The Rock Climbing Gym + Twins + 7 + Morning Sickness...

Here we are in Provo, UT, a city most Mormon moms over 35 know like the back of their hand. At least they can tell you where The Missionary Mall and Walmart are, anyway. We are currently attending a family reunion, the second for me, with my husband of only five years. I won't go into how fun the flight with the twins was, how much I love being nauseated while being introduced to long-respected family members, how I so enjoy explaining that yes, even though the baby is only the size of a raspberry, I am already wearing maternity clothes, and how what I would like to do most of the time is just to lie down where ever I am and let the world drift away. No, I will spare you those details. I think you heard enough during yesterday's post.

What I would like to tell you about today is about our adventures at the rock climbing gym!

My daughter who lives in Provo said that it would be great fun if I brought the twins along, as there were large spaces in which they could run around. She was right. The only problem was this... the large space in which they were allowed to run free, the bouldering portion of the gym upstairs, where there were no ropes or the possibility of long falls, was the same space in which a party was in progress, complete with 12 boxes of pizza (yes, I counted them), and watered-down lemonade (according to one of the children), which is my favorite kind in the world, and I was sick and the only thing that I wanted in all the world was one of the pieces of pizza and some watered-down lemonade.

I had prepared and brought snacks to quell my nausea, so I tried to stuff down as many bites of a crunchy granola bar as I could bear in an effort to help me forget about the pizza, but it was just NOT doing the trick. I stared longingly at the half eaten crusts of the noisy children, drooled over the garlic breadsticks they would leave nearly untouched and wonder how long I could go on like this. I mean, the nice party director, a cute boy named Bobby, kept encouraging the kids to eat, saying that they were going to have WAY too much pizza left over if they didn't hurry up and eat. I kept thinking, "really, how bad would it be if I just asked them for a piece? That Bobby seems like such a nice kid and surely he would understand a pregnant woman's urges, right? And there was SOOO much pizza left over. I mean, what were they going to do, throw it all away after the party? Or were they going to feed it to the employees after the kids left? Would I be taking some other muscular return missionary's pizza who would come on duty later on during the day?" In the end, I just couldn't bring myself to ask.

And now you ask, why didn't you just leave the scene and remove yourself from the temptation? The answer? I had offered to care for my sister-in-law's baby who lay sleeping on one of the bouldering mats upstairs while she climbed downstairs with her husband and older kids. Although I desperately wanted to take the twins downstairs, away from the temptation, I couldn't leave the sleeping child alone on the bouldering pad. Plus, I am so considerate and I didn't want to ruin my sister-in-law's fun with the able-bodied members of her family.

Finally, after I was almost over the edge, the baby woke up and my sister-in-law came upstairs to be with him. Now again, let me state that I had no problem in the world helping with her child, but it made my stomach situation unbearable. I finally was able to go downstairs with the twins to meet my other family members and the minute John saw me, he asked what was wrong. Attempting to hold back the tears, I said, "They are having a pizza party upstairs and I tried to eat a granola bar to make myself feel better but it didn't work and all I want is a piece of pizza, but I can't have one because I can't ask for one. That would be really rude." I knew if I said all of that in a really sad way, which wasn't hard, that John would, without hesitation, offer to go up and ask for a piece of pizza. He offered, and I said, "No! that would be too rude! Don't do it!" but knowing that he would. Ninety seconds later, I had a large piece of vegetarian pizza in my hands and I went and hid myself to eat it so that neither the twins nor the 3-year-old, nor anyone else would ask me for a bite. After that, I felt much better!....and I took THESE pictures, from most-recent born to first born...

Twin B...



Twin A...


(Now, I'm not at all trying to label, but can you guess which twin some say is the "smarter" one?)

Twins B and A (from left to right)...




The 3-year-old boy...



The 7-year-old girl...




The 9-year-old boy...



The 13-year-old boy...


The 14-year-old girl...




The 17-year-old boy...


...and...the certified climber, the 20-year-old girl... (aren't her muscles awesome?)



As always, thanks for listening!

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