The Petroglyph Hunters

Cold Water

Luckily our kids are impervious to cold water. The pool was frigid! Brrrrrr.

Photo Bomb!

Photobombed by a redheaded five year old atop Hoover Dam.

Cokes of the World, Unite!

Getting our international Coke on. Curtis suffering the ill effects of the poison flavor.

Field Trip

The wheels on the bus are going round and round. On our way to the zoo.

Hey Mister DJ, Play that Song

"I don't wanna rock, deejay. But you're making me feel so nice." -- Robbie Williams 

It took 36 years but it finally happened. I landed my first gig as a celebrity DJ.

(The gig was a ward party. I was a celebrity because I was invited back to my old ward.)

The assignment was simple enough: Play an hour of songs that will appeal equally to 20-year-olds and 90-year-olds...and everyone in between.

Sure, it was a tough challenge, but the price was right: I was guaranteed a plate of chicken cordon bleu -- and, if I did a good job, a slice of pie at the end.

I was feeling a lot of pressure as I prepped for the big night.

What if no one dances? 

What if the old people hate it? 

What if the young people hate it? 

What if a swear word slips in there and the bishop gets mad? 

What if they take away my chicken cordon bleu? 

I worked and reworked the set list -- pushing Elvis up, moving Glenn Miller back, sticking Alphaville in the middle, ditching Simon and Garfunkel entirely.

And then, before I knew it, was time for action.

The lights dimmed (the neon lights stayed at full strength), the crowd stood and cheered (stayed seated in the metal folding chairs), and waited for the beat to drop (wondered when the Young Women were going to bring out the dessert).

The ghost of Jim Morrison whispered in my ear, "The time to hesitate is through."

I scrolled through my playlist.

Found the perfect song.

And pushed play.

The Village People took care of the rest.

Needless to say, I earned my slice of pie.

Daddy Daughter Dance

My beautiful date for the school daddy/daughter dance. #latergram

In the Studio

These guys are getting ready to do some recording this weekend. #johnnytightlips

Tate's Rookie Season

Tate just finished his first season of Junior Jazz. When five-year-olds play basketball, it looks a lot like football: One kid takes the ball, tucks it under his arm, and runs across the court until the entire pack of kids swarm around him, at which point some or all of them end up on the floor. Dribbling is recommended but not required.

Much like in soccer, Tate spends most of his time running and smiling. He also plays some killer D, which consists of putting his hands directly in his opponent's face and waving them back and forth. And he even made a bucket or two. (Including one on the 10-foot hoop yesterday. The power went out at the rec center and the baskets couldn't be lowered to their usual eight feet.)

All in all, a pretty good season.

I'm Not a Businessman, I'm a Business, Man

I just got back from a work trip with the CEO. In five days, we visited offices in four different states — Michigan, Oklahoma, Florida, North Carolina — which required us to take eight different flights.

Spending so much time with the leader of our company made me realize I'm not much of a businessman.

In between flights from Detroit to Grand Rapids, he hands me a Time magazine. "There's a really good article here about communication," he says. "I'm done with it if you want to read it."

"Thank you," I reply, and then slide it into my backpack.

Between the flight from Atlanta and Fort Lauderdale, he hands me Harvard Business Review. "There's a really great article in here about creating trust," he says.

"Thank you," I reply, as I slide the magazine into my backpack, next to the unread Time.

Then I go back to reading the book I brought from home.

And that's why I'd make a lousy CEO.

Overdue Books

One of my greatest accomplishments as a parent is finding the books that my kids check out from the library and then immediately lose.

Rebounds

Add another point to the hustle board. #tatersgonnatate

Never Trust a Five Year Old to Plan a New Year's Party

We had a good Christmas break.

We visited Temple Square. 

And took a trip to the Natural History Museum. 

We went sledding. 

And saw a movie at the planetarium. 

But we saved Tate's favorite thing for last.  

A Utah Grizzlies game.

The boy loves hockey. He has his own pocket-sized Grizzlies calendar. Every night he tells me who the Grizz are facing and every morning he wakes up and asks Siri who won. 

When he asked me if we could go to the Grizzlies on New Year's Eve, I happily agreed. In fact, I invited my whole family to come along. 

(He was so excited for the game that we spent the morning watching an NHL alumni game on TV. Yes, we watched old, retired guys play hockey for three full hours. He's that into hockey.)

My sister Jenny and her family accepted the invite and we all loaded in the van and headed to he game. 

Traffic was light on the way to the game. In fact, it was so light that we when pulled into the stadium we noticed something interesting. 

We were the only ones there. 

"Uh, Spencer," my sister said.

She didn't have to finish the sentence. There clearly was no game. 

How did this happen? 

Tate told me they had a game. I even had him ask Siri to double check the start time. 

Stopped in the empty parking lot, we asked Siri again. The British voice (My Siri is a British man, thanks to my kids messing with the settings on my phone) confirmed the Grizzlies did, in fact, have a game on New Year's Eve.

In Allen, Texas. 

I guess I need to teach my five year old the difference between a home game and an away game. 

No hockey for us. 

Fortunately, all was not lost. We relocated the party from the hockey stadium to our house and Jenny brought along Pie Face. 

For Tate, getting hit in the face with a glob of whipped cream is not as good as a Grizzlies game. But almost.

Point Guard

Picture day. #tatersgonnatate

Brace Face

Sometimes you get a smile from Curtis. Braces and all. 

Another Trip to Disneyland

We survived Disneyland...again. 

Growing up, I went to Disneyland exactly two times: Once as an unknowing baby and once as a angsty teenager. I had no idea that I'd grow up and marry a woman who'd convince me to go to Disneyland four times in eight years. 

This was probably our best California trip so far (and hopefully the last for a long time). 

We started out at Seal Beach. 

Pro traveling tip: If you want the beach to yourself, go at 2 p.m. on weekday afternoon.  

Parenting tip: If it's only 65 degrees on the beach, it's freezing in the water. But luckily kids don't care. 

Even at the happiest place on Earth, our fear is always that our kids will choose to have a lousy time. 

Despite the look of this look of disdain from Curtis, he actually had a really good time. 

I was most worried about Tate. When we went to Lagoon two months ago, he refused to go on any rides for the first eight hours of our ten-hour-visit. But other than one meltdown in the Toy Story Mania line, where he was hitting Traci, scratching Paige, and headbutting me, Tate did just fine. 

This trip also marked Curtis' first foray into big roller coasters. I love the look of fear on his face on Space Mountain. Tate, the littlest guy on the ride, is as happy as could be. 

Paige ruled the park, riding everything and conquering any fear of the scary ones, including California Screamin' (which she loved) and the Tower of Terror (which she hated). 

My trusty Fitbit informed that we walked 12 miles the first day. Tate opted for the stroller. 

After two days at Disneyland, we headed to Universal Studios. The 35 miles from Anaheim to Universal Studios in Hollywood took an hour and 15 minutes.  

Paige's favorite part of Universal was Harry Potter land. 

I had a different favorite. (Simpsons land was kind of what my dreams are like.)

Best. Family portrait. Ever. 

After a good day in the park, we had to brave the drive home. Thanks to two wrecks, combined with Friday night congestion, the 75-minute commute had ballooned to two hours and 15 minutes. After sitting on the freeway for a half hour or so, Siri offered a ray of hope: I have found a route that will save you 18 minutes, she intoned. We took it.

Siri guided us off the freeway and led us on a winding path through who knows where. In two miles, turn right. We did. In 600 feet, turn left. We did. And on and on through the labyrinth of the Los Angeles suburbs. It was maddening. Traci was a powerless navigator. I was a grumpy driver. Tate slept peacefully in his booster seat. When we finally made it to the last turn, the one that would lead to the big short cut, we saw another sign: Road closed.

When we made it back to the hotel, we all fell into the bed, exhausted. We'd walked more than 30 miles in three days.

It was a good trip. As our kids get older, it gets tougher to find things all three of them want to do. One wants to go on the big rides, but the others don't. One wants to go on the kid rides, but the others are too big. One is just grumpy all the time.

But this time around we basically did all the rides together as a family (probably to the lifelong traumatization of Tate; that Jurassic Park ride at Universal is pretty scary) and everyone had a good time.

Maybe we can go back to Disneyland after all.

The Voice

Paige rocking a duet at the end of her musical theater class at Hale Center Theatre 🎭

Wiggum

Bake 'em away, toys!

Despicable Us

That's what I'm talking about.

Our Disney Princess

Paige Bailey. Loving Disneyland.