From the Golden Spike to the Spiral Jetty

Memorial Day seemed as good a reason as any to head north...and then west. 

The goal was to get our Utah history on at the Golden Spike National Historic Site, but with the way things were going in the car ride there—with the constant fighting and Tate eating just about every treat in the car by 9:30 a.m., and then asking, "When's lunch?"—I wasn't sure we were going to make it. 

 

I know my parents took us to Golden Spike when we were kids, but I only have a vague recollection of an old train and some oldy-timey people.

Turns out, there wasn't much more to remember. 

Last Day of 4th Grade

Last Day of Preschool

#TatersGonnaTate

Rounding Third

Three little Sutherlands rounding third and heading home. I love baseball season.

A Happy Boy Will Cost You One $5 Bat

Some Children Love the Performing Arts...Others Do Not

The theme of the end-of-year program at the elementary school was "Celebrate."

Here's how that theme was illustrated by Paige. 

And by Curtis.

He doesn't quite share his sister's passion for the stage. 

Brothers Praying for Foul Balls

 #GoUtes

Mr. Mom

Dad's turn to take on the mom duties for the day. Somebody's pretty excited about it.

#TatersGonnaTate

Laying Down Hot Tracks

One of the flaws of online preschool: The software used to record sight words is more frequently used to record burps.

Eight is Great: Curtis' Big Day

Not surprisingly, Curtis didn't have a lot to say about his baptism.

He met with the bishop about a month ago for his baptismal interview. He managed to eek out a few one-word responses and three minutes later we were on our way back home. 

We went to his "Eight is Great" baptismal preview two weeks ago and his only questions were about whether or not his underwear was going to get wet. 

Earlier this week, we were at the stake center helping the bishopric counselor set up for the baptism. On our way out the door he said, "See you on Saturday, Curtis!"

Curtis turned to me and said, "What's Saturday?"

"Your baptism."

"Oh, yeah. Right." 

But when the big day arrived, he got right down to business. He marched in, picked out a jumpsuit, and got changed.

He sat straight-faced through the talks and then, when it was his turn, stepped into the font. Less than a minute later, he was baptized and we were back in the dressing room, sopping wet. 

He was stoic through the rest of the program and his confirmation. But that doesn't mean there was no emotion. 

While Curtis and I were in the dressing room after the baptism, he leaned into me, which is his way of giving—or at least receiving—a hug. I squeezed him tight and said, "I love you, buddy."

It was a good day. 

Princess Paige...Literally

Casting day. For weeks, Paige had been waiting to find out what part she'd be playing in her theater group's production of Aladdin. 

"I really, really want to be Princess Jasmine," she told me—for the thousand time—on the way to rehearsal. 

"I know, sweetheart. But I think every girl wants to be Jasmine," I said, trying to prepare her for the inevitable letdown. "There are lots of great parts, even if you're not the lead."

When I walked into the building to pick her back up, she came speedwalking right toward me. "So...what'dya get?" I asked. 

Though she kept walking, she turned her head toward me slightly and said, under her breath, "I got it." 

I could tell she was trying to keep her cool in front of the other girls, but despite her best efforts, she couldn't control the volume or pitch of her voice much longer.

"I got it."

"I GOT PRINCESS JASMINE!" she squealed. 

For the past seven months she's been learning songs, and for the last three she's memorized lines and dance moves and cues. On Saturday all that hard work paid off. 

She was a fantastic Jasmine who, for reasons only known to the director, also sang Taylor Swift and Eye of the Tiger. 

I love how brave she is. She doesn't even bat an eye at being in front of 200 strangers.

After channeling her inner repressed Arabian princess for 90 minutes, it was great to see her face light up as the crowd gave the kids a standing ovation.

Proud of our little thespian.

Killin' it as Princess Jasmine.

When Tate Grows Up

A text from Traci. I love that Tate is my best buddy.

Tate in his happy place. The dugout.

Rain Delay

The game was rained out, so we had practice instead!

Farewell, Four-Wheeled Friend

A car is just a car. We've had this 2000 Nissan Altima since 2004. It's not flashy or fast or even very interesting. But it's been through a lot.

It was the first car Traci and I bought together.

It's the car that we drove to the hospital when we went from being newly(ish) weds to parents. (When we first put Paige in the car seat, I was so incredibly nervous that I don't think I drove more than 15 mph the whole way home.)

It was the car we drove to buy our first house (and our second) and to bring Curtis home from the hospital.

Though we bought a minivan before Tate was born, he's the one who's most attached to what he calls "the black car." Whenever there's a choice of vehicle, he wants to ride with me in the Altima. (When we showed the kids the new car, Tate refused to get in.)

It's been a good 12 years, black car. Thanks for the ride.

Tate: Catching a Foul Ball is "Not that Epic"

Tate's a sports guy. We spend a lot of time shooting hoops in the basement, and talking about division rivals, and practicing hand signals for false starts and incomplete passes. The other day he sat and watched a hockey game on TV by himself for like two hours. What five-year-old does that?

Right now, he's really into baseball. He just started his first season of coach-pitch and he wants to play catch every second of the day.

So what better time to go to a Bees game? (Big thanks to Chase for the invitation.)

Why I'll have Bleached Blonde Hair in Heaven

Moving is the worst. But in the process of moving, sometimes you unearth some gems. Like this one. 

I'm guessing this was taken in 1997 in Traci's basement, shortly after we started dating. Nearly 20 years later, it now lives in our basement. 

It's one of my favorite pictures of us. 

I posted it on Facebook and it went bananas. Likes were plentiful and comments were flying everywhere. Things like: 

"What's on your head, Spencer?"
"Yikes."
"Wow." "Bleach! Yesssss."
"Collaborate and listen. Spence in back with a brand new edition..."
"OMG! Is that Lance Bass?"
"Backstreet's back ALRIGHT!"

I couldn't help but feel like I was being teased a bit. So...

First of all. That was not Vanilla Ice hair. (Though I did have Vanilla Ice hair in the sixth grade.) It was not Lance Bass hair. (Though I've obviously had some run ins with Lance Bass.)

It was punk rock hair. (See Billie Joe Armstrong, circa Dookie.)

Second of all. It was cool.

Sure. This picture makes people giggle. I'm sure my kids will look at it and laugh the way we laugh about Traci's dad's baby blue wedding tuxedo. But if you went to high school in the late '90s, I'm sure it makes sense.

There's this piece of Mormon doctrine (or maybe a Mormon myth) that says after we die we'll be resurrected to our perfect state. I'm pretty sure this is it for Traci and me. (When Traci saw this on Facebook, the first thing she said was, "I was having a great hair day.)

Even though I'm now old and bald (Traci is young and beautiful), this is still how I picture us. Me with the bleached hair and long sideburns and Traci with the tight curls and the denim shirt. I picture us watching the MTV music awards and old episodes of The Young Ones and having big, big plans for the future.

If this is how we're going to look in heaven, I'll die a happy man.  

The Curtis of the Future

This came home from class the other day. 

Looks like Curtis' memory of the past includes his crib and a stuffed monkey that he's since handed down to Tate. (It's now Tate's favorite toy. He's named Onkey and he goes everywhere that Tate goes.)

In his present, Curtis looks to be quite the attentive student. 

Traci asked him what he was he was doing in the future. 

"Going to work, like dad."

"What does Dad do at his work?" Traci asked. 

"I dunno."

Future looks bright. 

Turning the Big 0-5

Turning five is a pretty big deal. Tate's been counting down the days for weeks. And why not. He's had pretty much the best day(s) ever. 

The night before his birthday, he got to go out with his grandma and grandpa. Dinner at Popeyes, followed by a trip to Target to pick out some TeenyMates and some hockey cards. Yeah, pretty sweet. 

On his actual birthday, he got to have his favorite breakfast (scrambled eggs) and his favorite dinner (bacon and nacho cheese -- seriously). 

And, of course, some presents. 

(For a boy who spends 20 hours a day in pajamas, this was the perfect gift.) 

During the day, he took full advantage of the kindness of his mother. 

After dinner, the plan was to go to Tate's favorite place, Nickelcade. But right before we were about to leave, we had this conversation:

Tate: Can we go to the tennis court and use my new racket?

Me: Let's go to Nickelcade tonight and then we can play tennis on Saturday. 

(I would have been fine to just play tennis, but Paige and Curtis would have flipped out if we didn't go to the arcade.)

Tate: Can we go to Nickelcade on Saturday? 

Me: Sorry, buddy. We can't. 

Tate: (Clutching his racket) That's okay. We can just go to Nickelcade for my birthday next year.

(Ah, what a sweet little guy.)

Me: How 'bout we go play tennis for just a few minutes and then we go to the Nickelcade. 

(The perfect compromise.)

A pretty happy five-year-old. 

We're lucky to have him.