet coke into your grocery cart. Or all you had to do was look at the security line in the airport and your head started to sweat so bad that your hair was dripping wet and by the time you got to taking off your shoes you were afraid to walk through the scanner for fear of electrocution. I might be a little moody. I recently had the opportunity to take a trip with my friend to New York City and see the Rocketts. I brought a snow globe home from the show for Holland, she collects them. I didn’t check it because its glass (fra-gee-lay) and I didn’t want it to break in my luggage so I carried it on. When I got through the security line (see me sweating profusely) they stopped me because…yes…I had too much liquid in my snow globe! The snow globe that is packed in my carry on…in a box…packed in styrofoam. It is a rare occasion that I am speechless, but now I just stopped and looked at her. She said I had to leave it with her or go back out and check it. Then she took it out of my bag and said…get this…”did you really want it?” Are you frigging kidding me? I said “Of course I want it I wouldn’t have bought it if I didn’t want it.” So I gathered my dolls and dishes and went back out of the security line and took everything out of my purse that zipped shut and stood in line again to check the snow globe for a small fee of $35.00 for the second bag. :/ Then I got back into the security line and if you think I was sweating before trust me when I tell you that “mad as a wet hen” does not even begin to cover it. I feel really bad for whoever had to sit next to me at the gate because I was probably giving off toxic fumes by the time I hoofed it all the way to D45. But I digress…<br />
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As a family we took a trip to Las Vegas (Zach’s choice) this summer. We love Las Vegas and are able to find a lot of family friendly things to do there. This year we went to Fremont Street in Old Las Vegas. It’s a fun place to go and shop and eat. There are lots of crazy people who dress up as cartoon characters, Transformers, Elvis, Spiderman, Superman, Batman, Showgirls, you name it. You can get your picture with them for a tip. Of course there are some racy characters there too. (“racy”… shades if my mother) We walked by one lady who was very well endowed, maybe he most well endowed lady any of us had ever seen, who was taking pictures with people. Keith and I and my sister watched our kids. Holland immediately put her little fan up to the side of her face to hide so she couldn’t see her. She has done this with her hand like that since she was little when she is uncomfortable. Zach just walked on by, cool as a cucumber. Once we had all passed by we started to laugh and kid a little. When we teased Zach he smiled his half smile and said, “Honestly you guys, I saw Batman first.” Classic Zach. Life is hilarious.<br />
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Hope your new year is hilarious. Have a very Happy Holiday Season! All our love Keith, DeeAnn, Zach and Holland Beltz…and Bayja.<br />
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Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-63503275078870919562011-12-14T16:17:00.000-07:002011-12-14T16:17:50.575-07:002011 Christmas LetterWell here we are at the close of another year. Hopefully you are all healthy and happy and ready for 2012! <br />
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We have had a busy year as usual. Last Christmas Santa Claus brought us a new addition to our family! A little tiny puppy! Her name is Bayja (sounds like Asia) and she is a Yorkie and she is lots of fun and the kids love her! She is also a spoiled princess that thinks she is a person that should be able to sit on the couch and eat at the table and never be left alone. Mommy loves her but until she can pee in the potty and wipe her own bum she can sit on the floor and eat her dog food and hang out at home by herself while everyone is out during the day. <br />
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We were also fortunate to be able to take a family vacation to Cancun this year where we spent a day in the Yucatan jungle snorkeling in the Cenote's. These are underground cave's filled with fresh water...and a great big boa constrictor...trust me, after seeing that snake I did not leave the water in that particular cave as fresh as I found it! We zip lined through the tops of the trees (well most of us, Holland climbed the tower and then cried at the top and had to climb down with the guide). Then we repelled back down to the jungle floor. It was an "Extreme Adventure" and extremely fun and reminded me that I am extremely out of shape and I went back to the resort extremely sweaty and dirty. I love it when you get back and you have had a dirt mustache for hours that no one bothered to tell you about. Those pictures are keepers.<br />
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Speaking of Holland, she is 12 and in the 7th grade at Union Middle School. She loves Middle School. Her favorite subjects are Art and Lunch. She is a social butterfly and an academic butterfly as well, a little flighty. But I have done very well on her assignments. Yeah, you read that right. Holland tells me all the time what a great job I do. Holland has several crushes and is a little flirt...I just had a dry heave...pardon me.<br />
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Zach is 18 and a senior at Hillcrest. He has been making near straight A's this year and is on the Honor Roll. Yep, not a moment too soon there bud. Don't get me wrong, we will take it, everyday, all day long. He decided to join the wrestling team at Hillcrest this year. So we are learning a lot about wrestling! He seems to like it, except for that little outfit they have to wear. I have to say I'm not a fan of the little outfit...yeah...not a fan. <br />
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Keith and I are still married. I know! 23 years! We celebrated by going to Las Vegas to see Bon Jovi in concert and Keith screamed like a little girl. Okay...that was me. But it was fun. We both still have jobs and are heavily medicated and in too much debt...but it seems to work for us and everything balances out at the end of the day. <br />
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Don't get me wrong, the 23 years are hard fought and hard won and we have our moments for sure. In fact just recently we had one regarding the Christmas lights on the outside of our house. So one Saturday a week or so ago Keith set out to put up lights on the house. We usually put up white icicle lights, I love those. They are twinkly and bright. He came inside all huffy and said that we had several strands out and couldn't we get new lights this year so he wouldn't have to sort through the strand to find the bad light etc. He was really quite worked up. Being flexible and able to adapt, I said of course, go get new lights, no worries. So off him and Zach went to the Home Depot. So after about 2 hours they are back and Keith is back up on the roof putting up lights. This takes some time but he finishes and comes in to watch the football game. After a while it is dark and out of the corner of my eye I see blinking lights outside my front window and my heart stops. NO! It can't be! After 23 years he knows better than to do that...he did not put blinking lights on my house. Oh Mother of all that is Holy, please tell me he did not do this. I call for Holland and say "please go out and look at Dad's lights and tell me if they are blinking." I am desperate to know but can't bear to look for myself. She runs out to the front walk and I watch her from the front window. "Yes!" she calls, "They are blinking! They look nice!" Oh my heavens! I run out to the walk to see for myself and I am horrified at the scene. My entire house is outlined in LED computer lights. They do not twinkle brightly; they glow with the eerie blue of a touch screen. And they are not just blinking, they are randomly flashing on and off to some techno beat no one can hear. I feel like I am about to have a freaking seizure. How could he have done this to me? This is not merry and bright, this is an ADD disco nightmare! I fly back into the house in a panic. What will the neighbors think? We will never be invited to a progressive dinner now. "Keith!" I call, "come up! I have big issues with the lights!" He calls back "I don't want to talk about it now!" I pause for a moment. He knows! Holy crap, he knows! Now I am about to have an out of body experience. I sit on the couch with the princess dog and fume. My heart is beating erratically just like the ADD lights on my house. Finally he makes his appearance and all I can say is "I hate them!" And he is brave enough to say to me, "But why??" It is all I can do not to attack him like a feral cat but I don't. "Blinking lights? After 23 years?" I say. "I didn't know they were blinking, they said light show." He says. I shoot him the look and let the expletives fly! Long story short, within 48 hours I had twinkly bright lights on my house...and to all a good night. <br />
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So my friends, compromise when you can and stand your ground when you think you might have a frigging seizure if you don't. Words to live by. Have a Fabulous Holiday and a great 2012!! Love, The Beltz's. Keith, DeeAnn Zach & Holland...and Bayja.Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-7645142567355424802011-07-26T17:03:00.000-06:002011-07-26T17:03:45.888-06:00Xtreme Vacation<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I just got back from vacation with my family. Anyone that knows me knows I am a beach girl. I am not a camper, though I will camp but not usually for relaxation. I am not big into sight seeing, however I will do that if that is everyone's vote and there is shopping some where nearby. But my preference is to be in the sun and by the pool and near a beach. I also must make a confession here, as much as I love the beach, I am not crazy about sand. I like to walk on the sand and I like to swim and snorkle in the ocean. However, I am not a fan of sand in my bathing suit. I do not like that one bit and I do not like having to clean sand out of my kids' bathing suits either. But if there is sunshine, a pool and a beach involved, that is my kind of vacation. This time we spent a week on the Mexican Rivera in Playa Del Carmen. One day we took an excursion called "Xteme Mayan" where we spent the day in the Mayan Jungle snorkeling in their underground caves and fresh water rivers, zip lining over the jungle and repelling down into the rain forest. It was a pretty extreme day and I was proud of my kids and myself for doing everything we did. My husband said he was surprised I did any of it. I was offfended. So that night while I was putting aloe vera on the place where the harness pinched my bottom, I started thinking about our vacations. My husband is not remembering anything right!! In my younger days before I had kids my husband and I took some beach vacations and did some sporty things which bordered on 'xtreme' activities. Snorkleing boat trips, biking the crater in Maui after getting up at 3:00am to see the sunrise. Then with the kids we did the some what different trips, but still extreme in other ways. Disney extravanganzas and Six Flagg excursions, beach vacations etc. These trips included a binky over the side of the Jungle Cruise in Disneyland as we watched any hope of an afternoon nap sink into the murky water. Flip flops thrown into the Small World topiary garden when she didn't get what she wanted in the gift shop. Melting eskimo pies shaped like Shamu and the souvenier cup with a shark on the top you will never use again. Pouting teenagers that think the San Diego Zoo is for babies and why can't I buy a shirt with a maijuana leaf on it in Barbados?? Don't poop in your swim suit, that is so gross. Will you buy me another hat because I forgot to take mine off and I lost it on Space Mountain and I think I left my Ipod on the plane in Dallas. Someone just thew up on the hotel shuttle and we need to find an ATM. I forgot to take my phone out of my pocket before I got in the pool and I have wet pants after the log ride. Yes you need sunscreen on your feet and we are all going to dinner together, table for 19 please. We missed the connection so here is your Delta courtesy kit and we'll have to come back in the morning. Your bag is 3 pounds over so open it up and switch some things around right now. I thought you had the passports. No, don't eat that after it fell in the sand. Could you just act like your having a good time, for me? Please? Xtreme is not the word for it. I'm tired just recalling it. I'll snorkle a cave in the Yucatan any day. Later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-1728178515434475922011-06-11T21:20:00.000-06:002011-06-11T21:47:09.120-06:00Livin' The DreamSchool is out! Summer is finally here. Summer is my favorite season. I love the sun, I love vacations, I love the water. I remember growing up that our favorite thing to do every day of the summer was anything in the water. We would run through the sprinklers or fill up one of those plastic pools in the back yard and hang out. Every once in a while we would get to go to a pool. Boy was that the best or what. My sisters and I would be so excited when we would get to go to a swimming pool. My Dad was in the National Guard and a few times each summer my Mom would takes us to the outdoor pool at Camp Williams' Officers Club. This was so great. We loved this. We usually had the pool to ourselves or maybe one other family was there and we would pretend it was 'our pool'. Because that would just be the dream, to have your own pool in your own back yard right? We would stay and play in that pool at Camp Williams all day long. My Mom would pack a lunch for us and we would get to buy a pop out of the machine they had there and it was heaven. We stayed so long that we had little sores on our toes from the bottom of the pool. We were so tired by the time we got in the car to go home we all fell asleep on the way. I remember it was dusk when we got home and I always felt a tiny bit sunburned. (who wore sunscreen then?) I loved that feeling and could not wait to go again. That is the memory that came back to me when we had the opportunity to buy a house with a pool in the backyard. My dream could really come true. I could walk right out my back door all summer and my kids could have that experience all day every day. You would think. So what is it, day 4 of summer vacation? I am already hearing "I'm bored", "There is nothing to do". This infuriates me. I took a few days off to spend that quality time out by the pool with my kids this week. My sister and I were sitting by the pool discussing those days at Camp Williams when my 12 year old informed me that she needed me to find her and her friend something interesting to do. Now, I looked around. The sun was shining, the pool was sparkling, there was a cooler full of drinks under an umbrella. I looked at my sister, then again at my daughter and smiled, "Honey" I said, "We are livin' the dream!" My sister and I laughed hard and loud and long. My daughter was not amused. That night I fell asleep exhausted and a little bit sunburned. Later.Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-51656877505370744422011-05-24T16:14:00.000-06:002011-05-24T16:48:53.535-06:00The Glamorous Life...<span style="font-family:arial;">So I just returned from San <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Diego</span> where I have been working recently. This is the last in what has been about five months of pretty consistent travel for me. My job has required more business trips than usual this year so far. When I first began traveling for business about 13 years ago the trips were few and far <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">between</span> and I enjoyed them. It was kind of fun to get away and work some where else for a few days. Everyone thinks it's so glamorous to travel. The more I do it the less fabulous it gets. Don't get me wrong, it's a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">privilege</span> and I enjoy my work and there are some great people I get to work with all over the country. But it's probably not what you might think. When I am out of town and I call my husband to check in at home he will ask me every time if I am having fun. It is at this point that I am usually sitting on my bed in the hotel room eating a Wendy's hamburger and working my email while watching a rerun of Law & Order. "Yes" I say, "I am having fun". I recently had the opportunity to work back east for 4 days. I had a great experience but I was ready to get home. I boarded the plane and sat down in my window seat and buckled in. Soon my seat mate joined me. Now I am not a tiny person, I take up my seat. But my seat mate took up more than their seat, if you know what I mean. Well, no worries. My plan was to read my Nook and maybe sleep on the 5 hour plane ride home. So off we go. Once we get up high enough I turn on my reader and promptly the gal in front of me pulls up her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">hoodie</span> hood, plugs in her ear buds and reclines her seat all the way back. My Nook hits my chin. Really?? I look up at my seat mate who is really too close for comfort but it is what it is. At this point my right arm rest has disappeared, I can't put a tray table down and I can't move my legs. I read, I try to sleep. No beverage for me thank you. Then about 3 and a half hours in I panic. I can't move, I can't get out, I can't straighten my legs. I start to hyperventilate a little. So I start to breathe into my hands...in and out...in and out. I talk to myself in my head..."You are fine! You will be fine! Stop this silliness! Your seat mate can't move either! Just calm down for heavens sake!" It helps. But I am too hot and I am too far back in the plane, 23A, 23A, too far back. I can't read, I can't rest. I just sit there waiting to get off for 90 minutes. We land and I wait patiently, I am sweating and clammy. No one knows I am losing my mind. I am finally off and I shoot for the rest room. I sit in the stall taking big breaths. My life is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">soooo</span> glamorous!! Before I go home I go to Starbucks in the airport and order a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Chai</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Frappachino</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Venti</span> size. I sit on the bench by the security check point and take a few sips before I hit the baggage claim. I think that next week when I come back here to go to San Diego I will be able to wear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">capri's</span> and sandals. One more trip and then I will have a break in traveling for work. Maybe I'll go to Wendy's on the way home....later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-36013525357845963242011-04-04T16:16:00.000-06:002011-04-04T16:38:26.161-06:00The Spicy MarriageOkay, so don't let the title of this blog fool you. In May my husband (hate that word) and I will celebrate 23 years of marriage. I am telling you now that I would not use the spicy to describe my marriage. In fact I would say "please pass the salt". Now I'll also confess it's not all his fault. I'm 45 this year. I'm carrying a few extra pounds than I'd like, I take a few more pills than I'd like for a myriad of frailties having to do with older age. Acid reflux doesn't make you feel like the sexiest girl at the party I'll have to admit, especially when the party is dinner at the IHOP after a viewing. So my huuusband and I decided we needed a trip out of town. We bought ourselves an early anniversary gift and got tickets to see Bon Jovi in concert at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas in March this year. We planned a long weekend for just the two of us in Vegas and left the kids home. We flew down so we wouldn't have any time to argue in the car if we drove. (Smart thinking huh!) Here's the thing, I don't feel any sexier in Las Vegas than I do in Utah. I'm still chubby and I still have the acid reflux etc. But I decided to try to make the best of it and try to spice it up. But apparently my huuusband didn't feel any sexier in Vegas either. Good Lord, we are so old! Finally I just said, "We are married and out of town staying in a hotel without the kids. I'm not going to say no." That was all the sweet talk he needed I guess. So the concert was great. The weather was bad and the company was mildy spicy. I'll take it. Some times I'd rather just watch a rerun of CSI. But I'm already thinking of ways to bring on the spice. I've heard of people wrapping themselves in saran wrap and meeting their spouse at the door. That sounds like a lot of work and considering the potential for a hot flash I have, I think I'll pass. But we have this Halloween costume my son wore a few years back. It's a toilet. I could wear that with nothing underneath. When my husband came home I could tell him that if he scrubbed a toilet I would take it off. Everybody wins! Very spicy! LaterDeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-42700744735472473662011-01-26T13:20:00.000-07:002011-01-26T13:57:49.621-07:00Dogs<span style="font-family:verdana;">So here's the big news. We got a puppy for Christmas. I know. Some of you that know me from childhood will be stunned because you know I am not a pet person. There are people, Lord love them, who are pet people and have dogs and cats and hamsters and a pig and who knows what all. Then there are <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">people</span> like me who have to be persuaded to get their kids a fish and then cannot stand the gross yucky fish bowl on the kitchen counter. It's not all my fault. I am allergic to cats, so no cats and now I will make my confession, I am afraid of dogs. I have been afraid of dogs my whole life. Little dogs, big dogs (heaven help me) I am afraid of dogs. Now when I was in Jr High School my family got a dog. His name was Alex. He was a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Maltese</span> that my parents never neutered and he never potty trained so he had to stay outside all the time. I did not like Alex and I felt sorry for Alex all at the same time. I did not like Alex because 1) I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">afraid</span> of him and 2) he would hump your leg every time you tried to lay out in the back yard. I felt sorry for him because he would turn into a huge snowball every winter <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">because</span> all the snow would stick to his fur and he had runny eyes. So I basically stayed away from Alex. But my fear started when I was a little girl. I can remember being about 5 and all dressed up for Halloween with my sister ready to go trick or treating with my Dad and crying, not wanting to go because there was a big, black dog in our driveway. My Dad got so mad he punched a hole in the wall in our basement. As I got older I learned to ignore little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">yippy</span> dogs. Although the only dog bite I ever <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">received</span> was by a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">miniature</span> collie when I was about 7. It's name was Dillon and it bit the back of my ankle. A few years later he got hit by a car. I won't say I was happy, but I don't think I shed any tears for Dillon. But big dogs scare the crap out of me. In high school I dated a guy who's family had golden retrievers. Big beautiful dogs. BIG dogs, very friendly! When I would come over to their house the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">doggie</span> would jump right up on me and put her paws right on my shoulders. She was as big as me, looking me right in the face. I tried not to show it but every time I nearly fell over and hyperventilated. My boyfriend thought this was hilarious. When I was about 20 I really got into running. I would go running outside and always run into a big dog. It would scare the &@#! right out of me and I would scream GO HOME! and try hard not to run away so the dog wouldn't chase me. Over the years I have built up a tolerance to big dogs because people in my life insist on having big dogs and I like those people. But my heart beats a whole lot faster when the big doggies are around. But I will admit...if there is big strange dog wandering around outside that I am not familiar with, I do not go outside until the dog is gone. That's my story and I am sticking to it. So, to the new puppy. My kids, including my significant other, have been wanting a dog forever. Being the non pet person I have been, I have said no, no, no for years and years. At Christmas time I gave in. I told Santa he could bring us a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">doggie</span> if she was a she, and tiny, and didn't shed. So on Christmas morning a tiny teacup <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">yorkie</span> was sitting in a velvet box under the tree. She was 8 weeks old. I thought my kids were going to faint they were so excited. Her name is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Bayja</span>. (sounds like Asia) Now she is 12 weeks old and this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">weekend</span> she finally started going potty outside. We are so proud of her. She is lots of fun. When I walk in the door she does jump up on me...and her paws hit me just below my knees. I think it is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">hilarious</span>. Later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-28297901776946400902011-01-10T14:38:00.000-07:002011-01-10T14:43:32.157-07:00Our Christmas LetterIn case you want to catch up with my family for 2010. Here is our annual Christmas letter. If you like the blog, you'll like the letter....<br /><br /><div align="left"><em>Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from our family to yours! 2010 has been a big blur for us! Big changes were in store and we didn’t even know it. After 16 years on Handcart Way we moved! In the spring of this year we found a home about 7 blocks east and we made an offer and to our surprise they accepted it and we were off and running! Our new address is:<br /> 946 Peregrine Lane, Sandy Utah 84094<br />We closed on July 22, 2010 and moved in August 22, 2010. We decided to remodel the house too! Unfortunately, considering my anxiety and Keith’s ADD, this decision, however necessary, was probably not wise. Between us we have created a new disorder. We call it “Marital Anxiety Attention Deficit Disorder” or M.A.A.D.D. You may draw your own conclusions here and every single one would be right. We have found that no matter how much medication you are on, none of it helps cure M.A.A.D.D completely. The up side is our new house is just that much bigger and we can go to separate places to sort things out or “let the expletives fly” if you will. Since we are on the subject, while we are enjoying our bigger home, we find there is now at least one light bulb burned out every damn day and someone around here better get working on their house keeping skills immediately. <br />Thankfully Keith and I still enjoy employment at Hudson Printing and Wells Fargo, respectfully. However Keith is contemplating mowing lawns this summer to make ends meet. No really, I’m serious. House poor does not begin to describe it. If I could bake, I’d be selling cupcakes after church. Pre-purchase, our family enjoyed a trip to Barbados in the spring of this year to visit my Mom and Dad a few months before they returned home from their mission and a week at our family cabin in the mountains above Midway, Utah this summer to celebrate their return.<br />Our Holland is 11 years old and in the 6th grade and is very busy. In addition to her schoolwork, golf and swimming activities Holland has discovered a love for cooking! We watch the Food Network together all the time. She aspires to be an Iron Chef when she grows up. She is enrolled in the Young Chef’s Academy and cooks in classes two night a week. She loves it. She cooks all sorts of yummy things but eats none of it. She still keeps Pizza Hut, McDonalds and the Training Table in business. She has also come to the stage in her life where she is extremely embarrassed by just about anything and everything, especially her Dad, much to my delight. “Dad stop singing, Dad stop doing that. Dad STOP!” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!<br />Zach is 17 and a junior at Hillcrest High School. His extracurricular activities have dwindled to games and TV and movies much to my chagrin, in addition to chores around the house, much to his chagrin. But he has chosen to focus on getting good grades and is doing quite well this year so we’ll take that as a win. He is also a very good care taker for his sister which is a load off my mind. He has a fabulous new room in our new house with a ginormous TV that he enjoys immensely. I know – no one to blame but ourselves.<br />Besides the new house, the highlight of my year was having my deviated septum fixed and both my sinuses routed. Yeah, it’s as fabulous as it sounds. While it is very nice to be able to breathe and sleep better, I find the icy cold air of the Utah winter is very painful on my sinus cavities and I have to say I sometimes miss all the snot that kept me nice and warm up there. The whole thing was a bigger ordeal than I had anticipated and I am still recovering. I don’t think I have had a year in some time where I didn’t enjoy some kind of surgery or procedure. I used to think I had bad luck. Then I got a speeding ticket AT the airport when I was picking up my parents and then I locked my hotel key in my room four times on a four day trip and then I pulled through to the drive up window at Crown Burger without ordering. Now I know that’s just the way it is and it’s all fine. When that stuff happens I try to laugh. Heee Haaaw! (There may be a little sarcasm there.) But we continue to count our blessings! We hope you will too!<br />Love to all! Keith and DeeAnn, Zach and Holland Beltz</em></div>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-55524003565578127842011-01-10T10:30:00.000-07:002011-01-10T10:51:04.771-07:00Plan...G?Okay...so I'm a slacker blogger. My Plan was to blog about twice a week, then it went to once a week and then once a month and well, you get the drift. It's safe to say I am way past Plan B on the blogging...maybe Plan G? Anywho, welcome to 2011! So I did have a little unplanned surgery that derailed me back in November. I had my deviated septum fixed and both sinus cavities routed. Big fun! Every one seems to have either had this done or knows several people who have had this done. At least the deviated septum part. My husband had this done about 8 years ago. He was the hugest baby ever. I thought "No problem, piece of cake!" Well, um, need less to say it was a little bigger deal that I had anticipated. It was downright nasty in fact. I did not realize my head could even hold that much snotty crap. Ick, ick ick! Ow, ow ow! 4 six inch splints had to pulled from my nostrils 10 days after the surgery. It was like a magic trick. Honestly, I would have been less surprised had they pulled a live rabbit out of my nose. Still, I wasn't half the baby my husband was, I am sure of it. So I stayed home and swabbed my nostrils (hate that word) with neosporin and ran the humidifier all day long and took my lortab every 4 hours on the dot. Then when you think you can venture outside in the 18 degree weather your nice clear sinuses freeze in about 2 minutes in the cold. Painful. So I took to wearing a bandana over my nose and mouth like a cowboy when outside (except at the bank for obvious reasons - HA). Soon I was missing my boogers that kept my warm up there, however better I was breathing and sleeping. I know, I know, gross...but I am not one to pretty it up. But it gets better every day, that's what my doctor says, that's his story so I will try to stick to it. Hope all had a happy holiday! Later!Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-32902022874037085212010-10-02T10:11:00.000-06:002010-10-02T10:32:00.576-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">So I did this really absent minded thing. I know, big surprise. What's worse is I did it in front of my 16 year old son. Geez. I mentioned earlier that often my body, and more often my mouth gets going faster than my mind can catch up and I guess this is what happened here. We were running through Crown Burgers drive up to pick up some lunch and I am talking a mile a minute about I don't know what and all of a sudden my son says "Mom, don't we need to order first?" I look around and I have passed right by the menu board and pulled up behind the car at the window. Oh my Lord! I look frantically behind me and there is a line of cars, I can't back up. Now what? I'll tell you what. I have to tell the lady at the window that, oh sorry, I forgot to order at the menu board like an idiot and I have to pull through and start over. Then she can tell everyone in the back there and they can have a good laugh and then they can re-live the whole thing when I come back through and say "Hi, it's me again!" My son is dying. He is laughing and embarrassed all at the same time, and so am I. Because, here is the good news. Although there is still a little part of me that right off the bat, feels just a little bit humiliated, there is a larger percentage of me that thinks this is incredibly funny and par for the course for me. I know many of you who know me will agree. What is fabulous about getting older is that you get to let go of that awful, insecure, self consciousness that haunts us in our youth and keeps us from enjoying every silly moment of our lives because we are so afraid of what everyone else might think of us and we are so easily embarrassed that every little thing sends us into high drama. This part of growing older is fantastic! At the same time, it would be very comforting if there if anyone that has done this same thing, could let me know, so I don't feel like I'm the only one. Because no matter how old you are, no one wants to be the ONLY one. Later.</span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-46283225570679937242010-09-23T09:00:00.000-06:002010-09-23T09:34:01.390-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">Prioritizing. I'm in the middle of trying to prioritize a garage full of boxes that need to be unpacked. My sister just read a book called "Life is Too Short to Fold Fitted Sheets". I think that is hilarious...and true. I have to put some things in perspective as I look at my garage. Which is a priority and which is a fitted sheet? It sounds easier than it is though. I find if I shut the garage door I can actually forget I have a garage. That is until I find I'm missing something buried in all those boxes. Like a toilet brush or something. Then all of a sudden a toilet brush becomes a priorty and everything else is a fitted sheet. The toilets are gross and people are coming. Ooh, now I'm dizzy. Am I cleaning bathrooms or doing laundry? Then a few days go by and I think maybe everything in the garage is a fitted sheet because I'm making do pretty good without everything that's out there. Then all of a sudden I need my Kitchen Aid and I'm out there with a priority again. Geez I need to get organized. Maybe I should go to Starbucks. Life is too short, get a frappacino when you want one. Later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-78700502806578856862010-09-07T16:04:00.000-06:002010-09-07T16:30:54.541-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">I have a cold...don't you hate that? It's not serious, just bad enough to really annoy you. Not bad enough that you need to go to the doctor...yet...or stay home from work, but just bad enough that you feel like you have to squint your eyes all the time. Maybe it's because my head feels like it is full of snot. Sorry. Getting right to it there. I'm afraid to sneeze because a snick might fly out and land on me or my steering wheel or something and my eyes are squinty and I might not notice. Ick. Do you ever have this kind of cold and you start off just taking some Advil, thinking that might do it for you? Then you don't feel any better so you take say some Sudafed, trying to convince yourself it's just allergies? Then you move to the Alka-Seltzer Cold & Cough or maybe a Dayquil? Then you go to the store on your lunch for the MucinexDM and some cough drops and a diet coke thinking that will really solve it. Okay, I confess, by now I am ready to drink the Nyquil straight from the bottle. I'm not sure if I have over medicated and I am not thinking straight or I have convinced myself I am sicker than I really am but I am obsessed with getting the Nyquil now. Like that is the answer to all that ails me. I have "over the countered' myself into a frenzy. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I think I'll just go home...what do they say? Starve a fever ...feed a cold? That I can do. Later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-20770912593098679932010-08-28T12:18:00.000-06:002010-08-28T12:21:27.325-06:00“Mawwaige”….hands down the most difficult thing I have ever done…and I’m not done. Some say the most challenging things we do reap the greatest rewards. My children not withstanding, I plead the fifth on that at this time. We have just spent the second night in our new home. As foretold in previous blogs, the Paint Nazi has not finished painting but like a very aggressive cow in a china shop I moved in anyway. For those of you unfamiliar, the Paint Nazi is my husband. I hate that word…HUSBAND. It is a weird word. Almost as weird as wife. Anyway, we moved in not a moment too soon. The Paint Nazi are like two panthers in a cage circling back and forth just waiting for the other to say something wrong or look cross ways so they can attack. Hence the larger home gives us more cage space and keeps us from the inevitable. When forced to sit close together our children have to witness the sad, regression of maturity when one says to the other “You’re touching me!” When one of us dares to make a joke the others’ defenses rise quickly and the response is usually “You think you are so funny don’t you?” Unless, you just get the kiss of death…the rolling of the eyes. Yes, I’ll admit it, like most women, the rolling of the eyes is my favorite response to give. It is a perfect response and I’ll cop to it. Maybe some of you relate to this maybe some of you do not. If you don’t and you are married, let me offer my sincere congratulations on your recent nuptials! Please do not build or remodel a house any time soon! My view on marriage after 22 years, okay, sometimes a little cynical. However, I have learned a thing or two. Getting married is like trying to force two countries to co-exist. I don’t care if you think you have everything in common. You grew up in two different houses and were taught two completely different ways to live. How to fold towels, if you fold towels, do you fold your sox or roll your sox, how do you spell socks? Do you eat canned corn or frozen corn, do you eat white tortilla chips or yellow tortilla chips, how often do you vacuum, again, do you vacuum? And those are just the little things. So stop right there! I have had to do the same thing after 22 years and stop right there. THOSE ARE JUST LITTLE THINGS. Life is good. Later.Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-40965553774119805482010-08-20T13:48:00.000-06:002010-08-23T15:26:06.947-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">Finally! Back on line!! Good Lord, I never knew I could feel so 'disconnected'! With my limited access to the world wide web these last two weeks I have been noticing how much we actually take the "E" in our lives for granted. I know everyone always says we are too electronically dependant but it sure makes life easier. Especially when your personal life and professional life cross over on a regular basis. When you need to work at odd hours etc. Speaking of my professional life...I have worked in my current career for 22 years this year basically for the same company. Most of the time my job requires a high level of professionalism and I manage a team so I must be an example in what I say and how I conduct myself. Personally, and if you know me you know this, I tend to be loud and sometimes obnoxious. I enjoy big laughs and often I say things that might be inappropriate and I definately share too much information. Sometimes, more than I'd like, I pee when I sneeze and I will tell you when I do. So, me personally? Not all that professional. I try very hard to be efficient and organized at work and I have to work very hard to do that and so when I am not at work my mind can go faster than by body or vice versa. Hence, some might say I am a little...well...less graceful than most and maybe have less, shall we say, foresight (?) than I should. Long story short, I can get myself into some unfortunate situations. This annoys me to no end. I know I am a fairly smart gal and I am very capable and have been very successful in what I have done. But geez, I have gotten myself into some crap. These situations seem to come in bunches. Sometimes a few little ones and then sometimes big ones, like when I fell down the stairs at Christmas time and broke my leg and had to have pins and a plate put in my leg and right after that I got the shingles...sorry I digress. In the last week I had a couple little reminders that I am NOT the professional I think I am. I was in my office going through my mail and clearing things up so I could take some time off this last week. I had a little stack of papers that needed to go in the shred bin. Now shredding, this is a new concept in the last 5-7 years and it is CRUCIAL where I work that the appropriate stuff go into the locked and secured shred bin. No one has a key except the shred company that comes periodically to empty the bin and so once your stuff is in the shred bin, that be it. So, I am getting my things and I have two checks that my son gave me to deposit for him. His lawn mowing money. I have those in one hand and the shred in the other and...I know you can see it coming...sianara baby...I put those checks right into the ultra secured shred bin of doom. Crap! Now I am looking through the dark slot to confirm I have actually done what I know I just did. I can't see anything. Our shred bin is huge and nearly empty. Gone, baby gone! Dammit! So I do what every professional person in the same situation would do...I start banging on the lid of the bin trying to break into it and retrieve my son's $50 fortune I just literally thew away. No go. So then I do the next logical professional thing, I grab my bag and stomp down the hall to my car and let the expletives fly. I go to the ATM and get the cash out to give to my son and decide I will figure it all out later and go on vacation. I only wish that was the last of it for that week, but not so much. So image? Smoke and mirrors baby. The real deal is far from perfect I'm afraid. But perfect is not nearly as much fun either. Later</span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-72092502742169724182010-08-05T19:38:00.001-06:002010-08-05T20:11:09.139-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">Do you ever borrow trouble? I borrow trouble. I sometimes worry about stuff that hasn't happened yet. I think I mentioned I take the prozac. This is one reason why, because I borrow trouble. I took my 11 year old daughter school shopping the other night. She will be in the sixth grade this year. So you know what that means...next year is 7th grade...and you know what that means...Middle School. Wah waaahh. Better known as JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL to me. I HATE Jr High School. I have already put a son through the so called middle school and it was as painful as I remembered it to be when I attended my self and now I have a GIRL getting ready to go. Yikes. I have an analogy for Junior High I have shared with many of my friends and here it is. I think Junior High School is like that part in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (not the one with Johnny Depp...the old one) when they get in that fabulous boat on the chocolate river and they are all excited for the boat ride and it starts out fine and then it starts moving faster and faster and then they shoot through a tunnel where the walls are crawling with spiders and snakes and scary things all around them and they are horrified and screaming and then all of a sudden they exit the tunnel into the light and they are fine, everything is fabulous again and all they want to do is get off the damn boat and move on. Isn't that exactly how Jr High School is?? You are all excited to go and get the heck out of elementary school and you think it's going to be so fabulous and then it's just the scariest, most confusing and horrible experience of your short life and all you want to do is get out of there and move on. Anywho, after school shopping that evening I had a nightmare about Willy Wonka chasing me through Olympus Junior High School and I woke up sweating. But the sweating could have been a hormone thing too. Yes my friends, life is good! And that is a good reminder to me that I don't need to borrow any trouble, I have plenty on my plate right now! Later!</span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-86380401289107564042010-07-29T15:00:00.000-06:002010-07-29T15:39:29.485-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">So the doorbell rang a few hours ago and a really sweaty middle aged guy was standing on my porch with his bike laying on my lawn. He said he had been out of work for 6 months and was going door to door asking people if he could paint their house numbers on the curb in front of their houses. He asked if he could do that for me for a little money. By this time both my 16 year old son and my 11 year old daughter had come up behind me to see what was going on. "Sure" I said. "How much?" "Whatever you think is fair" he said. I agreed to pay him $10 and he went to work. After I shut the door to let him work my daughter was worried. She wanted to know who the man was and what he was doing here. Was he coming to live with us?? She was very nervous. I asked my son to run a cold bottle of water and a granola bar out to the man while he was working. "Why?" he asked. I am batting a thousand here. I am looking at my off spring wondering at what point in their lives they were raised by wolves. "Because he looks like he is very hot and needs a cold drink and maybe something to eat. Just to be kind." I look at both children now, "We are moving away from this house, do you think I really need my house numbers painted on the curb? Not really, but this man doesn't have a job. He is riding his bike around the streets asking to do a little work for a little money. I have a job and I have a little money to spare today. So I am doing a little kindness for some one else. I want both of you to do a little kindness for others when you can. You have more than many children do." They stare at me as if I have grown another head. "Okay" mumbles my son (he is a mumbler by nature) as he walks out the door to deliver the water and granola bar. "So the man is not going to live with us, right?" asks my daughter again. "Nope, he is not going to live with us, he is just going to paint our curb today." And with that, the man is done. "Come look!" he says. I do and it looks fabulous and I tell him so and thank him profusely. Then I pay him $15.00 instead of $10.00. "Are you sure he asks?" "Absolutely positive!" I say, "God bless you." Now he thanks me profusely and I am a little teary as I walk back in the house to my little wolves. Paying it forward rocks. Later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-38736131610842414722010-07-27T11:16:00.000-06:002010-07-27T11:56:52.713-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">So we closed on our house last week. Hooray...I think. Now I am consumed with thoughts of when the new tile and carpet will be installed and if the paint nazi will be done in time and when can I order new furniture. But I can't be consumed for long because I have a fabulous 11 year old daughter that is consumed with something else. This means I too must be consumed with it. Everyone knows kids can get obsessed with certain things but my little one is autistic, mildly autistic and considered high functioning, but autistic all the same. When an autistic person gets consumed with something...well, everyone in the house is consumed with that something too. My daughter is currently obsessed with collecting Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. These are tiny little Barbies that come in their own plastic "bubble" with all their tiny accessories inside. About a week ago I told her she could go to Walmart and pick a reward if she cleaned her piggy room. She did it and we went to Walmart and she found the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. The world as we knew it was over. She picked Lydia from London (Lydia came in a little plastic globe) and inside with all the other tiny stuff was a little brochure with ALL the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys available for collection. I have not heard the end of it since the moment she opened Lydia's package. In the next day or two my daughter organized her closet and we went back to Walmart to get Maria from Mexico and Jamika from Johannisberg (she came with a tiny giraffe...mezmerizing). I hear about the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys everyday, many, many times a day. We sit and look at the brochure, going over each and every dolly with my daughter pointing out which ones she likes the best and which ones she wants next and deciding what chores she can do to earn another trip to Walmart or Target to buy another Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly. Here's the catch. The stores only carry one or two Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. We now have the few they carry. My daughter was showing her CC (my mother) the fabulous Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly brochure for probably the sixth time in a few hours last Saturday and mentioned that we couldn't find all the dollys she wanted in the stores and my wise mother, bless her heart, said "Well why don't you ask your Mom to check on the internet for you?" I was making sandwiches a few feet away. I stopped what I was doing and stared at her. She looked back at me and I gave her a sarcastic thumbs up. "Sorry" she mouthed back at me. "Mom! Can you look on the internet for the Peekaboo dollys I want? Please?" Just when I thought we had exhausted the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly collection in our area, the world wide web opens up an endless sea of hope for my daughter. So the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly obsession lives to haunt me another eternal day. When am I ever going to find time to obsess over my new carpet and tile and furniture...hmmm...when it comes down to it, I guess we are all a little bit autistic...later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-87756750283681827042010-07-20T15:14:00.000-06:002010-07-20T16:10:04.273-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">Family. Especially in laws. What do you think when you hear these words? Good things for the most part I hope. But then...well...so we had a birthday party at my in laws for my neice who turned 17. So we went over for dinner and cake. First off, my husband is the only sibling not living back with his parents right now. So there are not a lot of happy campers over there at the moment but it's a birthday party, so everyone is on their best behavior...well not everyone. I'm sitting there minding my own business when my brother in law, an out of work hairdresser who is significantly older than I am, plops down in front of me and says "So, it's time for me to tell you the honest truth." With that he proceeds to tell me how horrible my hair looks. It's too blonde, it looks damaged and the cut makes my face look fatter. He goes on and on telling me that my current stylist is ruining my hair and that every body is talking about how bad my hair is looking. I look at him. He is bald on the top and wears the rest of his sparse hair bleached blonde and about shoulder length. Most of the time he, thankfully, wears a bandana like Brett Michaels but unfortunately for me he is not wearing one now and he is so worked up over the state of my hair-do that he is sweating profusely. Nice. My mother in law is shushing him loudly. Finally I say, "Well, first of all, I like the color, it covers my gray. Secondly, my face looks fat because I am fat and if you think there is a product that will help my hair look healthier, please write it down for me." and I walked away!! I was so freaking proud of myself! I NEVER walk away for crying out loud! But I did this time. I did because it was a party, for my 17 year old neice and everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior. And it feels good to take the high road. Does it feel as good as it would have felt to come apart at my brother in law? I don't know for sure. This morning I looked at my hair very objectively in the mirror. I decided I look fine. Besides, I have bigger fish to fry...later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-23126017298719657922010-07-15T13:29:00.000-06:002010-07-15T13:58:14.105-06:00<span style="font-family:Verdana;">I'm moving. We bought a new home and we are finally closing on it next week (after two delays...not the plan but...) and so now the work begins. Not only are we packing 16 years of accumulated, I'll just say it, crap and deciding what crap goes to the new house and what crap does not go to the new house but we also have decided to paint, carpet and tile before we move everything IN the house. The house has pink carpet throughout and this fabulous faux green marble paint job that we have decided to change. No offense, just anyone that knows me knows I am not a "pink" gal. My husband has a plan. We'll call it "Plan A". I could be really naughty and call it "Plan ADD" but I won't...yet. He wants to rip out all the existing carpet and linoleum and paint first while the new carpet and tile is being ordered. On the face of it, this is a very good plan. But I have been married to this person for 22 years, he actually has ADD. Plus, he has a little OCD when it comes to home improvement, especially painting. He is a meticulous painter. Once we had a professional paint our downstairs bathroom. After it was done, I came home to find my husband painting the downstairs bathroom. When I asked him what he was doing he said he could see brush marks so he was painting it again. You get my drift here. So we have about two weeks to paint before the carpet and tile are installed. Our new house is about 3500 sq. feet and we are painting most of the interior. Here is my issue, what do you do when you can see the need for a Plan B, but it's not really your plan? I pretty much know the painting nazi is not going to make the deadline, but the painting nazi doesn't know it. I can try to help him, but I am not a perfect enough painter you see, he will just have to paint over my shoddy work. I have thought about this and the answer my friends, I'm afraid, is blowing in the wind. I'm going to have to let him do his thing and just wait and see what happens. This is not easy for me to do. I'm usually a "take charge" kind of girl. I'm all ready for Plan B, let's get to it and all that. This is where my prozac kicks in for me. The fact is that I will probably have the painting nazi painting after I have new carpet and tile installed.</span><span style="font-family:Verdana;"> THAT IS Plan B. And there it is. Later. </span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-51492236995864364172010-07-13T11:59:00.000-06:002010-07-13T12:00:56.119-06:00<span style="font-family:Verdana;">...another typo...that's two for two...</span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978203593679037526.post-13414073427344911262010-07-13T10:53:00.000-06:002010-07-13T11:15:53.129-06:00<span style="font-family:verdana;">So here I am again. I have two funerals in a week's time. The ultimate change in plans for all involved. This morning I went in to pay a traffic ticket I got at..get this...the airport! So bugged. About a two weeks ago my parents came home after living abroad for 3 years so of course we all went out to the airport to meet them. After the big hoo ha inside we all pulled our cars around to the pick up curb to load them in with their luggage. My sisters were in front of me as I manuvered my way through the zillion cars in the pick up lanes and pulled to the curb when a police car pulled in behind me flashing it's lights. Fabulous. My two young nephews in the back seat started yelling "Dee Dee, you're going to the jail!" This clearly was not in my plan. My poor mother was standing on the curb looking like homeland security had just descended upon her family. I smiled at her and waved, "no worries" I mouthed. So a cop that looked about 15 years old came up to my window. I rolled it down and looked at him. "Did you know your registration is expired?" For a moment a didn't know what to say, which is unusual for me. Then all I could muster was "Really?". "Yep" he said, "your sticker says April of 2010." "Really" I said again. Now I'm not one to use feminine assets to get out of a ticket or to get much of anything. It's just not me. So I said, and I kid you not, a line from a movie I'd seen, "Well, put it on my tab then." "What?" he said. "Look" I said, "There is not one thing I can do about this now. I need to get my parents picked up here so write me up the ticket and let's get on with it." So he did and that night my husband (who is in charge of taking care of the cars, because I take care of the finances...another story) registered my car online and this morning I paid the damn ticket. Not in my original plan but oh well. Not it is all just a happy memory right! Moving on! Later!</span>Deehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10958546647411872813noreply@blogger.com0