Proud to be Canerican

As many of you already know, from previous posts and the fact that I like to introduce my self as ½ Canadian and ½ American…(Canerican, if you will), that I really love Canada. It’s possible it bothers people that my sisters and I love Canada a little bit more than America, but don’t get your panties in a twist people. I love America too. Did you know that today is Canada Day? Even though I’ve never been to an amazing Canada Day celebration (fireworks are banned! WHAT?) I’m proud to celebrate and wear a big maple leaf on my shirt and shout ‘Eh’ to everyone I know…but I can’t because I’ll be at my best friends wedding all day and I don’t think she would like my red cape and maple leaf in the pictures. Too bad.

I thought I’d share with you reasons for my love of Canada and some pictures that will make you jealous and you’ll want to come on the next trip with Jon and I! A little tour of Canada if you will.

Sprout Lake


Cathedral Grove




Victoria




Cliff Jumping at Stamp Falls

Canadian Sunsets



And the best part?

When I got to share all of this with him.







Happy Canada Day Eh...

The World Cup

The FIFA world cup is upon us my friends, and we are excited about it! The other day Jon asked some people at work if anyone was as excited as him for the World Cup...I think he said he got a couple of blank stares, maybe a non-enthusiastic...yeah.

It can't just be us can it? I've even thought about filling out a bracket...March Madness style.

My love for soccer started young. Around 5 or 6 years old I believe. My mom coached my very first soccer team, and every one after that until I played in High School. In fact, we started our team in 1st grade and most of us stayed on that team every year for about 10 years. A few left and joined competition teams, but the majority of us stayed together. I only remember a few things about the first years of soccer. One game a girl was playing goalie and instead of guarding the goal, she decided it would be fun to climb up the back of the net. All of the parents are yelling at her to stop the ball and she was just pretending to climb the vines of the jungle! (I'm only about 60% sure this wasn't me)



One particular Saturday morning, I think it was around 7th grade or so, we were playing, and we were winning. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but for a rec team we were pretty good...I dare say exceptional! So here we are totally beating this other team and their coach is furious. I remember this guy yelling so much, even his own players were embarrassed. You know, he was like that embarrassing parent that everyone tries not to stare at, but can't help it because they are making a fool of themselves they are yelling so much. Yeah. He was that guy. The girls on the other team were secretly whispering to us that he was so mad he was going to make them run miles and miles because we beat them. It was quiet a show, to be honest. After the game we shook the hands of the other players, but the coach decided that instead of shaking our hands, he was going to stand there and yell at my mom. He insulted my mom and the fact that she was a female coach and she somehow cheated her way into winning the game, he was going to go and tell somebody who was in charge to get our team kicked out of rec league soccer. So naturally all of us players stood behind her (with folded arms and snotty looks on our faces, rolling our eyes at everything he said. And you know how well 7th graders can roll their eyes) while his players snuck off with their parents to go home, too embarrassed to support him. Sheri took it like a champ. She just stood her ground and listened to him literally tear her apart and she calmly said something like, "All I'm doing Sir, is making sure these girls have fun. I think that is the most important part of the game." But of course she said it with a bit of sass because she's Sheri. I got my sass from her and I love it. You wouldn't think that you'd get that kind of drama in rec soccer, but you do.



I knew you would enjoy a few old school soccer photos. Enjoy Sheri's hair and my bangs. I rocked that side pony for a few years. We know hair style, that is for sure.

I'm hoping for an underdog win this year in the Wold Cup. I love when they have huge upsets and the whole world watches in wonder of the team that wasn't even supposed to be in the world cup take it all. But my favorite part is when a player is taking the ball down the field, a pass, another pass, (show me that fancy footwork boys) a fake and then.....

GGGGGOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLL!!!!!!

This one's for you two.

When my parents first told us that they had decided to serve a mission, I have to admit I wasn't that surprised. I was surprised they had decided to do it so young, but they've been wanting to serve a mission ever since I can remember.

I'm not sure if you know my parents story or not, but they first met while my dad was serving an LDS mission in her small town. He and his companion used to eat at my grandparents house once a week. I once took a peek at his mission journal (sorry Dad!) and read about how he thought my mom was beautiful but he needed to focus on his mission. I loved reading that. I like knowing that that's what started it all.

Growing up my parents always talked about how that was the biggest goal for them. They wanted to retire and serve missions. Even though they started before retirement this go around, I have no doubt that this will not be the one and only mission. I know there are many more to come.

Having your parents basically the farthest away a person can get is a strange feeling. I went from talking to my parents a few times a week and seeing them a few times a week, to checking my email daily to see if I got an email, and getting excited when I see the random number starting with 0 on the caller ID. Our family has never had a missionary before and it makes me proud that my parents are the first ones.

In an email the other day my mom said that they've been so busy they haven't had the pangs of homesickness yet. That makes me happy. That means my prayers are being answered. I want them to dive into the work and enjoy every second they can get of it. I've had them for 25 years, I can give a few to the Lord. But as the people who are left behind, I feel the pangs of missing them almost daily. I miss my Dad's hugs. I miss my mom's foot rubs. Did you know she gives the best ones? As a dancer growing up they were awesome.



I still think about saying goodbye at the airport and how I had written them each a letter to tell them how much I loved them because I knew that I couldn't say it out loud without making a fool of myself blubbering in front of all those people. They had just walked away and were getting their tickets checked and I was crying and had forgotten about the letters. I suddenly remembered and ran to the pole holding the rope separating me from them. I yelled to my mom and she came over and grabbed them and I gave her one last hug and kiss as we both had tears in our eyes. I remember her excited eyes. I knew she would love it out there. And she does.



Celebrating Mother's day without your mother here was hard for me. I know Father's day will be equally as challenging for me, if not more. I'm a daddy's girl...my mom knows it. So as we are here in Utah, those two are fulfilling their biggest dream. I couldn't be more proud. I'm proud to be their daughter. Even if I'm the middle one and am often forgotten.

Kidding Mom.

20...it's pretty good.

(Beth, when she was trying to be like me and go brunette)


20 years ago today I had one of the most tramatic experiences of my life. I was 6. Sarah was 9. For years it had just been us. I liked Sarah. Even though she would make me believe such stories as this...

Imagine us eating popsicles. It wasn't always popsicles but any type of treat really. Sarah is older...so naturally she eats her popsicle faster than me. (What? Don't older people eat faster than younger people?)...I thought so. So Sarah is half way done with her popsicle while I have only had a few licks. She says to me.

Sarah: Let's trade popsicles.
Me: Why?
Sarah: Because I'm older and bigger so I should have the bigger popsicle, and you are younger and littler (littler?...pretty sure that's only a word in young people launguage) so you should have the smaller popsicle.
Me: Ok.

I was gullible you guys.

So I really liked Sarah. I liked it just being the two of us. I knew my mom had some sort of weirdness (weirdness?) going on in her belly because it kept getting bigger and biggger and then it started to move and it freaked me out. So Alien like. Then one day my mom went to the hospital. We were later brought over by our lovely neighbor. When we got to the hospital my mom was in a bed and Sarah and I sat on a couch at the end of that bed. My dad...who can't handle any kind of bodily grossness (grossness? I'm not doing very well today) has to leave the room or he passes out. Embarassing . So here we are in the hospital room, minding our own business when all of a sudden Dr's come in and nurses and I'm confused as to what is happening here.

And. Then. It. Happens.

You know what I mean people. I'm in the room. Baby in belly, Baby not in belly anymore. And I witnessed it all.

I was horrified. I still can't believe my own mother would let me be in there for that. That stuff that all of you mommy bloggers talk about how wonderful and great it is....it's not so wonderful OR great for someone who is 6.

Let me tell you.

Sheri will still to this day stand firm in her belief that we wanted to be there.

Whatever. I never knew what I was signing up for.

Are you still reading? I promise this post has an end.

It's in sight.



So after the event, we had a new sister. One with HUGE blue eyes and blonde hair? What? Blonde hair? Are you sure we are sisters?

And about 12 years past. And I never really warmed up to the new sister. She was whiny and spoiled and was WAY cuter than I was.. I didn't like her for almost all of those years.

And then one day something changed. I still to this day can't put my finger on it. Sarah thinks it's because she got married. I think it was because all of a sudden we had something in common. Even though Beth was 6 years younger than me we were now the same size. We could share clothes, makeup, and she started to like boys...so now we had things to talk about. And it went from not being able to stand the sister....to loving her more than ever. We became best friends. So close that I could tell Sarah felt left out. There's just not enough of me to go around!

And now 20 years later, she's lucky enough to live with me and Jon. I think at first we all thought it would be weird, but I love it. I love that even though we've been sisters for this 20 years, I learn new things about her, and a few others that I just love.


Like the other day when she told me about the time she tried to buy Mike's Hard Lemonade and was confused as to why they were asking for her ID. Silly.

And how she is so daring she found a new love for long boarding, and she has promised me to never do it with out a helmet....cause I'm her mom while the real one is gone.

How she is one of the most beautiful people I've ever known and she has no idea.


She get's harassed by our family to marry a blind date with a boy who's name starts with B. It runs in the family.

How she's so tall and she owns it. What? 5'11' and still wears heels? What a girl.

And my very favorite in our 20 years so far.

My first year of college my parents had gone on a trip to Hawaii and Beth didn't want to stay home until I got home from school...my class ended at 10:00, so I took her with me. And the cute boy in my class who I had a crush on was hitting on my little sister. My teacher asked me to introduce her to the class so I got up and said...This is my sister Beth. And my teacher asked how old she was....

Wait for it...

14.

Oh the look on the boys face when he heard that number. Priceless.

Finding out your crush likes your 14 year old sister? Not so priceless for me...thanks Mastercard.

So to you Beth, on this day 20 years later. You're pretty much the coolest in the fam. And we all know it. Happy Birthday.

The Olympian

So I have this thing for Olympians, it's a secret thing. I'm not even sure Jon knows about this. I've always wanted to have an Olympian friend, family member, neighbor, what have you. Any close relationship with any sort of Olympian would do, I'm really not that picky.I know Sarah has this secret desire even if she won't tell anyone. My Uncle was a professional soccer player for the Vancouver 86ers and played in the World Cup. He has his garage full of soccer jersey's that he traded with other players. Did you know they do that in the World Cup? It's so cool. That's my closest claim to fame...unless you count being the daughter of the great Kevin. If anyone is anyone in WeJo they totally know my dad. He was the coolest Fireman in the town...I just have to gloat for a second...

I love meeting people who recognize my maiden name, and say with wonderment in their eyes..."Are you related to Kevin?" Why yes, yes I am. I love being Kevin's daughter...especially when I was single and cute firemen knew who he was....

Ok I'm done.

After the uncle retired from soccer my sister and I moved on to Beth (the youngest of the sisters). She is tall. She passed me up when I was in 7th grade. She is beautiful, she is tan...she basically is the perfect person to be a beach volleyball player and Sarah and I totally wanted her to be an Olympian. After she decided she didn't want to be sucked in to the Olympian lifestyle (I guess it's a pretty rough life. Strict and what not....Beth is not that kind of person), I moved on to my darling cousin Amelia. She is basically Beth but younger. She's also the soccer playing uncles' daughter. She's a swimmer. When she was 8 or 9 she was making crazy swimming times at her meets...like a female Michael Phelps. I knew this was my shot. She too succumbed to the desire to let go of the Olympic lifestyle and decided to play soccer instead....maybe I still have a chance? Amelia? Do I?

A few weeks ago I met my own Olympian. Although, I didn't really know he was an Olympian. He's also a Dr and that's why I went to him... I was told he was the best orthopedic surgeon around. So I made an appointment based soley on his MD credentials. This is the conversation I had with Jon.

Me: I made an appointment with an Orthopedic Surgeon
Jon: Good, which one?
Me: Umm Heiden. You're mom recommended him.
Jon: Wait...Eric Heiden? As in the Eric Heiden? Eric Heiden the OLYMPIAN??
Me: Um...I don't know. His name is Eric Heidn. Is he really an Olympian?

...my secret desire to befriend him growing stronger...

Jon: He could possibly be the best speed skater ever...in all of Olympic history.

....me getting more excited by the second to see this guy...

The next day Jon sent me a link to Wikipedia with a pretty good explanation of who the guy really was. It was thrilling, exhilerating. I was this close! I hoped he had his gold medals in a case in his office! We could be friends! I couldn't wait....

Then he told me that I needed to stop wearing high heels, wear orthotics (like an old lady) and go to Physical Therapy.

What was that Dr?

No high heels?

I'm confused...do you mean... never?

Never...ever?

Dr. Heiden: "Of course I can't make you, but it would be in your best interest"



I've decided I don't like Olympians any more.

My life in the O.C

No, no...not my life in Orange County, the other O.C. In the summer of 2005 I was a counselor at an LDS girls camp called Oakcrest or as we liked to call it, the O.C. I had lunch with some of my Oakcrest friends last week and it brought back a lot of memories. So the other day I got out my Oakcrest scrap book. Unlike some of my friends (Goosey) I unfortunately didn't take many pictures, but the ones I did take, I thought were pretty funny.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Oakcrest, I'll give you a little play by play. Oakcrest is located near Kamas, UT. It is a very remote place, where girls from around Salt Lake County who are in the summer of their 7th or 8th grade year they spend a week there with us....the counselors.



We really were the best of the best. At Oakcrest, other than Gramps (our priesthood leader) there were only girls. For 12 year olds this is awesome, for 20 something counselors this was....really hard. The Sysco man who came to deliver food to our camp once a week was so dreamy. I tried to tell Jon about how we would try to make our girls go to the kitchen when the Sysco man came just so we could stare...and Jon said that he probably wasn't that good looking, we were just desperate. I'm afraid he might be right, but I'll never forget the Sysco man.

Each week at Oakcrest we had a theme. They ranged from Super Hero week ( was totally in charge of that week, it was awesome) to Disney week. We had a party each Thursday where we could dress up. Here are a few of my best.



Disney Week ( I was a fairy Godmother)




(Super Hero Week. O.C was too stingy and wouldn't let me wear my cape with 'Sexy Flexy' written on it. I still think it's lame to this day. The girls would have thought it was awesome.)


(Christmas Week. I was Cindy Lou Hoo from Hoo-ville)



Unfortunately there wasn't a week dedicated to Canada. This was just for Canada Day (July 1st for all of you Americans) and I wanted to celebrate being a Canarican. I even taught my girls the national anthem and we sang it for everyone after dinner.



Believe it or not, my first week was my favorite. I, of course loved all my girls...even week 7 I think it was...two girls fist fighting...that week was the best, I forgot. They in turn...thought I was super cool....well at least they gave me an ego boost and made me think I was cool. We had some good times like rat babies falling from the roof, mother rat getting very angry that we took the baby rats away, Gramps coming with a gun to my cabin ready to shoot mother rat while my girls were hanging out on their bunks, peeing in latrines, building said latrines, digging trenches in so our girls wouldn't get soaked, starting fires in the pouring rain, burning myself making some chili, getting no sleep, and not showering on a regular basis because I was too dang tired.

And even though these stories may sound like no fun at all....it was the best summer of my life, where I made some of the greatest friends, and was given the opportunity to teach the gospel, which is the closest thing I got to a mission. I loved every stinky, sweaty, crying, exhasted, tired minute. And I'd do it again tomorrow...

But only if Jon could come with me. That or have him be the Sysco man I could stare at once a week, and maybe sneak a smooch.

Thank You Old Spice

I know many of you are awaiting Jon's half of the introduction to us and our blog. To be honest, I was surprised when he said he wanted to do his own post. I assumed I would play the role of the blogger in the family, but apparently he would like to put in his two cents as well. He's charming and witty and I have no doubt that you will love the posts he is the author for, but alas...the man works hard. So wait you must my friend, but don't dismay. I have a little treat for you.





Jon and I have loved this commercial and would like to share it for your viewing pleasure. This is Isaiah Mustafa....I love that his real name matches how wonderful he is in this commercial. Apparently Oprah loves his commercials too. My first thought was how much I thought my parents would enjoy this. I'm not sure if you can watch things on youtube in the mission field, but I do know that you can give a simple click of the mouse on a family members blog and enjoy...share it with the office elders, I know they will like it.

Jon's favorite part: Look at your man, now back to me, now back to your man, now back to me. Sadly, he isn't me.

Jessie's favorite part: What's in your hand? Back at me, I have it. It's an oyster with two tickets to that thing you love!

What's your favorite part?