Category: Blogolicious

It’s great to have a child in your home taking a critical thinking class. Sure, he’ll be an adult in three weeks. And sure, I’ve probably enjoyed helping him too much. And sure, there’s been  seven million essays he’s needed to write. Aside from all the “sures” though. It’s been a very positive experience.

Our brains are ridiculous. We’re always thinking (even in those instances when our actions make it hard to believe we were thinking). But we don’t give a lot of thought to how we think.  Critical thinking skills are underrated. They are necessary for so much, especially situations where there’s more than one way to tackle a situation, and no guarantee for how each potential solution will pan out. You know, situations like peopling and child welfare.

Sharpening that critical thinking saw is so important because as decisions play themselves out, you REALLY need to know how you came to the conclusions that you did. There’s more than a fair amount of difference between human-ing and things like mechanic-ing. You have an interaction, as it unfolds, you are presented with decision trees in real time. Like a “choose your own adventure” book but without that added awesomeness that if you don’t like the selection you made, you just turn back a couple pages and make the other choice. Many, MANY times, I’ve found that being able to describe for others how I made the decisions I did is equally important to the decision itself

Mechanic-ing, making, and the like are by no means simple, but they makes sense. And you know if what you’ve tried actually works. It may no longer be the case, but for a long while the Caterpillar manuals had a quote “Engine cranks, but will not fire. See page 17.” This became a family quote for us. I even wrote it in to a set of wedding vows for a wedding I officiated. It articulates that there is a specific problem with defined solutions. Best thing is, you know instantly whether or not page 17 was helpful.

I envy those with the gifts in those areas. That is certainly not my lot. This one time, I wanted to re-paint the boys bunk beds. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t get any paint on Brian’s truck. I covered it with drop cloth. He appreciated the gesture, but asked why I hadn’t just pulled the truck out of the garage before painting. Because my degrees are not in common sense, that’s why (eye roll emoji!)

So, when it’s time to tune something up, fix something, build something….it’s crickets in my land. Came home from work the other day to see Dan elbow deep in some truck project. He was addressing the whole “you can roll down more than one window at a time, but they only roll up one at a time.” And, “make sure you turn on the driving light switch before you try to turn on the radio.”

I asked if there was anything I could do to help. I haven’t heard young Daniel laugh that hard in a while. I guess it wasn’t the kind of project that needed someone to, say, turn on the blinker while someone else looked to see if it was working. I’m really good at that job. BUT, someone need some words? Or maybe a funny story? Mom gets called from the bench.

It was great to sit with Dirty and learn how he thinks about things for his essays. He’s got lots of words too. As we worked on one he said, “I’m pretty good at bullshit, but you’re even better.” Thanks (?)

As I clean the hay out of my purse (not a metaphor) I’ve happened upon opportunity to reflect on the whole junior livestock thing.

Have you ever been to the fair or a junior livestock auction and wondered what it’s all about? It’s about kids busting their butts to see something through to completion. It’s about the circle of life and understanding where your food comes from and what responsibilty we have to the creatures whose purpose is to sustain us. It’s about a community that strongly believes in nurturing these values in our future generations.

The Adams family started with the junior livestock program as early as allowed. Daniel was 9 when he took his first lamb to fair. It was wild to see a 9 yr old do all the work necessary without complaint. His first lambs were named Dan and Lois, after the breeders.

To be able to grow and show an animal, you must spend a lot of time with them. Months of twice daily interaction. Walks, sheering, washing, etc. As it got closer, I worried how he’d handle saying goodbye. The children walk their animals to the pen where they will be picked up and transported to where they will be butchered. He walked his lamb there, then walked back with an empty halter. I braced for tears. There weren’t any, so I guess my eyes decided to take that on. “Mrs. Adams are you okay?” said the well intentioned teen girl. Out loud I said yes, but in my head I hoped the child would stop trying to comfort adult me.

We powered through, and were eager to keep on with projects. Daniel remained in the sheep group. He was the only boy. The leader would often call to the children, “Girls,…and Daniel…”

As soon as Dirty was old enough, he took lambs too. Even though they are brothers (with all the strife that entails) they worked well-ish together. I smile when I see the pictures from those times. Especially the ones where they had to walk their sheep before it was fully light outside.  

Over time, we learned that Daniel did better when we stayed out of his way. We learned that Dirty really wanted nothing to do with sheep, and so he merged into taking steers. And even though this meant a LOT more work for him, he continued to rise to the responsibility. His work season around the project now lasted about 8 months (sorry for that much bovine sharing a fence with your beautiful backyard Ms. Powers). He did great every year. It’s quite something special to see a young’n who’s personal weight was never more than 170 during his years of the projects use good old herd animal psy ops to control a 1,300 pound animal. The care he gave his steers rivaled some of the best spas in town, I’m certain.

But like all things, family fair time has  come to an end . Gone are the days of nagging about buyers letters. No more angst about animal departure. No more worries about the sale. No more animals to get to know. No more buyers baskets to be made. I’ve ironed my last pair of white wranglers.

The projects taught Daniel and Dirty so much. They also taught me a great deal about the capacity of my boys to take on very tough tasks. I’m very proud of all that they accomplished and so incredibly thankful we live in a place that has such an opportunity.  And while I’m bummed the fair time is officially over, I’m excited for whatever is next. Plus, I really eat like a trash panda on fair weeks. Time for that to be DONE. (Literally, 2 nights I ate 1/4 pound of fudge for dinner. Who does that?!)

Thanks for reading, and if you know of folks involved in, or who’ve bought from, a junior livestock auction, please extend my most sincere thanks!

“The only things you HAVE to do are eat and shit,” my dad (date unknown)

If you want to be “that guy” and retort “technically, you also need water…” or whatever, move along. This post isn’t for you. But know that in doing so, you’ll have benefited from the message behind his sage words. The power and freedom of choice.

I don’t know why my dad said what he did. I may have even misheard it since that’s a special skill of mine. Maybe he was going for a #DadJoke before #DadJokes were a thing. I’m also not entirely sure if my dad meant the statement to have the lasting impact that it did, but man! What a paradigm shifter!

“I have to work this specific job so I can pay this specific mortgage.” Sure, it’s totally true. But what’s also true is I COULD chose to not have a mortgage. I COULD chose to not have a home at all. The only things I really HAVE to do are eat and (you know).

When you think about a time you felt trapped in whatever, or you saw someone who felt trapped, you know what that struggle is like. You don’t make your best decisions. You feel chronically beat down. You can’t even imagine a better circumstance or if you can, you may be paralyzed by the fear of making a change. Give yourself the gift of knowing that there’s really only a couple things you HAVE to do.

An example is employment (please don’t misunderstand…I am not at all complaining about my job). Jobs are hard. That’s why we’re paid to do them. And, jobs can absolutely feel like a “have to” circumstance. I don’t have any intention to seek a different job, but it’s important to me to know that I could get one if I wanted. We all could. What this knowledge does for me is reminds me that I’m choosing my circumstance every day. I could choose different circumstances. I’d like to think that I could maybe even go back to waiting tables if I chose. Sure, the service would be a LOT slower as I tried to social work every customer, but maybe I could still do it. I’ll likely never try to flex that muscle, but knowing there are choices is often enough.

“We’re going to go see Booksmart,” I say to Dan and Chase.

“We were thinking of seeing that too. That or John Wick 3,” he replies.

I take in a big amount of air in preparation for my review.

“Oh that’s right. Crystal didn’t like it,” he tells Chase.

I’m taking a nano second to prepare my defense. “I’ve got high standards for movies.” “Crystal’s really critical of movies,” overlaps my words.

“The first time I learned what the middle finger meant was when she got pissed off at how Pirates of the Caribbean ended. We lived in the Red Bluff house. She got up and flipped off the TV.” I hoped I could come up with some alternate explanation for what he thought he saw, but backed down. It sounds like something I would’ve done.

I’m not sure why I like movies as much as I do. I think it has to do with appreciating that someone’s brain can come up with things that my brain likes. Movies are a universal language for me. It’s not that I can’t trust you if you aren’t a movie buff. I understand that not everyone’s brain works like mine; you know, I can’t remember where I left my keys but I remember almost the entirety of Monty Python’s Holy Grail verbatim. But, I will certainly feel more quickly connected to you if I randomly blurt “Negative Ghost Rider” and you retort with “The pattern is full.”

But about how John Wick 3 sucked,…If you’re thinking maybe I’m not the intended audience, I would disagree. I fiercely enjoy violence in film. For instance, I liked Pulp Fiction so much that as soon as it wrapped up in my living room, I popped the VHS copy of it out and drove directly to my parents’ home and watched it again with them.

I took a creative writing class while at Shasta College (inaudible number) of years ago. One of the most important take-aways  for me is that there really isn’t “good” and “bad” when it comes to creative expression. There’s just stuff that speaks to you and stuff that doesn’t. John Wick 3 did not speak to me.  There was too much patronizing for my taste. Too many comments made with what seemed like the intention that it would become a catchphrase. And don’t even get me started on the whole Halle Berry making it like a buddy movie. I don’t want to watch John Wick and Co. I want the enchantment that was the original John Wick.

The upside was, I was there with my brother Josh who also has expectations and standards for movies. I really wanted the movie to be good. It wasn’t.

Wasn’t almost weirder though is that no one is complaining about it. Why?

Several days later,  I get a phone call. Josh doesn’t call. Crap. This can’t be good. I answer with an alarmed, “What’s up?”

        “Why is nobody talking about how bad that movie was?”

        My heart restarts, “Yea. I don’t fucking know.”

He tells me a parallel that rivals an SAT question; John Wick 3 was to John Wick as Boondock Saints 2 was to Boondock Saints. I completely get it. They should’ve quite while they were ahead. They tired too much of a good thing.

I rest easy in knowledge that there’s other people who get it. And now,….I’ll have to ask him for what his thoughts were on the Pirates of the Caribbean ending (bwah ha!) he b�LJ`+

You know that feeling? That one that you get when you’ve made a poor driving decision and find yourself needing to, say, turn left from West Street on to Placer? Your timing has to be precise or it’ll end in disaster.

That’s a lot what it’s like to try to parent Dirty.

Young Derek is about as strong willed and opinionated as they come. I doubt that there’s any thoughts he keeps to himself. Being responsible for growing humans, you kind of want them to reflect some of the values you hold true. While I’m incredibly proud of how both my humans have turned out, young Derek gives me ample opportunity to consider practicing some behavior modification tactics.

Any given conversation has a number of chances where I can hop in. Maybe add a corrective “we don’t say that” or “I’m sure you don’t mean….” But if I tried to jump on every one, I’m fully aware that my voice would start to sound exactly like an indiscriminate and annoying buzzing that won’t go away. So I have to choose wisely and make sure it’s worth it.

This isn’t a new constant internal conversation for me. The boy was maybe 7 when he decided that he’s principally opposed to Walmart store brands. He’d independently determined that if Great Value cereal looked just like cheerios that the cheerio people were suffering. 7. We have no idea where this came from. It’s not like we’re a family sustained by the lucrative cheerio dynasty or anything.

The deep voice, that is intermittently enunciated, starts. “Crystal. I had to get de-zel. I only had cash so I had to go to Sunshine. I knew what the crowd was going be like at 10 o’clock on a school night…”

I feel like I’m back in car. My seat belt is on. My eyes dart left and right. I worry about making a scene in front of the other cars that are waiting behind me. Why is he out at 10 on a school night? What’s he going to say about the gas station?

“Then some guy…” The story continues. I let some questionable things go. It looks like in this one, I just decided to turn right on Placer and find another route.

The great news is, it’s Dirty. I KNOW I’ll get another chance to work on it.

Happy Mother’s Day!

(This blog entry is brought to you by caffeine and cookies)

I think everyone should have a challenge. Ways to push themselves to grow. The whole “blah blah if it doesn’t challenge you it won’t change you” mantra makes total sense to me.

Soooo,…I looked for a challenge, and boy did I find it in trying to see if I could be a competition body builder.

Over the last 12 weeks I’ve worked my a** off both literally and figuratively. I lost 17 pounds. My body fat changed from 20.72% to 11.2%. I learned how to walk in 6 inch stilettos. I got my first spray tan. I set new PRs on my back squats. I hip thrusted 275 pounds! I ate no less than 84 boiled eggs, and completed no less than 126 workouts. I practiced my poses, a lot. I measured every meal, and even packed food when traveling or being gone from my house for more than a couple hours.

There were days when I felt absolutely ready. Days when I see myself in that sparkly micrometer of fabric and think “Damn! Who IS that?!” Days where I couldn’t wait to get out there and metaphorically say “look what we made!”

There were also days when I would see some of the other women as they are working just as hard and nearly started to panic. I don’t look like them. Am I going to embarrass myself? Is it going to be one of those awkward situations where my friends and family have to try to build me back up with comments about “you’re good at charts” or “think how good your credit score is”?

It all made me think a lot about body image stuff. Between lifting and posing practice, I bet I’ve seen myself in a mirror even more than even young Dirty sees himself. (Seriously, any reflective surface and he’s flexing in it). It’s been incredible to watch parts change. I had no idea there were so many veins  in a stomach. But I also started to hyper focus. Are there too many veins in my stomach? I want just a little more blah here, just a little less blah here. It made me a little sad. I didn’t enter this to feel anything but good about myself. It made me worry that I was veering off course.

I had sooooo much support. Family (*), friends, coworkers, new bikini friends. *The boys were kind of supportive. They tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, which I get. Who wants to think of their 47 year old mom in a rhinestone thong? But they also didn’t get in the way of it. Once, Dirty poked my tricep. That’s teen boy for “I’ve noticed you’re making gains here. Great job!”

I would have loved to win for my biggest supporters. Bring home some epic piece of weaponry hardware. That’s not how it happened. Mad props to the winners. They earned it. I was second in a division of three, and didn’t place in a division of five. And for the briefest of moments I was feeling bad about myself. Now I was REALLY off course. If I wasn’t me but saw me feeling bad for me, I’d want to throat punch me. I built a body I wanted, and still thought it wasn’t enough. It doesn’t get much more unhealthy than that.

So what to do with that negative energy? Duh! Go work out. It helped me remember that the journey was the purpose all along. I entered this to give me a target, some very specific focus to my workouts and diet. I wondered if I could, and then I did. I’ve got no shame in that game. Also, have you seen my abs!? (bwah ha!)

I learned a lot during this. I learned how food and stupid cardio can change your world. I was reminded of the value of leaning on experts. I learned new lifts to attain very specific results. (I very highly recommend the folks that worked with. Tell them your health goal, they will get you there.) I was coached to being the most lean with the most amount of muscle I’ve ever attained. I learned that even though I possess the discipline to prep for this, I could also still succumb to harmful self comparisons. But; in the end, I took my dangerous, outsider self out there and showed my work. (Just like in algebra tests in high school, but in rhinestones).

So, I did a body building competition. Am I a competition body builder, meh? Even though I veered off course a little, was it worth it? Absolutely! This is up there with some of the other amazing experiences in my life where I’ve walked away with “no ragrats.” Not even one letter.

They have the same genetic material. They were raised together and as “the same” as two brothers can be. Despite this, they are two vastly different people. Sure, they have some similarities. Both have a strong work ethic. Both are smart AF.

Annnndddd,…that’s about it.

Today was prom. While Dirty’s prep was nothing like a young lady’s, he was still intentional/stressed out. Hair had to be on point, muscles needed to be pumped, mirror needed to be looked in (A LOT!), calls were made to dad to check his status because Dirty wanted to leave early. He’d spent the past week calculating the costs and crunching numbers. He’d planned his tux weeks in advance.

Both boys were expected to roll out about the same time. Dirty had to have his brakes pumped. ‘Don’t leave early. Your brother is almost here.” His jaw flexes as he looks about to burst. He’s that “Being on time is being late” type of guy.

Daniel arrives. As chill as a person can be. Stops brielfy for a couple pictures. Then quietly goes off to his room and grabs a tux. “Dude! You rented a tux?!” We had no idea. Daniel just does stuff. He doesn’t need other people to know or attention about it. He refused to wear the tie. “They gave me a clip on tie. What? Do they think that a 20 yr old doesn’t know how to tie a double Windsor know?” Yea Danny. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what they think. “I don’t know what to do with my hair.” “Well, want me to put it in a half pony for you?” He did. I think. He’s so easy going, it’s hard to tell what he wants. But when it’s one of the things he’s passionate about, there’s no barrier for him whatsoever. Dude wanted to move to Stockton and go to school just a few weeks after high school. So much could’ve got in the way. But, it’s Daniel. And he wanted it. So without any surprise and very little support, he’s just a few weeks away from an AA degree. Completed with the same look of ease he’s always go. His entire fancy date prep took less time than Dirty took to do his hair.

After the prom exodus, Brian and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. How? How are they so different?

I love how different they are. They are both amazing young men who have their own unique way of being and doing. They are both out having what I can only hope are memorable and very safe nights. They are an example of how there’s ore than one way to reach a goal.

Now, lets see if they can both reach the goal of cleaning those gawd awful rooms of theirs.

My eyes pop open. My brain lights up. Thinking about a million things. As the designated person who sleeps on the passenger side of the bed in my marriage, I can’t reach the phone or watch to see the time. I make the choice to be “that guy” I wait for the slightest rustle from Brian before quietly, but not so quietly asking “what time is it?” He laughs, “It’s CrossFit time.”

That’s right. Not a chance of a workout in sight, but still my subconscious self was like “Get up. Time to go to the gym. Or the other gym. Or the other other gym.”

Unstructured time is my enemy. I wish it weren’t so. I’m hopeful that at some point I’ll be able to chill with effectiveness. I imagine my enemy like a fierce looming monster who politely says “No worries, I’ll come back another time” as soon as I use my special powers in defense. I food prep for the day, my nemesis cowers. I do the laundry, he runs in fear. “Take that!” I proverbially declare as I go to the post office and get the bills which I pay and then input my chart.

So many times the only differences between a characteristic that’s a strength or one that’s a weakness is the degree to which, or the situations in which we use them. Having unstructured time as an enemy is the thing that makes it so I can cram so much in to my days. But,…it’s also a thing that makes me a challenge to live with. 

For instance, a low quiet voice just came from the dark in the hotel room, “Crystal. Do you really have to type so much right now?” I’ll stop. Dirty has a busy couple days ahead. A full day of orientation, then dropping off in Fresno so he can compete in an FFA contest, then drive back to town and rest up so he can take care of his steer and get in a couple workouts. He’s just like his father. (Bwah ha!}