Dave and I are nerds

But, we are totally okay with that. Star Wars, Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and other sci-fi staples dot our conversations, fill our TV screen and our bookshelves. We are perfectly happy to spend Friday night with a good book in hand, cuddled on the couch or in bed. We love to go to the used bookstore and search for treasures. We sing along to Queen, The Beatles and Disney soundtracks. Our kids can quote Monty Python, know the difference between a Klingon and a Vulcan, and though they do not appreciate a good book, they are more "cultured" in science fiction and real music than their peers. It is our goal to convert them into full-fledged nerds, because the wolrd always needs more. Live long and prosper, and may the force be with you, always!

I just realized that Drew will be 15 this summer!

Of course, logically, I already knew that, but the fact seemed to hit me on the head this weekend. Next summer he will be driving! His voice is getting deeper, and we have real, insightfull conversations about world issues. He is not my Drewper any more, but a young man.


Heather took 9th place in the 3A state finals in shot put, Cedar High placed 2nd overall. This is the summer before her senior year of high school. She will be a legal adult soon, and this time next year she will be on her way to college. She is a loving, caring young woman.


Theresa is doing volunteer work and AP Art ove the summer. She will be 16 in July. The boys have been prowling around the house all spring. Dave gives them dirty looks. She is super smart, level headed, ambitious. She will be submitting an application for sterling scholar next year.

Maybe we done raised these kids good!

Rocky Road

It is the best ice cream flavor out there--the nuts, the marshmallows, the CHOCOLATE! I have loved it for as long as I can remember. Dave tries to replace it with other flavors (because Rocky Road is his fav, too and he doesn't want to share)and I admit that I will tolerate a little variety. The Cake batter ice cream is good, Butter Pecan and strawberry cheescake are some alternatives, but I still always go back to my old stand-by. I am not against change, I just know what I like. And, Dave will always have to share with me.

Freedom!

The semester is over, so I have the whole summer to work full time. I know it is maybe a little crazy to be excited about it, but I am thinking of all the free time I will have. With no classes or homework to worry about until I get into the nursing program this fall(thinking positive)I will have all the time after work to do whatever I want (Thanks to my wonderful husband for making dinner every night). So, I have a couple novels I want to read, a little project for Theresa's 16th birthday, and some family adventures (hiking, the Midnight showing of Harry Potter, hopefully a trip or two to Salt Lake)I am almost overwhelmed with ideas.

I started last night by re-reading The Stand by Stephen King. It is one of my favorite books ever and I have not read it for at least 10 years. Dave picked up a copy of it for me at the used bookstore early last winter, and it has been on our bookshelf in the bedroom, tempting me. I dove right in, getting through 100+ pages. I love the classic good vs. evil story, the interesting and believable characters, the fact that good wins in the end......I am such a nerd.

I also want to read a few classics--any ideas? I try to steer clear of Jane Austen, though. I am sure the books are wonderful, but I can never get into them. I have a few ideas, but I am open to suggestion as well.

I am also planning on hiking Zion, Bryce and other areas here in southern Utah. I almost have to twist Dave's arm to get him to go, and the kids run circles around me on the trail, but I love being there. The scenery, the sun, the connected feeling I get-like human kind is all a child of the earth, nature and our creator. There is nothing like the sun on your face and red dirt on your shoes, clean air in your lungs and an electric blue sky above.

Quick update

This will be a short post. I am getting ready for finals next week, lots of time at the library. Dave is holding down the fort. The kids are enjoying the nice weather. My parents are coming down to see us this weekend--I am so excited to spend time with them. I took a nap in the sun yesterday-my favorite thing so far this week. More info next time..........

Why I love him.....

Recently, we have had a little shake-up at the Mack House. I am pleased to say that our marriage still stands solid. I wrote this a few weeks ago in my Creative Writing class, and Dave needs a reminder as to why I am still by his side. So, bear with me as I stroke his ego a little bit.







The smell of roasting garlic was something new to me. Growing up, my mom used powdered garlic, and she used it sparingly. So, the papery cloves of garlic in the cupboard were just one more thing that changed. Once peeled and pressed, the cloves were usually roasted in the pan with olive oil to start almost every meal. They had a distinct, spicy smell- almost indescribable. It was a new scent for me, in this time of new scents-his deodorant, his shirts, his sour morning breath; all these aromas that came with sharing a home with a man. But, the garlic was the one that I liked the most. It filled our home every night. I would come home from work, and he would be starting on dinner. The scent of roasted garlic would fill the stair case up to our second story apartment and I would know that I was home.
The taste of the fresh garlic would explode in my mouth, filling it with excitement. How could I have lived so long and not experience the intense flavor of this wondrous little thing? The first time he made a roast, covered in minced garlic I knew that he was the man for me. His love of cooking, the passion he showed in preparing our nightly dinners –this was a man that knew how to live. He would spend hours in the tiny kitchen, chopping and stirring, teasing my senses. He didn’t always know how the dish would turn out after he tweaked the recipe; a little thyme, less pepper. He would hold the wooden spoon to my lips, a sample of the feast to come. With him, nothing is simple, nothing is predictable. Because of this, life with him is an adventure. With him, its new foods, old foods in different ways; new love and old love with the romance of a chef of life.

Those little boxes.......

I never really know what to put on a form when it asks for race/ethnic origin. I come from a biracial home, but I don’t like to label the family I belong to. We are not a label, we are unique and full of all the love and dysfunction a family can have. We don’t fit into a one letter-defined term. My dark skinned father fell in love with my pale skinned mother. My little brother and I have my father’s dark eyes and the “Vallejos” nose; my mother’s Caucasian genes lost that battle. But, we are observant and logical like my mother; she passed those traits on to us. The “other” box on those forms can’t possibly encompass all of that.
My father is the oldest child of a big Catholic Hispanic family. His youngest sister, my aunt, is almost 2 years my junior. They are a loud, physical bunch; my husband said it was like another world when he attended the first family event. You are expected to hug and kiss everybody as you greet them, coming and going. They accept anybody into their midst; race or financial status has never mattered to them. They will share their beer with any friendly face, as long as you are willing to be the brunt of the playful jokes and prodding they toss around as free as the beer bottles. Any get together is an excuse to make chili and tortillas, beans and salsa that will singe your hair. The women serve the men their food first, not because we are inferior, but because we want the last chance at the homemade tortillas-they disappear like hot cakes. I am proud to share my heritage with them, but to mark “Hispanic” on that form would deny the other half of what makes the whole me.
My mom is the youngest girl of a large LDS family. She grew up with 5 sisters and 1 little brother. She told me a story about seeing a Native American boy once when her family was traveling through Arizona. Her mother had her pose next to the boy- it was an opportunity for a picture. My mom had never seen anyone that wasn’t “white” before then. She grew up in a small town near Salt Lake; the Civil Rights movement wasn’t even a fleeting thought in her world because she only knew other “white” people and didn’t understand what the problem was. The gatherings with the Florence family were quiet, formal affairs, with planned activities and games at scheduled intervals so that everyone had fun. And, they were fun. It was a different fun that contrasted with my dad’s rowdy family perfectly. I remember getting dressed up for these gatherings, happy at a chance to wear a dress to twirl in. The food was always served around a big table with place cards. As I child, I always felt so grown up as I scanned the cards for my name. I am equally proud of this piece of me, but to mark one box means to deny the other.
Part of the reason I chose to hyphenate my name when I got married was to hold on to both identities. I am truly a mix of these two races and cultures. My husband teases me about being “the worst Mexican ever” when I scoff at his spicy foods. I have been lucky to have never experienced racism fist hand, but I have always wondered if it was because I could “pass” as white. I hate the form for wanting to fit me into a little box. I hate the fact that we have to have little boxes in the first place.






P.S. Okay, so I was depressed last week, but seeing Dave for 1 day this weekend and well wishes from my good friends made it better.