For better or for...can it get much worse?

Lessons learned in the past week:
1) That guy on those UPS commercials can draw real good
2) Pasteurized milk causes acne...but Rice Drink is dang tasty
3) The recommendation "try new things" does not apply to me

Let's back up. First of all, although I grew up in Colorado, I do not consider myself a gifted skier (one of my pet peeves: when first meeting a Coloradan, any non-Coloradan will ask them in a perky voice, "oh, do you ski?" in the first 4 minutes...guaranteed). Sure I could blame my lack of natural gliding/sliding talent on basketball coaches forbidding the activity, or the abnormally long length of my femurs, but I will spare you the excuses. Don't get me wrong though, I enjoy a trip to the slopes as much as the next girl...even despite my sub-par abilities. Well, Cameron and I are both here to tell you that if my skiing ability were to be compared to my snowboarding abilities, I would be considered to be at the Olympic Level.

Against my better judgment, for my first ski trip with Cameron, his dad, and his younger brother last weekend, I chose to go away from the safe skis and spring for the snowboard. Note to self: never again try new things....never...stick to what you know...always.


The silver lining of my poor decision is that I found a few things out about myself. For starters, I do not do well with not feeling competent. Secondly, I do not handle repeated falling well. Thirdly, I get a bit testy when people try to offer me advice on how to improve when the simple act of standing is difficult.

It took me about 2 hours on the slopes (I use this term loosely because it was the bunny hill) to snap out of my selfish pity party (greatly assisted by reducing the frequency of bone smashing falls). After that, I had some clarity and realized that when Cameron agreed to "for better or for worse" last year, I doubt he imagined me getting that bad. In retrospect, I think he will back up my decision to never again try anything new. Hopefully this joint choice will allow the "for better" Katie moments to outweigh the "for worse" Katie moments.

Once I was over my tantrum, Cameron and I had a great day. I will admit that it felt odd skiing someplace that 1) I could feel my lungs and 2) had no snow anywhere but on the slopes, but I was able to set aside my snobbery and enjoy the scenery.


Most of our "post bunny hill" day was spent on a gently rolling GREEN that bordered the "big boy" slopes...by way of the "big boy" lift. Note to new snowboarders: never go on the "big boy" lift. Spring Breeze (or whatever the run was called) was not very crowded and offered the right dose of challenge while still keeping me from throwing yet another oh-so-attractive tantrum.



Around about 3:00, after one hard fall in the list of many, I confided in Cameron that if I fell on my "fanny" one more time, I was sure bone would be splitting. So, being the problem solving specialists that we are, we decided to "pull" to the side of the run, have me "drop trou" and then stuff Cameron's coat down the back side of my pants for padding (a chore that took four hands, extreme balance, and an abnormal amount of strength). The comfort on falls from then on was worth the nasty looks we got during the application phase. After 3:00 - aside from the severe pain in my knees, wrists, and hands - falls were much more tolerable.

On to my next beef: the design of the home stretch of the Spring Breeze. Near the end of the run there was a straight away accompanied by a strange right to left slant and a slight uphill. Recipe for disaster. No matter what I did, I could not get "over the hump". Threw a different technique at it every time down the slope...ended up in the bushes and trees each time. My chosen problem solving technique? I would unstrap the board, throw it under my arm, and sprint to try to catch up to Cameron at the lift. This worked well the first couple of times, but for some strange reason, the running distance increased with each passing run. I might have been trying too hard...I don't know. By the end of the day I was running about 150 yards in an attempt to not make Cameron wait for me to try to figure out how to not stall out. For added entertainment, every sprint after 3:00 was slowed by the fact that the snowboard was under one arm and my other arm was grasping the wadded up jacket (forming a huge booty that prevented me from buttoning my pants)...trying to keep me from losing my drawers with every step. To top off the visual, I was wearing a huge gray helmet - to protect my fragile, oh-too-often hit head - that would jiggle down my forehead and start to obstruct my view (no hand available to correct it).

It was during my last 150 yard sprint when I looked up to see Cameron down by the lift watching me and I could only imagine what he had to have been asking himself, "For better or for worse? Till death do us part? Oh man, what did I get myself into?"

Good thing I married a guy who can enjoy life even when his "better half" is acting like a two-year-old.


Well, it has been about a week since our snowboarding trip and just today am I starting to have hope that I have not done irreparable damage to my pelvic bones. My hands have recently stopped shaking any time they have to bear weight. My elbows and knees, which have been a tasteful shade of purple/blue, are starting to look and feel normal. Hey, even my ego seems to be recovering.

Try new things? No. Lesson learned.

Herd Update

At the beginning of the season, I set a rule for the team that they should let me know if they would be unable to make it to practice. You know...to encourage responsibilty. Be careful what you wish for. Yesterday at practice, one of my players passed me a note (weird in itself). It was from one of my two seventh graders and it read:

Just in case you cannot make it out:

Dear Coach Butler,

I am sorry to inform you, I will not be able to attend practice today. I am sorry I could not call, for I have lost your number. I have a Dentist Appointment at 2:00 p.m. Thank You.

Sincerely,
Jade Verdeflor :)

How is that for responsibility? How quickly these kittens are becoming cats.

Dear Player Jade,

The team and I were deeply saddened by yesterday's news, for we have grown accustomed to your presence at practice. Please practice your routines before we meet again. Until then, may you remain in good health.

Sincerely,
Coach Butler

Herding Kittens

Coaching 6th and 7th grade girls basketball is proving to be both challenging and rewarding. In all honesty, most of the time I feel more like a wrangler than a coach. Does anyone remember that great Superbowl commercial from a few years ago that followed a bunch of cowboys moving a herd of kittens cross country? Now you can picture what I am going through...only my kittens have to be dribbling a basketball which makes it a harder feat. (Why do I keep bringin' up Superbowl commercials you ask? No idea...but I need to get over it.)

Now I do not want to come across as having an over-inflated sense of athletic ability, but I remember playing basketball in 6th grade and I am about 88% sure that I never looked like what I have been seeing lately in games. Relax, because although I am cocky enough to block out any double dribbles or baskets scored on the wrong hoop, in retrospect I do realize that I was not the dominant presence that I visualized myself being at the time.

Some of my favorite moments from the season thus far:

1) My tallest player has developed the odd habit of boxing out her girl LONG before her girl has shot the ball. This is a hard technique to refrain from laughing at. Fortunately, the parents do not hold back their laughter so I do not feel obligated to keep a straight face. All the while, somewhere in the back of my mind I always ask myself, "what do I have to complain about?". Hey, at least she is boxing out...a term the girls giggled at two months ago.

2) When my girls are sprinting down the court, stop on a dime with a panicked look on their faces, and look over to me for directions. I then point to the way they are supposed to go and they carry on their little enthusiastic way.

3) During a voluntary post-practice group prayer one of my players asked Jesus to help the team remember their "routines". "Plays" ladies...we call those things plays. Ah, who am I kidding? I couldn't care less what they call them as long as they remember them at least 25% of the time.

4) When given the chance to name their own plays, my girls came up with names like "Pancake", "Waffle", "Mouse Trap", and "Rat". Obviously I got clowned in this department because I am the only one that has to yell these "routine names" out repeatedly for an entire gym full of adults and unforgiving teenagers to hear.

5) During our first practice we were tackling the finer points of defense by doing the "stand in one place in a defensive position and 'pitter patter' your feet until you reach muscle failure" drill...or at least that is what the coach's books call it. Anyway, one of the girls started complaining about what I thought to be the hard drill. When I stopped to listen to her protests, I found that she was complaining that her butt was jiggling and she did not want the boys to see. The rest of the team unanimously agreed that this "butt jiggling" would be murder for their social lives. Long story short, we turned the drill around so it was my bouncing caboose facing the mostly male crowd watching our practice...and the girls were happy again. Oh, the joys of coaching teenage girls.

6) It took almost the whole season, but it happened, we scored on the wrong basket. Now, keep in mind that our field goal shooting percentage is around 6%. That should give you an idea of how big of an accomplishment a score on the wrong hoop really was for us. Not only did my girl have to forget which basket to shoot on, but at the same time she had to make the one shot out of MANY attempts on the first try. Well, it happened, the perfect storm. The cute thing was that she did not even know that she did something wrong. Apparently when everyone is yelling at the same time, the words "WRONG WAY" and "NO" are hard to make out!? All I could say was, "nice shot"...and it really was. Unfortunately we wasted a hard to come by "nice shot" on the "wrong basket". Maybe I should change my outlook. There are no "wrong" baskets, just "less right" ones. After all, it was the only shot she made all season.

Our win/loss ratio (2-7) is nothing for the record books but the girls have improved every game and are starting to look more like little players than lost kittens. That is about all a coach can ask for.

Today is our final regular season game. After that we turn our attention to single elimination playoffs...a.k.a. our last game. These girls have been a joy to coach and I will miss their unbridled enthusiasm when we have to part ways.

Good thing we have the details stage of this little project to turn our attention towards:

Roof, done. Log railings, done. Now we will focus on the "guts"...and the paint colors.

Back to our scheduled program...

Alright, you faithful Butlered Blog readers have had enough personality for a couple weeks. Back to our original blog mission...

Our builder, who is in fact named "Bill"...not "Bob", gets home today after a two week vacation in Hawaii (sponsored by none other than The Butlers). Imagine our surprise when Camp McMahan sent pictures showing this amount of progress made during Bill The Builder's absense. He must have found the only subcontractors on Planet Earth that are self-motivated (or maybe they all have vacations that need funding?).

First of all, The Poudre in all its February glory:

Modern farmhouse to rustic cabin with the simple addition of a few hundred logs. (Can you tell that we are frequent watchers of HGTV?):

A cozy nook of natural log wonder:

As of Feb. 10, the roof was started. As I am typing, the roof is being completed. The railing will go all the way around...

Front porch with soon-to-be stairs leading to actual door:

See, door (plastic on glass, not an artistic detail):

That is all for now. Exciting things such as insulation and drywall are on deck...so stay tuned.

Winners and Losers

Winner - The Underdog Story. Hey, does anyone remember that movie "Little Giants"? Me neither (wink, wink), but apparently it was an inspiring tale about a bunch of misfit football runts who, against all odds, defeat the superpower team from across town. In the climactic, victorious finale, everyone watching the movie tries their hardest to hide the tears. But, hello, maybe you see a few similarities? "LITTLE Giants"? "BIG, RICHLY PAID Giants"? Starting to ring a bell? I thought so. And, yes, I teared up. Again.

Loser - Anyone with this postgame internal monologue: "It's okay Tom. So many people are not Tom Brady. There are too many to list them all here, but open a phone book sometime and read every name except "Tom Brady." You'll see for yourself, it's pretty staggering how few people get to experience being you. So Giants, yes, congratulations. But also you, the media darling, congratulations."

Brady in the fetal position...a site for sore eyes!

Winner - Sherpas. Yes, I am talking about the ethnic group from the most mountainous region of Nepal, high in the Himalayas. One reason: "You have the thighs of a Sherpa"...one of the Top Ten pick-up lines of all time. Alright Bud Light, you win too.

Who wouldn't want those thighs?

Loser - All of the Super Bowl Commercials that make you think that you could have a successful career in advertising if you ever wanted to not work as hard as you currently do.

Winner - The NY / Boston Rivalry. Oh wait, nobody cares about this unless they have ever lived in NY or Boston...

Loser - Eli Manning. "How could the MVP of the World Champions be a loser" you ask? I read this the other day:

"New York Giants quarterback Eli Manning alienated a substantial portion of his fan base yesterday by leading his team to a Super Bowl victory over the New England Patriots. You don't become an Eli Manning fan because you want forth quarter drives, last second heroics, and spectacular improvised plays. You become an Eli Manning fan because you like mouth-breathing hayseeds. You become an Eli Manning fan because you were also too chicken to play in San Diego. You become an Eli Manning fan because you like watching interceptions being run back for touchdowns. You become an Eli Manning fan because you love hearing the words, "Third and nine." You become an Eli Manning fan because his jersey is normally at least 40% off. That is why all over New York City today, you'll see thousands of Manning jerseys in the garbage. Nice bait and switch, jerk."

Well Eli, I do not know what to tell you...but you are a Winner in our book!

The Biggest Loser - Bill "2 seconds left on the clock" Belichick and the Patriots. Nine out of their sixteen games next year are scheduled to be against teams that Vegas is giving 1/100 odds of winning the Super Bowl. That is, the Patriots will play half of their schedule against the projected worst teams in the NFL. Classy Organization? Dynasty? Good job fellas....give yourselves another pat on the heiney.

Sedona, AZ

Ironically, while we are writing a blog, we're actually very private people. It’s not that we keep secrets, it’s just that we prefer to keep everyone else in the dark. We have spent years perfecting the art of shining an occasional ray of light on a situation rather than trying to dim an already full blown spotlight. That being said, there have recently been some requests for a little more personality in these blog entries. In my case, introversion (pretty sure I made that word up) and the desire to please people are a package deal. Hopefully what follows will be dripping with the right dose of personality.

In a few short months we will be packing up and moving "Dentro Le Montagne", or "Into the Mountains" of Colorado. In anticipation of the move, Cameron and I have developed a CA exit strategy (actually just a pre-exit plan, but "exit strategy" makes it sound more respectable). Our plan is to visit as many "places of interest" as possible that are weekend accessible from So Cal. "Places of Interest" is all relative, I know, but one location on our list (as a couple) has always been Sedona, AZ. Reason? Not only is it the Vortex capital of the world, and breathtakingly beautiful, but Cameron and his family lived there for a short stint when he was a kid. Back to the ol' stompin' grounds we go...

Our three day vacation was mostly spent hiking, unintentionally not always on the trail. We trekked to Devil's Bridge, climbed Cathedral Rock, and tromped up to Broken Arrow and Chicken Point. No, we did not look at the hike guide and choose the most evil sounding adventures. "Sunset Site" just didn't offer the excitement we were looking for (not that we do not love a good sunset). When it was all said and done, we figured our walkabouts totaled 13-15 miles, none of which went unnoticed to our legs or feet. The phrase "my dogs are barking" was used more than once during our weekend getaway.

During one of the hikes, I was told by someone who appeared to be a guide of sorts, that I had a "natural sense for feminine healing." Both a strange and random compliment Cameron and I thought. The strange man then went on to explain how I had managed to stop on a rock platform that was situated between a triangle of trees with twisted stumps...an obvious feminine healing center of energy. Cameron and I both shrugged, continued on our way, and chalked my "sense" up to my natural ability to stop walking when I get tired and that usually happens at the top of a hill where I can see stuff. But that is just us...

An added bonus to the weekend was the opportunity to test out the Internet-learned techniques (I use this term loosely) with my new camera. Bear in mind that the camera is a 35mm so these images are scanned in and have lost some quality in so doing -- but hopefully you can still get a sense of some of the images from our weekend trip:

Some Cactoid looking object: Cathedral Rock:

In Living Color:

Whirlpool-O-Rock:

Cameron Climbed Stuff:

Chicken Point:

Water that Fell on Oak Creek:

Good thing Cameron was there to hold stuff down:

I took pictures of stuff:

Vortex (aka View):

A perfect mixture of ice, water, and rocks:

Slide Rock (not much sliding done on account of the brisk H2O): And because old habits die hard:

We would show pictures of the inside, but at this point it would just look like a fine bunch of lumber to those with no interest in blueprints.

"Dried In"

As of the 16th and January, the house is "dried in". The roofers found enough of a break in the weather to get the ice/water shield on the roof. We were told that siding is almost finished and plumbing and electrical are 80% complete. The front door is a custom fir craftsman style...thanks to Bill the Builder.

For me, the hodge-podge of colors is hard to look past. Cameron does a great job of squinting and thinking big picture. We are going to try to pick siding colors and wood stains that make the house look like it was meant to be there all along!