c jane enjoy it

Should I Retreat Now?

2010-09-01T03:38:00.000-06:00

I am nervous. Tomorrow Chup and I are leaving for San Juan Capistrano to a Couple's Retreat on the beach. What does that mean? Couple's Retreat? So far it means that we had to locate a place where our toddler could stay for six days so that we could focus on the couple part of Couple's Retreat. (Thanks Meg!)

I mean, it's not a therapeutic, licensed Couple's Retreat, it's more like our friend's grandparents own a beach house and four of us couples are going to stay in it together for the extended Labor Day weekend. Don't worry, we're all Mormon and so things probably won't get wild. Plus two of us are slinging babies. Then again, we are Mormon and the other two of us are ripe for the next baby. So what am I saying here?

What I am saying is, I've never shared a romantic vacation and a beach house with three other couples for six days. If this isn't good blogging material I am in the wrong profession. And I am nervous.

To ward off my midnight nervousness I'd like to tell you about how Chup and I went to meet Sam of Sammy's Cafe here in downtown Provo and how he named his veggie burger after me. Because something about me says "name food after me" it seems.

First of all we walked into the joint and met Sammy. As we were saying, "Nice to meet you!" the lovely girl with the pink shirt and hipster glasses said to me, "I read your blog!" And I said, "Awesome!" and then Sammy introduced me to three of his adopted brothers from Romania and the same girl overheard and said, "I went on a mission to Romania!" It's a small place. I mean, not Romania, Sammy's Cafe.

If that paragraph didn't make sense to you it might be because you aren't Mormon enough.

But it had me laughing all day.

Then Sammy insisted we try his pie shakes wherein they take a whole slice of pie and throw it into the blender with ice cream and the result is only slightly better than his cupcakes shakes wherein they take a whole cupcake and throw it into the blender with ice cream and the result is better than any other shake in this great state of Utah.

Then Sammy recommended the rest of lunch while we talked about dealing with rock stars, which is Sammy's job on the side.

And I could totally empathize because I deal with The Chief, and sometimes he is a rock star. Or a punk rocker? Probably a little of both. (But mostly punk).

Before we had to say our good byes, Sammy said to me, "We are opening a new cafe in Rexburg, Idaho and we'd like to name a burger after you," which is every girl's honor, so I picked the black bean veggie burger because veggie burgers will always be a big part of my existence.

My homegirl Mindy Gledhill is going to be headlining the Sammy's Cafe grand opening outdoor concert next weekend, I really wish I could go, but I will probably be recovering from the Couple's Retreat and all of that marital meditation and seaweed soul wraps I will be doing.

Anyway, if you are going please try the c jane veggie burger and think of me fondly?

p.s. Check out Mindy's new music video Anchor here!

Speaking of concerts, please come to our Rooftop Concert featuring Benton Paul on Sept. 10th 8:00/ watch this piece of video (no motorized couches, but yes, skipping):

I am c jane and the OC and mandatory relationship inventory here I come!
cjanemail@gmail.com

Bug in Your Ear

2010-08-31T16:15:00.001-06:00

I might as well come out and tell you, I have a goal to post every day until Christmas. This Christmas 2010. I know my Jewish friends like Bari in NYC don't celebrate Christmas, so to her I say: I might as well come out and tell you Bari, I have a goal to post everyday until December 25, 2010.

Now I should have my bases covered.

But I was up sooo late the other night trying to figure out some social media stuff (because my facebook account has maxed out at 5,000 friends and I feel bad because what about my 5,001 friend?) and I was too tired to post, so ooops I didn't quite make my goal and I still had four months left.

But then I went on a walk and decided that if I didn't post on one day it could be forgiven if I posted twice the next day, and because I am the type of person who loves to make up her own rules, it worked! Tonight I posted a post about my father in law, and now I am writing this post, and I feel all sorts of BACK ON TRACK!

Only, this post is sort of lame.

Maybe it will get better if I post a picture that Chup took of a fly on the wall:

Intriguing Chup, thank you.

Speaking of a fly on the wall, today Lucy and I were at lunch with our children downtown when we indulged in some sisterly gossip, I mean the kind where I spill leaky details about my life, and when I was done squeezing the juicy details out of my soul the lady sitting at the table next to us said, "Hi. I read your blog."

Ooops.

And I said, "Oh shoot. I was gossiping."

And she said, "I didn't hear anything."

But between the both of us? I HAVE A LOUD VOICE. I am deaf in my right ear (born with a hole in my eardrum) and I compensate all the time.

(Hi cute lady from Central Bank! Mum's the word alright?)

Well, I promise a better post next time. There is a lot of good to do in the world and unfortunately, this post isn't going to help the cause.

On the bright side, I have a new facebook page so if you want to be my friend on planet facebook you can like me there.

I am c jane and I should say "mum's the word" more often.
cjanemail@gmail.com

What the World Needs

2010-08-30T03:22:00.002-06:00

Less fathers in the law, more fathers-in-law. Like mine.

I am c jane and my father-in-law is named Ernie and his father-in-law is named Bert. No kidding.
cjanemail@gmail.com

For Ever Hallelujah!

2010-08-29T23:40:00.078-06:00

A good friend and I were talking the other night, she asked me, "What is the best part of you right now?"

I like that question, especially the qualifier right now.

Because I'd like to believe I'm made up of thousands of moving parts (both physical and not) which rotate and cycle, influx and flow and the best part of me is constantly changing.

But I answered pretty quick.

"My daughter."

She's the best part of me right now. And maybe that is because of her padded cheeks or darkening brown eyes, or how she smiles at me when I am not looking at her. And maybe it's because she rolls the entire length of our living room while I am cleaning up our house. And maybe it's because she likes to put her head in between my chin and clavicle and go to sleep. And maybe it's because she smells good.

Probably all those things.

But in times like this in my life when I am not so easy on myself, when I feel disappointed at the little things I can't seem to conquer, or the uncomfortableness I feel in my bubbly body, I know she is satisfied with me. She likes what I produce and man, it shows.

My goodness babies are a Godsend.

Post Edit- After some discussion I decided to take down that first photo of me holding Ever (previously posted). Though I am quite bubbly, Chup's wide angle made me even more so, and well, I need all the help I can get.
Tonight while looking through photos I found the black and white one above which I felt was more suited to the story. I love her even when she is fussy face.

I am c jane and I'd like to hear from you, what is the best part of you right now?
Leave a comment here, Facebook or Blog Frog. Heck, you can even email me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

To Mom & Dad in St. Louis: Fruity

2010-08-28T11:55:00.001-06:00

Are you sitting down?

Good.

Because you might fall over when I show you these photos of the fruit of my womb:

Mom, you were right. Being with your children is home.

Thanks for the St. Louis adventure.

Love you both!
Court

The First Ever (Possibly) Chocodile Birthday Cake with Balloons!

2010-08-27T23:40:00.005-06:00

This was Chup's birthday:

The Chief and I secretly picked up a dozen balloons in his favorite colors before he woke up in the morning. We don't do fancy birthday decor around here mostly because I am lazy and also because balloons are pretty awesome on their own.

And later we had The Birthday Cake--a homage to two things really: Chup's recent fling with Chocodiles and Carina's Charlotte (two things that may slide to either side on the classy cake scale).

(I feel kind of naked now that you've seen the inside of my fridge.F.Y.I The Hershey Bars are for s'mores to make for my sister in law Lindsay who just gave birth to my niece Vera. You must have s'mores after giving birth, or before, or four months later or four months after that . . .)

I had to remind Chup that he now has 39 candles to blow out which means we have to buy two boxes of candles to have enough for his cake. I am sure that made him feel better about having one year left until he is OVER THE HILL!!! !! !!!!! !

Is it weird to claim I look forward to his midlife crisis?

It's going to be a blast.

p.s. I know you are going to want the recipe for that cake of divine conception BUT I hate to inform you this: it's all in the genius head of Azucar. (I didn't nickname her Sugar for nothin'.)

p.p.s. Yes The Chief was pant-less most of the day--it's a carefree way of celebrating a birthday! Try it on your big day next time it rolls around. Thank me then.

Happy Birthday Chup A. Cabre!

2010-08-26T18:13:00.068-06:00

A year or so into our marriage Chup was hit with a major conflict in his career. He was given two parts in two movies that were shooting at the same time. One was in Idaho, the other in Utah. Both were being made by his good friends and both had enticing possibilities to go big.

The first script offered to him was a small part in a teenage comedy directed by one of Chup's favorite people on this planet. The second script was offering him the title role--a teenage drama about an inspiring teacher in a high school. I don't know the rules of acting, but I think all things considered, an actor gravitates for the bigger role. But maybe I am wrong.

So Chup accepted the second script.

The film shot in a ginormous high school in south Salt Lake valley. He was shooting for a couple days and one day he asked if I wanted to come up and see him. This was a major conflict in our marriage, because I didn't like being on set. It was my living nightmare.

Because being on set brings out super insecurities about me. Because people on set take their jobs really seriously and I feel out of context. Because being on set requires you to be quiet. Absolutely quiet, and I was always worried that I'd be watching a scene and an accidental body noise would come out of me and everyone would look at me exasperated like, "You know how much money that hiccup just cost us?"

Hiccup, burp or . . . you know.

It's really intense and being on set makes me feel like I have disappeared.

But I accepted his offer.

The day I went on set I found him in front of lights and cameras with a push broom and a couple of teenage punks. They would do their scene and someone would yell "Cut!" and then all sorts of ladies would jump all over my husband, touching up his make up, "Your skin is perfect Chris!" getting him water, "Do you like designer water or tap, Chris?" going over lines, "In the next scene you will say 'It's okay Josh, I've been there too, be strong man.' Ok Chris?"

I don't even call him Chris.

And I sat there melting in the heat of feeling stupid wondering, what am I doing here? Until finally the director yelled, "We're taking a break!" which is when Chris waved off all the attentive women and walked towards me, took my hand and said, "Let's go find a place."

So we walked out of set and out into this ginormous high school and over to the auditorium where we climbed stairs to the balcony and sat there for awhile. Just sat there. I think he was decomposing his character so he could be him. The guy that auditioned for me and got the part.

And then, well, we made out.

I am going to write this next paragraph whilst battling a lumpy throat but: I guess I am telling this story because it's the way our relationship works. His security is enough to overcome my insecurities. And when I am feeling horribly inefficient or tired or stressed or confused, I envision myself with him, finding a place. And when we are alone, I climb on his lap--with my body completely folded up on his legs--and he wraps his big arms around me and we just sit there decomposing our characters. I really hope this is what heaven feels like, because it's the safest place my mind can reach. Gosh I am crying like a goat right now.

Happy Birthday Chup.

*thanks Jed Wells for this photo. Did I ever tell you I was six months pregnant when we shot these? With Chris' baby no less.

I am c jane and I don't think we ever saw the film Chup shot that day. But the second script? The one Chup passed on? It went big.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

It's A Good Thing I Forgive So Easily . . .

2010-08-25T23:24:00.018-06:00

Today I got this video message in my inbox. It's from Brooke White. She was supposed to be the headliner for our first c jane presents rooftop concert series but then something happened, something she "can't talk about right now" and she won't be able to come. It's ok because Benton Paul is going to bring it hot with all sorts of shenanigans to light up the stage. And we are going to have a gorgeous time. Don't you worry. Even you Australia people who can't come anyway.

But I've got to be honest with you, I was a little disappointed with this video message. I mean, it's sort of blah. Like, where the heck is her motorized couch?

I am c jane and I forgive BUT I NEVER FORGET!!!
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

S.O.S Ashlee

2010-08-24T23:16:00.009-06:00

I was tired, alright?

So tired I didn't crawl into bed, I fell. I fell flat on my face up against my pillow and went comatose within seconds. But I didn't know about the all night party The Chief and Ever had planned for me. Yahoo! Party upstairs! So it didn't last long, this coma, because a short time later I was serving milky drinks to the two and under crowd until the sun came up.

And when that sun came up, so did my hair.

I was tired, (remember?) the night before and didn't make the seemingly giant effort to take the twin braids out of my hair. So when I woke up I had what you might call Viking Hair. Sorta like this.

Except, replace the horns with a sizeable rat's nest and minus the mustache (although I wouldn't put it past my hormone infrequency these days) then add back in the scowl. That's about right. Thanks Minnesota.

But I did what any serious mother does, I forgot about my Viking hair and got up, got dressed and got a bowl of Cheerios. And ate them.

Nearing ten o'clock I retreated outside to see what on earth was making my kitchen dishes shake. It turns out there was a big dump truck across the street dumping something that excited The Chief. As we were watching this rivoting display of dumping, my neighbor Janna stopped by.

I greeted her as I always do because she is just about the best neighbor in the world.

And she greeted me back.

And we talked.

And I looked over to see what The Chief was doing and caught a glimpse of my shadow against the sidewalk.

Oops. I had forgotten about my hair. It looked like I had a fuzzy two-legged octopus on my head who had given birth to seventy three other fuzzy octopus babies.

"I forgot about my hair," I said to Janna reaching up to press down on the increase.

"It's fine," she said, like she acknowledged that yes, my hair was spawning octopus babies but it's fine, no big deal.

Best neighbor in the world eh? What did I tell you?

Later around one o'clock Chup brought his friend Ryan home after they had a business lunch. I was on the floor of the green room, cleaning out my holiday decoration box (you all have one too, I know) and singing at lung capacity to Vampire Weekend. When they opened the door and saw me there I felt like I was a teenager again getting caught singing in the mirror when I thought no one was watching (you all did it too, I know).

"Hey guys," I said playing it cool.

"Hey," Ryan said back avoiding eye contact.

But we talked anyway, about his children, child bearing and women's birthing hips in this decade. He brought that up, not me. By the way.

I went to toss something in the garbage and caught another glimpse of me in the mirror.

Ooops. I had forgotten about my hair again. It looked like I had been hit by lightning. Twice. Maybe three times. And each strand appeared to be hoarding electricity. It looked like trampoline hair.

"I forgot about my hair," I said to Ryan.

"It's fine," he said like, I am glad I'm not married to you, but I am sure it's fine for Chup.

But I wasn't so sure about that. Tonight as I was looking through Chup's photos of the day I noticed he had secretly shot a photo of my Viking Electric Octopus Hair while I was at my desk.

"I forgot about my hair," I said to Chup upon viewing this photo.

"It's fine," he said, like he actually liked it.

And maybe I was still too tired to know better, but I believed him.

I am c jane and here are some photos I found while googling "Viking Hair":

contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

I Hope This Makes You Happy

2010-08-23T01:00:00.000-06:00

Hey You.

I love you. I do. I am a wee bit tired tonight. I had to rock Ever through a turbulent three-hour plane ride (why do I still feel like I am on that plane bouncing around?) But I wanted to make sure that tonight, or tomorrow or next Saturday--whenever you read this--that I have done something to cheer your soul. A gift wrapped up in internet--if you will. That is why I am going to bow out of writing tonight and instead post this Jed Well's video of my friend Sarah Sample at a famous taco shop (Diego's) here in Provo. Sarah is a singer songwriter with a new album coming out produced by Scott Wiley and it is my kind of music. Also seen in this video is Ryan Keep It Simple Tanner and Paul Auto Delivery Jacobsen and a couple other musically minded folk. That makes a whole company of my most talented friends working together on one project.

And you know, my friends are your friends:

Three things I wish for in my life:
1. Hair to my bumline (or waistline, whichever comes first . . .)
2. Life supply of Jess Simp shoes.
3. Sarah Sample's voice.

Is that a tall order for a short girl???

p.s. if you want another gift to unwrap listen to Apocalypse Wow by Paul Jacobsen & The Madison Arm.

I am c jane and add a good night's sleep to that list. Number four.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Post Cards from St. Louis (3)

2010-08-22T23:36:00.017-06:00

Tomorrow: shopping at the Plaza Frontenac, Italian on The Hill with Callie and an airplane ride home.

I am c jane and this trip has gone too fast.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

On My Parent's Bed

2010-08-21T01:36:00.035-06:00

Death:

After Ever went down to sleep tonight I crawled in bed with my mom and dad. It's one of those things I really miss about having my parents across the country, just the lounging and the talking.

I asked my mom to tell me about her little brother Jeffery. Jeffery was born with some complications and had Down's Syndrome. He lived for five months and passed away of pneumonia one night in his sleep. Of course I had heard this story before, but not since I had grown a mother's heart. Some of the details were so incredibly heart-breaking I can't even write them down now as I formulate this post. My heavens, I cried like I was five on my parent's bed.

"We knew Jeffery was in a better place, and that we would see him again when he was healthy," my mother told me as I lay there wiping my wet face.

Then I had to go back upstairs and check to see Ever's little chest rising and falling.

Birth:

Today we went to a baptism for two people, Linda and Shawn. While I've been out here running around the city, enjoy the vacation I've dreamed of, my dad has been working. His job is to preside over 180 or so missionaries, oversee their physical and spiritual needs so they can go out and teach those who want to be baptized. Like Linda and Shawn.

They were glowing today. Linda had light pouring out of her and Shawn declared, "Jesus saved me!"

It was Linda's son Chris who initially told her about the church. He sent the missionaries over to teach her and his little brother. After the baptism was over the family cried and embraced each other. I will never forget it.

Between:

Yesterday my mom and I saw Bill Viola's Visitation at the St. Louis Art Museum. Visitation is video art, on a long plasma screen. There are two female figures in a gray fuzzy picture who are cautiously walking towards something. As the women get closer into view, you see them cross a veil of water and appear in High Definition and color. The crossing of the veil is so vivid and gorgeous it pulled at something eternal inside of me.

After they cross, one woman starts to cry in horror as the other one looks on peacefully.

And then they go back. Black-and-white figures walking away.

After we watched we decided to go see the contemporary art collection. We saw a few paintings--Gauguin inspired no doubt--and my mom turned to me and said, "Let's go see Visitation again."

So we did. Then we left the museum because we were pretty sure we saw what we were meant to see. The piece was so moving it would've been hard to interpret anything else. Later as my mom tried to explain it to my dad she cried.

When I go home on Monday I will have so many indelible memories of this trip, but these three might be the strongest of them all.

Post Cards from St. Louis (2)

2010-08-20T23:41:00.010-06:00

p.s. A reader asked about my parent's name tag. What does it say? Here is a close-up:

President Clark

(my mom's says Sister Clark)

Missouri St. Louis Mission

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints

(the official name of the Mormon church)
It's their missionary name tag and they wear it all times, except not to bed. Pretty sure.

I am c jane and I like Missouri rainstorms. I also like Winslow's Home, Citygarden,
Blueberry Hill and the Delmar Loop. Only why is it called a loop? I don't know.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Post Cards from St. Louis (1)

2010-08-19T23:48:00.006-06:00

On the sched for tomorrow: The Loop, Forest Park, more food and a museum for the culture count.

This post wouldn't have been possible without the help of Leanna and Lauren from Bittersweet.

I am c jane, and I am wondering if the font I used on the photos is too cutesy.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Colonel Mustard on a Plane

2010-08-19T00:12:00.001-06:00

Please note: this post is about baby poo and miracles. You've been warned.

One thing I really like about Ever Jane is that she only empties her bowels once a week. Usually on Sunday (it's a day of rest and relax and her bowels take that seriously). And when she does soil a dipe it's done is a controlled manner. None of this blow-out stuff--like a bottle of mustard exploded all over you and your baby. Oh the many reasons to love Ever Jane Kendrick (smooch!)

However, when she does decide to empty her waste, it usually smells like the breath of death. And if Chup were here he'd type: I SO TESTIFY.

Maybe you know that breastfed babies usually have yeasty smelling poo? Like warm bread? Not so much with Ever Jane Kendrick. But her toes are curly and that makes up for things.

So today I was set to fly in a smallish jet to St. Louis to visit the folks on their Mormon mission (bless their hearts). I was nervous to fly with my little Ever for three hours in a cramped space, so there were definite nerves as we maneuvered through the Salt Lake Airport. The part about motherhood that makes me looney is when there are an infinite amount of variables for one action.

Action: flying.

Variable one: Ever cries incessantly for no reason I can detect.

Variable two: Ever wants to breastfeed, awkward and strange (possibly creepy) man rubbing shoulders with me in seat over.

Variable three: Her ears won't pop when we ascend/decend.

And on. And on.

When we checked in at the gate, we were an instant welcomed distraction for the waiting crowd. Lady with a Baby Makes Grand Gate Entrance! Everyone wanted to coo and cuddle (no touching) (just kidding) and consume my child. I had no blames for any of them.

But just as Ever was punching out some pretty awesome smiles to the folks, I noticed her grin evolving into a grunt. Face goes red. Slight shaking of head. Lines in forehead appear. Nose pinched downwards.

(If you are pulling all of these facial stunts right now as you read this please note: you are now my favorite reader.)

"I think she's working on something!" said a lady two from across the room.

And then I smelled a smell of fermented sewage and just like that, SHOW IS OVER! I ushered my baby to the bathroom and changed her on the changing table. And while I was at it, I patted myself on the back for bringing diapers and wipes because I am the type of mother who forgets the necessities. You can have blames for me for that-- I am a spacey mom, welcome!

Back at the gate, the plane was starting to board and I decided to be the very last passenger. That way I'd save cramped plane time. But as I was sitting there waiting for First Class, Group One, Group Two and The Very Last Group to exit through the tunnel of embarkation Ever started grunting again.

Oh yes she did.

And then I smelled a smell of sweet and condensed sulphur and I knew we had ourselves a second BM in twenty minutes. Only problem was, we had no time to go back to the bathroom and take care of business. So I did the job on my lap while she squirmed about threatening to wipe my white shirt with her latest creation.

Then we took our seats on the plane.

Next to a really nice woman who happened to be a breastfeeding advocate and mother of six, Janet. Prayers are answered! Only Ever started fussing and didn't stop until we were an hour and half into our flight when all of a sudden Janet says to me,

"I smell something."

And just at that moment I felt something wet all over my fingers. Wet and gooey.

Oh yes she did.

Number three (of number twos) all over her onesie, her cuddle blanket and . . . me.

The flight attendant stopped by just as we were discovering our smearing of gold.

"Oh dear, and there are lines for both bathrooms right now. You might have to wait it out. Of course you probably have another outfit to change her into . . . right?"

Wrong. But I smiled anyway like, "Of course!"

After she left, Janet offered her lap and together we layed out Ever Jane and wiped the heck out of everything in sight.

Variable four: Ever explodes.

"I love that smell," Janet said to me as I was vigorously wiping. "Butter popcorn."

I blog a lot about tender mercies--small acts of God that relieve the soul. And I must say for the circumstance--small quarters, full plane, a big bowel blast, Ever's tendency to shoot foul smelling waves into the air--the fact that suddenly her waste smelled like a box of extra buttery popcorn on Friday night at the cinemas was nothing short of a mile high miracle.

And the rest of flight she was a princess on a plane--another reason to love Ever Jane Kendrick.

Sing praises.

St. Louis: Tomorrow on my journey I am going to embark into the city for some good food. Good food is the only reason I travel. History is boring. Just kidding I love history. But I don't travel for history I travel for food. And this time, to see my parents. And for the chance to sleep a lot. I also want to see the arch. Thank you and good night.

I am c jane, and it's good to be back with my parents.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

That's Amore

2010-08-18T02:35:00.001-06:00

When I was young I hated pizza just about more than I hated anything.

It was a lousy combination of tomato paste smeared around a bunch of baked vegetables that only old people ate. Peppers with bacon and pineapple and mushrooms? Barf and triple barf.

This was not good for my socialization. Anytime there was a birthday party, sleep-over, social outing or any sort of celebration, pizza always came along with it. Plus, a pizza party was the grand reward for everything, class pizza parties at school, Sunday school scripture reading reward pizza parties, thanks for doing service pizza parties. I spent so many hours of fun and frivolity drinking Sprite and hoping I'd get an extra breadstick because I sure as darn was not going to put a piece of pizza in my mouth.

Things were so complicated that way.

Then one New Year's Eve when I was twelve years old I decided I'd had enough. I decided I'd somehow eat the pizza along with the rest of the gaggle of girls--you know--try to be one of the crowd. Besides, one time a doctor told me that our taste buds change every seven years--and I took it as medical gospel truth. I was sure my buds were fresh and ready to try again. So I ate a slice. In fact, I ate two slices. They both slithered down my throat and settled at the bottom of my stomach.

It was sometime after New Year's when we had all crashed to the floor--confetti in our ratted hair, sleeping heavily snuggled together covered in colored streamers--that I threw all that pizza back up. Vomit in a pool of lost popularity.

And I didn't touch it again until ten years later.

I was a missionary in Quebec one summer when the harvest was beyond fruitful. Garden vegetables were delivered to our apartment almost on a daily basis by members of the church. We had enough tomatoes on our kitchen counter to heckle a persistently bad comedian. Every night Soeur Corrigan, my wonderful companion, would make a batch of fresh salsa, and I don't know BUT somehow I was blessed to start liking tomatoes for the first time in my life.
Which opened the way for pizza.

Which was great until I got pregnant with The Chief and couldn't even hear the "p" word without puking. Couldn't hear it, couldn't think about it, couldn't smell it and wished it never existed. Dang Italians. And what a reaction! Chup mentioned "it" one time while we were in line to buy groceries and I dropped to the floor and dry heaved until I foamed at the mouth. I think my point was made.

Then after delivery I was blessed to love it again.

Then there was tonight, a banner night for me and pizza. Tonight my friends at SLABpizza named a pizza after me: the c jane breakfast pizza. Red sauce, bacon, sausage, potatoes and a slightly runny egg nestled into the thin crust. Cheese too.

With friends around--new and old, family and not, we celebrated my long and arduous relationship with the pie people call pizza.

Which I now call my dear friend.

Thanks Eric and Andy! I'm honored!

Please help us help Provo's own Now I Can Foundation using your awesome Facebookness:

I am c jane and I want to thank everyone who came tonight. Especially you Meredith from Texas!
Contact me: cjanemail@gmail.com

Bean Sowing My Good

2010-08-17T01:37:00.002-06:00

Fear not to do good my sons, for whatsoever ye sow that shall ye also reap; therefore, if ye sow good ye shall also reap good for your reward. -Doctrine and Covenants 6:33

We read that scripture at church on Sunday. After thinking about it I decided I'd look for opportunities to plant some good seeds with hopes of big rewards. Bring on the good times!

"I really want to go to the Bean Museum," my niece Jane told me this mid-morning as she walked in my door with her older sister and two younger brothers. "I want to go see the bears."

"I don't think . . ." I started to say, calculating in my mind how I'd manage three children, two toddlers and a baby at a museum, much less anywhere in public. But as soon as I started to spit out my excuses I remembered the part about me wanting to sow good seeds.

Taking children to a museum=good seeds.

Good seeds=good rewards.

Scripture math? Yes. Yes. Easy enough.

So I Put My Shoes On and everyone elses shoes and with two strollers and two water bottles to share, we set out for the Bean Museum.

If you haven't been to the Bean I will explain it this way: it's a museum of taxidermied animals, green velvet benches and a distinct smell of formaldehyde. A place so full of death and life your brain can't decide which is which. (I've often wondered what will happen to that place when the resurrection hits. Animals literally coming out of the walls!!!) It's on BYU campus--through the dorms and up a large hill from my house. I loved it there as a child and now these children love it there.

So we went.

In the heat of the day, through campus, across the street up a bridge, over a foot bridge, under the road, up over the road, across another street and on cue: Ever starts crying, Gigs is mad at Ollie for taking his spot on the stroller, Jane is thirsty, The Chief wants out of his stroller and my feet hurt.

At this point my seeds need watering, if you know what I mean.

As we rounded the corner, almost inside the cooled tomb of an African safari species (to name one) my very own sister Lucy pulls up with Betsy in tow.

"What were you thinking?" Lucy said to me as she peeled Betsy out of her car seat. "Taking all the kids to the museum by yourself! Why didn't you call me?"

"Did Chup tell you we were here?" I asked as Ollie punched the button for the automatic doors to allow in our stroller brigade.

"Yes, and I came as soon as I could." Lucy replied shaking her head and taking off her sunglasses making her way toward us.

Chup had been feeling under the weather and I wanted him to rest.

Letting husband rest=good seeds. No?

As we walked into the rectangular, carpeted museum Gigs took off his shoes leaving one by the liger and one by the moose. Ollie disappeared upstairs. Claire was out of sight and Jane hit the seashell exhibit. The Chief headed to the waterfowl display and Ever still needed soothing.

"See? What would you have done without me?" Lucy said taking note of the situation.

Good seed=being willing to take the children to the museum by myself.

Reward=Lucy shows up in the nick of time.

We wandered around a bit until Claire asked us to come upstairs and see the bears. When I got to the top of the stairs I saw an interesting collection of pigs and boars (am I boaring you?) and as it comes to pass, I've had a rare fascination with pigs and boars lately. As soon as I can explain that coherently I will, but for now you can just go ahead and think I'm crazy.

(Was it my recent thoughts on Lord of the Flies?)

Good seed=take children to the museum, walk upstairs with sore feet.

Reward=a row of stuffed pig heads.

But it gets better. As we were coming down the stairs by the giraffe head, I heard the children getting excited.

"Christopher! Yay!"

Chup had somehow found strength to get out of bed and meet us over at the Bean. So my solo trip with six children had turned into a party of three adults and seven children.

Good seed=museum with the children.

Reward= (my husband brought the Canon he's been playing with lately so,) good photos.

I was on a roll at that point. I decided to call my friend Katy B. who is the educational director of the Bean. When she came up from her basement office she asked the children if they'd like to hold some live animals in our own private reptile show. Not stuffed ones mind you, real tongue shooting reptiles!

Good seed=children, museum.

Reward=I get to hold a seven-legged tarantula named Rosie:

I may have tinkled a little.

Reward=feeding the turtle kale sticks:

Reward=turtle poop wipes off easily and consists of mostly digested kale sticks:

Thanks, Chup for labeling that photo.

Reward=a cute, snugly iguana:

Reward=a scaly, sizable lizard:

(Which may have been just a little scary to touch. At first.)

Reward=petting the snake:

or, pointing at the snake:

This whole karma thing, sowing and reaping good, I'd say it works. I mean, it was quite immediate in my situation, anyway. Only, I'd like it to look a little bit more like this:

Good= taking children to the museum.

Reward=Toms Cranberry Canvas Wedges.

I mean, I'm just putting that out there . . .

Thanks Katy and Michelle from the Bean!

I am c jane and I lead somewhat simple life.

Two Years Later

2010-08-16T00:59:00.003-06:00

A phone call tonight on the eve of my sister's two year anniversary since the airplane crash:

Stephanie: Court, can you watch my kids while Christian and I go to breakfast tomorrow?

Me: Sure. Are you going to celebrate your second chance at life?

Stephanie: Yep.

Me: Kinda fitting. You two go off on a romantic date while I take your children.

Stephanie: Yep. Totally fitting.

Hooray for the two year mark! I love you!

For more reading pleasure ( I hope):
I wrote this post last year to commemorate our lives changing. I think it still applies.

An Education Week Meet Up! Read about it here:

I am c jane and that is a photo of three people I love: Brother Topher, Sister Lucy and Sister Steph. Goofballs.

To Mom & Dad in St. Louis: A Sneak Peek

2010-08-14T21:25:00.001-06:00

Mom and Dad,

What you should know about your 34th grandchild is that he connects all things with sleep. He has started assuming that anything not in his visual field is sleeping, and when someone/something is presented to his eyes he yells, "WOKE UP!" It happens to me a couple times a day. We'll be playing in the green room together, I get up to go the bathroom, I come back into the green room and boom, I "WOKE UP!" And always, it is delivered with a face so thrilling it is almost worth leaving the room again.

It started on the day he saw a messy colored sunset in Twin Falls. I said to him, "The sun is going n'night," but every time the light changed before his eyes he'd tap my shoulder and point, "WOKE UP!"

Yes, it is cute. But sometimes Ever falls asleep with her eyes open (funny things) and then his announcing, "WOKE UP!" is hazaradous. Because then, of course, she does WAKE UP!

I guess this means that in The Chief's existence you aren't really gone, you're just sleeping.

Happy dreams! Don't let the bed bugs bite!

And as for Ever, she can now roll back-to-tummy and tummy-to-back. You betcha.

And you are going to want to right-click-set-as-desktop-background to this next picture:

(Or if that is too technical, wait for Wednesday when I can come out and do it for you.)

See you soon!

Love,
Courtney Jane

The Importance of Being an Aunt

2010-08-14T01:33:00.000-06:00

When I was fourteen my sister Page made me an aunt.

He was this blond haired brown eyed chunk of a child. They named him Layton after our Papa Layton Jones, but I've always called him Tony. Lay-tony. You see.

Aside from my own blond haired brown eyed child and his sister, I have never loved a baby more than Layton. He was a constant source of joy in the midst of my torrential teenage years. I had to be tutored by Page in biology (science! my mystery!) which sent me to his house after school and I couldn't count down the hours fast enough. I was aware of everything he did because everything he did was magnified brillance.

One day Page brought him to our house and he had bandages all over his hands. He had crawled up on a heated radiator and was burned. That was the first day I remember my heart breaking. I couldn't stop thinking about his swaddled padded palms--his hands like two mitts on a cat--and what is was like for him to experience pain. I never wanted him to know pain. It was painful to even imagine.

And then they moved. To California. I never got over that.

He was sent to a school and placed in a gifted and talented program (of course! my boy!). He made friends with a boy who became his loyal companion. Through Layton this boy and his family came to know more about Mormons. Then they wanted to be Mormons and were baptized.

And then they moved again. Back to Utah. I was so happy.

And when Tony was the exact age I was when he was born we took a trip to Europe together. London and Paris. We studied all the art we could find and ate all the cheese pizza he wanted. I realized he was growing up to be far more intelligent than I had planned on.

And soon we were swapping books. Siddhartha, in particular, for it's universal truths and teachings of transcendence from pain.

Pain is how fast time goes by.

Today my Tony goes off to Virginia. Off to college. We had our last meeting on Sunday while discussing On the Road to Heaven while he kicked around a soccer ball. We talked about the Mormon philosophy presented in that book. More universal truths.

I loved that book and it didn't surprise me, so did he.

I taught him everything I had.

*photo of me and Tony at Shakespeare & Co., Paris. 2007.

But It's Hard to Hate August When . . .

2010-08-13T01:53:00.003-06:00

. . I was cuddling with Ever tonight and I looked out my bedroom window and saw this:

The Y is lit up for BYU graduation:

Which made me think of all the great people doing great things this month like graduating and moving on to new adventures. Off to change our world. It will never be the same again.

And I am pretty confidant that is the Star of Bethlehem above the mountains beaming down on my busy town:

Which made me think of all the great repenting I need to do. Let me start here:

August, I was wrong about you. You can be most lovely.

Apology accepted?

I am c jane and that is my view.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Ahh August! Augusto! How Do We Do?

2010-08-12T00:44:00.003-06:00

Look, I just don't do well in August. August to me is like the month where you lie waiting for bad news. I am sorry to say this if your birth occurred in August (smooches Chuppie Pie!) or if you were married, or learned how to ride a bike or the like, but honestly August is a speed bump in my path around the calendar year.

Last night I couldn't even sleep. I mean, I could sleep . . . for 45 minutes. Not because of stirring creatures or snoring husbands (not you Chupa Chupa) but because I was simply plotting a plan called: How Do I Get Out of Doing August This Year?

Luckily my schedule called for a lunch with the fabulous (and I mean that word) Natalie Lovin Hollbrook who showed up to P712 with some sass and the tiniest seven month baby bump I've ever seen. Talk about speed bumps . . .

As we were eating talking eating talking (mostly talking about my slumpy attitude) Nat mentions to me that her mother's answer to the doldrums was: Put Your Shoes On.

"What did that signify?" I queried.

"That you were ready for action," she explained.

Aha!

Then, honestly, I fell in love with Nat the Rat even more. (At that point.) And I used to be really careful about how much I used the word "love" because I wanted it to be "significant" and really "mean something" but I watched Mia Michaels spill it out of her artistic mouth about twenty bagillion times tonight on So You Think You Can Dance and I stopped worried about the frequency of which I use that word. Besides, it's "love" how can you over-use it?

Then Nat blessed Ever with some of her state-side onesies and such. Which we LOVED.

On returning home from this lunch--wherein I ate an enlightening sandwich consisting of Nat's mother's motto between two delicious slices of Nat herself--I decided to not (NOT) kick off my shoes. In fact, I invited everyone in my home to: Put Your Shoes On.

"Yeah?" says Chup, lazy from lawn mowing (ours, not like he's taken away jobs from the twelve year old boys in the neighborhood) "And where are we going?"

"Up the canyon to the waterfall!" I said like it was DISNEYLAND or MESQUITE!

And immediately The Chief starts running in circles because he picked up on the word "water" and he thought it meant we were Putting On Our Shoes to go in the backyard to turn on the hose. Hooray! August is Glorious!

But no.

Better.

We actually drove up the canyon where the air is cooler and filled with campfire smells (I love you s'mores) and walked up the Bridal Veil Trail (I love that name for a waterfall) and threw walks into the base of the falls and dipped our feet.

(you're thinking: c jane in animal print? grrrr! like button!)

When Ever started arching her back and refusing to think her brother's rock-throwing antics were entertaining we left to get an ice cream cone.

"That was nice," said Chup later as we were licking ice cream off our fingers in our front yard.

And I said a little love prayer to Heavenly Father to thank Nat and Nat's mother for saving at least ONE day in August.

p.s. What am I going to do tomorrow?

p.p.s We put Frogs in our backyard pool to see how he would like it! He LOVED it! And then we couldn't find him the next day. We were sad. So scratch Frogs off the characters on this blog and please don't hate me because I didn't take my pet keeping seriously.

p.p.p.s This is for my safety-loving friends who previously didn't think I took my safety-loving seriously:

Triple latched baby! Ever should be the Safety Commenters Mascot! I LOVE it.

ppppppps. Ever has the longest tongue of any baby on this planet. Don't tell The Suitors.

I am c jane and I wrote this post barefooted.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

The Suitors: The First One

2010-08-12T00:25:00.004-06:00

Chup and I don't believe in arranged marriages, BUT we do believe in arranging suitors for our daughter to start thinking about. We also believe she will appreciate this when she is twenty-five and ready to marry.

Please note: twenty-five is the minimum age we allow for marriages in our household (because we do believe in arranged ages for marriages to occur--of course, we're not reckless).

But here behold, I give you (a very handsome and ethnically rainbowed) Jude Benton. Suitor One:

Yes. I see some coziness there.

And I think my daughter is imagining their future together:

We are taking it as a good sign.

*photos by Brooke O. Benton-formerly of Northern Cal.

Anniversary

2010-08-11T03:21:00.001-06:00

Chup here - When I was 15, my half sister Me'chelle came to live with us. Shelley was my dad's only child from his first marriage, and just about three years older than me. She had lived most of her life -visiting occasionally- in a small town about 30 minutes away.

Though irregular, her weekend visits were always, always fun. It's like she'd just jump back in to the family, and we'd play games or talk or jump on the trampoline or watch movies with a huge bowl of air-popped.

Shelley was obsessed with this ESP game where we'd sit forever concentrating on a picture we'd drawn or just something in our heads. We'd stare intently at each other, trying not to laugh, and then (no hints!) confidently pronounce the object the other was thinking of.

"Steering wheel!"
"No."

Pause.

"Duck!"
"No."

Pause...

"Refrigerator"
"No."

Paaause...

"Three of clubs.."
"No....What?"

"Three of....."

And we'd laugh until it hurt and then we'd try again. In earnest.

Sometimes we'd get close.

Me: "Corn."
Her: "No! but ohmigosh, I WAS thinking about a train. You know, that train that runs on the track by the Green Giant factory. You know! Green Giant...CORN!"

Encouraged, we'd keep at it for hours.

Shelley taught me how to put cereal and milk in a ziploc bag for a portable breakfast.

She showed me how to strain orange juice through a paper towel to get rid of every last bit of pulp.

When she graduated high school, Shelley came to CSI (the junior college in town) and moved in with us.

And I got the big sister I never had.

Before, she was just visiting. We had a ton of fun, but now...NOW she was my sister.

And that was awesome.

She was my own personal oracle into the two mysteries that consumed nearly 95% of my cognitive expenditures in high school.

My hair.

And girls.

Shelley was an expert with both.

Since her mother Lucy was a hairdresser, Shelley was magic with mousse and a hair dryer. It was the 80's, and she perfected my "short on one side, long on the other, flip it out of your eyes every few seconds" thing.

We'd talk for hours about Tiffany or Laura or Julienne. Shelley would build my confidence, give me advice, soothe my wounds.

She was my big sister.

On August 10, 1987, I was at my best friend Jason's house building hobby-grade rubber-band powered airplanes. The kind you heat-shrink the wing covering on.

The phone rang, and Jason handed it to me with a funny look on his face.

I could tell my mom had been crying and she said:

"Your sister has been in a car accident. She's in a helicopter on her way to Boise."

Shelley's funeral was five days later.

I remember riding in the limo to the cemetery. Everyone was crying. My Mom, my little brother and sister and my poor, poor Dad.

I was sitting next to Andy O'Crowley, Shelley's boyfriend. They had been days away from being engaged.

And I remember feeling strange...like I should be crying, but I just didn't...feel like it.

Then I noticed Andy wasn't either, and he said;

"I'm just a little bit jealous of her, and where she gets to be right now."

And I nodded, because that's exactly how I felt. Today -23 years later- I still do.

Her ESP is probably awesome.

Miss you Shelley.

The Good Man

2010-08-09T22:56:00.000-06:00

Here is what I like about Chris Williams, he doesn't take any of the credit for being so remarkably forgiving:

I am c jane and I felt like sharing this video.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com