I was sad because I had no shoes until I met a man that had no feet

I was feeling pretty bummed about the heavy rain that made for slow commute times today, both morning and evening.  And then I stopped wallowing in my own self-pity and remembered that the place from which my family and I recently relocated is experiencing the worst flooding in 50 years.





Almost 300 people have died due to flooding in Thailand over the last month.  Not as widely reported are the almost 250 people who have died in Cambodia.  Barely even reported are how many people have perished in the floods in Laos.

Please stay safe, dear friends and family, you are in our thoughts and prayers.
ขอให้อยู่ด้วยความปลอดภัยนะครับเพื่อนและยาติทั้งหลาย
ຂໍໃຫ້ໝູ່ແລະພີ່ນ້ອງທຸຸກຄົນຢູ່ດ້ວຍຄວາມປອດໄພໃນຕອນນີ້ເດີ ເຮົາເປັນຫ່ວງ

At Least Mali Lets Me THINK I Wear the Pants...

The last month has been pretty busy, especially after receiving the shipment of our household effects from Thailand and subsequently trying to get our house in order.  Our basement resembled that warehouse at the very end of Raiders of the Lost Ark--you know, the one where the elderly gentleman is shown wheeling a cart holding with a wooden crate, and the camera pulls back to reveal a vast ocean of faceless crates as the old man disappears into the morass.  The more I think about it, we're pretty fortunate that none of our kids got lost down there, we might not have been able to retrieve them.

So one morning as my oldest widget and I were leaving the house for seminary* I noticed that she was wearing my favorite pair of cargo pants, ones which I had assumed were in an as-yet-unopened moving box in the basement.  I asked her where she found them, and she casually said, "They were in my drawer."  No big deal, at least not to me.  After school, however, Mali wasn't totally thrilled about the idea of her high school aged daughter wearing man's army pants at school all day.

About a week or so ago I realized that I still hadn't found a couple more pair of my pants, so I asked said oldest widget if she might, perchance, happen to have a couple more pair of my trousers squirreled away in my drawer.  She was a little indignant, and assured me that no, none of her daddy's precious pants were in her drawers, she was sure of it.

Naturally that meant that my drawers were in fact secreted away in her drawers.  After assembling her brand-new IKEA chest of drawers I took it upon myself to look through her stuff, and there, underneath some of her sweaters, were my last two pairs of pants.  And the widget had the gall to look surprised that they were there!  Kids these days, I'm tellin' ya...

*Seminary, for those uninitiated in the mores of Mormon culture, is a wonderous and joyful experience wherein high school students, as if they weren't already sufficiently sleep-deprived, go to the church (or someone's house) about ninety minutes before school starts to have lessons about the scriptures.  And somebody thought it would be a great idea to have me teach this class...

Guest Blogger: Is This Guy SERIOUS?

Greetings from Brent's legs*.  More specifically, his thighs, that large mass in the upper part of his legs that are the primary muscles used when Brent--hereafter referred to as "the Boss"--walks or runs. 

(For the record, yes, I know that technically speaking it's impossible for my legs to talk.  It's also impossible for them to formulate an independent thought, let alone access the Internet, log into my blog and type.  It's a literary device.  Work with me on this one, people.)

Let us be frank right up front--today the Boss went for a five-and-a-half mile run, and we're feeling it.  Running is supposed to be fun, right?  The Boss has done a fair bit of running over the years, so there must be something enjoyable about it.  I mean it must be, because doesn't the Boss look like he's having fun in the following photos?

Thailand

Cambodia

Utah

Well, he looks like he's having fun in one of those pictures.  The Boss--Brent, not Bruce Springsteen--is trying to convince himself that he didn't push all that hard today, but we're just a wee bit sore now. We're recruiting other body parts to help us convince the Boss that he shouldn't run again for at least a week.  So far we've got the calves on our side, but they're hurting worse than us right now and are laying low--they're just happy they didn't cramp like they did a couple of weeks ago--but they are totally on board with our protest.  It's also tough to get other body parts on our side because that smart-aleck pituitary gland has been releasing endorphins into the Boss' system all night.  Cheap play, my friend.


We can't get the feet to join our cause, either.  Those two are ecstatic that the Boss went for a run at all.  Then again, we think the feet are crazy.  I mean, seriously, who else could look like the picture below and think, "Hey, whatever that was that made us look like this, let's do it again!" 

But let's be fair, there aren't very many muscles in the feet, so something like a long run really doesn't wear on them to the same degree it does us big muscles, especially since the Boss wore his KSOs and didn't do this run barefoot, like he sometimes does.

We've also got the Boss' waist campaigning against us, too.  The waist probably does have a point that the past few months has been tough, with the reduced levels of activity and resultant tighter fit on the Boss' pants cutting off some of the oxygen to the waist.  We've told the waist to just suck it in and deal, but lately the waist has said that it's fed up with all the pressure it gets from the belt.

We suppose we should just suck it up and accept our fate.  Actually, we should be pretty proud of what we do.  Every day we get the Boss where he needs to go, and even though we complain a bit when the Boss pushes us hard, but we haven't let him down yet.  The last few months have been rough, with the big move and all the driving, with very little time for us all to get outside and move.  Truth be told, we secretly enjoy the workouts, we just want the Boss to be more consistent so that we can go as long and as intense as the Boss wants, anytime he wants.

Perhaps we should go to bed, just in case the Boss decides to make good on his threat to run again tomorrow...