Of Surfing, Afros, and Raising Daughters, Part II: Where I Go Scuba Diving

A few years ago my husband and I decided to take a vacation to Belize with some friends. A little over a month before our departure I saw my uncle (same uncle, sans afro) and told him of our plans, since he had been to Belize himself. Here is how our conversation went:

Uncle Afro: "Are you going to dive while you're there?"
Me:  "Heck no! There might be fish in that ocean, and, contrary to everything you've learned from Finding Nemo, fish are food, not friends. And don't even get me started on the sharks! Have you seen Jaws?"
Uncle Afro: Well, you've gotta go diving. That's the only thing there is to do there."
Me: (somewhat shocked my fears had been dismissed so easily) uh, okay.

After that kind of pep talk, how could I not learn to scuba dive? I mean, all it would take is overcoming the biggest fear in my life-- because, seriously, I used to wake up in the middle of the night and have anxiety attacks at the thought of jumping out of a boat into the middle of the ocean.

It would also take a lot of babysitting since learning to scuba dive kind of  takes a long time. Who knew? It takes even bigger chunks of time when you have to cram it all into three weeks. And also if you keep popping out of the water when practicing basic skills. (And by "popping out" I mean standing up because the water was only four feet deep at that point and even I am taller than four feet.)

Luckily I had a very patient, though nervous, first time dive instructor (who we liked so much we decided to take him along to Belize with us, but that is another post) and an even more patient friend who somehow doesn't hate me, even though I made our first class in the pool go hours longer than necessary after she had worked all night, was very, VERY tired and really just wanted to go to bed instead of praying I would stay under water for more than ten seconds at a time so we could move on to the next skill.

But, after many hours, a near drowning, some "helpful" moments of being held under water, much carrying of heavy equipment up and down steep hills, and a little puking by my friend, I did it.

And here I am diving in Belize:

That's me 85 feet under water. Taking pictures with a camera that only worked up to 25 feet under water. This picture did not come from that camera. Obviously.

And, you know what else? Fish can be food and friends.

But not sharks. They are just for staying very far away from.

Unless you are my friend Dan who paid to let them gnaw on his arm. But, again, that is another blog post.

Because this post is really about not being afraid of things. Or, rather, not letting fear keep you from doing great things. Like scuba diving. Which still scares me to death, but I know I can do it. And if I can do that scary thing, I can do other scary things.

Like let people read my writing and critique it. That's almost as scary as swimming with sharks.

Okay, maybe scarier.

But I did it. And it turned out to be well worth the risk.

Because the most important thing that comes from me facing my fears is that my daughters, hopefully, won't be afraid to face theirs.

I don't want them to miss out on all the great things life has to offer just because they're afraid of some silly sharks.

P.S. Here's what my afro looked like in Belize:

Better, huh? Still not great though. Also pictured Travis and his awesome wife Paula who can work all night, dive all day and only occasionally barf while she's at it.

Also, here's how brave I got. I went on a night dive with this guy (and a dozen other people, including my husband-- don't get any ideas):

who I'm pretty sure was stoned out of his mind.

Of Surfing, Afros, and Raising Daughters

Here is the problem--okay, one of many-- with raising three girls: there is a lack of good role models for them in the media. So when the movie Soul Surfer came out and my friends with daughters were all like, "you've gotta take your daughters to see this!  It's such a great movie for girls!," I decided I'd better jump on that bandwagon.

I'll be honest, it's kind of a cheesy movie. There were points where my husband and I were pretty sure, even if Bethany didn't surf again, she would probably walk on water. But there were a couple of great messages I wanted my girls to take away from it:

1. Sharks will sometimes bite off your arms, but don't let that stop you from doing what you love.

2. God works through people of all different faiths to perform miracles, as long as they will allow Him to.

3. Serving others is the best way to overcome your trials because you can always find someone else whose life sucks worse than your own.

Here is the message they actually got:

Never, ever go in the ocean, or even to the beach, because a shark WILL eat one of your limbs for lunch. (The shark scene, by the way, is, literally, about two seconds long).

Now, this would not be a problem if we lived in, say, Nebraska. However, about 15 miles from our house is a large body of water--perhaps you've heard of it--called the Pacific Ocean. And I would be very sad if we couldn't go there anymore, because I love it. (To look at, because I'm from a spot on the Snake River in Idaho where we learn to waterski, boat, and ride wave runners ON TOP of the water in order to avoid actually going IN TO it).

So, imagine my relief when Girl 1 decided she wanted to learn to surf. I knew I had to take action fast because she doesn't always want to try new things, especially when it doesn't involve books. Luckily, I have a most awesome uncle who lives in Newport Beach AND surfs AND who I was able to cajole in to passing along his mad surfer skills to my daughter.
Here is the best picture of him ever:

 Taken in 1976. Seriously, how could he not be awesome to pull off that white man's fro?

And here I am in 1990-- because it's only fair I post an embarassing picture of myself now:

Clearly, (a) he was much better able to pull off an afro than I was, and (b) big hair in Idaho never goes out of style.

But here are the most important pictures of all:



That is my daughter saying, "it's okay if there are sharks out there, I'm going to try surfing anyway because I watched a movie about a cool girl who had no fear." And sure, she probably won't ever be a pro surfer ala Bethany Hamilton, but that's not the point. She tried something new--and scary-- so I'm pretty darn proud of her anyway.

And this is Girl 2 who decided she'd better get in on the action too, even without a wetsuit:

Talk about fearless!

Do I have awesome kids or what? They must take after their great-uncle (and his even awesomer wife, who may not surf, but man can she cook. And shop. And decorate. There's a pretty long list, so I'll end there.) 

Hang Ten!



How A Trip To London in 1994 Kept Me From Blogging On Saturday

My plans to blog keep getting thwarted. This past Saturday, I should have been writing something pithy and original-- perhaps even life changing. Something groundbreaking. Like how kids (namely mine) fight in the summer.

Instead I cleaned my kitchen. Partly because one of my kids was stuck to the floor in there for quite some time. But mostly because I invited a friend I hadn't seen in fifteen years to come to my home and thus I had to create the facade that 1) I am a super housekeeper or 2) I am wealthy enough to have a cleaning lady. 

I'm hoping she thinks #2, but not #2 + "she should find a better cleaning lady." But in reality she probably didn't even notice because I forgot to make her go on a tour of my house to show off its cleanliness.

Some of you may know my friend Kelly because she has a very funny blog here. But I knew her first because I met her seventeen years ago when we went to London during the summer of 1994 on a BYU study abroad program. And that was before blogs. Or even the internet (I am purposely not making the requisite Al Gore joke here because I happen to like the man).

And maybe you remember her post that referenced a smokey nine hour bus ride to Scotland -- if not it is here. You should read it.  Then come back here.

All done? Well, I was on that carcinogen loaded bus and, not only do I have the scarred lungs to prove it, but also this picture of us waiting to board the bus:

See that girl with the totally high-tech walkman? That's me. And that other girl rockin' out on her headphones? Not Kelly. It's her sister. But Kelly is the one standing on her left in that cute dress that would sometimes come unbottuned as we were running to plays, or church, or other things you should be on time for.
Also,see that guy standing behind me? I totally made out, held hands, talked about his mission and the best way to get to the Celestial Kingdom on our entire red-eye trip to the land of Scots. Also, I married him about six months later--because how could I resist those sideburns?

So we had a mini-London reunion of sorts, the three of us, plus Kelly's husband-- who we like, despite his not being an original member of the London '94 club-- and 1/5 of her children. We had lots of fun and I liked it when she said we had not changed at all.

But I think she was maybe being nice. Or she is forgetful. Because here we are then:

And this is us now:

And this is the picture I (or maybe somebody else) took of Kelly and Jake (or possibly other people found on Google images under "attractive couple" because I actually forgot to take pictures, but you get the point.):

We would be jealous of their stunning good-looks except that they have added "visit Larsens" to their list of things to do on their yearly vacation to California. Right under "go to San Diego swap meet." Which, they say, is a good thing, so we will trust them and look forward to seeing them again next year.

P.S. Here, Kelly, is the promised picture of the Doc Martens I bought on Carnaby Street. Yours are much cooler. I don't think I would wear these to a U2 concert. But that old lady in the picture might.

The Beatings Will Continue Until Reverence Improves

So I was going to blog more than once last week. But then the first counselor to the bishop (in Mormonese this translates to the main pastor's right hand man) called me on Wednesday night and begged me to "save his bacon" by speaking in church on Sunday. And, even though that only gave me three days-- minus the two spent procrastinating thinking about the topic (which, btw, was speaker's choice)-- I said yes. Mostly because Br. Counselor Man distracted me with the word bacon.

Mmmm, bacon.

Also, did I mention, I just spoke three months ago? So really, I should have been exempt from the task for at least another year.

Luckily, I already had a topic I'd been itching to call people to repentance for, so it wasn't too hard to throw something together last minute.

The topic you ask: Reverence.

And our ward's lack of it.

Which I hadn't really noticed until I went to some other wards and realized that the people at the podium were saying words I could hear, not just moving their mouths.

And my talk went pretty well, considering I didn't get my last run-through in due to the super glue fiasco wherein my fingers were temporarily stuck to the shoe that had to be fixed in order for me to deliver my sermon.

FYI:  Cute shoes are essential when you are about to reign down fire and brimstone.

It probably helped that my talk sounded a lot less judgmental than this post. And maybe it helped that I shared war stories from my own hard fought battles involving reverence and offspring. Like the battle that changed from something akin to that funny quip seen on T-shirts worn by the fashion-challenged that says "the beatings will continue until morale improves" to something closer to "be thou an example."

After I finished speaking there were some standing ovations, requests for autographs, and suggestions that I speak every three months at least (no, thank you). Okay, so maybe it was just the last one, but I did feel a little like the ward rock star. And the egomaniac in me suspects that next week our sacrament meeting will look more like this:


and even the babies will have their arms folded:
*

But the realist in me knows it will probably look like this:

Or worse.

But I could't find a picture depicting that - believe me, I tried- so you'll just have to imagine about 4,000 people--3,900 of whom are screaming/crying/spitting/fighting children -- crammed into one chapel + overflow + cultural hall (which is a silly name for a basketball court) + hallway and you'll have a pretty good idea of what my ward looks like on a typical Sunday.*

But I will be sitting like this:


Because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a hypocrite.


* This is not my baby. I don't currently have one of those, niether have I ever had, nor do I intend to have, a baby of the male persuasion. His arms aren't even that folded. Just used the pic because, who doesn't like a cute baby?

** For my friends who have never been to an LDS sacrament meeting, we are not a mega church so our buildings do not hold 4,000 people at one time. Thus, I may be exaggerating the size of my congregation.

But not by much.

Yesterday I...

stood in gold-flecked sand and let the ocean lap my feet.

lay in the sun. On my stomach. Because my kids are old enough now to not be watched.

took a break between naps to marvel at my ten year old's fearlessness as she rode the waves on her boogie board.

congratulated myself for not passing on my fear of the ocean to her.

thought my three girls would look pretty darn cute in bikinis. But then saw the twenty-somethings next door in their very tiny, almost minuscule, bikinis and changed my mind.

envied those barely-there bikini girls and their perfect tan bodies. Then looked at my girls and forgot about being twenty again.

Today I am...

bribing my kids with TV if they'll fold the clothes while watching.

so happy it's summertime.

loving California.

refreshed.
 

Exciting Things Found In My Bottom Kitchen Drawer

I, like many of you, have drawers in my kitchen. They are very handy for holding things and even more handy at hiding things. For example, my drawer at the bottom of a row (column?) of three other drawers. This is where I keep-- but mostly lose-- kid stuff like crayons, coloring books, times table flash cards and math homework packets (perhaps this is why my kids are no math geniuses).

And I call it (cue ominous dum da dum music) The Drawer.

Every few years, after much yanking and pulling, I will pry that drawer open and think, what the hey, I think I'll clean this puppy out. But maybe not so chipper.

Mostly these moments come when I have something new to lose in the abyss of The Drawer or my children are MIA and won't see me throw things away they have forgotten but from which they will not willingly part. This week, however, the stars aligned so both of these events were in concurrence: no children and new stuff.

I know you're dying to know what I bought for The Drawer, so I will tell you.

More stuff. The educational kind. Because I read that book about the Tiger Mom (or at least the articles about the book) and decided to get in on that whole make-your-kids-be-successful-so-it-looks-like-you're-a-pro-mom thing.

Thus my little soon-to-be-smarty-pants tiger cubs and I went to the learning store where they sell lots of teachery things and when you walk in you think  I could totally home-school but then you remember that would entail your kids being at home with you trying to school them instead of enjoying a kidless breakfast with your friends. And so you come to your senses and decide to just buy them stuff that is hard enough to make them super smart but easy enough to do without parental help.

A hundred dollars later you walk out of the store with a bag that is almost as light as your now empty wallet and think, These kids dang well better turn out smarter than their mother. But maybe with more curse words thrown in, if you're me anyway, because they don't count if they're in your head.

Of course I needed somewhere to store all of our fantastic new braniac products in those rare moments when my little Einsteins won't be using them this summer and the most logical place for that is The Drawer.

And so I cleaned it. And here are the interesting things I found:

* Slightly used, but still in good condition, with hardly any marks on the pages, workbooks from the
Tiger Moms R Us store, purchased in summers past.

*  Many, many, and I do mean many, gallon size plastic baggies. I was wondering where those had got off to.

*  Enough broken crayons, dried-out markers, nubby colored pencils, and glueless glue sticks to fill each of those thousand baggies. Twice.

*  Gift certificates for free food items at various local restaurants we don't frequent due to love for our clog-free arteries.  Given to my children by said producers of processed "food" as rewards for reading books. So they can be both fat and nerdy. (In case you're wondering, I did not throw them away because I'll use them in a pinch when I don't feel like cooking. I call those days summer).

* The notepad I bought for a dollar at Michaels months ago because I liked the witty quip on it and I needed somewhere cute to write my grocery and to do lists. The forgotten quip was not nearly as witty as I remembered, but still wittier than the "I Sell Houses" quip on the notepad I have been using. Though that one was $1 cheaper.

There were lots of other fun things in there too, but I'm sure your drawer has the same stuff.  If not, I will dig my drawer crap out of the garbage to send to you. Shipping and handling not included.

In the meantime, I am going to bask in the joy of The Drawer's cleanliness.

At least until tomorrow when my kids get home.

The Sound of Silence

Listen...

Do you hear it?

That, my friends, is the sound of silence (cue Simon and Garfunkle background music).

"But, what have you done with the children?" you ask.

Well, I left them in Las Vegas. And--to answer your next question about what kind of mother leaves her children in the City of Sin-- the kind who has saintly in-laws willing to keep them for a week.

So what am I going to do with my kid-free week?  Well, since you asked (you're just chock full of questions today) here is my list:

* Clean and organize all of my closets
* Make my garden grow -- the food plants in it, not the weed ones (that part I've mastered)
* Pay the bills and make a budget that will magically make it easier to afford to pay the bills
* Throw away all the crap my kids have collected-- and forgotten-- but can't possibly live without if they see it in the trash
* Turn our garbage dump back into a garage
* Not eat the dozen Bundtlets from Nothing Bundt Cakes that are in my fridge
* Fill the water barrels. Because it's been two years and they are not going to fill themselves
* Learn how to use my food storage
* Get some food storage
* Write a book

Here is what I have actually accomplished:

* Eaten only two bundtlets
* Stared at a blank computer screen
* Surfed (the internet)
* Got a pedicure
* Had lunch with friends

Mostly though, I have sat in my too quiet house trying to enjoy the silence, but really just missing the noise. 

... Maybe not the fighting noise though.

...Yeah, definitely not missing that.