Who Will Hold Vigil For the Children?

I cannot contain myself.

I was running at the gym this morning and had 6 TV screens in front of me, all with news from different angles on the horrific crimes against children that took place on Penn State campus and were covered up by at least two administrators, if not more.

One of the most offensive pieces of news footage was the vigil outside Coach Joe Paterno's house last night by a bunch of nimwitted college students. Are you freaking kidding me? Do these imbecils even know what Coach Paterno did? He had a grad student tell him that he personally witnessed another coach raping a little boy, and he did nothing but tell his superiors. He did not inform police, he did not bar that coach from his facilities, he did not prohibit him from bringing more children to the facilities - NOTHING.

What kind of a society have we produced that the first impulse is to hold vigil in support of someone who, at best, was derelict in a moral obligation to do SOMETHING to protect innocent children in his own facility? What about these children?

Who will hold vigil for them?

What must that baby (for a 10 year old little boy is a baby still) have thought as he was being raped in a locker room shower, and looked up and saw that someone had seen the hell he was going through? Did he think that he would be saved? Did he think that someone would help him? Had he been taught that adults would help and protect him if something bad happened? None of these things happened, and I firmly believe that although there may not be legal ramifications for each person who turned a blind eye, there will be far more severe punishments awaiting those who failed to protect the most innocent and helpless.

Shame on every person who failed to make sure this monster never touched another child.

Shame on every person who put an athletic team, their own good name or a university above the value of a little child.

Shame on that young man who failed to do whatever it took to stop a rape he witnessed, and shame on Coach Paterno for not having the moral courage to tell a police officer when it was clear his University superiors would do nothing.

Shame on those idiot Penn State students for not having the brains or heart to hold vigil for the children, and maybe start a fund for their care and therapy instead of vouching for a man they hold as a false idol.

And shame on a society that has grown so heartless as to not have stiffer penalties and more absolute punishment for those who hurt the innocent.

All I Ever Need to Know About Mothering I Learned From A Duck

This is an old duck picture that my grandpa sent me. I love it & think it's funny. And it may or may not be the only duck picture on my computer. But this mother duck was not the one I met, ahem, briefly, and who changed my attitude on mothering quite profoundly.

So, to the brief acquaintance part. (Not for the faint-of-heart - reader discretion advised) I was driving my Suburban full of my children from Utah to Washington this summer on the way to Jillian's graduation. It was a pleasant sort of trip; quiet thanks to the in-deck DVD player - in my opinion, the greatest gift to parents everywhere. I was driving the way my dad taught me to drive; 7 above the speed limit. Knock on wood, I've never been ticketed at this speed and since my dad taught me this technique, I do not question its wisdom. I was passing a semi-truck when it suddenly hit the brakes. I had but a moment to wonder why it would be hitting the brakes, when I saw her. A mother duck, waddling quickly across the Idaho freeway with her six little ducklings in tow. There was nothing I could have done short of rolling my vehicle and maiming/killing my children. The mother duck was a loud bump under the car.

I was horrified. Some animals you don't really care if you hit. A skunk is unpleasant because of the smell. A rat or mouse should earn you points for ridding the world of vermin. But not a mother duck. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the sweet little ducklings stopped for want of a mother to show them where to go. I had not only killed the mother, but by extension, each of her 6 little ones. I looked at my little ones, happily watching their DVD, and began a long bawl session.

The kids heard and felt the bump, saw me crying, figured out what had happened and began crying themselves. It was an insane emotional outburst in that car of which I've never seen equal. Mere minutes later, there was a pair of grown ducks waddling across the freeway. I would be darned if I was going to slaughter any more innocent wild-fowl. But they both suddenly took wing and flew off well before I got to them. I angrily thought, "Why couldn't that other duck have flown off and saved me the grief and general vehicular mayhem of hysterical children?"

And then it hit me. The mother duck didn't fly because she was not going to leave her children. She would die herself before she left her babies to face danger alone. Safe to say, this only increased my emotional outburst.

But it also got me thinking.

As a mother, my instincts are the same as the duck's. I would (and do) do anything to protect my children. I swallow my pride and take my little ducklings all over kingdom-come with me. I put them in the proper carseats, feed them the healthiest food I can, try to make sure I know where they are and who they're with, and do my best to make sure they're all moving in the right direction. Sometimes it's more like herding cats rather than guiding ducks. My little ones like to mew, crawl out of the box they're supposed to be in, etc. And like the little ducklings, they rarely march in a straight line. But I would do anything to care for and protect them.

Now I don't expect to ever physically be hit by a speeding (only slightly) Suburban in the process of protecting my little brood. But I have sacrificed everything else. Sometimes a quick death seems preferable to the long, slow drag that motherhood sometimes is. I've sacrificed my body (sagginess has never looked so good), I've sacrificed all hobbies, out-of-the home career & dreams of law school, and pretty much everything 'me' related.

But that's the choice I made when I chose to be a mother. I get so tired of mothers complaining about losing themselves because of their children. I don't feel like I've lost myself as much as I've grown and changed. I'm so grateful I'm not the same as I was before I had children. I never knew what it was to love unconditionally or to see the world brightened because of a person I brought into the world with my sweet husband and have raised to be a good person.

So to all the mother ducks out there, keep waddling on, keeping your little ducklings in a row and doing your best. Hopefully the speeding Suburbans will be few and far between. And it's a comforting thought to know that all mother ducks go to heaven (and hopefully all mothers).

Kicks Under the Table

A couple of weeks ago, we went out with some other couples who we love but never seem to be able to get the stars aligned to go out with. But due to the supermoon phenomenon (or some great follow-through on one of the husband's parts), we were able to all go out together sans children.

We camped at this poor waiter's table for 4 hours. Not exaggerating by one minute. It was so nice - for me. Now don't take any of this the wrong way. Being a mom is the greatest career choice I've made. But what person can say (of any job/career) that they love their job every single day, especially when it's a 24/7 gig? (PS. You're lying or on some controlled substance if you said you do.) So let me just begin by saying that it was such a nice break. Some people get 15 minute coffee/smoke breaks (seriously though, who even smokes anymore?), some people get an hour for lunch. I get none of those, so I save up my break time to earn myself 4 hours at a table with adults.

It was some seriously enlightening and enjoyable conversation. But (hopefully) unbeknownst to the other couples at the table, periodically throughout the night I was getting kicked under the table.

What?? Who would dare kick moi? And live to tell the tale?? Yes, it was my beloved eternal companion Ernesto. The funny thing is, I knew exactly what each kick meant. Some said, "you're monopolizing conversation", others kindly reminded me not to interrupt, while still others complained, "really? You're talking about that?"

I love those kicks under the table. I'm slightly anemic, so the bruises they leave, I'm not so much a fan of. But seriously, I needed those. My social filters are all mucked up from the murky waters of baby talk, disciplining and 1st grade arguing that I engage in on a constant basis as part of my aforementioned employment. On a daily basis, I'm the kicker for the most part (metaphorically speaking - don't go trying to turn me in to social services - I don't actually kick my kids), trying to keep my little ducks in the straightest line possible. Consequently, my social skills with adults on a good day are somewhat lacking, and on a bad day, just suck.

But who else could get away with kicking me without physically or emotionally hurting me? (Or getting hurt in retaliation, for that matter) If one of my sisters did it, it would be because they're bossy, if it was a brother, it would be because they're jealous and/or have turrets, if it was a friend, it would be because they're judgmental, and anyone else would not live to give an explanation. But because it was the one person who is 100 percent on the same team as me, it was okay.

One of our topics of conversation was remarriage if a spouse died. (Enter the eyerolls from my sisters & judginess from some of my sisters, and maybe some others who know my personal opinion on this subject). However, in light of this post, I hope this would do a little to explain why I personally would not remarry. I'm not projecting this on anyone else, nor making a blanket statement on what is right for any or all people. So no comments on that. "No annoying sounds" (from the movie Despicable Me, because my life is based on movie quotes).

I have been tremendously fortunate/blessed/had pity showered upon me that I am married to the one person who can put up with me. Think about it. How many spouses get annoyed with something the other is saying and berate them in public? Or interrupt? Or do any number of things to control the conversation. How could anyone ever top how great of a match I'm in now?

Not even Yenta the Matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof could do it.

I tremendously admire people who have the fortitude to wade back into the turbulent waters of the singles scene and have success. My mom is one of them, and my hat's off to her for surviving & finding a great man. But I know me. I can hardly stand myself on a daily basis, so I know how amazingly lucky I got. I've swum that river once, made it out in one piece, and will be darned if I'd ever do it again.

This is in no way intended to be one of those sappy 'my husband is so wonderful blah, blah, blah' posts. I've read those before. Blech. No thanks. Sorry if this caused any queasiness. I'm honestly just trying to A. Really let the people who bug me to blog what really goes on in my brain so that they'll stop bugging me to blog and B. Write how much I just love getting kicked by my husband.

So here's to the kicks under the table and the only person in the world allowed to give them. (I would try doing it to him if only I let him get a word in edgewise...) And next time you go out to dinner with us, pay no attention to what goes on under the table! :)

The Coolest Women in the World

This is not a picture of one of the coolest women in the world, rather the cutest nephew in the world(Spencer) produced by one of the coolest women in the world, my sister-in-law Crystal. He really has little/nothing to do with this blog, but it captures ones attention, this dang cute face, does it not?

And now that I have your attention...

One of my sisters (who shan't yet be named) guilted/bugged me until I created a blog. Which I have faithfully posted in once a year. Now another sister (different, but not to be named either) is guilting/bugging me because I don't post enough.

So I've sifted through my life and found there are usually things I could be blogging about, but usually at blogging time (late at night when no kids to bug or messes to clean and I'm a bit loopy) I am trying to watch Biggest Loser or Vampire Diaries. Yes, I like Vampire Diaries. A lot. It's a stupid show. I totally know it. It's one notch above 16 and Pregnant. But for some dumb reason I like both shows. And one can only handle so much political commentary before the mind cries to be turned off by mindless drivel. Those shows fall solidly under that category.

Still with me? (It looks like Michelle's sticking her arm out behind Julienne's back). In this picture are two boys who went to the event for which this blog is named. (Not the snow). I went to hear Condoleeza Rice speak at a BYU forum last week. It was heaven. It reminded me A. of how much of an international relations/politics nerd I am, and B. of how much I absolutely love strong, powerful women.

For the A. part above. I desperately wanted to ask her a question in the Q&A session afterward on her opinion of the role of Narco-Terrorism in destabilizing nations, specifically Afghanistan and Mexico. (I REALLY wanted to know...) But I was beat out by a Tea Party nut with a question about the need for a constitutional convention (really dumb-dee?), and a bunch of kiss-ups who were trying to get extra credit for their PolySci classes by asking inane questions about education, etc.

For the B. part above. Condi Rice is a rock star. She grew up in segregated Birmingham, AL, but was raised by her parents to believe she could be president. She talked about the transforming power of education. I seriously got chills at various points during her speech. Also on the stand was Julie B. Beck, another amazing woman. When they announced that she was on the stand, I seriously thought, 'I've died & gone to heaven to see these two women together!' (end quote)

They are great and amazing in their own very different ways. But both are no-nonsense and unapologetic for their views and values. Dr. Rice talked about how history most times differs totally from the headlines of the day. How Secretary of State William Seward had the foresight, vision and courage to purchase Alaska for $7 million, with many calling it 'Seward's Folly' at the time. Yet now Alaska holds inestimable strategic and economic value for the United States.

I think of my own mom who often made the difficult choices that were resented in the 'Baughman Bee' (my made-up name for our non-existent newspaper). But she is a rockstar among women. One who will be remembered long after she is gone, not for prizes or praise she garnered on the public stage, but for the lasting legacy of love and faithfulness she passed on to her posterity.

So my hat's off to the coolest women in the world. To my mother who is just on her way to Australia to start the next phase of her awesome life. To Julie B. Beck who fearlessly leads the largest women's organization in the world with unapologetic dedication to values and virtues that make women great. To Condoleeza Rice who pressed on with firm conviction that history would view her choices with more wisdom than the headlines of the day. And to my sisters who each bug/inspire me to do better and be better. If this post isn't what you wanted/expected, no whining... It's your fault it's out of my head and onto the net.

The Whole Enchilada

June 12, 2010. It was a drizzly early summer morning. The baby was fed, the IT band securely held in place with a jimmy-rigged ipod armband around the knee, the brother (who had just left the army 3 days before & decided he could run a marathon, too) was laden with energizing snacks for the upcoming 5 hour ordeal, and prayers for safety and not making a fool of oneself had been fervently offered... The stage was set.

I trained for seven months. Got up at 4:30 a.m. for the required weekly 'long runs' ranging in distance from 8 - 16 miles. Carb loaded. Carb replenished. Learned that eating a banana after an hour of running gives one a kick of energy and not the urge to vomit. Obsessed over halhigdon.com's beginner marathon schedule. Really obsessed. Almost died completing the highly recommended 1/2 marathon race (see shameful last blog entry). Went through 2 pairs of pricey running shoes.

I hereby testify that ANYTHING is possible for those who have the will to do the work to accomplish a goal. Running a marathon was the last thing I or anyone who knows me ever thought I could or would do. I'm the one who as a freshman in high school threw up after 'jogging' a 13 minute mile without stopping to walk. The marathon was the greatest experience I've ever had. The course was beautiful. The rain made the canyon green and lush and the clouds were so low that it actually made me feel like I was running in Central America. My brother Russell (the aforementioned brother who carted my energy snacks along the course) threw down and ran it with me with no training at all... Yes, he's in that great of shape on a consistent basis. (Though I must interject that my recovery was much faster and easier than his.)

I am reminded of a poem my mom forced us to recite as children:

Stick to your task till it sticks to you,

Beginners are many, but enders are few,

Honor, power, place and praise will always come to the one that stays.

Stick to your task till it sticks to you,

Bend at it, sweat at it, smile at it too,

For out of the bend and the sweat and the smile,

Will come life's victories after a while.

I stuck to my marathon til the marathon stuck to me, and I (still) lack my big toenails to prove it. So, you may be thinking (if your attention is not deficit and you stuck to reading these ramblings til it's now sticking to your brain), what could possibly top this adventure? Well, my new task is a triathalon. I'm aiming big because apparently that's the only aim I have. I'm training for a half ironman (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run). I wanted to do one in Provo in August, but it seems that August will find me far from Provo (which is the topic for another day's blog), so I'll have to see if I can find another one. So, if you can handle the once-a-year posting that goes on here, stay tuned...

There's an old Bon Jovi song that has some lyrics like "Oh, we're halfway there! Whoa ho, livin' on a prayer!" This is me, halfway there... Certainly running with a prayer.

This is the finish line photo from the Provo City Half Marathon on May 1, 2010.

"What?!?" you gasp in disbelief. This must be a doctored photo, like the one of the shark attacking a coast guard helicopter that promises you 1 million dollars if you can tell if it's real or fake. No, my friends, this is no doctored photo. Nor is this the finish line of the Mayor's Mile fun walk. I really did it! I ran a half marathon! Ran until my IT Band snapped around mile 12, dragged my unbending leg behind me for about 1/2 a mile until the 1,000 mill. of Ibuprofen kicked in, then ran the rest of the way. My cute brother Doug came to jog the last little bit with me which meant so much to me since I was in such wretched pain.

But I, the un-running, piano playing fatty of the family, mother of 5 (the youngest of which is still nursing) ran a half marathon. Through the rain, sleet, snow and icy wind (no joke), I ran until the end. Which is a true testament to the whole mind-over-matter deal. And I have the shirt to prove it!


So (you might ask after you have been revived from your Post Traumatic Stress Coma which was brought on by this shocking news), what was the whole Bon Jovi thing about at the beginning of the post? Was it a red herring? Is Susie suddenly into 1980's butt rock? No, no, it has a purpose. This race was but HALF of what I'm really working toward. (You might want to call the paramedics now so that you can be revived when you fall off your seat from shock.) I'm training for the Utah Valley Marathon on June 12, 2010. I do still have ITBS (Illiotibial Band Syndrome) which is a painful inflammation of the ITBand (the tendon that runs from your hip, down the side of the leg & wraps around the knee) to deal with so my training has been setback a little. But as long as I can do so safely, I will be running 26.2 miles on June 12th. If I can do 13.1, I can do 26.2. And I'll have the shirt to prove it!

And baby makes cinco (5)

Hmmm... I actually don't quite know what to say about this one. This picture pretty much speaks for itself. I guess that I should just say that if any of you have any of my maternity clothes, I need them back. I will return them on or around August 31st. In a few weeks, we should have a more defined view of this little one, and will perhaps know a gender. Until then, at least it's only been 2 trips to the E.R. for rehydration, etc., and who would have ever thunk that we'd be so prolific?

Actually, I have to say that this is all a nutty conservative conspiracy. A while ago, Speaker of the House (of locos) Nancy Pelosi said that if we really want to stimulate the economy, people need to stop having kids. Now, since I'm no fan of the economy and like most conservatives (eg. Rush Limbaugh) I apparently want the economy to crash into a flaming ball of burning, valueless currency that not even the Chinese want, Ernesto and I said to each other that to voice our dissent and desire for the economy to fail miserably, it was our patriotic duty to procreate. This baby will be the straw that breaks the back of the economy, just you wait and see. Take that Speaker Pelosi. And we did this even without a stimulus or bailout. Just the good old fashioned entrepreneureal American/Mexican spirit.