DUCKS VS BEAVERS

Ducks vs. Beavers

On a day like today I thought it only appropriate to write about the pending civil war game between the University of Oregon Ducks and the Oregon State Beavers.

It is amazing to me how as fans we are so excited and so proud of our teams, on the way to dropping my daughter off at preschool, I was surrounded by cars with flags, stickers, even license plates showing allegiance to one team or another and it got me thinking…

There is nothing in this world that people brag or support as much as sports teams. They indeed unite us but they also divide us. I suppose this is a wonderful thing, bringing people together, supporting our economy and giving people plenty to talk about and of course argue about.

As I saw the multitudes of black and orange and yellow and green I also thought…how sad. How sad that this is what we choose to honor, this is what we vote with our dollars as the most important aspect of our day, week, month, year and for some people - their lives.

Imagine if the people in this nation supported other causes the way we support our sports teams. Imagine if we all decided to support feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless or even our elementary school children and their education and future success the way we support our sports teams. What an amazing culture we would live in. I just wonder what it would be like to see 15,000 cars on the road with stickers that shouted out “Stop hunger.” Or “support our troops”, even if we are totally against the real war going on in this world. All of the dollars going to supporting causes that really matter, that change lives, that give life… it’s almost unfathomable to think of the change that could occur.

I of course am not saying we should give up our allegiances, I’m saying, let’s put it into perspective. I’m saying maybe just maybe we should support something that will matter 50-100-1,000 years down the road.

So do we have backward morals? Are we so obsessed that we seriously spend millions a year on watching a simple game? What would happen if we as Americans and fans decided to support something more important? Would we lose out on the bonding and camaraderie that sports give us? Would we gain something so much more valuable, that could affect so many more lives in a positive way?

I know, I know, why am I worried and actually spending time writing this? It’s just a game, it’s important to support our teams… I’m probably over thinking it… why can’t I just have fun and let loose and root for my team?

I guess it’s because to me, it is just a game. I know that the money spent per ticket to this event could feed a family for at least a week. I know that a soldier overseas could use a gift from home; I know that hundreds of thousands of people in this nation don’t have homes, let alone TVs to watch this simple game on. I know that if we used all the money from ticket sales, advertising, stadiums, even beer purchases we could build literally thousands of orphanages around the world.

Sounds a bit dramatic to some, I’m sure, and maybe the benign nature of sports is something good to keep us enthusiastic about life, but maybe if we were using our resources to support causes that make a difference we wouldn’t need sports to fill that void.

It’s just a thought; don’t let it offend you if you are a die-hard fan. Just maybe when you’re watching the game tonight think about all those people in the stands and all the people around the state who are united by a simple game… and ask yourself, “why can’t we get this excited about supporting causes that create change? Why are we choosing to ignore all the horrible things that we could change in just one day if we were dedicated to doing so?”

I know it’s easier to drink our beer, wave our foam fingers and paint our faces, I know it’s fulfilling to watch our team make it to the end zone…and I also know that something has to be missing, deep down, that allows us to choose supporting our sports teams more than we support other human beings around the world.

What Happened To Yogi?

After posting my last blog about our dog Indiana, I received quite a few questions as to the whereabouts of our dog Yogi.

I should start at the beginning so I make more sense, this is quite an emotional topic for me, filled with both laughter and so many tears, but ultimately it is a story worth sharing.

We adopted Yogi when I was 19; I had just had the majority of my right ovary removed, due to a large cyst. Due to all the scar tissue my doctor wasn’t confident in my ability to have children. Hearing this news was devastating for me, I had always dreamed of having children, and thus went into a deep depression. Part of my healing was adopting a pet, to fill the void left from the potential of not being able to have my own children.

Yogi was a German Sheppard- Chow Mix; he looked just like a dingo. In his kennel at the shelter he was the only dog who wasn’t barking, he was huddled in the back of the kennel, leaning against the cement wall, and looked as though he had lost all hope. He had tufts of hair missing, from a bad case of mange. His paws were blistered and hairless, due to being left in his own feces for far too long, indeed any amount of time in one’s faces is too long! His nose was scabbed over, and scars dotted his golden face. This dog had been through the wringer; even with his thick coat we could see his ribs. I instantly fell in love with this abused and beaten being.

We took him home, and quickly realized that he had major issues. For one he was terrified of all men, brooms, fishing poles, anything long and slender seemed to instantly create panic in him, clearly his past was filled with torture from some sort of stick or rod. When our first visitor came to meet him, we realized that he was a submissive wetter; as soon as someone would reach down to pet him he would wet everywhere. He couldn’t tell the difference between a loving hand and a hand being used to hurt. He was a biter, never an attacker but when he was afraid he would snap, when he did this you could tell he felt bad, but his fears were obviously overbearing and controlling his actions.

With all of these negatives one might think that we would hate him. It was a lot of work keeping him inline, and a lot of times he got out of line, but for David and me every time one of his flaws would shine through we would instead place that hatred to the owner who had abused him. Yogi deserved nothing but our love, his previous owner was the one we would curse beneath our breath.

Yogi eventually became part of the family, soon Indiana joined us and they were best friends, constantly wrestling and playing, we took them everywhere, they were our children. They were the perfect team also, I recall several occasions where one would stand watch and distract David and I while the other ate something off the counter. Yogi was a chewer too, everything from my friends mouth guard to my underwear (still don’t know what was up with that!)

Six years and a lot of surgeries later I became pregnant. We were both shocked, what a wonderful miracle. I know most people think, “Oh once kids arrive the dogs don’t matter.” That wasn’t true for us, we included the dogs in everything still and it was wonderful, until Madi started crawling. Yogi had nipped at her once and so I began separating them whenever she was on the floor, this worked well for a long time, until one day when she had first learned to walk, she chased him with the remote, in a panic he turned on her and grabbed a hold of her cheek, leaving a huge gash. Yogi immediately cowered, knowing he had messed up, just not realizing how badly.

At the doctor’s office we were informed that since he bit her on the face we would need to get rid of him. However this task was made more challenging by the fact that he was now “un-adoptable.” We quarantined him for the required two weeks and made arrangements to have him put to sleep. He was twelve years old, had a few health issues and the thought of him biting someone else’s child, or worse freaked us out. The entire time I still felt as though it was his abuser that deserved this death sentence. Due to him being a “fear biter” we were told by many trainers that we couldn’t train it out of him, nothing would stop him when he was terrified.

I made arrangements for him to be cremated; I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing his lifeless body. David took him and held his paw as the injection was done, he watched him drift off. I can’t even fathom the pain he still feels over that moment. My only reassurance was that he was in a better place now. A place where he couldn’t hurt anyone, a place where no one could hurt him.

We thought this was the worst part of the experience, we were wrong.

A few days after David took Yogi to the vet the vet’s office called me and asked when I was going to pick up Yogi’s body. I was confused and frustrated, because the mortuary was supposed to pick up his body to cremate him. The vet’s office had no record of this (even though the same person who was calling me was the person I had made the arrangements with several days earlier). She said she would call the mortuary and get it taken care of.

A half hour later I received another call from the vets office, this time the girl asks me “where is Yogi?”

“What? What do you mean? You have him; you just called me and told me that I hadn’t picked his body up!” I yelled and cried into the phone.

“Oh, well my check list says he hasn’t been picked up, but I went into the cooler and I can’t find his body.”

“WHAT?!” I growl. A string of curse words flew out of my mouth so quickly I couldn’t catch them between the tears.

“Let me check with the vet.” She hangs up on me.

Five minutes later she calls me back again.

“Shauna we figured out what happened, the vet thought Yogi was abandoned and decided since no one had picked him up that he would give him a proper burial. He has a small graveyard on his property and buried him there.”

“WHAT?! Why would the vet think he was abandoned if you have a checklist saying he was to be cremated? Why wouldn’t the vet call us, as you did this morning to tell us to come pick him up?” By this time I was so angry, so upset and emotionally exhausted from the loss of my dear friend and now the loss of his physical body that I was giving up. She calmed me down and finally I just accepted that he was buried in a wonderful small graveyard, somewhere on the vet’s property. I was feeling better, I called David and told him what had happened, to which he replied,

“That’s strange the mortuary just called me and wants their $100.00 for cremating him.”

David contacted the vet and told him to get his shovel; we wanted our dog’s body back! After some quick side stepping on their part he called the mortuary, after a royal lashing to both (and after the vet spoke with the mortuary) he was told that Yogi’s name tag must have fallen off his body in the cooler, that the mortuary did pick him up, he was cremated, and this was all just a confusing mix up. Whatever.

Trying to appease me, David came home with what we are told are Yogi’s ashes. It is strange that a 40 pound dog’s ashes would be triple the weight of my grandmother’s, but whatever, we were just wanting closure. I still have the box, haven’t had the heart to bury it yet, I’m half tempted to open it and see if it’s just burnt up newspapers, not that I could really tell.

I do know this though, as much as I feel guilty for not being able to keep Yogi, I’m confident in this: He had a lot of good years with us, never once was he beaten or whipped. He didn’t go hungry, his skin and scars were physically healed. We couldn’t heal him from his emotional scars, as much as we wanted to, that wasn’t our purpose, our purpose was to show him that humans could be loving, gentle and trusted. I know his rational side trusted us; it was his terrified side that felt the need to lash out.

I continue to pray to this day that he is in Heaven and that Jesus is healing those emotional scars, perhaps Yogi has forgiven us and his previous owners, I still don’t know which was worse, putting him through misery as they did or taking him out of it? This question will haunt me forever, but perhaps it's that haunting that provides my answer.

Indiana Bones Schober

Indiana is a German shorthaired pointer, a hunting dog. We’ve had the pleasure of his presence for ten years now. Our journey with Indi started when Dave and I bought our first house in Eugene. We couldn’t afford the breed so we put in a request at the local humane society, “If a GSP comes in, please hold him for us.” We weren’t hopeful at first, they are very expensive dogs, but one spring when we came back from a trip to Mexico there was a message on the answering machine telling us that our second “adopted son” was waiting for us at the humane society. We quickly loaded our dog Yogi into the car and headed to meet his new brother.

Indiana is a strange dog, and as I continue to get to know him I find more and more strange things about him. For starters he’s a talker, not a barker but a moaner, a growler and a whimperer. He cries the moment he is left alone, scratch the sweet spot on his neck and he growls with frightening delight. The first night at our house he jumped on the couch and cuddled to my feet, when I began petting him he growled so ferociously that Dave threw him off the couch, afraid he was going to attack me. It wasn’t until we saw this “talking” more and more that we realized that was his way of saying, “Oh I like that, give me more!”

The name Indiana was given to him by his previous owner, but his middle name Bones was given to him by our then 2 year old nephew, Ben. We took Indiana to introduce him to the family and Ben and Indi chased each other for hours, Ben calling out “Indiana Bones” as he ran behind him, we quickly fell in love with the name, especially since Ben had thought of it, and have eagerly embraced it since that day.

Indiana is a crazy dog, he’s old and cranky, but the moment he sees the reflection of a light or the shimmer of glitter he is suddenly 2 years old again. He can jump over 10 feet in the air when encouraged with a flashlight chase along the wall, and he can curl up into the tiniest, ball when snuggled against my feet, under the covers at night. He’s one of those personalities that you never get used to, that are always surprising you and making you laugh.

For example, since we moved Lilly into Madi’s room every night when Dave and I go to bed we walk in and check on the girls, Indi has taken it upon himself to do the same, he sniffs each one of them before coming in and climbing under our covers. The smallest noise from either of them and he is up in a jiff to check things out, and heaven forbid someone he doesn’t trust come between him and his girls; he will protect them to the death.

Last night we had a huge thunderstorm here, I always dread them and fireworks because of the panic it puts in Indi, but last night he was under the covers at our feet and a huge flash of lightning with thunder booming behind it, woke us all up. Indi freaks out, jumps up (still under the covers) and jumps off the bed, looking like a short fat ghost as he tried to figure out which way was which, covered and now tangled in our comforter. He knew he wanted to get to the girls, but couldn’t figure out how to. He wrestled and barked in that comforter for what seemed like ages as we tried to calm him (and shut him up so that the girls would go back to sleep). After finally freeing him he ran into the girls’ room, sniffed them both and planted himself in-between Madi’s bed and the crib. He was clearly terrified, but his natural instinct was to protect them. It amazed me. With every boom of thunder he shook and whined, but his rear end stayed planted in their room, ready to strike if he needed to.

This dog that sounds so ferocious lets Madi play doctor on him, standing still as she listens to his heart, and wraps the blood pressure cuff around his ankle. She dresses him in dress up clothes and forces him to sit at her small table and have tea parties. He is an amazing creature, so patient, calm and interested in her. Indiana is her best friend, it’s a wonderful thought, warms my heart, but as the new year approaches and I realize he will be turning 12 years old, my heart aches for the fear that soon his time with our family may be coming to an end. He’s getting old, his joints hurt, he sleeps most of the time now, he’s developing fatty growths all over which have to be removed annually now, and his face is quickly being consumed by grey hair.

I’m learning to embrace every day with Indiana, it is so apparent to me that his time is limited. It also makes me appreciate the fact that none of us are guaranteed anything, we don’t really know if we have another 24 hours on this earth. When I think of this I wonder why God only allows dogs to live 12-16 years. They are simply the best animal on the face of the planet, and maybe I guess that could be the reason, they have so much to teach us humans, and dealing with our ridiculousness must get exhausting as they see us do the same things, make the same mistakes over and over, only to forgive us over and over. They are so wonderful, and so as a tribute to Indiana, whom I pray has at least 5 more years with us….

Dear Lord, please help me be the person Indiana thinks I am, surely with enough practice I will deserve even a fraction of the love he has unconditionally given over the last decade. Amen.

Ten Years

10 Years…

My husband and I have actually been together for over 12 years, but married “only” 10 years. I’m actually not amazed, just grateful that I found my soul mate at such a young age.

I feel so blessed that we beat the odds, most couples who marry so young don’t make it ten years. There is good reason for this, it isn’t easy becoming an adult while you’re tied to another person who’s becoming an adult also, there are a lot of changes that take place in between high school, college, first careers, pregnancy, and parenthood, but hopefully the changes while feeling scary and uncertain can strengthen a relationship if they are handled with care.

What is really surprising to me is what love means to me now as an adult. See when I was in grade school “love” was the cutest boy in class, who hopefully wasn’t too mean. In junior high it was the cute boy who let me wear his jacket, and whose name was most likely scrawled all over my binder. In high school I mistakenly thought it was the guy who brought me a beer at a party. I did meet Dave at a party, but I soon found out that he wasn’t like any of the other guys.

I could go on and on about my husband and how wonderful he is, I could tell you the story of how we met, but instead I want to share with you a glimpse of how life after 10 years of marriage is for Dave and me.

It’s stressful and wonderful, it’s exhausting and exciting, it’s everything and nothing like I thought it would be.

This morning I woke up to the sound of a crying baby and a four year old tapping me on the shoulder as she danced her “I have to go potty” dance. I grudgingly roll out of bed, accidently kicking my dog in the face, the mean “morning” Shauna groans, “That’ll teach him for sleeping under the covers on my feet all night!” I take Madi potty, while shushing Indiana who is now growling at me, (our dog is 10 and very cranky in his old age.)

Needless to say, by the time I actually get to go to the bathroom, brush my teeth or even look in the mirror it’s close to 8:00 am. Between feeding the crying baby, hot chocolate for Madi, taking Indi out and of course figuring out a method of getting caffeine into my body, well it’s just a little crazy around here.

By lunch I’m awake and happy, Dave is on his way home, I haven’t made anything yet, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks into the crazy messy house and begins his usual conversation with Madi on how her morning was.

By the time Madi and I are done with school work, crafts, playing, and housework I’m beat, but it’s time for dinner, on a lot of nights Dave will cook, he is by far a better chef than I, and he loves it, so I gladly relinquish that duty.

After putting the kids to bed, Dave and I both collapse on the couch, exhausted from our busy day. We talk and laugh and plan what we’ll do the next few hours of freedom we have. Most nights (when it’s not raining) we’ll go out on the deck and watch the sun set. I’ll notice he’s drinking my water and ask for it back, he’ll inform me it’s HIS water(I left mine inside)…but then hand it to me anyway.

This probably sounds insanely boring to most people, in fact a lot of nights Dave and I reminisce about the college days when our biggest dilemma was a term paper or exam we hadn’t studied for. But to me, this routine, this daily progression of life is wonderful. It’s consistent, it’s routine, it’s peaceful, and I love it.

So at night when Dave and I finally make our way up stairs, we look in on the girls and suddenly all the stress of the day melts away, although we are both silently whispering “don’t wake up, don’t wake up.” And as we close our eyes for the night and lift the covers trying to coax Indiana to come on the bed to warm our feet I think of the irony and how confused my dog must be. In the morning I’m kicking him (on accident) growling at him, in the evening I’m begging for him to warm my feet, he doesn’t seem to mind though, because that’s how it is when you love unconditionally, you forgive without even knowing you did, and you do whatever makes the other person happy ultimately knowing that when they are happy you’ll be happy too. So Indiana jumps under the covers and curls up on top our feet.

Tonight is different though, Lilly starts crying and wakes Madi up, somehow they both end up in our bed, and Dave and I are squished to the sides, hanging on as to not roll off. Indiana is now comatose and WON’T move a muscle, he’s sprawled across the bottom half of the bed on his back with his feet standing straight in the air. Dave and I take note of the situation; the dog, the kids (who for reason sleep diagonally, brilliantly dominating their territory in our bed) and us, each hanging on to our side, uncomfortably grasping the top of the mattress so we won’t fall and wake everyone up and have to start all over again. We silently giggle at one another; he blows me a kiss as he shakes his head at the ridiculousness of our situation. And I sigh (quietly of course) because I know even with the bruises I’ll have tomorrow from Madi kicking me, my chronic back ache, and the knowledge that now I have to pee but am too scared to get up and wake everyone…

Yes, this is my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Our Bucket List

I don’t know if it’s because I’m turning 30 this year, or if it’s just that now that I’m done having my babies maybe I want to know that there is something more out there, besides laundry and diapers. It’s not that I don’t enjoy my kids, or that I’m not grateful for them, it’s just that I still want to know that there is an adventure waiting for me, that my identity isn’t totally illustrated by the word mother. Wow, I so don’t want to sound like I am ungrateful for my kids, I know how blessed I am, so let me get to the point….

Dave and I have made a bucket list over the last twelve years. It isn’t in any particular order, just a list of things we would like to do before we kick the bucket. I know it seems silly to have made a list at our young age, but really we aren’t guaranteed 24 hours, knowing me I could close my computer, stand up, trip on the laptop cord and impale myself on one of my kids’ toys. Death is always waiting, just right around the corner, the question is what corner and when will I turn it?

I understand that I probably sound a little morbid here, or at the very minimum extremely crazy, but really there is so much I haven’t done, and haven’t seen. So Dave and I figured, why wait until we’re old, let’s get started now when we can still physically enjoy what this world has to offer.

So here’s our list, some are silly, some are hugely important and others just are- well they are what they are, just things to do because for some reason or another they provide us with a sense of fulfillment in who we are.

So here goes:

Explore the Mayan Ruins

Explore Australia

Read the Entire Bible

Dog Sled in Alaska

Go to the Indi 500

Swim with Dolphins

Watch Grizzly Bears feed in Alaska

Salmon fishing in Alaska

Release endangered baby sea turtles at the Plananitos Sea Turtle Camp in Mexico

Visit Mt. Rushmore

Geocache in every state in the U.S.

See the Egyptian Pyramids

See the Coliseum in Greece

Go sport fishing on Islamorada in the Florida Keys

See Brett Farv play in the NFL

Hike the Grand Canyon

Do a guided Elk hunt in Arizona

Raft the Colorado River

Rent a house boat and explore Lake Mead

Hike the Garden of the Gods in Southern Utah

Do a 2 week backpacking trip in the Sky Lakes Wilderness

Hunt for diamonds at the Diamond National Park in Arkansas

Explore Glacier National Park

Explore Scotland

Drive the Alaskan Hwy, and then buy a bumper sticker bragging about it.

Build an orphanage in Haiti

See the world’s largest ball of yarn

Take a cross country road trip

Do an African Safari

See the Great Wall of China

Watch a Civil War reenactment, visit Gettysburg

See Niagara Falls

Throw a dart once a year at a huge wall map of the earth and travel to wherever the dart lands

Visit Normandy

See Tunisia in Africa (where Grandpa Schober was during the war)

Renew our vows on a beach somewhere

Drink beer from real steins in Germany

Visit every State Park along HWY 101

Kayak the San Juan Islands

Ski Vale, Colorado

Visit Loveland, Colorado (Dave’s birthplace)

Zip line in Sequoia National Park

Sky dive

Catch fire flies in a jar

Visit Pearl Harbor

So this is just a start, and well, it’s plenty to keep us busy for the rest of our lives. It isn’t just about crossing things off this list, it’s about living everyday like it’s our last, it’s about showing up 100%, not taking anything for granted, and realizing that the feeling I get when spending a sick day with my girls, cuddled on the couch together, is just as important as the feeling I’ll get when I zip line through the canopy of the Sequoias…these are the fibers that we weave together to form our lives, our legacy. I want my girls to know that I valued every moment, because in the end the moments are all we have. They may be woven into 100 years, or 30 years. They may be messy and ragged, they may not make sense, and they don’t have to. Most of our lives don’t make sense until that final moment when our eyes are truly opened. As a very wise person once said, “Life should not be measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

I hope that we will hit everything on our list; I hope that our journey is filled with everything we hope for, and a lot that we don’t…just to keep us on our toes. After all I bet the list God has written for us is much better than our own, He always plans so much BIGGER than we can ever dream.

May your list take your breath away…before your breath is taken away.

Friends.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes someone will come into your life, under strange, random circumstances, and at first you don’t really know why God has brought them to you, until you don’t have them around anymore?

A few years ago I had just graduated from the University of Oregon, I had my degree under my belt and I was gonna change the world. I was going to be a social worker, with an emphasis on working with foster children, everything from placement, to drug and alcohol counseling. It was my duty, and it may sound silly, but it was my “attainable dream.” My real dream was to write for National Geographic, but I soon found that I relied way too much on spell check to pass the introductory grammar class for the journalism major. I can’t spell to save my life, oh how grateful I am to live in the day of spell and grammar check!

Anyhow once I realized that social workers didn’t make enough money to pay the mortgage, I decided maybe I would put my dream off and get a job as a customer service rep at a landscaping company. I do love landscaping, after all. And so I started working and met one of the most wonderful, amazing people in my life.

I only worked there for 5 months, hardly enough time to learn computer systems, regional maps, or even how to transfer calls appropriately, but I did learn about love and true friendship. Catherine was from Australia, she’s funky, crazy and oh so wonderful, even in her procrastination at work I admired her so. But unfortunately I moved back to my hometown to start a new life, and then she moved back to her hometown in Melbourne, Victoria in Australia.

What is so strange about our relationship is that we have hardly spent time together, I mean physically, we’ve always had a distance between us, but it is only physical, in our hearts we are as close as close can be. True soul mates, if you will. Not in a sexual way, of course, but in a sisterly way. She’s the type of person who could come in and go to the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth. She’s the type that I would never feel uncomfortable changing my clothes in front of, or talking about my biggest, deepest, even darkest secrets of my life.

And so I wonder, why on earth are we on opposite sides of the earth? Well, life has just taken us in different directions, it’s not an easily answered question, I ponder it most days, well okay, I ponder it every day.

We may not be positive about the future, or even the present, but I know that we will always be best friends. I know that I can call on her any time of day (which is wonderful because for the life I me I still can’t seem to get the time difference) and I know that if I needed to see her immediately she would do anything in her power to get to me. I hope she knows that I would do the same for her.

Our country codes are different, and there is a 15 hour plane ride that separates us, but what is 15 hours and thousands of miles amongst best friends…not enough to keep them apart. And so as I write this I know the answer to my original question, God brought us together because I had a Catherine shaped hole in my heart, only she can fill it.

And so on today, her 31^st birthday I want to first thank her mother Liz for bringing her into this world, second, thank God for bringing her into my world, and third thank her for staying there.

Happy Birthday my dear, sweet Catherine, I pray we will get the opportunity to share the next 31 years of our lives together, and hopefully one day we can celebrate special days together, in the same country, state, city, town, home, room, and on the same couch…watching “The Village” even though I can’t really stand that movie, but well, that’s just how much I love you.

Fall Down Nine Times.

“Shake it off.” I say as I grip Madi’s arm.

“You’re doing great!” Lacey calls out behind her, she knows that once again Madison, my three year old, has fallen. And so, because we haven’t made a big deal of her repeated falling, Madison stands up, and once again starts hiking behind Lacey, happily continuing her monologue, knowing that with Lacey she has an eager audience who is truly interested in everything she has to say.

We might sound totally insane, indeed the response we got from other hikers along the 7.5 mile Paulina Lake Loop trail, was a mixture of awe and concern for the filthy three year old. (She wasn’t filthy when we started, but seriously…she’s three and we were camping…ok, Shauna’s version of camping, we rented a cabin, but it was “rustic”).

Madi did awesome though, we didn’t have to carry her once, she fell nine times, but got up ten, and to Lacey and I, that was all that mattered. That is one of the things I love about hiking, for a brief, (or long) period of time all one has to think about is putting one foot in front of the other. No phones ringing, no traffic, just the dust under your feet, the good ache in your thighs and knees and the occasional curious creature running across the path ahead of you.

I sometimes wonder if the life we’ve created is easier, or less taxing on our bodies. I think as Americans we have this view that all of the third world countries have no idea what “real life” is about. We have all of our luxuries, our cabins for camping, our computers for networking, and our cell phones that we never speak on since texting has become so popular. I think of this often when I’m paying bills. Recently Dave and I have decided to see exactly how many hours of work are required to purchase everything, for example we found out that Dave has to work 63 hours to pay our mortgage payment, about an hour to pay our power bill, and sadly wayyyyy too many hours to cover expenses like Wal-Mart and Costco. As I write the checks to pay the bills I think, “Wow Dave has to work a lot of hours to keep this family running.” I look around at the flat screen TV, the laptops that rest on our beautiful dining table, the granite countertops and I think… “Wow if we didn’t have all this, he might be able to be with us right now.” But instead he’s at work, happily footing the bill for our “life.”

It is a wonderful life, don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for all he does…please don’t send me comments saying I don’t know how lucky I am…believe I know how blessed I am! What I am saying is that when I’m hiking, when I’m watching my daughter and enjoying nature, I often imagine how life would be different if we didn’t have all the luxuries that actually create more stress, or work in our lives. How would life be if our only concern was catching our dinner, sitting around a camp fire, looking at stars, and having conversations that can exceed 160 characters?

I think we all crave this, or at least the people who I like to surround myself with do. We’re all outdoorsy, we understand the value of dirty feet, fish scales on our jeans and oh the joy of a hot shower after a long hike. Maybe that’s the part that is the best, the appreciation I feel for all of my blessings when I’m camping. Maybe it is the breaking down of the elements of daily life into simple tasks that allows me to shut down my mind enough to value the smell of my shampoo and the hot water that pours down my back. Maybe as much as I love my luxurious life I really long for more simplicity. More time to put my hands in the soil as I plant a hydrangea, the joy of plucking fresh basil off one of Dave’s basil plants in the window when I cook, the burn of being so out of breath after climbing a steep hiking trail… only to gasp in delight as I see the view of the lake from the peak beneath my feet.

See it’s not being ungrateful for the luxuries in life, it about being grateful for EVERYTHING! The good and the bad. It’s about being able to honestly tell my daughter that it doesn’t matter how many times you fall, as long as you get back up. It is all those falls, all those scratched knees and bruised egos that make us who we are, no matter the history or your excuse of the day for why you do things a certain way, we have to enjoy what IS. Because ultimately the WHY doesn’t matter. Ultimately it doesn’t matter how our childhoods were, or what our boss said to us the other day, we choose if we will allow those negative ingredients into our life lasagna. Or, as Morgan Freeman said in Bruce Almighty…”Sometimes it takes DARK COLORS to paint a masterpiece.”

So I’ll say it again to Madi, and I’ll say it to Lilly also; fall down nine times, get up ten. One foot in front of the other, and try to do it with a smile on your face...when you scrunch your eyes with a huge smile, you see the world differently.