Cowgirl: Gideon vs the Gods of Cool

Hi all! This is Cowgirl! 

I'm not really a little girl anymore, so I thought I was old enough to hijack my mom's blog and write a post all by myself [cue Pull-ups commercial: "I'm a big kid now"].

I just wanted to share a bit of what is going on in my life right now and who I have grown up to become.

I am in school right now trying to figure out what to do/study, but when I'm not doing that I take every opportunity to do the things I find most fun in: I am a passionate singer, artist, and actress.

Right now, my most recent project is a musical at the Angelus Theatre in Spanish Fork: Gideon vs the Gods of Cool. (Interesting title, right?) It was written and directed (and even stars) local author, Stephen Gashler. This story is full of fun and features a myriad of characters!

There is a nerd who becomes our unlikely hero as he discovers the true identity of his teachers and has to navigate this, as well as his relationships between his classmates, nerds and jocks alike. 

My character, Cynthia, is a cheerleader that Gideon is secretly in love with (because we all know that is often the extent of high school romance). Of course, they are on opposite ends of the spectrum and his chance to be with her is slim, but as featured in this image, extenuating circumstances bring them together for a late night chat. To find out more of what happens in this fun, energetic 80's rock opera, I would encourage you to come to the show! 

Our remaining performances span from now until Saturday, June 24th. 

Come out and see me perform! I would really appreciate your support!

You can find more details and get your tickets at godsofcool.com as well as use the coupon code "eden" for 20% off your purchase!

Come before closing night! We won't be here forever - and not everyone will fit on closing night. I hope to see you all there!

Picture Credit: Michael Barclay

My Herbie

Herbert Hardy Black was born October 28, 2004, on a crisp fall morning. He left us on March 8, 2020, on a rainy Sunday afternoon. He left, but he is still with us.

It is common practice in obituaries to use the past tense when describing the person who has graduated from life here on earth, but because we know he is still so very real and present, that will not be the case here.

Herbie is only 15 years old. His decision to take his own life−a life filled with so much promise−was unexpected and a shock to all of us. We love him so much, but depression is debilitating and can often mask what is truly there.

We miss him so deeply, but find solace and peace in the absolute knowledge that our family is a family forever, and that we will see him again−well and whole and happy.

Herbie is good at everything he decides to do. He is an outstanding student in a way that seems effortless. Herbie has a tender heart and loves babies and always asks to hold his little cousins and nephews. He always knows how to comfort the little ones. He loves to draw and expresses himself well in his art. He used to create fun comics and fills sketchbooks with drawings of his favorite characters and medieval items. He is a voracious reader who can devour books in a matter of hours and tell you with perfect recall what he read about. He enjoys playing the guitar, working on cars with his dad, riding his bike, and beating everyone else’s high scores in Just Dance. We will miss his passionate piano playing. Our house seems unusually quiet without the strains of the Zelda or Skyrim Theme songs, Gerudo Valley, Megalovania, and occasional hymns. He is an avid gamer and master Lego builder. He loves stand-up comedy and can imitate entire routines performed by Brian Regan, as well as being quick-witted and funny in his own way. He loves to sing and perform and loves being a part of the choir and theater programs at Provo High. Herbie's high fives are a gift - there is nothing quite like a high five from Herbie.

There are so many things that Herbie is passionate about, his dislike for jeans and wasps included.

Herbie is such an obedient son. He does whatever he is asked, even when it isn’t what he wants. He can talk for hours about subjects he is interested in. Herbie loves his siblings and especially looks up to his older siblings. Many of his talents and hobbies come from his desire to be like his big brothers and sisters.

We, as Herbie’s family, have been so thankful for all of the support we have been shown. The best thing you can do for us is to look for someone who is in need of a friend and then make the effort to get to know them. Just love everyone, always. Kindness and love are always the answer.

Even More Jokes for Kids

When I find new jokes I need to keep them somewhere that I won't lose them. This is that place.

Here's a collection of jokes that have gone into my kids' lunches this year:

Why did the old man fall into the well?
He couldn't see that well.

How many monsters are good at math?
None, unless you Count Dracula.

What do you call a chicken who counts her own eggs?
A mathemachicken.

What do you get when you cross a sheepdog with a melon?
Melon-collie

What do you call two guys who hang out above a window?
Kurt and Rod

What kind of bagel can fly?
A plane bagel.

What do you call a camel with no humps?
Humphrey

What did the sushi say to the bee?
Wassabee!

Why are turkeys smarter than chickens?
Have you ever heard of Kentucky Fried Turkey?

Why did Waldo go to a therapist?
To find himself!

What do you get when you cross a pig and a centipede?
Bacon and legs

What rock group has four guys who can't sing?
Mount Rushmore

What happened when the turkey got in a fight?
It got the stuffing knocked out of it!

Why couldn't the astronaut book a hotel on the moon?
Because it was full!

What do you call an owl who does magic tricks?
Whooo-dini

Why can't you run through a campground?
You can only RAN, because it's past tents.

Why didn't the koala get the job?
It wasn't koala-fied

How do you spell ninjas?
S. (The ninja is silent)

How do you know when the moon is going broke?
When it's down to its last quarter.

What did the vegetable say after a long day at work?
I'm beet.

What happens when a magician gets mad?
He pulls out his hare.

Why is your nose in the middle of your face?
Because it's the scenter.

What do knights do when they're scared of the dark?
They turn on their knight lights.

What happened when the girl ate a clock?
It was very time consuming!

What do you call a herd of sheep rolling down a hill?
A lambslide

If you have cheese, but no crackers, what are you?
Cracka-lackin'

What happened when the man entered ten puns into a contest to see if one would win?
No pun in ten did.

What do you call a tired pea?
Sleep pea.

Have you heard the joke about Elton John?
It's a little bit funny.

Why can't you share secrets at a bank?
There are too many tellers!

What do you call an upset brownie?
A frownie.

Did you hear the song about the tortilla?
Actually, it was more of a wrap.

What do you call a group of singing dinosaurs?
A tyranno-chorus

What do you call dental x-rays?
Tooth pics.

What do you call a potato wearing glasses?
A spec-tater

What do you call a moose with no name?
Anony-moose

What's the difference between Batman and a robber?
Batman can go into a store without Robin.

How did the farmer find his lost cow?
He tractor down.

Why does it take pirates so long to learn the alphabet?
Because they spend so much time at C.

How many seconds are in a year?
12! (January 2nd, February 2nd, etc.)

How does the sky pay its bills?
With a raincheck

I invented a new word today! It's...
PLAGIARISM

What's a dentists' favorite dance?
The floss.

Are balloon animals smart?
No, they're airheads.

What did one nut say when it was chasing another nut?
I'm a cashew

Where do insects shop?
At flea markets

Why is it hard to hire a clown?
They have big shoes to fill

What do you call a policeman's uniform?
A lawsuit

What's in the middle of a jellyfish?
It's jelly-button

How does Jupiter hold up her pants?
With an asteroid belt

How do you tell the gender of an ant?
Throw it in the water. If it sinks = girl ant. If it floats = buoyant.

Why should you never run with bagpipes?
You might get kilt!

How do leaves get from place to place?
In autumn-mobiles

What do you call bears with no ears?
B

What did the cowboy say when his dog ran away?
Doggone!

What city never stays in the same place?
ROME

Just Thinking Out Loud

I have always been mostly comfortable with/in my body. But for as long as I can remember I have worried about what other people think of it. Are my legs too skinny at the ankle? Is my waist well-defined? Am I tan enough?  Too round here, too flat there?

I am working on just loving me exactly as I am and being amazed by all that my body allows me to do. I want to spread kindness and love everywhere I go, with every person I meet. And I am realizing more and more that I need to start with myself. I don't know why this is so hard, but I'm working on it.

More Everyday Jokes for Kids

Some of these are funnier than others. You have to remember that I have a wide range of kids to give jokes to - from elementary age through high schoolers. So there has to be something for everyone.

How does a scientist freshen her breath?
With experi-mints!

What do you do if you see a spaceman?
You park your car, man.

Where do sheep go to get a haircut?
To the baa-baa shop.

Which dinosaur had the best vocabulary?
The Thesaurus

Where do typists go for a drink?
To the space bar.

When does a joke become a "dad joke"?
When the punchline is apparent.

What award did the dentist receive?
A little plaque.

What are the strongest days of the week?
Saturday and Sunday - the rest are weekdays.

Did you hear about the kidnapping in the park?
He woke up.

What do lawyers wear to court?
Lawsuits.

How does a train eat?
It goes: chew, chew.

How much does it cost a pirate to get his ears pierced?
A buck an ear.

What shoes does a ninja wear?
Sneakers.

What did the mama cow say to the baby cow?
It's pasture bedtime.

Where do rabbits go after they get married?
On a bunnymoon.

Which letters are not in the alphabet?
The ones in the mail.

What's the hardest part of throwing a space party?
You have to planet.

What did the banana say to the dog?
Nothing. Bananas can't talk.

How do you stop an astronaut's baby from crying?
You rocket.

Why is the word "dark" spelled with a 'K' and not a 'C'?
Because you can't see in the dark.

Why are chemists bad at telling jokes?
They lack the element of surprise.

Why is it hard to come up with a chemistry joke?
All the good ones argon.

Why did the octopus beat the shark in a fight?
It was well armed.

What happened to the cow that jumped over the barbed wire fence?
Udder destruction.

How do you make a lemon drop?
Just let it fall.

What do you call a snail on a ship?
A snailer.

What do you do with a sick chemist?
If you can't curium and you can't helium, you may as well barium.

What did the cell say to his sister that stepped on his toe?
Mitosis

Why can't you hear a pterodactyl in the bathroom?
The p is silent.

What do you call a dog magician?
A labracadabrador.

What do you get when you cross a rabbit with a frog?
A bunny ribbit.

When do doctors get mad?
When they run out of patients.

What do you get when you cross a cocker spaniel, a poodle and a rooster?
A Cockerpoodledoo!

What do you call a bee born in May?
A May bee

What do you call an elephant who doesn't matter?
Irrelephant.

How much money does a skunk have?
One scent.

What do you call a fear of giants?
Feefifobia

How do dinosaurs pay for things?
Tyrannosaurus checks.

How do mountains see?
They peak.

What do you call a pile of cats?
A meowtain.

Abiding Love

It was 26 years and 18 days ago
that we got married.
But if you go back a bit further than that,
to a dance in the summer of 1991,
that is where it all started.

When he asked me to join him out on the floor
I remember wondering why someone
who looked like him
wanted to dance with someone
who looked like me.
But I didn't argue.
I remember noticing the way that his arms,
tan and muscled,
contrasted with his shirt.
I remember noticing how he smiled when he spoke,
how that smile made me feel happy and warm
and weak in the knees.
And how when the song ended
I wanted to come up with something to say
to make him stay there
with me
just a little bit longer.

Then yesterday,
somewhere less than 27 years from the day that we met,
as he stood in front of a room and spoke from his heart,
I noticed that his strong hands,
calloused from years of hard work,
evidence of love for his family and his neighbors,
contrasted with his suit and tie.
I noticed that his hair now holds streaks of silver
but his eyes still shine
when he speaks of things
that he holds in his heart.
When he was finished talking,
he sat next to me
and looked at me
and smiled.
And that smile made me feel happy and warm
and weak in the knees.

I have known him close to 7 years longer
than I haven't.
And I'm not sure why,
but I think that 26 years and 18 days
is my favorite anniversary so far.

Today's Random Thoughts

Hey, y'all. This feels like me this summer, this moment right now. I came into my room to eat lunch, consisting of sour cream with salsa and a big bag o' chips. My room, because that is where my books are.

My lunch.

These are the disappointed looks on my children's faces when I told them that I was not taking them to the Rec Center today. The weeping and wailing was consistent. I told them it wasn't helping their cause and it crescendoed. So I ignored them and tried to read my book.

"I hate you."

"You are the worst mom, ever!"

I am trying to teach my kids that they don't get to have everything they want, when they want it. I am sad to report that this is hard, but only because I have made it so. I have tried so hard to give my kids everything I didn't have at their age and now it is expected. It is a problem I have created and one that is not easy to reverse, but I am trying. 

This book is transformative, actually. It makes me want to get back to being authentically me. The me who loves dance-walking and has incredible ideas on how to incorporate ASL into it. The me who loves to be crazy and make others laugh. The me that is, at heart, happiest in a pair of jeans and a pair of Converse and a funny t-shirt. The me that hates make-up and loves my hair long and wild and free.

The me that wants daily dance parties and frequent trips to thrift stores and farmer's markets. The me who loves to make others feel loved and happy.

The me that wants my kids to love me, and instinctively knows they don't really hate me or think I'm the worst mom in the world. 

I used to love to run. Then I thought I hated to run. But I just figured out, this summer, how to love it again. (Hint: I was trying too hard and starting too fast.) I started off with a 13 minute mile a few weeks ago and today I pushed myself on 2 miles and averaged a 9 and a half minute mile. So I'm feeling pretty good about that.

We haven't planned any family trips this summer outside of the usual reunions, so I need to work on that. I would love another backpacking trip like the one we did last year in Oregon. Maybe...

Happy Anniversary-Birthday-Father's Day

Today after church I was thinking about my parents. Probably partly because it was Father's Day and partly because it would have been my mom's 70th birthday yesterday and partly because it would have been their 47th anniversary last Thursday. But mostly just because I miss them both.

I went outside for a few minutes to pick strawberries from our garden. Partly because I love strawberries and partly because I love being in the garden. But mostly because when I'm in the garden I can think.

As I was picking strawberries I was actually trying to think about nothing. Because sometimes that's the easiest thing to think of when I'm feeling sad. I remember at one point thinking, it's a lot hotter out here than I thought. And then the sky started to sprinkle. It was barely even noticeable at first, but over the course of a couple of minutes the rain turned to fat drops and continued to fall for a minute or so before stopping. I set my strawberries down and with my face turned toward the sky and arms outstretched I enjoyed the feeling of the rain falling over me for just a minute. It felt like a gift.

Then, almost as soon as it started, it was over. Just a quick little gift from above. I'm not sure what people get to do in the life after this one, but I imagined my parents watching over me, knowing I was sad, and trying to let me know they were there. Maybe my mom was watering her gladiolas and sunflowers and, for just a minute, sprinkled her watering can over my house. I like to imagine that my dad turned on a hose, stuck his thumb over the nozzle, and sprinkled down his own raindrops. Then dad got that mischievous twinkle in his eye as he pointed the hose at mom, and laughed as she emptied her watering can onto him, causing big, fat drops to fall. 

I create these kinds of stories about my parents in my mind sometimes. Partly because I miss them so much and partly because I like to imagine what they may be doing now that they are together again. But mostly because I know that they are happy and that they want me to be happy, too.

Crying Over Spilt Milk

"Your cancer is back, and it has metastasized", the doctor tells my mom. "We can no longer cure it, but we can treat it and try to slow its growth."

Is there a time frame?

"Up to six months without chemo, 12 to 18 months with chemo."

I take her for a pedicure and massage.

She tries chemo. And she's on oxygen 24/7.

Her stomach bloats and hurts, her neck and face swell, she can't taste food anymore. She doesn't want to eat. She doesn't want to leave her chair. She's too tired. She doesn't feel well. she doesn't feel right.

I take her to the hospital.

They treat her the best they can for a couple of days, then send her home. The oncologist says that she won't make it if she gets that sick again.

She decides that she doesn't want to live her life like this and, after one chemo treatment, decides to stop. We all support this decision. Quality over quantity.

And so we wait.   

Her tumor markers go up, despite the one treatment. Her hair falls out, despite only one treatment.

We go shopping for hats.

"You should be tested for genetic cancer since there's a history of it in your family. Let's get you in to see a counselor," her oncologist suggests. We visit the counselor. We fill in charts of family history and she gives the doctors her saliva, her blood, to be tested.

The results are taking so long to get here.

Her arms and hands and legs swell. She gets cellulitis. They find blood clots in her arm. She is coughing a lot more and sometimes struggles to breathe. She hates wearing the oxygen tubes and carting it everywhere, so she stops using it.

And through all of this, I am able to push back emotion. Every time. There will be a time to cry, I tell myself. But it's not now.

After breakfast this morning I was clearing the table and before I knew what was happening I was juggling cereal bowls, trying not to drop them. I didn't even see it coming. There was some leftover milk in my son's bowl which splattered all over the carpet. Not just in one nice, puddled spot, but in a huge arc of white as I fumbled with the bowl, trying to keep it all inside.

Look at this mess, I thought. And then the tears came.

And I thought it somewhat odd that I found myself weeping over the one thing that we're told not to cry over.

Thank You, Mrs. Ruthenbeck

I could not possibly choose a favorite book from my childhood. This would be like asking me to choose a favorite friend from my childhood, as this is what books were for me back then - trusted friends.  As I revisited each of my dear book-friends in my mind and thought of the lessons they've taught me and the moments we've shared I was able to narrow my choice down to two that really stand out. Both of these books were introduced to me in kindergarten.

As a child of parents who are both Deaf, sign language was the main method of communication used in our home and the one I was always most comfortable with.  We had family gatherings with my Aunt Betty and Uncle Jack, who were also both Deaf, and their kids.  We went to church with a Deaf congregation and pastor, and played with other kids at the local Deaf club on weekends.  From my 5-year-old perspective, the world was as fluent in sign as my family was.  Then came my first day of kindergarten.

I was excited, but apprehensive about being there.  My mom left just as school started, along with all the other parents, and my teacher, Mrs. Ruthenbeck, had us introduce ourselves to everyone.   Because I didn't know any better and felt most comfortable with signing, I used my hands rather than my voice in stating my name and favorite color.  To make a long story short, I learned that day the terrible truth that most of the world was not fluent in ASL.  I went home early because I refused to speak.  I cried.

This was the beginning of the discovery that I was different.  I was someone who did not completely fit in to the world of the Deaf or the world of the hearing.  The other kids must have thought I was strange due to my behavior on that first day - no one ever talked to me.  I became so quiet at school that my teacher worried.  She would come sit next to me along the kindergarten wall at recess and try to encourage me to play with the other kids.  She eventually asked if I'd like to stay inside the classroom and color or read a book.  This was how I ended up spending a good part of my kindergarten play time - at a table near the window, reading one of the many books in Mrs. Ruthenbeck's little classroom library.  Oh, how I loved to read.

One day I noticed a book I hadn't seen before, Leo the Lop.

Even now as I write this, I feel emotion welling up inside of me. The story is about a rabbit, Leo, who is different from the other rabbits because his long ears hang down to the ground.  Leo tries to fit in and be like the other rabbits whose ears stand straight up, but his ears don't cooperate.  He and the other rabbits then meet a possum who teaches them that normal is whatever you are.

Normal Is Whatever You Are.  Normal is talking with your hands or your voice.  Normal is living in the Deaf world or the hearing world.  Normal is playing outside at recess or quietly reading a book to yourself.  Normal Is Whatever You Are.

Oh, how I loved those words!  I continued to read every day but always started or ended my play time in kindergarten by reading Leo the Lop.  And I still own a copy of the book today.

My other favorite book came about during Nap Time, when Mrs. Ruthenbeck would read to us from Charlotte's Web as we lay on our nap mats.

I loved hearing of how Charlotte, a spider, became friends with Wilbur, a pig, and how hard she worked to make his life better.  I would lay there each day, eyes open wide, excited to hear what would happen next in Wilbur's adventure.

One day, near the end of the story, Mrs. Ruthenbeck stopped reading.  She told us that a very sad part was coming up and that it always made her cry, so she just couldn't read it to us.  In the same moment that I was thinking, You can't stop reading!  I need to know what happens next! she turned to me and asked, "Gerberta, would you read this part to the class for me?  You are such a good reader and it would be a great favor to me."  I couldn't believe it.  That looked like a pretty big book to a kindergartener.  I was scared for the tiniest moment, but of course I couldn't say no.

I walked to the front of the class, sat in Mrs. Ruthenbeck's Reading Chair, quickly glanced out at the faces of my classmates (who seemed just as surprised as I) and started to read.  I was amazed by how easily the words came to me and my confidence grew with each one.  I remember thinking, if I can read this book then I must be smart!

What a gift my teacher had given me.  Something magical happened after that day.  Somehow, things started to get better for me in kindergarten.  I started to play outside sometimes.  Kids would ask me to help them with letters or words that they couldn't quite get.  I started to look forward to going to school.  And Charlotte and I have remained great friends over the years.

All thanks to an amazing, intuitive kindergarten teacher.

The Place Between

As I have mentioned probably a million times before, I was born to the best parents for me, who both also happen to be Deaf. I was raised in Deaf culture, learned to sign before I could speak, and have always been the most comfortable with this language and culture that I love.

However, as a hearing person, out of necessity I also became a part of hearing culture when I entered school. After discovering that not everyone could communicate in sign language (one of my earliest, most devastating memories) I found myself stuck between two worlds.

During the day, I was a part of the hearing culture which I was also learning to love. Here, there was music, which touched every part of my soul. There were spoken words which added beauty to the language that I already knew. After school, when I would go home, I was a part of the Deaf culture that I loved. Here, there was family. There was an aspect of beauty to ASL that could not be translated into words that the hearing could understand in quite the same way. There was comfort at home and a strong feeling of belonging that, for me, was lacking at school. I couldn't find a way to build a bridge between these worlds that each held such joy for me.

One day in high school I heard a friend asking if anyone knew the lyric to a particular song. (Mind you, this is back in the days before home computers and the internet.) With the instruments playing and the way it was sung, it was difficult to understand. Well, I knew that lyric. I knew exactly what it said, because my brother and I watched MTV and VH1 all the time, and our television at home had a closed-captioning machine hooked up to it so my parents could read what was being said. (Again, back in the day before closed-captioning was standard in every TV.) The fact that I knew this lyric was a game-changer for me. I had an advantage over most hearing people because I was also a part of Deaf culture! Eventually, my friends figured out my secret and we would spend a lot of time at my house during lunch, watching music videos.

I ended up joining my high school cross country team because I was asked to, and I liked to make people happy. I had participated in a race at my junior high for the same reason. Our P.E. teacher reminded us that there was an 8th grade race after school and that she was disappointed that not many students had signed up to participate. I knew I was not good at kickball or basketball or dodgeball or any kind of ball. But running? Anyone could run, right? So I showed up after school in my sandals and ran the race, which meandered through the neighborhood surrounding the school. A few different times I was unsure of where to go, so I would stop and wait for the person behind me to catch up, follow them for a bit, then run on ahead. I came in first without really even trying. The cross country coach from the high school was there and he invited me to come run with the team over the summer, so I did. And I found that running was another thing to love. The cross country team became like another family to me.

High school was also where I discovered the magic of theater. I initially joined the beginning drama class because I loved being a part of the musicals our choir in middle school had done. The first couple of monologues I did had no substance to them. But one day our teacher, Mr. Scarlata, said something about becoming someone you are not on stage. About how you are not you when you are playing a role, you are someone else. And suddenly, it clicked. I fell in love with this idea, and the drama department became a place that was like home for me. The friends I made in my theater classes and the plays and musicals I was in were another extension of my family.

I sang, although timidly, in choirs throughout elementary and middle school. I remember a day when a friend heard me singing along to a song on MTV and said, "Wow, you have a really good voice!" It surprised me. I knew that I liked imitating the voices in the songs I heard on the radio but I hadn't thought much about it beyond that. After my freshman year my choir teacher, Mrs. Jensen, encouraged me to audition for the all-girls choir, Les Chansonnieres. I auditioned with a song I loved from The Sound of Music and was put in the soprano section. The year after that she asked me to consider auditioning for the top choir, Aristocracy. I sang there for one year until I auditioned again, this time with a song by U2 that I loved, Van Diemen's Land, and was put in the alto section. Here was where I found another family. A group of people who were as passionate about singing and music as I was.         

I was lucky in that my parents were very supportive of the hearing culture things we enjoyed. They let us listen to music, rather loudly, and enjoyed it with us. They would often ask us to sign the lyrics to songs, which I loved to do. They would come watch us perform in plays, with no interpreter, and my dad would cheer louder than any other parent there. However, this was not typical of the Deaf people we knew. Most of them, understandably, had no love for music or anything else that they couldn't understand. Wonderful interpreters have helped bridge this gap over time, but when I was a teenager it was difficult. There were no laws, no rights for the Deaf, no equal access to communication back then. The equal access in our family was dependent on me and my siblings and our willingness to interpret for our parents. 

I was also lucky in that my new "hearing family" were very supportive of the Deaf culture that was an undeniable part of me. My choir teacher, Mrs. J, asked me to sign a couple of songs that the other choirs sang during our concerts. When I auditioned for a solo one year she asked if I would sign it in ASL, too. One time we wrote monologues about a typical day in our life and after I performed mine with some ASL mixed in, Mr. Scarlata asked me about why it was important to me to include it and I was able to give a brief lesson on Deaf culture to the Play Production class. My coaches and teammates on the cross country team quickly learned that they could speak directly to my parents and I would happily interpret.

Over time I learned that it wasn't so hard to find a bridge between cultures after all. The bridge had been there all along, I just had to find it.

The bridge was me.

Pepper Pizzas

Here in Utah there has been a definite change in the weather. We went from highs in the 80's one day to stormy and cold the next. Things have balanced out some, but like many here, I had to go out and save what I could from my garden before the possibility of the low morning temperatures destroying it. This year, the largest result was a plethora of peppers. In the past I have shared my crop because we can not use so many peppers in such a quick time. But this year we discovered pepper pizzas, or, as my kids have dubbed them, Pezzas. So if you're trying to find a way to use a load of peppers, give these a try!

This recipe doesn't have any specific measurements. You can make one or 100 and you just eyeball it along the way.

You'll need:

Green peppers
spaghetti sauce
mozarella cheese
any other desired toppings (we just use mini pepperoni, and sometimes black olives)

First, de-seed the peppers by cutting them in half and removing the seeds. Lay the peppers, open side up, on a cookie sheet. Spread a large spoonful of spaghetti sauce in the bottom of each pepper. Sprinkle cheese on top of that. Then add whatever toppings your family likes. Bake them in a preheated 350 degree oven until the cheese is melty. (I like to look for the cheese turning slightly brown in spots, but that's just how I like it. I'm not the boss of you.) Then enjoy!

The crazy thing about these is that I didn't think they would be popular, especially with my youngest two. Neither of them like green peppers much. But they beg for Pezzas! I don't know if it's because they are not-so-cleverly disguised as pizzas or what, but they love these things.

Enjoy!

Becoming

             

Is there a job out there somewhere for moms who like to show up in their children's classrooms (or any classroom, for that matter) dressed up in costume, portraying a character from a book or a movie or their imagination?  Because man, do I miss doing this. Every time one of these pictures shows up as a memory on my Facebook wall I can't help but smile. If there were some way to tie music and ASL with this non-existent job, I would be on cloud nine and love going to work every day.

I remember when my oldest son Allen was in kindergarten, how much I wanted to show up in his classroom in costume and share stories, like Stella the Storyteller from his favorite show, Barney and Friends. Who would have thought that I would start showing up in a 6th grade class instead? And love it so much?

For the first time in a long time I have been able to volunteer in my elementary school kids' classrooms and that is also very rewarding. I find myself looking forward to working with the kids each time I go in and remembering why I wanted to go into special education when I was still in college. At the time, that just wasn't in the cards for me. I was a new mother, we were poor college students, and continuing to go to school didn't make much sense since my life experience allowed me to work as a sign language interpreter immediately and make more money than I would as a teacher with an eventual degree. (How sad is that, by the way?)

I'm still figuring things out. Friends in the generation older than me laugh knowingly when I tell them I'm not sure what to do with myself now that Little X is in school. Friends my age nod their heads knowingly and express the same wonderings. Friends younger than me sigh knowingly and long for that time.

I'm in the middle of costume design and creation for The Phantom of the Opera at my kids' high school. I learned so much when I did this for The Little Mermaid that I couldn't resist helping again. And this time around, I keep getting my own ideas. Mrs. Frizzle sort of ideas. Crazy costumes I could make myself, if there were the time and the place to use them.

I may need to create my own job. I know it is possible. It's there in my head, I just need to figure out the details.

Dressing My Daughters

                                         Girls shirt, size 14                      Boys shirt, size 8

I took this cute girl birthday shopping on Saturday. She wanted to find a couple of new shirts for school, so we hit one of our standard shopping places - JC Penney. There are a few reasons I typically like to shop here.

1. It is super close to our house.
2. They almost always have awesome coupons available.
3. They have a lot of great sales.

First we hit the girls' section and found a couple of nice tops, including the floral top with the grey sleeves. It was hard to find them amongst all the glitter and flippy sequins and cute sayings in cursivey fonts, but we persevered. We found her typical size, 10/12, the one that coincides with her age and is usually the right fit.

Next we ventured into the boys' area because she typically finds clothes that she REALLY likes over there - ones that have to do with Star Wars or science and the like. We found the awesome Star Wars shirt pictured above, grabbed the 10/12 size, and headed to the dressing room.

She tried on the floral shirt first. It was too short, in the front and in the sleeves. We thought it must have been a fluke with that shirt and got another one in the same size. Same problem. Finally I got her a size 14 to try on and it was a perfect fit (as long as it doesn't shrink at all after we wash it).

When she tried on the Star Wars shirt, it was way too large. The front came down to her fingertips and the sleeves just hung on her. So I went and got a size 8 (Small) and guess what? It fit great. Even if it shrinks a little in the wash, it will still be a good fit.

Do you see the problem here? A girl's size 14 fit just a tad smaller and tighter than a boy's size 8.

Can we also address the shirts with the flippy sequins on them? Does anyone else see why this is a terrible idea?

And don't get me started on pants. Both Princess and Curly preferred buying boys joggers in khaki and camo over the girl's pants that were skin tight and available in every color under the rainbow.

I get how supply and demand works, so I can only assume that people everywhere are clamoring to buy their girls these kind of clothes. Or are they? Are we just buying what's available because that's what is there? Because that's what the designers and suppliers and retail stores want us to buy?

Not me.

This is why I love to shop at thrift stores, especially for my girls. There is a wide variety of styles available, there is almost always something that fits what my family likes, and as a bonus - we know how the clothes will fit after being washed.

I'll tell you what, though - if I could find a store that didn't sell to stereotypes I would love to shop there and support them. Girls dresses that have sleeves and reach their knees would be amazing. Girls pants that are loose-fitting and comfortable would be a dream. Girls pants that are made like boys joggers would be all my girls would wear! Girls tops featuring things like science and dinosaurs would be great! Actually, I would just be happy to find some girls t-shirts that have a fun design that does not include glitter.

So, the search is on.