The Big To-Do in Nottingham

House Hunting: misfires, poaching violations, and wounded bucks that got away

2009-03-10T09:59:00.001-07:00

It feels like it’s been a good long while since I’ve written here. I guess a month is a long time, especially since I had planned on writing a post every Sunday. See, this is why people don’t make goals or resolutions. Even the easy ones are hard to meet. So depressing…

There have been plenty of cute things to report from the world of Soren and Lorelei; they never cease to amaze Melanie and me with how sharp their wits are (although it must be noted that Soren’s sharp wit has somewhat of an evil-scientist-bent; we are trying our best to guide him towards using this precociousness for good). Indeed, it would seem that every day they do something or say something that has us smiling, laughing, or—most often—trying to undo the advanced engineering they have performed on our electronics.

But I just haven’t had the energy to write about these things in detail. We’ve been house hunting, and it has taken all life, love and energy out of me.

In all seriousness, I’m amazed that people still buy homes. The fact that both realtors and lenders can—for the most part—go about their lives without being bullied, beaten, shot and chopped up into dog food is proof that our society is still very benevolent and forgiving towards those who seem determined to make our lives a living hell. (It must also be noted, however, that the fact that the legislators, who have done everything they can to make the home-buying process a nightmarish maze of red-tape, go about their lives WITHOUT being bullied, beaten, shot and chopped up into dog food shows that our culture willfully tolerates evil in our government and we are set for utter destruction).

I’m not sure exactly when we decided to look for a home. I think it was a combination of all the right things: a growing family, an energetic boy in need of a private yard (and a mother who deserves one to throw him in), a stable income, low prices and interest rates, etc. But it’s been at least two months since we began actively looking for a suitable home for the family. And we’ve come close, but close only counts in horseshoes and hand-grenades. In house-hunting, it just makes you angry and gives you ulcers.

Now, because Melanie and I are determined to be cheapskates and fly in the face of lenders and realtors who seem fixated on having us buy a home outside of our means, there seem to be only certain kinds of homes that fit both our size and price requirements: short sales and foreclosures. And boy do these homes have character! I’m not sure what kind of trouble the previous tenants were in before these houses were seized by the banks, but we witnessed some very interesting things when looking at, oh, probably 25 different homes in the Orem, Pleasant Grove and American Fork areas. We found a truck abandoned in the garage of one, a wedding dress in the closet of another, tool sets in the basement, a 4’ x 10’ painting of Snow White conversing with Doc, walls with holes punched in them, boxcars (yes, I said boxcars, like from a train. No, a real train. For crying out loud, I’m serious; go visit the place and see for yourself: http://www.utahrealestate.com/813976), and a scary old vagabond eating what looked like macaroni and hot dogs. Needless to say, the vast majority of these homes are fixer-uppers. We have no problem with fixer-uppers, thanks to the number of family and friends who have voluntarily (and involuntarily) offered to help us fix them. If you’re reading this, you’ve likely been volunteered. Fair warning.

Last week, we made an offer on a nice split-level that had been refurbished on the inside. It was a beautiful home on a great corner lot with a big yard and a sturdy, tall fence to keep our son corralled. But we low-balled it, and I guess the seller’s weren’t too thrilled with the offer. I can understand that. So we had been going back and forth with counter-offers until some schmuck comes in and offers full-price for the place. This blows my mind. People in this county must either be stupid, or really stupid. Anyone who offers full-price in this market has got to be wholly ignorant of the goings-on today. CNN et al would have us believe that the housing market has taken such a huge hit that buyers could demand that the sellers strip down to their skivvies, get on all fours and bark the national anthem before closing. And from what I can tell, the market IS that buyer-friendly. At least, until some eejit comes in and pays full price.

Long story short, we lost that property. No worries. It wasn’t perfect. We won’t be buying a perfect house (for Melanie and me, our perfect home is a 1,000 acre ranch near Steamboat Springs, CO with one of those nice Lincoln-log lodges; last I checked there was a property like that going for about $9.5 million, so…). There are actually many many other homes that fit our needs, so we’ll just keep moving on.

I have high hopes that we will have good news to report in the next two weeks. But for now, this whole process has been very bittersweet, and the writing here will be sparse until we get that stinkin’ home.

Until then, adieu.

Pics from the fight

2009-02-10T08:52:00.006-07:00

Alright, here are some selected pics from the fight. Still working on getting the video uploaded. If you have Comcast On-Demand (at least in Utah), you should be able to view all 10 fights. Look for Throwdown.

The pics come from a good friend at work, Dirk Widdison, who is one of our photographers. Check him out at widdisionphotography.com.

Here I am making my way to the ring. You can tell how much respect we get as amateur fighters; I think I had to ask an 8-year old to move so that I could get to the ring.

Feeling loose, energetic, and wholly oblivious to what's about to happen to me.

I gave the thumbs up and remember thinking, "Wait... no, I'm not ready."

Here I am blocking a knee with my belly.

Caught in the Guillotine; no escape.

He beat me, but hey, at least his ribs look a bit beat up.

My first MMA bout—Throwdown Smoker Bouts, 2/7/09

2009-02-09T11:44:00.008-07:00

When I started working at Stampin’ Up!, I made the decision to reverse the trend my body had been taking since I had returned home from my mission. That trend had been a perpetual weight gain, and not of the muscular type. So bad had my condition become that I found myself out of breath, out of shape, out of sync with all the things I loved to do, and—worst of all—I found myself at Khols, staring at the 40” waist-size pants, ready to purchase them so that I could have a pair of trousers that fit. I had let myself get up to 250 lbs, and I felt disgusting.

No more.

With the extra fundage provided by the generous salary from SU!, I decided to enroll in a gym that might actually do something about my physical situation. You see, I was already a member of 24-hour fitness, and I hit the weights about three times a week. The problem was that there was no motivation here. Oh sure, I could hire a personal trainer, but I really had no desire to have some toothpicked dude standing over me and telling me how to do exercises I already knew how to do. What I needed was an actual sport to train in. I needed a coach.

In February of ’08, I signed up as a member of LA Boxing, a little gym just up the road from where I lived, and began training under the tutelage of Tandi Ogden (now Tandi Schaeffer) in the art of Boxing and Muay Thai Kickboxing. The workouts were one-hour sessions that involved cardio- and strength-conditioning and then actual fighting skills. I recall that during the warm-up of my first session, I was ready to puke—and puke hard. Luckily, it never happened, but I sure took a lot of breathers. I still don’t know what motivated me to stick with it. Perhaps it was the ridiculous amount of money I was paying monthly for the gym. Finances are good for motivation. After about three weeks, the fatigue and soreness began to wear off, and I found myself returning to the athletic ability I had once enjoyed as a high-schooler. And then I stepped on the scale. In a very short time, I had lost 15 lbs. Not bad, but still not good enough.

I trained almost every morning before work for the next couple months. Then a little miracle occurred. Next door to LA Boxing, an even bigger, badder and definitely most-bodaciously-hardcorer gym opened up—Throwdown Elite Training Center. Tandi was moving over there to teach, and she took me and a handful of others with her. And I’m glad I made the move. For all the training I was able to do at the old gym, this place amplified it 100x. And I felt like I was not only getting in shape here, but was actually getting myself into a condition where I’d be able to use these skills in combat.

So by the time December of ’08 rolled around, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had lost 45 lbs and was weighing in at the Light Heavyweight level—and I was ready to test my new body out in competition. Tandi was organizing a “Smoker” fight event at the gym (this is simply an amateur fight in which the rounds are shorter and the rules modified slightly to favor less-skilled fighters). I signed up, not really sure what I was getting into, but sure that I wanted to at least give it a try.

The fights were scheduled for February, so I tried to pack extra time into the gym with sparring and running and what not. The day of the fight came so quickly, and I found myself unable to sleep out of nervous excitement for days before the actual event. Perhaps that had an effect on the outcome. When I showed up for the pre-fight meeting that day, I learned that my expectations for the bout were a little bit erroneous. I was expecting to do a Muay Thai fight, which included head gear, shin pads, and 16 oz boxing gloves—all the stuff I had trained with. But something had gotten mixed up, and I was slated for Mixed-Martial Arts instead, which involved no pads whatsoever, and the gloves were much, much smaller. No big deal, I thought. I can do this. But then I learned that the guy I was fighting was not a 6-month amateur, as I had been told, but rather a veteran with 5+ years training and several fights under his belt. Still no biggie. I’m always up for a challenge.

(By the way, the guy I fought HAD to have been Mark McGuire’s long lost twin brother, as the two were spitting images of the other, except in height)

So, unprepared and unevenly matched, my name was announced, and I stepped into the cage.

THE FIGHT

I had been training for 12 months, and I felt I knew how to employ these skills in an actual fight setting. But when that bell rang and we approached each other, everything I knew went out the window as my nerves got the better of me. I’m not sure what fighting style I ended up using, but it likely resembled drunken-boxing or something like that. I definitely didn’t stay disciplined. And I paid for it.

After coming on strong with some combos and clinches, his experience began to show forth, and he exploited my mistakes. At one point, I left my face unguarded, and he got three good shots on my chin. I felt the blows, and my brain said, “this is going to hurt!!!!” Startled, I staggered back a bit and then thought to myself, “Hey… that didn’t hurt at all!” Excited, I thought I would be able to get back into the fray and come back at him with some good combos of my own. But I had spent too much time thinking about being hit, and took too long to realize that I wasn't hurt. By the time I was ready to go back at him, he had me in a Guillotine chokehold. Panicking for the lack of jiu-jitsu skill and still a bit dazed from his punches, I tapped.

All in all, it was a great experience. I’m glad I was able to get in the ring with an experienced fighter and get schooled. The guy worked me, and it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me—sportswise, anyway. I learned more in those 90 seconds that in the previous 12 months of training. And now I know how to improve.

I may do some more in the future. And I may not. Who knows. But I’m glad to have this badge on my resume. Win or loss, I stepped into the cage and fought. And it was amazing.

More pics/videos to come on this.

The Bumbleraptor Cometh...

2009-01-28T16:14:00.002-07:00

Lorelei has two very interesting and distinguishable habits, and they have caused us to give her a new nickname: the Bumbleraptor.

When she is in a good mood, she will buzz her lips together, spitting and drooling all the while. This is the "bumble." I would like to note that she often likes to do this at 4:30 a.m.

OR, when a good mood strikes her, she will give out these loud screeches reminiscent of the Velociaraptors from Jurassic Park. This, of course, is the "raptor."

An example of the bumble...

And an example of the raptor...

Scaring the crap out of my son. Literally.

2009-01-28T16:09:00.000-07:00

Soren likes to hide in random places, like behind the couch, behind the blinds, around corners, etc. The other day he felt it would be fun to hide himself in the coat closet, sporadically popping out and yelling, “Boo!” Melanie, Lorelei and I were sitting on the couch, just laughing at him. But then I thought I’d shake things up a bit. Upon shutting the door with him inside the closet, I snuck right up to the door, got on my hands and knees, and waited for him to open. When the door cracked open, I let out a roar that the neighbors likely heard, and Soren jumped and slammed the door shut. After a few moments, he opened the door and said, “Daddy, I’m poopy.”

It was quite entertaining for us, and it makes me wish I had a camera running in the house 24/7, like one of those nanny-cams. But then again, maybe I don’t; that would enable Melanie to see how I wait until 5 minutes before she gets home from a night shift to clean the house (I always promise to do a thorough cleaning…). I don’t want that kind of pressure on me.

I must admit, I am not the first the excite excrement from my boy. Those honors belong to Brittany. While she was watching him one day at her house, Soren found her stereo, and turned the volume knob to full blast—while the stereo was off of course. Then, finding the power button, his curiosity forced him to push, and the radio came on at full volume. He leapt in the air and ran behind the couch as Brittany went to turn off the stereo. As she did so, she noticed quite the stink, and sure enough, Soren had scared the crap out of himself.

These are the moments that we live for. I recall the time that Melanie and I were recording our “application” for the Amazing Race (with Terence and Brittany of course). We were trying to showcase how energetic and crazy we all were, and the four of us were wrestling around. I ended up getting a good tackle on Mel (she’s such a good sport; she lets me win on camera, but never hesitates to incapacitate me when we’re alone). As I did, the force of the blow caused a pair of green elevens to spew forth from her nose. The last thing you hear on the camera before the scene cuts away: “You knocked the snot out of her!”

I love my family!

The Inauguration Speech I would have liked to hear

2009-01-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

I admit that I spent an hour this morning only pretending to work (should anyone from work read this, please know that I will be making up for that hour by staying later). I pulled up a word doc, gave it a generic title—so to avoid suspicion—and listened to the inauguration ceremony online. I will go ahead and say that my frame of mind was not one of excitement, awe, blind infatuation etc. for the President and his forthcoming speech, but rather an interest to see whether or not he would deviate from the pomp and circumstance of previous inaugurations (not likely considering the $150 million or so that he spent on the event), and give a ceremony that reflected all of this change hullaballoo he was touting for the past year. Here are some thoughts.

Firstly, a quick comment on Pastor Warren’s prayer. A nice invocation, to be sure. Very predictable, very uniform, very Christian. But I was startled a bit when he started blessing Obama’s children, not because of the fact that he blessed them (an honorable gesture, as those kids will surely need a boost of Spirit), but because of the manner in which he breathily said their names. Ali-YAH, and Sa-SHAH! As I was only listening to the event and wasn’t able to actually see the pastor, I would not be at all shocked to learn that Pastor Warren was unavailable for the prayer and was replaced by William Shattner. I’ve never cared for theatrics like this during supplication. Where is the humility?

Anyway, I tried my best to take notes on Obama’s speech, and I just want to comment on a few things he said. Note: all of this will be paraphrased, as I am writing this post only moments after the actual speech was given; tried to find a transcript of the speech online, but I guess even that wouldn’t be posted so shortly after the event.

Obama says:

"America carries on during crisis because people remain faithful to our founding documents; so it must be with us."

I certainly hope you mean this. Our founding documents—regardless of whether or not you support the Federalist, Monarchist or Nationalist arguments of the day—painted quite a different picture of the government we should have, one that is quite in contrast to the programs and goals you outlined during your campaign. It would be a wonderful eye opener to see you revert us to the wisdom of those men who established this nation. Forgive me if I am doubtful.

"Promise an end to the false promises and dogma typical of today’s politics."

Ouch…. Remember when you made a bunch of promises and plans during your campaign and then only a few weeks ago announced that you likely won’t be able to DO all of those things you promised? Remember, Mr. President? Seems like the same old politics to me… Where’s that change you mentioned?

"Greatness must be earned, no shortcuts, no settling for less, do not seek leisure over work"

Agreed. So what the %&*$ was with pushing for more bailout money for industries who need to earn their greatness? It’s #1 on your agenda! Well, you may have messed up here, and I guess that’s okay. I mean, Bush did it too (change, anyone?), and he lived, so I guess we’ll let it slide. But please remember that you said this whenever any new tax legislation comes across your desk, and keep the far-reaching hands of the IRS out of our pockets. Greatness is earned, right? No shortcuts? We must take work over leisure or laziness?

"Our workforce no less productive than before the crisis..."

True...

"We need to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and remake America..."

Agreed… so how do we do it?

"The state of economy calls for action."

Ah… like your bailouts! Okay, so our workforce is still productive, they just need some assistance, and we need to pick ourselves up and get out of this recession, and your solution is more economic regulation and bailouts? Now that’s change! Wait a minute…

"The question is not whether gov’t is too big or too small but whether it works."

Um… only half true, Mr. President. The real question is whether government works, and the real answer is that small government works (not perfectly, mind you, but better than an over-bloated imperious socialist nation with a bureaucracy the size of Texa… erm… Alaska).

"Without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control."

Last I heard, over-regulation in the industry caused the current spin out you mention. If the market could be truly left alone, it’d be a far different case. But we haven’t had such a market for well over a century. So you’ll just be perpetuating the very things that harmed the economy in the first place. Change, change, change-ity-change!

"Our founding fathers drafted a charter to declare the rule of law and rights of man… we will not give them up for expedience’s sake."

A nice knock on many of Bush’s/Congress’ flagrant disregards for the Constitution and the rule of natural law it defends. Now, will you live within the limits this charter defines for you, Mr. President? If you do, I will forever be in awe of your love and respect for both your office and for this nation and never speak ill of you again.

"We pledge to work along poor nations, feed bodies and minds."

Acknowledged, and I hope we can do just that. Just promise me you’ll leave this task to charities and churches and other non-profits (who have a better track record of doing these things correctly) and abolish the taxes and regulations that impede said organizations from doing so. Please please PLEEEEEASE don’t let the government execute such a task. It will only make things worse.

"We must return to our old truths; must create a new era of responsibility."

I agree. So again, why is a bailout #1 on your agenda? That act seems to fly in the face of responsibility. If you won’t let us fail, you’ll forever stand in the way of our success.

Truth be told, I found myself—for the first time ever—understanding why people are so captivated by Obama when he speaks. The speech was eloquent, indeed, and carried with it an exciting and motivating spirit. The problem for me was that the speech lacked anything of real substance and reflected the same traditions, policies, goals etc. of previous presidencies. Again, WHERE is the change? $150 million dollars spent on a ceremony for the President of change… and it looked and smelled like every other inauguration for the past 100 years. Actually, with the exuberant cost of this ceremony coupled with Obama’s own promises of making an even bigger, bloated government with forced servitude and wealth spreading and what not, I suppose this did deviate from the norm. It didn’t look at all like an inauguration for an American President. It looked like the coronation ceremony for a conquering dictator, throwing himself a lavish party at the expense of his peasants, making beautiful promises that he cannot possibly keep and spending the nation’s wealth on nice things for himself. Okay, it wasn’t quite that bad, but it was in that direction.

Now, if Mr. Obama REALLY wanted to deliver a speech that reflected all this change he’s been talking about, I think it would have been very short, and might have gone something like this:

My fellow Americans, I am honored and humbled to stand before you as your 44th president. You may recall that my campaign talked much of change, and I meant every word of it. But talk is cheap; Congress talks all the live-long day and accomplishes nothing. I am now the President of the United States of America, and we’re going to stop talking and start doing. There will be plenty of time later for long-winded pep assembly speeches after we’ve done some work. Right now, we need action. So, with the hundreds of millions of dollars we collected for this ceremony, I have purchased shovels, sod, trash bags, rakes, hammers, nails, wood—let me just say I put Home Depot back in business. There are millions of you here right now, so right NOW, let’s get to work. People are homeless and hungry, homes are falling apart, city streets are lined with trash, parks are in disrepair. Come up to the podium and grab some tools. Mr. Biden and I will lead you as we go start cleaning up and servicing Washington D.C. Then we move to Philly, then to Boston, and so on and so on, and our actions will hopefully—God willing—inspire the entire nation to join in and donate his money and his time—of his own free will—to repair broken fences, broken bodies, and broken hearts. Then, when that work is done, we can have a nice speech, full of bells and whistles and big words and clapping and cheering. This is day one, and we have much to do. Let’s not waste this precious time. God bless us as we go forth.

Indeed, THAT would be change I could believe in.

Die Weihnachtszeit ist gekommen; frohlocket ihr Kinder Zions!

2009-01-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

Ah.... Christmas. December brings with its frigid air an indescribable happiness and joy. I suppose the thing I love the most is the Christmas music (although I don't feel I listened to enough of it; I should have purchased those Trans-Siberian Orchestra tickets...). There is something about Christmas music that moves me more deeply than any other form of art. If ever I am discouraged in my own faith or if the powers of the adversary give me pause and allow my fickle soul to question the reality or divinity of Christ, it only takes a simple carol or traditional holiday hymn to return my faith to me, for only our Savior could inspire such beautiful songs to be written by the hands of mortal men. It will be one of my greatest and most fulfilling tasks to pass on the love and familiarity of Christmas music to my children.

As always, December starts out with my birthday. I'll never escape it...

Melanie could not have done better on my presents. There are three items you can see in front of me that describe my personality in a nutshell: a tub of cookie dough, two boxes of Waffle Crisp, and Malcolm in the Middle--the complete first season. I do not deserve such a perfect companion...

Soren and Lorelei did their part to decorate the tree. For the next three weeks before Christmas day itself, Soren was enthralled with Christmas Decorations, and anyone who made any mention of the holiday season in his presence was quickly given a demonstration of his affinity for the adornments that accompany the festivities. I have subsequently banned him from watching HGTV.

It's normally a crapshoot when you take your kids to the mall for a picture with Santa. We of course worried that Soren's first experience sitting on Santa's lap would be tainted by the memory of Santa being some sort of vagabond reeking of liquor and cigarettes and wearing a fake beard. Happily, the Provo Towne center had secured a jolly older man with a natural beard and a truly Claus-like disposition. Too bad Lorelei was asleep. Soren asked him for... decoration. (TLC had also been banned alongside HGTV. And Lifetime as well)

For an early birthday treat (for Mel) we went out on the town and saw the Nutcracker. It was my first time, but Mel had been to several shows before. I think she liked it; her smile never faded the whole night.

COLORADO CHRISTMAS
We drove out to Denver to be with Mel's family for the holidays. I was excited as I had the whole week off of work. What was supposed to be a relaxed drive out to the Hill homestead turned into a white-knuckle affair as heavy snow storms were rolling into both Utah and Colorado. We tried to beat the storms, leaving in the late afternoon on the Friday before Christmas, only to be met by one of the fastest accumulating storms I've ever seen in Provo. In short, it took us three hours to get from Provo to Price (normally an hour long drive). Not fun, but it looked like we had finally gotten out of the bad weather. If only that were true. By the time we had reached Glenwood Springs, CO, old man Winter returned with a vengeance. There were periods where the snow was blowing so hard, I had to listen for the rumble strips on either side of the freeway to make sure we were still on the road. And after 13 hours of total driving, 10 of those hours being in blizzard conditions, we pulled into the driveway, got the kids inside, and collapsed. Oh, and we did this all in a MINIVAN, all without incident. That's right; we're hardcore. Just wait til I get my truck.

But it was all worth it. Once at Gramma and Papa Hill's home, we had one of our happiest Christmases yet.

Here's Soren opening his "secret Santa" gift. It was perfect; little 18-wheeler with a race car in the bed, appropriately named "Tiny 'n Tuff", just like Soren.

Christmas morning came and went, as always faster than it should given the building anticipation for its arrival. But we sure had fun. Soren latched onto his new Buzz Lightyear, and hasn't put him down for weeks now. I think our kids appreciated the gifts; maybe Soren will know to look forward to it next year.

We closed out the trip by going out to bowl with the family. I'm amazed we got these two great pictures out of the event; our kids we fussy nearly the entire time. But what's to be expected when you happen to plan family bowling during "Cosmic" hour. Our children haven't been the same since.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

For to Give Thanks and What Not

2009-01-04T20:19:00.000-07:00

I realized as I was getting all the pics together for this Thanksgiving post that we failed to get any pictures of the actual act of Thanksgiving, with the Rainbow Jello, the plump Tom turkey, the mashed taters, the popcorn, the pretzel sticks and so forth. It's a goal for next year I suppose. We traveled up to Dillon, spending our time with Gramma and Grandpa Chaffin. There's something magical about Dillon that can turn me into a kid again. I don't know if it's the carpeted walled basement or the steady diet of dilly bars and 'tato oles from Taco John's, but when I'm in Dillon, I'm 10 years old again. I guess it's not hard to get me into that puerile frame of mind...

We played what was easily the coldest game of turkey football that I can recall in recent years. Nick, Dane, Tanner, Dallin and I were dressed to kill. Believe it or not, we played worse than we looked. Yeah, I know we don't look good.

Soren, Coen and Reagan familiarized themselves with that old white wagon wheel that has been around since the pioneers traveled west. It is one of the quintessential symbols of that house in Dillon.

Reagen proved to be a great babysitter for Melanie and me. Not hard to do on that wonderful pea-soup-green couch; anyone who sits on it is immediately overcome by it's strange comfort. I hear the carpenter who made it learned his trade at Rivendell.

Like I said, there are few that can escape the mystical comfort of that couch. Soren crashed while fishing Goldfish out of his cup. He slept like that for an hour or so...

And we finally got a family picture. Of course, we needed that wagon wheel.

Catching up: Autumn

2009-01-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

There are few things that bring as much contentment and peace to my soul than to find myself listening to music from "A Winter's Solstice" on a cold, cloudy October Sunday. I don't know where all these people come from that bemoan the colder seasons and prefer the hot, sticky, sweaty summer months with its blistering sun and swarms of bugs and blah blah blah. Fall is the blissful gateway to the greatest time of year. Football, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas... the next few months are what make the rest of the year bearable.

Here's what kept us busy during October:

Melanie and I spent some good time with Jared + Suzanne and Terence + his date building Halloween graham cracker houses. We had a good idea going, but ultimately, what you see here is a steal from Jared and Suzanne's idea.

We carved pumpkins with Dane and Tanner. I think they turned out mostly well. I thought about donating my "Throwdown" pumpkin (sporting the logo of the MMA/Alternative gym I train at) to the gym itself, but wondered how it would look if I came by and said "Hey, check this out all you big fighting jiu-jitsu mma goons! I carved y'all a punkin!" I just didn't think it was a good idea.

I re-did my costume from last year (hunting accident). Last year, when I was working for those... special folks at Mutliling, this outfit won me fitty bucks! So I thought I'd try it again among the folks at Stampin' Up. I don't even think I made the top 25. Being the artsy place it is, there were employees who were decked out in such grandeur as to suggest that they had been working on their costumes for the entire year. I'll have to come up with a new strategy.

Soren, naturally, was Woody for Halloween. He got to hang out in Colorado with Melanie's family since dad was out being manly and hunting Elk in the mountains (pics forthcoming). I don't think he quite understood what Halloween meant, but as he was able to dress up as his favorite Pixar hero, I think he'll have a good impression for years to come.

Lorelei got to be Tinkerbell. Oh how I wish Disney would change their mascot from the buxom blonde to this cute n chubby--and somewhat apathetic looking--fairy. She's too cute to need to smile.

Soren was privileged enough to finish out the month by helping Gramma and Papa with the Elk butchering. He seemed to have a natural talent for pushing clumps of meat through the meat grinder. I think there's a future for him in this.

Soren nearly drowned himself in my new Bengals hoodie. He gets really excited about all my Bengals stuff, and can identify the colors and symbols of our favorite Cincinnati franchise. I wonder though if I am condemning the poor boy to a life of misery and ulcers. Maybe his generation will see a team without Mike Brown at the helm. The man's gotta kick the bucket someday...

Man vs. Kidney Stone

2008-11-30T09:03:00.000-07:00

Last week, I experienced a heretofore unknown pain in my lower right abdomen. It started out as nothing big; just some discomfort as if I were getting a bit gassy from the (excellent) meal Melanie had cooked the night before. But then it grew into something entirely different...

*WARNING! The following content includes graphic descriptions*

As the pressure grew, it simply felt as if I needed to use the toilet. Doing so, I noticed the frightening sight of a dark red discoloration in my urine. Knowing that this couldn't be good, I fully expected to book an appointment with the doc after work that day. And then the first real pang hit me, and like a fist fight between the Incredible Hulk and Kristi Yamaguchi, I was dropped in less than a second, rolling around on the floor floating in and out of consciousness.

This was certainly distressing to Melanie and the kids, who were wondering why dad was acting like this. Thanks to Melanie's experience in a hospital, she was able to calmly get everything ready so that we could head to the ER. Since it felt like something was about to explode inside my lower abdomen, we figured my appendix had kicked the bucket and was letting me know that it needed to be removed. I was happy to oblige, so we raced down to the Utah Valley Regional ER and checked in.

Now, many of you close to our family are likely familiar with the Brian Reagan comedy snippet about going to the ER. What really makes his comments funny is how true they are. Unless you are visibly expelling blood from your forehead and are brought in by the ambulance, expect your experience there to be no different than checking in at any run-of-the-mill doctor's office. After squeezing out my information to the receptionist through bullet-sized drops of sweat and clenched teeth, I was sent to the screening doc, who asked me the hallmark question, "How would you rate your pain?" Now, if I weren't about to vomit from the sheer pain of my condition, I might have laughed as I responded, "Eight." It's funny now, but I couldn't laugh then. I was promptly sent to the toilet to get another urine sample. This time, instead of having just a bit of blood, the entire sample looked like a very disgusting glass of dark apple cider diluted with water from the everglades. And then the next pang hit me (I noticed the pattern by this time that peeing resulted in flashes of excruciating and unbearable pain). I proceeded to throw up my Raisin Bran breakfast in the bathroom, and I took note that if one knew he was going to vomit, he should eat raisin bran, for the taste was not nearly as repulsive as one might expect whilst vomiting; I dare say it was actually quite pleasant. Anyway, by now, my 8 had become a 10, and I was sent back to a room where I disrobed and was hooked up to a saline IV. At this point I was sweating profusely and shaking uncontrollably from whatever was killing me from the inside. Happily, Dane and his friend Bryce showed up to administer a much needed blessing. Now, I'm not sure if this was just coincidence or if it was a result of the blessing, but immediately after the blessing, the nurse showed up with a dose of morphine. I'm inclined to think the latter was true. I wish I could accurately describe the effect of the morphine on me, but can't. It was something like a Pink Floyd song. Let's just say that I had been convulsing and puking and wanting to die for two hours, and then within seconds of the morphine hitting my veins, I was calm, happy, and quite at peace. It's a truly wonderful drug.

I said "eight" and I got morphine. Ha!

Well, long story short, they did a CAT scan and found a kidney stone trying to move it's way through my ureters. They say that a man passing a kidney stone is much like a woman giving birth. I'm not sure this is accurate. The birth canal is made to stretch and give room for the baby. Ureters don't stretch at all. Plus, I never got no epidural. Morphine, sure. But no epidural. The doc prescribed some percocet for me and basically said, "take this for the pain, and let it run its course."

After 7 days, it finally ran the course. Here's a pic (with a nickel so that you can get a feel for the size):

I wish I had a dime so that it looked bigger. But hey, think about how small your ureters are in the first place. And they tell me this was just an "average" sized stone.

Now I have to give up soda.

Peer Pressure

2008-11-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

I've spent a good chunk of the weekend ignoring the chores and tasks that I typically ignore anyway, but instead of finding the normal excuse to leave the pile of dishes sitting in their squalid glory via guitar playing, football, Throwdown, etc., I found myself pouring over the archived contents of my brother's blog. It was an awakening for me, a truly magnificent change of heart that you think you only read about in the standard works or in pop-culture-teen-loving-vampire-soft-core-pornography like Twilight. I found myself at times with my hand to my chest, tears welling up as my eyes fell over the pulchritudinous prose describing what may seem to him and his wife as the monotonous doldrums of daily life with their kids--yet to me... to me it was as if the mellifluous choirs of heaven had given me a personal concert and my ears kissed by the ethereal lips of the highest seraphim. For hours I dug deep into the bowels of this historical work, pondering the infinite wisdom of Reagan's random musings and wishing I had begun such a work myself to capture and canonize my own son's philosophical observations.

Wishing... only wishing.

And that was when the change of heart came. Much as the Grinch, his feet ice cold in the snow, found within himself the strength not only to love those insufferably nauseating Whoo's, but also to save their over-commercialized gluttonous presents from utter destruction--I, too, was able to overcome my aversion to beginning a blog for our family. And here it is, open for public praise and ridicule alike.

You've been asking for it, and now you've got it. I hope you will not be disappointed.