"Over the river & through the woods to Grandma's house we go." If only it were that easy...

I'll preface this post with the scene of my long time childhood friend sitting across from me one morning at the Orem Juice N Java during my week in Utah. As I related the "adventure" (Johnathan's words not mine) of our road-trip from Texas to spend Christmas at my parents with all my siblings and my new nieces, she kept exclaiming apologetically "No, there's not more!" But there was.

As if packing up a family of four for a 20 hour road trip isn't enough of a project under normal circumstances--add to that stacks of wrapped gifts, bags and suitcases of gifts from Santa (reinforced & hidden), winter & ski clothing (keeping track of the tiniest boots & gloves imaginable for the 1 year old), and the four advent calendars we "couldn't" leave behind. One Star Wars Lego, two chocolate, and lets not forget the giant-blue-felt-sewn-Pottery Barn inspired-Christmas Tree monstrosity with the hand-sewn detailed pockets (which its completion consumed November 2009 & 2010.) But my hard work was not why Zayne insisted on its transport. It's my own fault really. Last year I started the tradition of leaving small prizes in the pocket each night for Zayne to find in the morning. In my defense, I was pregnant, nesting, and oblivious of the yearly commitment I had bound myself to. It's all I could do to keep up with it this year. I told him that it was me that filled the pockets most days, but sometimes the "Christmas Elf" beats me to it with a special prize (like the Captain America & Wolverine action figures that we could never find at the store.)

The promise of meeting my new niece, seeing all of my siblings, and bringing my boys to the magical play land of Grandma & Grandpa's at Christmas propelled me through the week and a half of preparation & packing. Monday December 20th we set out in the rented SUV, packed to the hilt at 3pm. The plan was to drive straight through the night and arrive in Utah sometime late afternoon on Tuesday. About 10:30pm we reached the Texas/New Mexico border and were alerted that the main highway had been closed due to a snow storm. I have to admit I had a sinking foreboding that toyed with the idea of just turning around. Our driver had already found us an alternate route on the trusty iPhone, and we were headed south in a sight distorting tunnel of billowing snow. We made it to Clovis (aka BFE) NM when we hit a roadblock. An oil tanker had spun off the road, resulting in a spill, thus closing our "alternate route". Sometime after midnight we checked into a thankfully clean but amenity-less Econo Lodge. The next morning about 9am we headed back on the road after hearing that the interstate was to be reopened. As we joined the rows of semi's and vehicles lined up for the impending opening, our children began to be restless after 10 minutes of stationary idling. There is a discrepancy between Johnathan and I on the conversation that transpired at this point. I say that I suggested we go turn around and have breakfast and map out our options. He says that I said "find us an alternate route." (Because that worked out so well for us the night before)--somehow logic dictates that as we are out in the middle of nowhere with ice and snow covering every surface I wouldn't just flippantly suggest taking County Farm roads into an uninhabited abyss of fields. Whatever I said, his interpretation was to drive us out into the back farm roads filled with snow with the "reassuring" declaration "It will be an adventure!"


We plowed through snow, circumvented deep tracks, drove up on the shoulder, got stuck for a few minutes to which he skillfully rocked us out, and continued onward. Although the road was not getting clearer, I restrained my passenger seat comments (I've been married 11 years know how backseat driving is received, and know that I have another day in the car with this man.) When I look ahead I see the large grooved tracks from a semi that had skidded off the road, and cruuuunnnncccchh. And Stop. Rev the engine. Rock the SUV, alternating between drive and reverse--and nothing. We are stuck. As I glance around, I see snow, sky, and the semi up the road. Nothing else, for miles. To my credit, I say nothing. Johnathan later described it as an "uncharacteristic silence".

So he starts trudging through the snow in his Chucks with no socks to the semi-truck up the road. I begin settling in with the kids for the long haul. 20 minutes later Johnathan returns cut & bleeding, & laboring under two 2X4's. The object is to rock the wheels onto the boards to gain traction. I'm ushered into the drivers seat while he pushes the car from the outside. Now I can't really say what transpired in those moments, except that it's clear that despite my upbringing in the Michigan winters, I never learned how to expertly "rock" the car out of a snowbank by alternating Drive and Reverse at the correct intervals. All the sudden I realize the exasperated commands have stopped and see Johnathan trudging his way back up the road. I look down, see his cell phone in the center console, and jump out and start yelling. The wind carries my voice away and he doesnt look back. I jump back inside and my morbid mind fast forwards to the worst case scenario. We've been left here to die. Surprisingly my survival instincts kicked in and I took a quick inventory of our fuel, food, milk, clothing, water, toys, games, snacks supply. Next I decided I should attempt to pin-point our GPS coordinates now instead of when I'm on the phone with 911 in a hypothermia induced daze. I don't know why I thought we'd still be on the grid. My google map returned as Unknown Location, and my Garmin was back home in my car. We could still place calls and so I got the boys lunch (clementines & string cheese), and dialed my mom (She's loves me, I knew I'd get sympathy there, and if we were MIA too long I could count on her to organize a search party for us.) My mother advised that I find out where we are with the google maps app and then call the state troopers... Yup, unknown location mom. I've gotta go salvage my phone battery and attend to the beckoning from the backseat. I held out hope for John, said a prayer, and forewent the call to the state troopers, on 78% phone battery left.



A couple hours later, as the boys and I are singing "10 Little Reindeer" led by Zayne, I caught a glimpse, of what appeared to be, an approaching vehicle in the distance. I asked Zayne to watch and see if it was getting closer, while I wrestled Pender through a diaper change in the front seat. I may or may not have thought, "I certainly hope that is Johnathan, or a good Samaritan, I'm really not in the mood to prostitute myself out of this situation." (Hey...remember I'm jaded, I've had a couple of girlfriends along the way who ran into some trouble out in The Middle of Nowhere, NM. Scary stuff.) I'm jolted from my over-the-top-but-realistic-paranoia by Zayne exclaiming that "Mom! It's a big green tractor!" Relief. I knew it was John. Sure enough, he was riding on a huge John Deere tractor that proceeded to pull us out of the snow. Grateful we thanked & payed the rancher for his help.....with cash.

Being stuck for hours in a car that is moving with children is challenging. Being stranded in a stationary vehicle with a 11 month old and a 5 year old? I had nearly exhausted my nursery rhyme song index and had just resorted to a goofy rendition of Party Rock Anthem. Another hour, and I might be massacring a Barbara Streisand classic. So it would make sense that instead ofcruising directly out of the County Road maze to the now clear entrance ramp to the freeway we may need a pit stop. Just to use the bathroom. Regroup. Or GET THE HELL OUT OF THE CAR!? Somehow we blew right by the last McDonald's play-world for hundreds of miles. (I wasn't driving.)

Once we finally stopped for lunch/dinner the rest of the day went fairly smoothly. The boys were troopers! We did a gas station, bedtime "routine", and they both drifted off. Until we were crossing the Utah border. Pender woke up screaming bloody murder, disoreinted and upset not to be in his bed. We pulled off in Monticello at a gas station and re-situated the entire seating chart so that I could switch places with the tub of toys in the backseat to sit by Pender. Zayne of course woke up in the process, also disoriented, and freezing from the cold Utah air. He too began uncharacteristically wailing. Even after getting re-seated, the doors shut, and heat pumping at full volume, both boys were still going strong as we pulled out of the gas station accelerating onto the entrance road to the highway. I heard the expletive in the front seat before I heard the siren. Sure enough, we were getting pulled over, right in front of a 40mph speed limit sign. The sobbing reverberating the interior of the car was deafening. Until the two cops were peering in the drivers and passenger side front windows. Complete silence. My eyes menaced at both of them. Really! Really!?! You both choose this moment in life, the one moment I need you to scream as loudly as possible, to not make a peep. Fabulous. Apparently we were clocked going 41 mph in the 30 mph zone although we had barely turned out of the parking lot and got pulled over in the 40 mph zone. He wrote it for the higher bracket. To which, Johnathan exclaimed, "Really! I have my kids, we were stuck in a snowstorm, we've been driving all day, and they were screaming the last half hour, you really can't give me a break!?" Bad cop, good cop. Bad cop won out. John grumbled at the cops as he rolled up the window, and as the cops walked away from the SUV, both children burst into tears again. I saw the neck muscles tense as he jerked his head to our direction and yelled "EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Immediately followed by a semi-shushed "Shut up is a bad word. Daddy said a bad word." I shot that child the "mommy death look", the one that would silence the inmates. We still had 5 hours left, and all I could think was the line Reese Witherspoon says as June Carter in the movie Walk the Line, "Get me outta this car & all these boys..."

We made it to my parents at 3am, the only way Pender would stay asleep the last 3 hours was if we kept listening to his Rock-a-bye Baby Journey CD (it's probably not a mistake that it was one of the items that was left at my moms.) But the details of the drive immediately began to mute with the exuberant reception from my parents.


Some of the highlights from our week with my fam include:

-Watching my father and brother play Just Dance 3 on the Wii.

-Zaynes interjection into the Christmas Eve dinner conversation with all of my siblings, aunt, and grandmother of "If you are looking for the perfect girl, my mom is not the perfect girl!"

-Wrapping presents in the basement with my siblings on Christmas Eve while we laughed and reminisced.

-Hanging out with my sister in my parents basement bathroom while she straight ironed her hair for a date, while relaying her experiences of being pressured into joing LDS Singles. com by our grandfather, and then the string of dates that ensued. One which included a divorcee who told her that on his wedding night he was "too big" for his wife. Compensating for much buddy!?

-Meeting my beautiful new niece Lucy, and watching my brother be a great father.

-Enjoying the bubbly adorableness of my niece Jade.

-My Mom's amazing holiday meals, that take a day or two of preparation.

-Painting a 5ftX6ft canvas for my sisters Christmas present "Beach Therapy" in my parents garage. My Dad helped me set up my station with tarps, and loaned me some residential painting supplies. My sister loaned me her paints (I brought my own brushes.) And My Mom watched my boys while I got to escape completely into the canvas.

-Taking my boys up American Fork canyon to go sledding, and watching Pender explore snow for the first time.

-Visiting with my Aunt Deb & Grandma Crawford one afternoon.

-Going up to the foothills of the mountain to go shooting with Johnathan, my Dad, and brothers. The shot gun was awesome!

-Lining up with my siblings and sister-in-laws on the stairway of my parents basement on Christmas Eve listening to my father outline the rules of the "Hide the Pickle Ornament Game". Listening to the resulting Q&A session that ensued until our exasperated ADD tendency siblings exclaimed "LET'S JUST START!" Then racing through the kitchen towards my Mom's Christmas Tree to search for The Pickle Ornament. The winner receiving a massage at Sego Lily Day Spa. We actually maintained much more order than I thought possible of our group. That is until I heard a cry of pain from under the Christmas Tree, and my husband emerging clutching his eye. Apparently he laid down under the tree to peer up through the branches and at the same time someone parted the branches from above, plunging a pointed crystal ornament right into his eye. His cornea visibly scratched and red, he declined the hospital, and went to bed. Delaying the ER visit until Christmas morning, as we were all gathered around the kids watching them explore their Santa gifts. My father didn't make me abandon my kids on Christmas morning, and stepped up to take him to the ER. They were thankfully back within the hour without further complications, with a pocketful of Percocet, which incidentally landed Johnathan in bed for the rest of the holiday. As bad as I felt about his injury & discomfort, I have to admit I was more than a little disappointed that he got stabbed in the eye with an ornament and we had to forgo Christmas sex.

Comicon or Bust?

When your 4 year old requests a "superhero" themed birthday party...Embrace the energetic enthusiasm and release your creative outlet by delving into the likes of Comic Books, Lichtenstein, Rauschenberg, pop art, Superhero Facts, & an eclectic collection of superhero party garb spanning the Justice League, & the Marvel Superheroes. Okay so embrace is synonymous with igniting my inner artist and turning it into a project, whatever gets the job done. Apparently this collective fusion approach was the accurate 5 year old mentality of assimilating superheroes from various sources. After some deliberating and several costume changes, Zayne settled on a combination of Thor & the Flash. Some of the other melds that showed up were a Transformer/Batman, & a Superman/Batman. By the end I had a house full of Thor/Flash, Spidermans, Wolverine, Indiana Jones, Buzz Lightyear, Batman's, & Superman's.

I knew that I'd have to institute a structured itinerary, or else 15- five year old superheroes would likely band together and overtake the entirety of my home & sanity. We put some superhero twists on some classic old-school party games (which incidentally are foreign to 5 year olds nowadays in a world of play-worlds, jump-zones, & arcades.) We started with a coloring contest with "Green Lantern" crayon rings. Played a "Spidey Vision" version of "pin the tail on the donkey". A Superman Kryptonite rendition of the game "Hot potato" set to 3 Doors Down "Kryptonite". Then finished off with the Dad conceived idea of turning the boys into the Incredible Hulk by having them bulk up each other with balloons, then throwing stuffed penguins into bins (another Marvel/Batman meld.) Our final Batman vs. Joker silly string war was canceled due to inclement weather, so we sent the silly string home in the prize bags alongside comic books, superhero puzzles, coloring books, magnet books, and after the junkfood fest--superhero toothbrushes.

We then set them loose on "Gotham City", the centerpiece constructed from jars of licorice & beefsticks, bowls of salt water taffy, M&M's, and spiral cheese puffs. Basically a 5 year olds junk food paradise topped off with brightly frosted cupcakes (which we were all told by the child who had also celebrated his 5th birthday that week that "Your poop will be the color of the frosting! Mine was blue after my birthday cake!") Classic 5 year old boy...

Zayne orchestrated an impromptu singing from his guests of "Happy Birthday Cha-Cha-Cha", complete with him leading his chorus with waving arms. Johnathan just rolled his eyes in my direction as if to say "That. Is ALL you." And then we watched as a couple boys face dove into their cupcakes, smearing the bright frosting all over their faces. It was my turn to glance at their mothers and say with a teasing smile, "That's yours..." One a seasoned mother of two boys, didn't miss a beat, as she shook her head, smiled, whipped out her phone camera, and said "Yup! What are ya going to do?" To which I'd reply, "Embrace the energetic enthusiasm!" Happy Birthday Zayne-cha, cha, cha!

And to all those moms who exclaimed "you are so brave to host that at your house!", I'll respond that yes, it took some nervous guts, but after bracing myself for the worst--it was a chaotic blast. Albeit, I did have to take an hour drive ALONE, after the boys were in bed that evening, but eventually--I stopped twitching. Although, I may have been irrevocably scarred--that is the only conclusion I can draw from entertaining thoughts such as, "maybe attending Comicon would be visually awesome..."


Green Lantern coloring contest: comic book pages as a table runner to use as guides, crayon "rings", and large superhero coloring pages.


Invitations: Picturing the Justice League and backed with Comic book pages.

Batcave Cupcake Tower: From left to right, Green Lantern, Batman, Robin, Hulk, the Flash, and Joker.

"Church of Hard Knocks"

I recall a conversation with my mother a couple years back. I was explaining with decisive certainty how sheltered an existence I had lived in comparison to many of the people in this world, prior to my marriage at age 19. This conversation took place years after getting married, obtaining my degree in Criminal Justice, being employed by the Massachusetts Department of Corrections, and having my son Zayne. I emphatically referenced experiences gleaned from some of these milestones. My mother glanced sideways at me from her place at her kitchen sink, with an eye-rolling expression, and said "Janelle. You were no stranger to the world. You lived plenty by the time you were 20." I knew what she was referring to. My enrollment as a student in the "School of Hard Knocks".

There is a logical practicality blended with stubborn stupidity driving this propensity to "live & learn" vs. "listen & learn". It only makes sense that this self-educating approach vacillates from the secular to the religious. To which I'll appropriately term, "The Church of Hard Knocks."

Today's discourse came while teetering through Kroger in black stiletto heels & church clothes; maneuvering a shopping cart through a sea of pre-Thanksgiving Day shoppers, with Zayne in tow (picking up every desirable item in the reach of a four year old and asking "Mom, can we get this"), to make our way to the back of the store for milk.

It's not as if this was a one time occurrence. Rewind back a few months to when my sister flew down for the weekend. Of course the sacrament meeting talk that Sunday was "Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy", the week I hadn't made it to the grocery store (new baby, guest prep, etc.) So as I didn't really want to feed her Oatmeal Squares for the third straight meal in a row, and let's face it with a new baby at home? The prospect of going to the grocery store ALONE, sounded like a mini-vacation. But what ensued was far from my imagined oasis of solitary bliss. I found that 75 percent of my list was unattainable or the ingredients had to be amended in such a way that none of the recipes I was shopping for were workable.

Today after years of sermons, lessons, preaching, and lectures on "Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy" combined with several unpleasant Sunday trips to the grocery store, culminated my ah-ha moment of realization. Even disregarding obedient adherence, Sunday is honestly the worst day to shop. It's busy, depleted, and they play "Coming to America" on the crackly sound system.

"Guns 'N' Roses, Guns 'N' Roses, GUNS 'N' ROSES!"

Price of two concert tickets to see Guns 'N' Roses, $70. Price of dinner for two at Stir Crazy Asian Fusion Grill, $20. Price of a GnR concert t-shirt, $30. Price of a multi-colored glow stick wand, $1. Watching Zayne at his first rock concert, playing an innovated version of air guitar using his 5 stranded glow stick wand to Axl Rose performing "Sweet Child of Mine"? PRICELESS!!!

It wasn't without some trepidation that I chose my 4 (almost 5) year old as my date to GnR. I'm a seasoned concert goer, per se. The last decade has probably averaged one major concert a year, though enough to know the scene we would be in for. After weighing the pro's & cons for a couple of days of taking him to a crowded adult dominated scene, I settled on a decision. I would rather him experience the artistry of a rock concert, through my eyes, while at my side, where I could address the disparities of people's life-style choices. Besides, it's not as if I were planning on bringing him into the GA, throwing him on my shoulders, and heading to the pit. I researched the venue, avoiding the areas prone to partying, e.g. the GA lawn option. Then selected specific seats, taking into consideration the proximity to exits & the stage. As well as I know my child, I also know just as well the unpredictability of children. One minute everything is smooth sailing, and the next you've ruined their lives, and they are sobbing loudly in the lobby of Chick Fila because you traded in their "toy" i.e. 1/5th of a plastic globe (a plastic wedge) for an ice-cream cone. Even while purchasing our tickets online, and hitting the "submit order" confirmation, I thought, "Well. I'm either going to win the "worst mother ever" or "coolest mom ever"award." His smile speaks for itself. As does his excited declaration of "Our concert date is awesome! I like the loud music. The really loud songs are my favorite!"



I timed our arrival perfectly. This was calculated as well. I knew his attention span would wane if we were just waiting around. And as much as I enjoy people watching, I didn't really want to be walking him around in the crowds. My 'mama bear' mode kicked in as I ushered him past a belligerent drunk, gripped his little hand, and bee-lined it to the concert t-shirt tent. He chose contemplatively, and settled on a skull, eagle wings, & roses number. The smallest size was an adult small, but he has assured me that if we wash & dry it enough times it will eventually shrink to his size.

Keeping him close, we made our way to our seats, attracting the attention of every eye we passed. I mean how could we not, with his fabulous smile and his rock-star skinny jeans tucked into his red & tan cowboy boots!? I breathed a sigh of relief as we found our seats, and I surveyed and acknowledged our neighbors. A family in front of us with 5 adolescents, 2 friendly couples behind us, and a couple in their early 50's; her epitomizing the quintessential boobs, blonde, & black of the iconic rocker chic, and him sporting a clean conservative haircut & a leather bomber jacket. I no sooner had pulled out the children's Highlights magazine to read to him, and the opening chords of the electric guitar pierced the air. With the roar of the crowd and the palpable energy intensifying with the anticipation of the appearance on the stage, I watched Zayne's eye's widen and his smile grow. As the band took the stage and started to play, he turned to me and said in appreciative awe, "That is an electric guitar. Mom, please I have one for at home?" To which I smiled and replied, "So you want to learn how to play the guitar?" His classic response to my inquiry was, "I already know how to play the guitar, I just need one to play."

So during Rocket Queen I turned to him and asked my usually willing dance partner, " Want to dance!?" I look down at his studious amused face, taking it all in. He looked up at me and apolegetically said "No, I just want to watch & listen." I was shocked at his decline. I worriedly barraged him with questions "Are you okay? Are you tired? Are you ready to leave?"
He replied "Mom, I'm not tired. I like it. I want to stay!...But Mom I want to put my hands in my hoodie pockets."
It was then it hit me. My premonition was confirmed as I glanced around and saw that every man within our vantage, was standing stoically with their hands in their pockets. Moving only their heads and shoulders to the music. I was amused and annoyed. I wanted to yell out, "thanks a lot guys, y'all just lost me my dance partner!"


My partner returned with The Jungle and some pyrotechnics. The crowd responded loudly in appreciation. And from there we rocked out to a killer set including Estranged, Sweet Child of Mine, Live & Let Die, and November Rain.. He lasted about as long as I anticipated. At 11:30, he turned his tired eyes up at me and smiled. Knowing I'd miss Paradise City, I said "Have you had fun, are you ready to go, or do you want to listen to more songs?"
To which he said, "Guns N Roses is cool rockstars. Can I put on my shirt, and we go home so I can sleep?"

We had so much fun! My prayer that the concert would start on time was answered (on this tour they had been known to not come on stage til 11:15), so by 11:30 we had already rocked out for two hours. He was a fantastic concert date. As we were leaving the pavilion a stylish, responsibly fun looking, couple about my age was walking out and she smiled at me and said "We take our kids to concerts too, our daughter takes electric guitar lessons at School of Rock." Of course I knew what she was talking about, so I replied, "The one in Southlake? I've looked into that, we drive by there on the way to drop him to school." And from there we talked all the way out of the pavilion, out into the middle of the parking lot (In retrospect, I probably should have taken down her contact info.) It was with this conversation with a kindred rocker chic momma from my neighborhood, Zayne's declaration of "I didn't see scary, rowdy people. I saw rockstars", and pulling out of the parking lot, with Zayne chanting, "Guns N Roses, Guns N Roses, Guns N Roses", then having him promptly fall asleep, that I was able to breath a sigh of relief. I hadn't just won the "Worst Mother Ever" award.

Travel Exploits: Grand Rapids, MI

Michigan in the Fall. Nostalgic, reminiscent, and rainy. 1998 was the last time it was home, but the formative years of my upbringing are rooted there. Although, I can't claim born & raised status, as a transplant at the age of 2 straight from "the rabbit hutches" (aka Wymount Terrace at BYU in Provo, UT.)

We came into town in a combined purpose for Courtney & Nick's wedding, and visiting the in-laws, cousins, and old friends. Grand Rapids may not boast the most cutting-edge, modern, in vogue scene but what it lacks in popular trends it makes up for with a steady, gritty, north Midwestern, art & industry. It vibes the tenets of tenacity with a moody tone of melancholy. Downtown culture meets blue collar. There will always be a fundamental element of myself that resonates there. How else can I explain why while jogging in the morning through the industrial park near my in-laws I found myself swiveling my head in appreciative yet covert glances to the factory workers more frequently than I have while jogging in cities through suited stock brokers!?

Fall in Michigan means rain. It rained non-stop, for 3 straight days, and then off and on for the remainder of the week (granted the week before was supposedly gorgeous.) But still, how did I not remember this? It's a real wonder how a girl with a bit of a pessimistic streak could develop a propensity for depression after a childhood, & adolescence through such unyielding precipitation. And for the record, Thunderstorms are a different category. Thunderstorms are sultry, exciting, and comforting. I'm complaining about gray, sunless, cold, drizzle. And it's not just me. I'll let this picture of the Occupy Grand Rapids protest on October 19th speak for itself. You know the weather sucks when only a handful of people are sticking it out in an economic protest in a state hit hard by the recession. (Sorry I didn't get close enough to capture the protest signs. I didn't have an umbrella, and didn't want to get drenched for a photo op.)

But really, I can't be too harsh on the weather in Michigan. I see a lot of smiling faces of friends there, and those are a natural anti-depressant. Let's face it, Texas has spoiled us with sun. Upon our return, and a day of airplane travel with the boys (I'll spare you the details), we were met with 85 degrees and sunshine. Zayne lost no time in stripping off his layers to be shirtless with shorts, and go outside and enjoy a Popsicle. For the record, I removed Penders shirt because...he's a 9 month old, with a Popsicle.