Where were you when?

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There are certain moments in life that cause you to pause, and reflect. Moving away from home, for instance. Saying goodbye to someone you love. Realizing you lost your iPod. again.

Today I’m having one of those moments. Today I turn 30.

30. 30? 30! 30…

The day I was born, I’m told, a crew from the local news arrived at the hospital to shoot a story. My mom and her sister, whose due dates were separated by 2 months, had given birth just hours apart, in the same hospital room, wearing the same department store pajamas. Some producer from Channel 12, I suppose, decided this would be of interest to the local folks. I’m sure he also decided that Phoenix was experiencing a slow news day.

And so, among the very first people I met when I came to earth were a reporter and a camera crew. I’ve often wondered if this explains why I love television news, and why my most poignant childhood memories revolve around the breaking of some great story.

January 28, 1986. Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster.

When I arrived at my first grade class that morning, something wasn’t right. Our teacher, Mrs. Sciatto, had taken the day off. Mrs. Sciatto was a sweet old lady, and we all figured she was home sick with some sweet old lady disease.

And then, a few hours into the day, I remember our principal’s voice over the loudspeaker. Something had gone wrong with a space shuttle. People had died. One of them was a teacher.

As our substitute turned on the television (it must have been in the curriculum somewhere that 6-year olds can benefit by gazing at images of fire, debris and expressions of horror), things began to add up in my mind. Mrs. Sicatto didn’t take the day off because she was sick. Mrs. Sciatto took the day off to travel into outer space.

I must have held it together until my mom arrived to pick me up, because she said that when she did and asked how my day was, the emotions finally erupted. “Not good. Mrs. Sciatto tried to be the first teacher in space, and she exploded.”

Footage. Wow.


October 16, 1987. Baby Jessica.

The next story I vividly remember watching was the 58 HOUR rescue of Jessica McClure, the toddler who fell down the well in Texas. I didn’t watch all 58 hours, but just enough to develop an overwhelming childhood fear of falling into a well. Would have been nice of someone to tell me there are no wells in suburban Glendale.


June 17, 1994. White Ford Bronco Chase.

I don’t just remember watching OJ evade police, I can actually recall what I was wearing.

It was the day I returned home from Girl’s Camp, where we were given white t-shirts emblazoned with pink sheep and the words “EWE are special!” The shirts were fine within the confines of the forest, but not when stopping at McDonalds on the way home. I was 15 and mortified.

OJ’s surrender and trial were of particular interest to me, as just one year earlier I had named him my hero in a graduation speech. It wasn’t just his life on the line. It was also my reputation.


August 31, 1997. Death of Princess Diana.

The People’s Princess died the night I arrived in Provo for my freshman year at BYU. I never felt any connection to Lady Di, except that Elton John said she lived her life like a candle in the wind, and that’s exactly how I felt walking to 8 am classes during my first real winter.


July 16, 1999. Death of JFK Jr.

When John John’s plane was first reported missing at about 3 am, I was awake. In fact, I was at work.

I worked at KBYU TV throughout college. Every semester, my boss recruited people to work the dreaded “overnight shift” (midnight to 6 am). Every semester I vowed I would never work it again, and every semester I found myself volunteering to work it anyway. (Some people never learn. I am one of those people.)

The rule was, that while at work you could only watch KBYU TV. That was the rule. But anyone who thinks it’s possible to stay awake all night watching a 6-hour Lawrence Welk marathon, can think again. That night I was tuned to CNN.

By about 4 am I needed to discuss, so I called Arizona and woke up my mom. A 4 am phone call, just to analyze Camelot’s latest chapter. That she was more than happy to, is another reason I love my mom.


September 11, 2001. 9/11.

In the fall of 2001 I graduated college and got my first real news job. Well, internship. At KUTV, Salt Lake’s CBS affiliate. Finally, my start at being on the disseminating end of breaking stories.

Cue irony.

When I first got the job, in August, I met with my boss and had a conversation that went something like this:

Boss: Welcome to KUTV (or something to that effect)
Me: Thank you (or something to that effect)
Boss: We brought you on board to perform menial tasks that no one else is willing to do. Also, you won’t be getting paid (I think he said it more nicely than that)
Me: Awesome.
Boss: Any questions?
Me: Yes, actually. Would it be okay if I took just one day off? Next month? My sister is coming into town…
Boss: What day?
Me: September 11th.
Boss: Should be fine. Hope for a slow news day. Ha Ha
Me: Ha Ha Ha
Boss: Ha Ha
Me: Ha
Boss: Ha.




Huh.

I slept in that day. My sister woke me up when the first tower was hit, and I watched live as the second went down, in my pajamas, with my nephew in my lap.

The biggest story of my lifetime. The one day I requested off. Granted, my assignment probably would have been BYU student reaction to canceled classes. But still.

At the time I was struck by the irony. But looking back now, I actually see the experience as a nice foreshadowing of my life today. At 30. Minus the sleeping in part.




For those who read this far (and I will not presume there are many of you), Where were YOU when?? Pick one and share!

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It's one of my favorite things to learn about people. In fact, you can consider it my 30th birthday present.

That, or I like cash.

Marry a Nerd

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When it came to love and dating, my dad had one piece of advice for his daughters.
He used to always say:

"When you grow up girls, marry a nerd."
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When we asked why, he would say:
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"Because. Nerds make the best husbands."
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Last week, Jack came home with an anniversary card from the campus bookstore.
Inside, in his neat handwriting, was this bit of hot romance:

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.Set: r(t) = 6*cos(6*t)
and
#Points = 250
Click Plot

Then Set: r(t) = 6*(1-sin(t))
and
# Points = 250

Click Plot

with instructions to visit the Polar Equations Applet at:

http://www.math.ucla.edu/~ronmiech/crew/eugene/java/PolarPlotter/PolarPlotter.html
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Confused, I typed in the address,
set my function (?),
entered my points (??),
and activated the polar plotter (???).

The result was this:
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and this:

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He was so proud.

Then suddenly panicked, because I actually started to cry. He thought I was crying because it was nerdy.

I was.

That was then,

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1987. This is my 2nd grade class picture. The photographer thought it would be a good idea to reflect the sun directly into our eyes. I agree.
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That's me in the front row, 2nd from the right. I thought it would be a good idea to wear my pinstripe jeans - the ones with faded knees, of course, and pink "bears at a pizza parlor" sweatshirt. I wonder if my mom agreed.

In the top row, far right, is my first crush. Awwwww. Isn't he so handsome? (even when blinded by the sun?) He was smart too. And, the undefeated recess tetherball champ. What more could a girl want??

You never forget your first crush.

Good thing, because today is our 8-year anniversary.

6 months

Awkward Moment at the County Fair

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Within earshot, Jolie shouts,

"Dad! I see a PIG!"
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Jack looks,


panics,


surveys the scene...

and breathes a sigh of relief.

Officer, I can explain...
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Spring Cleaning

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A friend of mine called recently and asked for my advice on how to keep her house clean.

Two theories:

(a) She’s trying to flatter me
(b) By sheer coincidence, she has never stopped by my apartment on a bad day

Either way, it caused me to reflect, and we ended up having a really great conversation - some of which I thought was worth sharing. At least, more worth sharing than pictures of my baby’s feet.

I'm not an expert on housecleaning, nor do I claim to be (language provided by my legal counsel). I just have a lower tolerance for clutter than most. Plus, I love doing it. Cleaning relaxes me, the way eating ice cream relaxes me, or watching my DVR episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

So for those who enjoy cleaning, as well as those who view it as a necessary evil, three simple suggestions for keeping a house of order:

1. Sunday Solution:

Shortly after I was married, and with no scientific background, I personally discovered Newton’s Fourth Law, which is:

A clean house, no matter how clean, will become a disaster 10 minutes before you leave for Church.

Does that sound familiar? It didn’t seem to matter how hard I tried on Sunday mornings, or how much earlier I woke up, or even how much I resented anyone who left a mess. Exactly 10 minutes before we left for Church, the place was turned upside down.

(*Editors Note: The word “Church” can be replaced by the word “Anywhere.”)

Well I don’t know how long it took Sir Isaac to crack the laws of physics, but after a few years, I hit upon a solution.

It works like magic.

It’s an ironing board.

About 10 minutes before we leave for Church, I set up the ironing board against a wall. Just before we go, anything that’s out of place gets scooped up and put on top of it. The result is a clean place ready to greet us when we return, with one single, doable, out-of-the way pile of things to be put away.

Anytime I’m overwhelmed by clutter, the ironing board comes to my rescue. Once it’s set it up, I’m 5 minutes from a straightened place, and much more motivated than I would be wandering around piles of clutter, wondering where on earth to begin (which usually ends with me deciding to “begin” by eating more ice cream).

2. The Rule of Three:

This trick works so well for me, I actually gave it a name. “The Rule of Three.” Sort of like “The Theory of Relativity,” except much more important. (No offense to Albert Einstein, but a theory that can prevent the insanity of parenting in an overwhelming mess, is far superior to a theory that explains something silly, like gravitational phenomena.)

Here’s how it works:

As I go throughout my day, any time I enter a different room - for whatever reason - the first thing I do is put three things away. Three things only - It takes no time at all.

Enter family room. Put away remote, crayon, diaper (1,2,3) Then put Leah in her highchair.
Enter kitchen. Put three clean plates back in the cupboard (1,2,3) Then pour cereal.

etc. After awhile, the Rule of 3 becomes automatic.

At first, you won’t notice any difference at all. But the idea is that every time you use a room, you’re leaving it cleaner, rather than messier (even if only a tiny bit), which is sort of contrary to our nature. Over time, everything eventually gets put away, then stays put away, without having to set aside extra time to get it accomplished. It just fits into your day.

Because who has extra time?

Try it for two days. I promise.

3. 20 minute pickup

This last idea I learned from my mom, who truly wrote the book on creating and maintaining a beautiful home.

Growing up, about one evening a week, my mom would announce a “20 minute pickup.”

Here’s why she’s so brilliant: Us kids loved it.

A timer was set for 20 minutes. Music was blasted (Mom was an aerobics instructor - we rocked to the good stuff). Best of all, there was always the promise of a treat when we finished.

The magic (get out your calculators) was, that when 6 people participated a 20 minute pickup, 2 hours of cleaning got done. Two hours of cleaning! In just 20 minutes time! (Take that Einstein)

Jack and I have started doing 20-minute pickups with the girls, and not necessarily as a way to clean the house (Truth be told, when a 2 and 4-year old are “cleaning,” often more harm is done than good). Rather, the goal is to let them discover that cleaning isn’t some dreaded thing that mom barks at you to do (although believe me, they get some of that too). It’s also music. It’s cooperating as a family. It’s the promise of an Oreo.

On a few occasions, they've actually requested a 20-minute pickup. Rewarding, even if they are just looking for free reign of the rags and squirt bottles.

Bonus

I'm not ashamed to admit that in the time it's taken me to write this, the kids have made a complete disaster of the family room.

Tip #4: Keep your blog posts brief.