Lucky Me

swim . bike . run

When Steve and I first were married, I tried to encourage Steve to run with me. "I am not a runner. My body type is not meant to run. Runners have a thin, smaller build. My body does not run," is what I heard in various forms right up until the day he entered the St. George Marathon lottery with Matt Perkins. Ever since, Steve has been a runner. It wasn't long before he added swimming and then biking to his repertoire, which naturally led to competing in triathlons. I thought that we were just humming along, entering an event here and there, until I found out that he had signed up for the Ford Ironman in St. George. Just over 400 days ago, the ticker was set, and on the turn of a dime, Steve began working out twice a day. He would swim in the morning and run at lunch or bike all day and then change into his running shorts and go out for a ten mile run. Surely this madness would end. It can't be sustained, I thought. I should have known better. Marching ahead, Steve increased his workouts and checked off personal goals, such as competing in half ironman triathlons and other local races. With just over a day left before the big race, Steve has lost between 35 and 40 pounds and is prepared to swim 2.4 miles in open water, ride 112 miles up and down the hills of Southern Utah and run 26.2 miles to the finish line. I am so proud of Steve. In the process of defining himself as an Ironman, he has taught our family dedication, courage, persistence, humility, ambition, athleticism and healthy living. How lucky I am to have met this "non-runner" 18 years ago.

Forty-Two

I am not a big shopper. In fact, I am usually a point A to point B in fifteen minutes or less type of shopper. However, Steve and I recently left the kids at home and went to the mall. Over the past year Steve has shrunk right out of his clothes. After too many runs and swims to count, his suits hung two inches over his shoulders and his neck shot straight out of his shirt, leaving an inch around his collar. On Sunday mornings Steve would emerge from the closet with his sport coat looking more like a double breasted jacket. He would flash me a grin, hoping for a vote of confidence. I would shake my head and send him back in the closet for a change. So when we arrived in the men's department at Nordstrom, Steve walked right past the 46 rack, the size he abandoned months before. He slowed at the 44s and began fingering the jackets. He pulled out a pin stripe in charcoal grey and a herringbone blazer. A man with grey hair combed across his scalp and glasses perched on the end of his nose, gentile in nature, introduced himself as the sales associate. Steve held up a classic two button tweed. The man raised one eyebrow. "Sir, our selection of 42s would be a more suitable fit for you." He pulled out an Abboud and a Hart Shaffner Marx. "With your slim body type, you really should choose a European line. The US brands are just too boxy for men like you." Steve and I glanced at each other, with a glimmer in our eyes. "You need something tapered in the waistline." Steve and I hid our smiles. "Trim men like yourself really should be fitted for a jacket. Many of these brands are just going to have too much material in them for you." Steve chose a grey wool with a fine stripe. He paid the bill and we walked out of the store, leaving his new suit to be fitted, size forty-two.

Twelve

This year was a milestone in our lives. Emilie turned twelve. Everything seems to have changed. Junior high began, Young Womens consumes us, we have a babysitter in our house and parenting seems more like friendship. Celebrating this event began early on March 31st, before the sun rose. Emilie was to be picked up at 6:35 in the morning for Select Choir, so that meant the waffles had to begin by 5:45. Unfortunately, it also meant that along with her breakfast in bed, Emilie was serenaded by her mother's solo instead of a room full of Eberts wishing her year well. After school, Emilie and I spent the afternoon at the mall, shopping for plaids, Converses, summer shorts and flip flops, lip glosses and earrings. We met the rest of the family for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory and then departed in different directions.

For several weeks I had kept it secret that the Young Women were coming to "heart attack" Emilie's room while we were out to dinner. Despite obstacles, we were able to keep their plan a secret. I brought Emilie back home to a silent house. She flipped off her shoes and then casually went to her room. Just as she turned on her light, her young women friends jumped out and shouted, "Happy Birthday!"Emilie covered her face and screamed. Clearly the secret was a surprise! The chitter chatter began and the Young Women leaders eventually had to pull the girls back to their cars. Emilie's room was plastered with hearts and her favorite candies, Lindt chocolates, Toblerones and Kit Kats, were scattered about. I knew that Young Women's would be a wonderful place for Emilie.

We ended the night with four different slices of cheesecake to share, songs of Happy Birthday and gifts to unwrap that had been shipped from across the country.

What a wonderful birthday Emilie had.

Irish for a Day

Growing up, St. Patrick's Day was always an event in our house. After all, it was my mother's birthday, so she relished in everything green. I remember the green milk for breakfast, the corned beef for dinner, the green carnations that my grandfather always sent her and the tradition of wearing green to bed so that my sister and I couldn't pinch each other early in the morning.

In our home, St. Patrick's Day is still greatly anticipated and this year was no different. The Saturday before, the kids invited friends over to decorate sugar cookies. By the time we were finished, candy sprinkles dusted the counter tops and frosting dripped to the floor, but what was most important was that each girl walked out the door with a plate of green cookies to share and a big smile on her face.

When the kids stumbled out of bed on the 17th, I had already been up baking green waffles and whipping green cream. I pulled my leprechaun magic trick on the entire family and, as always, the older kids rolled their eyes while the little ones' jaws dropped in amazement. In a clear glass I carefully dropped one drip of green food coloring in the bottom of the glass. I made sure that each child was watching as I poured white milk from the container into their glass. As soon as the milk began to fill the glass it turned green. A leprechaun has been in the house I said, with awe.

The kids asked early in the day if we were having corned beef and cabbage for dinner. Of course, was my reply. Corned beef, cabbage with bacon, potatoes and Irish bread was served this year. During dinner, Jonathan read Irish limericks, I explained again who St. Patrick was, why we wear green and pinch each other and why the potato famine in Ireland brought so many Irish families to Boston, including many of their friends' families.

With busy schedules and constant routines, we welcomed a good holiday to celebrate.

A Bad Deed

One piece of advice that is routinely given to new mothers, babysitters and grandparents is that if the house is too quiet, a disaster is brewing. Such was the case with Ezra a few weeks ago. I was scurrying about, cleaning out cupboards and closets, focused on getting my home ready to proudly display to perspective buyers. I was making such progress, or so I thought. I realized that the house was silent and it was tempting to scrub on, taking advantage of the moment, but I eyed Ezra's door closed, which drew my attention. By the time I pried open the locked door, Ezra had stashed his evidence, which was an empty bottle of bright red fingernail polish. However, what could not be hidden were the quarter sized crimson stains marking a path from his door into the center of his room.

Ezra immediately knew that he had a mad mom. (Fortunately it was a veteran mad mom who happened to have removed bright red fingernail polish before.) I knew I would laugh later, so I grabbed the camera. Then I brought in the scissors and carefully cut the tops off of each strand of carpet that had been doused in the paint. Several hours later, when I was wiping the last polish from the furniture, Ezra showed me the real disaster. He had taken the remaining polish and dumped it down the front of the house. Blood red streaks ran from the top story to the foundation. It is amazing how much damage a small bottle of crimson red fingernail polish can do.

*This reminded me of the time we put our house up for sale in Millcreek. Hours before the sign was to be pounded into the dirt, Annelise painted herself black and ran around the house, doing somersaults and cartwheels on our new basement carpet and freshly cleaned white carpet upstairs. Stains can still be seen in the current photos of the house! I am indeed a veteran mother.

Happy 60th

Happy Birthday, Mom!

We Love you!

March 17th

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For Mom's birthday, all 20 family members wrote a letter and created a visual page to be compiled into a book. The book arrived just in time for her birthday, being wisked across the country and delivered on the 17th. We wish that we could have all been in Utah to celebrate!

Heart Day

Our Traditions

fancy dinner

heart ice cubes

sparkling apple cider

heart boxes of chocolates

hand written letters of love to each child

heart shaped cheesecake with sliced strawberries

I LOVE YOU

Steve . Emilie . Jonathan . Annelise . Sophia . Ezra . Mia

Go Colts

I really didn't have a pro football team to call my own, but somewhere along the way my nine year old son became a fanatic Colts fan, so I guess that made me one too. Last year for Christmas he saved up his money and bought Ezra a Colts jersey to match his own.

So this year when the Colts made it into the Superbowl, our house was full of Manning talk and Tom Brady banter. Since our team was playing in the big game, a celebration was definitely in the works. I took orders for the kids' favorite finger foods and put BBQ pork in the crock pot.

The cake was being made and the drinks were chilling in the freezer. Suddenly the phone rang. Jonathan's friend from Indianapolis was having a big football bash. Would Jonathan like to come over and watch the game, he wondered. Steve and I paused and looked at each other. Since we are flexible and our house was more about the party than the actual game on TV, we figured that we would just move our party up a few hours. Who needed the Superbowl anyway? We could party without the Saints raining on our parade. Our celebration began and ended before the first big commercials even hit the airwaves.

Jonathan was picked up and enjoyed two parties while we put the kids to bed early and watched the game alone in a quiet house with five sleeping babies.