Dogs

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 people 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 Maltese 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 afraid 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 because 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 yippy dogs. Although the only dog bite I ever received was by a miniature 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 doggie 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 doggie if she was a she, and tiny, and didn't shed. So on Christmas morning a tiny teacup yorkie 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 Bayja. (sounds like Asia) Now she is 12 weeks old and this weekend 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 hilarious. Later.

Our Christmas Letter

In 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....

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:
946 Peregrine Lane, Sandy Utah 84094
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.
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.
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!
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.
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!
Love to all! Keith and DeeAnn, Zach and Holland Beltz

Plan...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!

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.

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.

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.
I think I'll just go home...what do they say? Starve a fever ...feed a cold? That I can do. Later.

“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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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.