Ruthie

Six years ago, while I was in Mongolia, my Grandma Frost passed away. For my entire life she lived more than 2,000 miles away, and yet, I always felt like we had a very close relationship. She was a woman with a great sense of humor, a great style and unlike most old people, she smelled amazing and probably drove faster than I do right now. As a little kid I loved visiting their old home in Kaysville, Utah. It was always stocked with licorice, coke and all kinds of treats.

When I was a young girl I remember she came to visit and we had a "just for girls" tea party with coke and cookies. I remember watching the sparkle in her eye as she toasted my tea cup and proclaimed being with the girls was always the best time.

When I was born my parents decided to honor my Grandma by giving me her name of Ruth as my middle name. For some reason I never liked that name. It always seemed too old fashioned to me. However, when I got to college my teammates decided (because they were too many Kates on our team) that I would go by Ruthie. At first I tried to fight this decision, and then came to love my new nickname. For four years, I only answered to Ruth or Ruthie or BabyRuth on and off the field.

Sometime during college I got in a very strange game with my Grandma. We started to play a game of flipping each other off. I used to love to see her roar with laughter as I would show her different ways to give the bird. I think her favorite one was when I would blow on my thumb and my middle finger would appear. You haven't lived until you've seen a woman in her eighties give you the finger from across the kitchen.

Lastly, I remember my Grandma always being so interested in my life. She was there when I first entered the world, she comforted me when I said good-bye to my first crush (this should be a whole other entry..."When Kate thought she met the man she was going to marry at 18."), she was one of the first people to say I could do it in Mongolia, and I know, she was there when I did marry the love of my life a year and a half ago.

She was an incredible woman, and I will always try to honor and live up to her name. I miss you Ruthie.

A Weekend With The Family

Last night we returned from a fun filled weekend with my family. As always an extra hour was added to our trip because of the Fruit Inspection Station. I'm sorry, I absolutely despise this place, and I swear, I will one day get out of my car and sucker punch one of those idiotic attendants. I mean seriously, if this inspection station was stopping people from bringing in different forms of cancer or radioactive meat, I would fully support it and wait patiently in line. BUT, to be stopped just so you can be waved through...frustrates me beyond words.






Anyway, (sorry for the outburst) I would have to say the highlight of the weekend was watching my sweet mama conquer The Narrows at Zions National Park. Prior to entering the trail I think my mom was a little nervous, but by the end she was an absolute pro. Here's some pictures of our adventure.
Here's Barb entering The Narrows.
Three generations of Soulier Women. (From left to right) Annie, Elisa, Kate, Mom
It looks like I'm helping her...but, really I think I've fallen in The Narrows about a 100 times.

My second favorite part of the trip was this...a picture really does say a thousand words.
My third favorite of the trip was hanging with Baby A. (Who is actually sponsored by Nike...yes, everything she is wearing is Nike)

Excuse Me

Alright I'll admit it, I've been listening to the first book from the Twilight Series. And, I sort of like it. At first it was just an easy thing to listen to on my way from Salt Lake to LA, but then it became something more. So, listen up Emily Madsen because this is for you: I like the teenie bopper love story between a conflicted vampire and a misfit girl from Arizona. I like how the worst swear word to be muttered by Bella (yeah that's the protagonist) is "crow," and how there is a lot of hand holding instead of gratuitous sex scenes. I like how I can guess what is about to happen and the vocabulary used is not to difficult to understand. And, YES I read all the Harry Potter books! And, YES, I watched The Hills premier, and yes, I'm excited for the new 90210. And, YES, I sat through the entire movie of Catwoman, and yes, I still listen to Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation and find myself dancing in front of the mirror, and yes, I cry every freaking time they unveil the new home on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and yes, I think that Step Up 1 had better character development and writing, and yes, I still think Dirty Dancing is the best movie ever made, and yes, I floss every night, and yes, I wear my retainers still, and yes, I thought the Youth Conference during my 14th year was one of the greatest weekends of my life, and yes, I will probably read the other Twilight books. And yes, I'm voting for Edward.

So, yeah, I'm 29, and I have some guilty pleasures. Can we still be friends?

The Monkey or The Ring

As I mentioned before, recently, I made a huge step in my marriage by taking my husband's name. For this kind, though slightly late, gesture, I have asked my husband to return the favor and get a wedding ring. Well, this has actually been an ongoing request, but I think the name change has finally given me some leverage.

It's not that Dan has never owned a ring. For the first six months of our marriage Dan sported a stylish wedding ring from Walmart. (A day before our wedding we realized in the craziness of getting married we neglected to order or find Dan a ring. Therefore, while running errands we made a fateful detour into Walmart, and after refusing to get a ring with the Mexican flag on it, we chose a simple symbol of our love. Unfortunately, six months later, while surfing, Dan's ring came flying off. He claims he was bringing things full circle because he was surfing where we went before we got engaged. What can I say I married a sentimental man?

Anyway, now more than a year later, I can't get him to get a new ring. First, it was we were saving for a boat. Then it was the fact he likes to, "keep his options open when traveling," and then he was thinking of investing in a lucrative talking monkey. (Okay, I made that last one up, but I'm sure he'll use it at some point.)

So, the other night I finally made him look at rings online. Here gives you an idea of what I'm dealing with. This is the ring he liked because he said, "I have a heritage to represent." (For those of you not of the Scottish background, these rings are from the Celtic line.)

Oh and he wanted to engrave, "Are you happy now?"

...The Scottish can be so stubborn.

Barbara and Mike

So, today is my parent's 42nd wedding anniversary. 42 years ago my mom, a young girl from Kaysville, Utah, got on a train and followed my dad west to Chattanooga, Tennessee. I wonder if they had any idea what their life was about to become? Did they know they would live back east for more than 35 years? Could they picture their first child would be a blonde boy named Jason, and their second son named Matt would struggle with health concerns? Did my mom know her wish of having daughters would come true twice...at once? Did they envision their white home with black shudders surrounded by trees? Or could they see that far off into retirement, impending marriages and little grandkids? Probably not, but I'm sure glad my mom got on that train.

Congratulations you two romantics.

Who Ya Gonna Call?

So, I'm pretty convinced that we have a ghost in our apartment. No, I'm not covered in green slime, or have I seen a floating woman in our kitchen, but something very strange keeps happening. On each side of our bed are these awesome touch lamps. (You know the kind that you touch to either brighten or turn off). Anyway, lately, while we are asleep or away from the apartment, they turn on by themselves. It completely freaks me out to come home and see the light on, or wake up in the middle of the night to this mysterious lamp. The other night I woke up twice to this eerie light and eventually had to pull the plug...oh, and sleep with one eye open.

I know what you are thinking...it's not a ghost, but just an innocent malfunction. I wish I could agree, but among the many abnormal things about me, I also have a very acute paranoia in regards to anything supernatural, anything fictionally displayed in a movie, any article I read about a real murder, anything terrifying I see in a trailer for a movie, any story I invent when I see a crazed homeless person outside my home, any scary story told around ANY campfire and every comment Dan makes to scare me. I'm utterly a little girl when it comes to anything borderline scary.

So, say what you will, but I'm convinced. Dan agrees with me. (Or is just trying to play on my abnormal paranoia...)

Mrs. Hick

After approximately 559 days of being married I am now officially a Hick. As I was sitting in the social security office I started to think about what took me so long to make this official change. Did it finally take me this long to conclude that I could still love Dan even though 4 out of 7 days he leaves his towel on the floor in the morning? Was I just really attached to a last name people mispronounced for 27 years? Or was it something deeper? To be honest, it was two things. One, I'm just lazy. Two, about three years back I got a really good picture on my license. I know it sounds ridiculous, but this doesn't happen very often.

I remember my first license picture in good ol' Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. I was 16 years old and I think I was wearing a Grateful Dead T-Shirt. (Not sure if that detail is relevant, but more a random memory). Anyway, I had nailed the written exam, paralleled parked and was about to be granted my plastic certificate of freedom...when I completely froze in front of the camera. I remember I was torn between a big smile and a serious face. I just wanted to find the right balance that would say to the first cop, that pulled me over, "Don't write that ticket, I was speeding because I'm rushing to do my community service." Unfortunately, my indecision resulted in a mug shot of a misguided, drug addicted 16 year old, who was wanted in three states for either murder or fleeing an accident. (I just couldn't pinpoint the exact story based on the semi curved lip and beety eyes)

I remember when the DMV worker turned the screen so I could see the picture and asked, "Do you want me to take another one?" Again, I was torn. Did I want to take another picture? Absolutely. However, I also didn't want to come off as a narcissistic 16 year old, so I sheepishly responded, "No, looks great."

There are few days I regret, and this would definitely be one of them. Do you remember when you finally got your license, and everyone asked to see yours? Yeah, I didn't pull mine out much. I remember the one day I decided to chance my friends' charity and pulled out my disgraceful license. Instantly, everyone started to laugh and asked if my picture was also posted at the local post office. Kids...so cruel.

So, when I went to the DMV in Salt Lake, a few years back to get my new license, I was prepared. I was tan, I had just got my hair done and that morning in the bathroom I had perfected the right balance of "not trying too hard, but keeping it real." Consequently, I finally possessed a respectable license. I just couldn't give this up. Can lightning really strike twice?

Dan, the sacrifices I make for the marriage...

A Tenth of a Point

Last night Dan and I watched the preliminary round of gymnastics. After watching a few routines of puberty stunted girls, flip around and fall out of bounds I thought about a couple of things. 1. Who decided that turning children into muscle mutants would be a fun sport to watch? 2. How come they still have to end an even bad routine with their arms up in the air? Can't they just put their heads down in shame and walk away? 3. Shouldn't the US Gymnastics Association (USGA) send out a pamphlet right before the Olympics explaining what constitutes a "good" job vs. "bad job? I mean, in my estimation if they land on their two feet at some point after doing two twists, a flip and a cartwheel that should be "okay." 4. (This is really the thought I fixated on the most) How do the announcers do it for gymnastics? When initially a girl falls, they are completely silent and then they'll say something ghostly calm like, "Hmm...falling on her back and breaking her spine will definitely cost her a tenth of a point." I couldn't do it. If I saw a chick, bedazzled in a colorful leotard, falling to her death while trying to reach for an uneven bar, I would scream out something like, "Holy crap, I think she's going to die." Or "Son of B. Don't look America." Or make some semblance of sounds like, "Ca, Ca ga AHHH," while gripping the arm of my co-host. (That's basically what I do when I watch it with Dan) I just don't know how they stay so calm and callous.

Also, I would not only yell out things, but I would probably have to take it a step further. I would probably say something like, "Poor Chelsey. Did you know her parents sold their home, quit their jobs, put their other children up for adoption and moved to Texas so she could come to the Olympics? I wonder what they are thinking right now watching their child add more chalk to her hands after falling off the balance beam for the second time? I bet they are thinking, 'Yep, hon, it's just a little more chalk that's going to bring our home back.'" Too much? Okay, so I won't be calling the next gymnastics competition.

Great Legs, Bad Fashion Sense

Do you ever have moments where you wonder where you came from? You look at your parents and think, "Their genes are running through me?" Well, I had one of those moments a few weeks back. Fortunately, I had my camera. I will say, for 67, the man still has great legs...just really bad fashion sense.

The Barnyard Game

For the past two weeks I've been running lacrosse camps in Utah and California. It always seems like a good idea, and then about the third day of camp you find yourself thinking of ways to discreetly kill off a couple of campers. I don't know what some parents are thinking. In their hearts they must know that as a child they themselves were not coordinated, and therefore, the chances of passing on a dominant gene of "motor skills" to their child is probably slim to none. I just don't understand how some parents can have such blind faith in their children. I think I told one girl the same thing for three days straight, and not once...no not once...did I actually see her make the change I recommended. I did, however, receive a lot of nods and looks of understanding right before she went back to the bad habit. It took everything I had inside of me not to pull her aside and tell her to count how many four leaf clovers she could find in the grass until the end of camp. Camille, or Camille's mother, if you are out there, please let the lacrosse dream die. It ain't gonna happen.

Of course, there are some great kids that come to camp, who you love and mold and coach and mentor and blah, blah, blah. But...while you try to enjoy them...the coordination deficient kids make you just question your existence. Therefore, as coaches, you have to think of subtle ways to get back at these kids. I know, what you are thinking, this doesn't sound like what Gene Hackman would say in Hoosiers, or Kurt Russell in Miracle or Terrence Howard said in Pride, a compelling story of black swimmers (I'm trying to relate to all my readers). But, it's the truth.

Therefore, bring on the Barnyard Game. This is both a wonderful and demoralizing game at the same time. I recommend playing it with any co-workers, friends, neighbors or acquaintances who severely bother you. By the end you'll have the last laugh and that's really what life is all about.

First, place all your annoying counterparts on a line and give them different animals. I recommend using: horses, cows, cats, dogs, pigs and sheep. (Make sure no one finds out what animal their neighbor has...this creates the fun.) Now, here's the most important part of the game. Seek out the individual you can't stand the most. The one person you could condone being beaten by a crazed homeless person, and give them the prized animal of donkey. (Do you see where I'm going with this?) Now, place all the people on the ground randomly around a field. Tell them to get on all fours, close their eyes, and in order to win the game, they have to find their fellow animals by making the sound of that animal. Nothing brings more joy to me at the end of a long camp than hearing a bunch of kids snort like pigs and bark like dogs in order to find their partners. Oh, and watching the one donkey roam around, sounding like a complete a##, trying to find no one.

This game is for all ages and recommended at all times.