And while you're at it, get someone to clean these windows, there's filth and muck all over them.

I love my son Topher, he has always been very practical. He tends to be organized and intellectual and tries to do the right thing. He is also very considerate (usually). He is a good worker and when he is in a good mood, he will go and go. (No, he's not a perfect child, there are other moods...whoa).

He made me laugh tonight though. We were over feeding the pigs with the Johnsons this evening, which can take a while. Nate gets the produce from a local grocery store here that they are throwing out and feeds his pigs with that. We typically have to dig through a little bit and get any wrappers off any pre-packaged stuff as well as rubber bands and twist ties from bundled veggies. Nate has noticed recently that his pigs have become somewhat picky and are choosing to ignore citrus. Now all citrus gets tossed into the compost pile. This becomes quite a wonderful game for the 4 boys that that typically help with chores over there. (Topher, Ronan, and Nate's oldest boys, Isaac and Virg).

All of the boys were reaching in and snagging the citrus to throw on the compost pile, (probably 50-75 ft. away) and of course, it is wet and sticky. Topher, who is also somewhat fastidious, would toss something into the pile, and then come over and put his hand on my shoulder in what I interpreted to be a gesture of affection. After a few times, I saw him toss a another orange or lemon or something and put his hand on Isaac's shoulder.

Well I realized that, Topher was not being affectionate, but rather his practical side was taking over. In the absence of wipes or paper towels he was very affectionately wiping his hands on those around him to expunge the sticky, wet produce residue from his hands.

Ha.

Boy, what in THE hell's the matter with you?

Anyone know what movie the title quote is from?

Well, Lauralee has been hassling me to post again, so, here goes. As a teenager, I had one real friend. Really. Anyone heard the song by Tracy Lawrence called, "You Find Out Who Your Friends Are"?

You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are

That is a segment from the song. The one friend I could count on in high school to be there always was Andy Bell. I think one of the reasons he was my friend was because my Mom is such an amazing cook. Andy had a love affair with food. He was an athlete who lettered in 3 sports every year so he could pound food like no other. Especially Mom's chocolate chip cookies. He and I could eat a whole batch after school (and frequently did). Another reason he was my friend was that he was one of about 4 students in our huge high school that actually lived farther from than the school than I did, albeit not by much. We also shared the loss of a parent. His mother passed away a couple of years after Dad did, and I think Joan-Bob became the mother to him that he lost.

Anyway, Andy and I couldn't be more different from each other in many ways. He was the consummate athlete. I was the band geek. He was superbly fit. I was not. He was smooth in a crowd, I was not. In an attempt to create a common experience for ourselves other than chocolate chip cookies at the bar at home, Andy talked me into joining the track team our junior year, I think it was. Remember, team sports typically have not agreed with me.

So what was I suited to do on a track team? Exactly nothing. What did I do? I ran a lot. Did I run any races? No. Did I see any competition? Nope. Andy was a really good discus thrower and shot-putter. Like I said, he lettered in three sports. Track and Field was one. Rather unwisely, I chose the same events as Andy. So I was second-string discus and shot put right? Nope. There was one other guy who was better than me at both events. I was THIRD string at the discus and shot put (out of 3). I even convinced Mom that I "needed" and pair of running spikes for track. I chose the most outrageous spikes there were in the whole store. They were Nikes, but they were neon yellow, green and orange. Unbelievable. I was mental in high school think, because after track season I cut off the hard plastic areas where the spikes go and slathered the whole area liberally with "Shoe Goo". That way I could wear those hideous things year round. What was I thinking?



Now for the point of the story. Andy and I figured it would be a wise use of our time to practice said events at Joan-Bob's house over the weekend, laboring under the false delusion that I might improve and potentially move from third string to second. So, with permission, we carried home a 16 lb lead ball and a 4.4 lb rubber disc home with us to "practice".

Now being the incredibly dedicated athletes that we were, we immediately began practice in earnest. (after a batch of cookies). After about 14 seconds, boredom set in, so we started looking for more innovative ways to make the shot put travel. The trampoline. Physics dictate that using it's own weight, it should go really high, right? I volunteered to start the 16 lb. lead ball in motion. If I remember right, Andy acquiesced quite quickly, possibly having thought through the process and inevitable result more completely than I.

Turns out we were right! The shot put did ascend quite rapidly, and appeared to be headed quite high, when in fact, it met with resistance in the form of my mouth, effectively stopping it's upward progress and causing both it, and myself, to fall back toward the trampoline. The shot put was completely unaffected while I writhed on the woven mat in agony, clutching my mouth and mumbling to Andy not to tell my mom. Well, as fate would have it, when I went in for dinner, Mom noticed the gaping whole where my left front tooth had been significantly damaged by our physics experiment, and we had to come clean about the whole thing. You know, how I had tried to stand up for a girl at school when seven or eight guys jumped me and started kicking me in the face and...No not really, we did come clean. Besides the shot put and the tooth were still on the trampoline.

I was lucky in that I didn't break so much off that it couldn't be repaired with a filling, and it was so convincing that most people have never been the wiser. I have had it repaired twice since then. The first time by a dentist in SLC, and the second time out here. The time out here, the filling fell out one day while eating, and I managed to notice it before I swallowed it. Of course we did have company over at the time, so I had to cover my mouth the rest of the night to avoid looking like some redneck off of Hee-Haw. After that, I super-glued it on for about two months while putting off going to the dentist. I would glue it, it would hold for a week or so, depending on what I was eating, and then fall of again. Repeat cycle. (Jared, are you reading this? You should be breaking out in cold sweats by now.) I can understand why they tell you not to inhale that stuff!

It is once again repaired, but this time the dentist left a slight gap in my front teeth. I'm not sure why he would do that. I didn't have a gap when he pulled the super-glued tooth off. Why add one? I can shoot a stream a water out between my teeth now.

Anyway, thought I'd get that one down for the posterity. A lovely example of how not to practice with your shot put.

Luckily, we never got around to the discus.