on top of the world

here are some pics from a recent family hike we took up the a mound of dirt some call a mountain. it was a triumph for those of us who packed a 30 lb two year old on their back and took the long and circuitous route to get to the top.

pics from coldstone's 2nd birthday

here are some pics from colston's very eventful birthday which included a new push along car, a trip to town square for a thomas the tank engine amateur actor thing, a trip to chuck e. cheezes and a basketball cake surrounded by a train track... does it get any better than that for a two year old boy who loves basketball and trains?

nothing says i love you like, "i think you need whiter teeth"

warning: this is a really long post, so i split it into two parts. feel free to read both all in one sitting or take your time over the course of a week or two. whatever.

part 1: i'm the guest i get what i want: no flash cannot teleport

obstacle one of the gauntlet has come and gone. and what is the gauntlet you might ask? i'm not telling. if you really want to know, you'll have to go back and read one of the first three or four posts this blog ever saw appropriately titled "the gaunlet" and only then you will know what everyone is talking about at work.

if you don't know how to navigate the world wide web, then i will offer you a hint: obstacle one of the gauntlet was valentine's day. yes, it has come and gone during which time aim and i had a romantic valentine's day weekend at that international valentine's day destination of the world also known as kansas city, kansas. being the lovebirds we are, aim and i decided to spend a lovely weekend away from our kids with other people and their kids. it makes me want to kiss her just thinking about it.

let me explain and perhaps you also will want to kiss your significant other, or significant lover as i like to say.

here it is: i have a brother that lives in kansas and aim has a sister there. each of them have four kids all twelve of whom we spent the weekend with. it was great fun to see the family and hang out with the kc coops and the bennions, although i did get a little tired of doing tick tock for the nieces and nephews... if only jeff would play with his kids some more they wouldn't be so starved for attention. jeff, becky, heidi and quinn were all great hosts, but it was cold out there. i think i was cold for three days straight. no worries, it was nothing the heat of our love couldn't warm up.

as for our kids, aim's folks watched them all weekend up in utah. aim met them half way in cedar city on friday and we flew out friday night. while she drove, i sat through an all day nevada state bar conference thing. while i was sitting there in the conference listening to an enthralling lecture on where and how to file stuff with the court, i was temporarily distracted from the game of chess i was playing on my phone by a call which the phone was showing as coming from none other than aimee.

i was busy playing chess at the time, so i sent the call straight to voicemail. no biggie. but, apparently something was wrong because aim immediately called back at which point i decided i should put my chess match on hold and head into the hallway to take the call.

flat tire?

messed up transmission?

kid/s kicked out of the car and now hitchhiking along i-15?

no more empty bottles and overflowing bladders?

i couldn't wait to find out, so i briskly made my way to the back of the conference room thinking about how i was going to get back home to get the car and head to st. george to make things right. i hurried and called aim to see what all the fuss was about and to my surprise jameson answered on the other end and urgently asked "dad, can flash teleport"

"what?" i replied impatiently thinking i needed to talk to aim to see if everything was alright.

but he repeated, "can flash teleport? I've got a bet with caleb."

a sense of relief then overcame me as i figured out it was jameson who was actually calling me and not aim and the urgent situation was in fact urgent for jameson and caleb, so i was happy to oblige.

"is that why you called? is everything ok."

"yes"

pause

"dad... flash?"

"no, i don't think flash can teleport."

in the background, "see caleb, flash can't teleport, dad said so."

thus it was settled, henceforth and forever. dad said so.



i was glad that nothing more serious was inflicting my little family, but i kind of felt semi-important, kind of like king solomon, upon definitively resolving the youngsters' dispute. on the other hand, aim probably felt like queen solomon as she likely was ready to split some babies in the car after that bomb dropped right in caleb's lap. you see, caleb doesn't take to being wrong all too well. he's kind of like burger king, his way, right away (i think that's burger king) and if not, heaven help us all. apparently after news broke that flash can't teleport, all hell broke loose for a good ten minutes worth of screaming and yelling within the intimate and enclosed confines of the santa fe.

thank goodness caleb still hasn't figured out that we actually won't make him get out of the car and walk to wherever we're going when he misbehaves in the car. we still get a lot of mileage out of that threat! lol! lol! that was an intentional pun that would make my mom so proud (you have to know my mom to get that). anyway, aim made to cedar and back to the airport in time for our flight that night and thus began our romantic get away for fourteen in kc.



in all seriousness, we had a great time. my brother jeff treated us like kings (actually, me like a king and aimee like a queen). he let me pick out the ice cream and chips at the store because i was the guest and that's just how they roll in the midwest. he let me have just about anything i wanted while i was there because i was the guest... that was his rule. in fact, on the way home from his seven year old max's basketball practice/game i asked max if i could have the rest of his capri sun that he got after his game ended.

max wasn't about to share the capri sun with anyone, much less me, and so he very clearly and adamantly told me "no!" at which point i reluctantly reminded him in no uncertain terms that i was the guest and, as such, i got what i wanted.

max protested vehemently to my request and so i had no choice but to get his dad, my brother, jeff involved. sure enough, jeff held fast to his rule and told max told max, "uncle jeremy's right, give it to him."

max started to mildly cry at that point so i told him i was only joking and not to worry because i didn't want the drink anyway, what i realy wanted was his fruit snacks. just kidding, i left the poor kid alone and enjoyed the rest of the trip.

part 2; i love you, but i'm not in love with you and your yellow teeth

turns out valentine's day took place while we were out there and how can v-day be anymore romantic than watching "fireproof" with another couple. if you haven't seen "fireproof," you should. i recommend that all couples fireproof their marriage. everyone's doing it these days. in fact, even california and a few other states recently made marriage flamer retardant within their borders. i dare you to take on the love dare. i could probably do a whole post on "fireproof," but i won't because this post is already too long and i haven't even gotten to the meat of it.



suffice it to say, "fireproof" is a christian film with a great message but plenty of bad writing and subpar acting. kirk cameron is as dreamy as he ever was in growing pains, but a little too melodramatic. all in all it's good clean fun that will get you in the perfect mood to go right to bed on valentine's day evening. also, it will provide a lifetime of sarcastic dialogue for married couples to use in their everyday life.

on with the post...

so, because we were with family for valentine's day, aim and i kind of waited to celebrate v-day until we got back into town. in fact, aim set-up a little surprise activity for me today which i had been waiting for ever since we got back from kc. she didn't tell me what it was, but told me i had to be somewhere for a couple of hours and so i figured it had to be a massage. i like massages and i tend to get a little tension in my back and neck as i pour my heart and soul into this keyboard as i type my posts, so i was welcoming the thought of a nice deep tissue massage.

finally the moment arrived when i had to jump in the car and travel to the undisclosed location where my v-day gift was waiting. i was ready for aim to tell me which massage parlor to go to so i could get the rub down when she all of a sudden told me she was worried that i might not like what she got me. right then i pretty much knew it wasn't a massage, but that was ok because maybe it was a facial or another pedicure. that would be kind of cool, but it would also be very wrong. no, my friends, none of the aforementioned activities were what aim had arranged for as my valentine's day gift. instead aim finally revealed the surprise by saying "you need to go to bryson lemone dental."

that's interesting i thought. do they give massages at the dentist's office these days? i don't know, and it didn't matter because i didn't want one from my brother-in-law anyway. turns out it wasn't a massage at all, but something just as relaxing and enjoyable... a teeth whitening laser treatment. and by just as relaxing and enjoyable, i mean not very relaxing and enjoyable at all.

getting your teeth whitened is like going to the tanning salon (so i hear) but with all the heat rays focused on your mouth. but that's not all, they put some contraption in your mouth that pulls back your lips and keeps your teeth exposed as if you were some fish lipped bucked tooth horse with massive gums bulging out of your mouth ready to throw down with uv rays one inch from your soft tissue.

sure, they put sunscreen all over your lips and nose and you get to wear these sweet sunglasses that look like something my mom was wearing last week, but that stuff barely protects me from al gore and the depleted ozone layer miles away... how's it supposed to block out a laser bearing directly down on my mouth? what's more is you have to sit there for four fifteen minute treatments while they beam the death star laser straight onto your mouth and you just lay there motionless trying not to move and only able to focus on how good you'll look in your next 8 x 10 glamour glossy. did you want an autograph with that?

surprise! i love you! happy valentines day, love! oh and by the way, your teeth are too yellow. (just for the record, aim didn't really say that)

in all fairness to aim, i have actually mentioned to her on many occasions that i would like to get my teeth whitened, so i don't mean to come across as ungrateful, just vain. in all seriousness, my confidence has gone through the roof. i am performing better at work and during pick-up basketball games. people are noticing me now. i'm a new man.

for real, when i found out i was flattered and excited in a perverse kind of way since this could only mean that aim would likely want to kiss me even more than she already does once my teeth were whiter. and whiter they are, so ask me to smile for you the next time i see you. bring your camera and we'll snap a shot or two (first one's free). in all seriousness, they're not freakishly white, but they're better than before. i'm sure you never even noticed (please say yes here so as to not make me self-conscious), but i did.

well folks, that's all the energy i have for tonight. i've got to watch 24 before i go to bed and can't sleep for an hour or two 'cause i'm so hopped up on the intensity with which jack bauer saves the world.

in closing, i would just like to thank my wife, aimee, for her very thoughtful gift to me of whiter teeth. happy valentine's day, babe! i was going to wait to tell you, but i got you a unibrow waxing for out 11th anniversary... enjoy! i know it's not much, but just wait to see what type of elective surgery i'm planning for you for our fifteenth.

i've underestimated my ability to offend and i didn't even mention politics (didn't is past tense)

here we are some seven days later and not a single one of you has commented on my last post commemorating the birth of my son, colston, with a comment wishing the poor lad a happy birthday. he is beside himself... unable to sleep, eat, or function as a normal two year old boy does. gone are the days when he would wake up in the morning singing a happy song to welcome the sunshine into his sleepy room. gone are the days when he would skip to and from the local florist with a bouquet of flowers for his dear mum. gone are the days when he would happily vacuum our fake grass without even having to be asked to.

sadly, these serene moments of blissful innocence are a thing of the past and all because i lowered my blogging standards by poking fun at rodent dogs in knitted sweaters with names like dookie and pinto.

really?

to that i say, where's the fun in wallowing in the gutter all by my lonesome? well, i would suggest that this type of behavior is not the answer... for it would be much better were you to bring yourself down to my level by snapping back with some tart retort about how i don't understand "dog love" and "crocheted sweaters" or how i'm so "old fashioned" and "full of myself" and that i just don't get "it" or how i just am not "cool" or a "mr. fancy pants" or "with it, man" or part of the "in-crowd" or "johnny's gang" or i'm just not a "new kid on the block" or a "socialite named after a place in france" or i must be an "american idol hater" or a "non-people magazine reader" or how i just didn't like the "sixth sense that much" and i probably just don't find humor in shows like "two and a half men" or live in "summerlot" or shop at "nordstroms" or "whole foods" and eat "non-organic food" because i certainly don't know how to have a "good time" or go "clubbing" or do the "electric boogaloo" and "party like it's 1999" while i "pass on grass, all the time" and write in "run-on" sentences and "lower case letters" while overusing "quotation marks" "!" "!" "!"

"in your face," you might say. and then no one wins. correction, no human wins, but the dogs do. and then they take over the world and make us wear the knitted sweaters without any pants.

something downright smoldering like that should do the trick. and at that point, my friend, you would have lowered yourself down to my level and, who knows, we might just become best buddies and find something we can both pick on, like "cats" the musical and the animal because i'm really more of a dog guy. then ye shall see that i cannot be found in league with those wretched dog haters and their ilk. i loved, and i mean loved, the "yo, quiero taco bell" pup before taco bell over did that entire franchise. and who doesn't love scooby doo? i'm also a big fan of chewbacca's and he's pretty much an evolved version of a dog in the lucas universe.

so, in case you are wondering, this is me trying to apologize to those of you who may have taken offense to my previous post. such was not my intent as i was really only trying to get us all to laugh at ourselves... especially if we're one of those people who owns a dog and treats it like buffy and sterling would at the country clud. but seriously, i miss the comments from my good and faithful friends "up in bubbles," "team howey," "emcee mcghee," and the like.

it pains me to think that i may have damaged our blogging relationship beyond repair and, as such, i am taking a page right out of our president's handbook and offering my outstretched hand to all in an effort to please everyone. can we still be friends? and there i go, i can't even apologize without offending all my democrat friends. i just had to do it.

tune in next week when i profusely apologize to the obama zombies."""""""""""""""

birthday number two for son number three

major disclaimer: if you are very sensitive about pampering dogs and it would hurt your feelings if i made fun of pampering dogs, then please do not read any further and just skip down to the poem because i can't afford to lose anymore blog zombies. let's just say that i got a little carried away below such that my wife actually thought i should remove the post but she seems to have forgotten who wears the pants around here. it was only a matter of time before i offended someone on the blog, and i must say that today is as good a day as any. i understand that by writing this disclaimer i am assuring that the people who might be offended by my post will definitely read the post... i guess i could just remove the post, but i have to uphold my artistic integrity. to remove my post would be an affront to all writers everywhere and we can't have that. sorry, i cannot be censored. first amendment: scoreboard. besides, this post is about colston's birthday, so don't be so selfish and take away from that by getting offended

today was colston's second birthday, or as he calls it: his happy day. colston loves happy days for one reason... no, not the presents; no, not the cake; no, not the ice cream (he likes that all the time); and, no, not because his dad sings him a solo rendition of "happy birthday." the biggest reason why colston loves happy days is because of candles.

colston likes candles quite a bit, but he enjoys blowing them out even more. it's actually very entertaining to watch him blow them out. he huffs and he puffs, focuses all his efforts and concentration on one of the many candles and then blows them out one by one and then does it all over again. i think grandpa hodges lit and relit candles on jameson's birthday cake about twenty times last month just so colston could keep blowing them out. he's either a pyro or a firefighter in the making.

colston is a good kid. very mellow. people say he's a mini-jeremy... he should be so lucky. actually, i don't think my cheeks were ever as fat as his are, but i guess that's what makes us so adorable. colston likes basketball and will shoot baskets in the backyard and have aim act as his ballgirl whenever he can. i really think he would literally spend all day shooting if he could. that is right up until he needs a bah bah break (that means bottle) or wants to take a nap with his babies (those are his blankets).

all in all, we are lucky to have him as a member of the cooper five. we just wouldn't be complete without him since the five in the cooper five means five members of the family in case you didn't know. if he weren't around it just wouldn't make sense. if c-town hadn't come along we would have to have gotten some obnoxiously cute rat-like dog and then treat it better than how most kids in first, second and third world countries are treated to make the cooper five brand still work because our sponsors just wouldn't be down with it otherwise.

problem is, i'm not down with treating dogs better than people. don't get me wrong, dogs are great and all, and i'm not saying we should round them all up and sell them to a korean bbq joint, i'm just saying maybe if we combined all the yarn from every wiener dog sweater out there we could probably clothe the octuplets that lady just had for four or five years. and then there's dog strollers... really??? are you kidding me??? do i even need to make fun of those? it's too easy, i won't even do it. i need more of a challenge like making fun of pampering dogs in a pitch so high that only dogs can hear me... then i could make the k-9s self-conscious without setting off the peta whack jobs... now that's a challenge... genius.

then there's dog poop. have some decency people! i don't let my kids go around going number two in the streets and on the sidewalks (number one, yes (but that evaporates quickly), but number two, no... unless of course we are talking about pools, but that's another story). and then there's the obnoxious names to go along with the obnoxious sweaters like poindexter and fufu... what's worse, "original" mormon names or yuppy dog names (seriously, braxton, crispin, colston, as if)???

and then there's the pit bulls that are out mauling kids in the streets... come on, man! basta. to summarize, dogs are not people, too. they are dogs which is a type of animal. people are people which is a type of human being. one far outweighs the other in the grand scheme of things and if i have to explain the difference to you, then we probably would disagree on a number of things on a similar level which i won't get into here because... well, i just won't.

so, let's get back to colston now that the selfish, limelight seeking dogs have stolen the majority of the post meant to be dedicated to the birthday boy. really, this post was supposed to be about colston. as has been noted in the past, i write a poem for the birth announcement of each kid of ours. i called colston's "the boxer" because aim noticed early on that he would hold his arms up like a boxer defending himself or getting ready to land a right hook on someone in the ring. plus, we were in vegas when he was born... it was the perfect fit.

well, it seemed to be a perfect fit at the time, but if i were to re-write the poem today, i'd probably call it "the swimmer" (that is if phelps hadn't been caught hitting a bong, now we're going to have to get a court order to have him remove the cooper five tatoo advertisement he was supposed to start sporting at his swim meets) since colston loves to leisure around in his swimming trunks. he's actually quite obsessive over wearing his swim trunks and won't go to bed unless he's got them on. some nights he'll have us change his swimming trunks two or three times until he decides which swimsuit he's most fetching in that evening.

at any rate, he's a one of the most loveable kids you could ever come across. so loveable, we got him a dog for his birthday sans stroller and sweater. j/k. enjoy the poem.

The Boxer
By Jeremy Cooper

A hush overcame
The impatient crowd
No boredom was present
Not even a shroud

For they’d come from all over
To see the fierce fists of gold
Indeed this poor boy’s story
Had seldom been told

But his legend was fast growing,
His reviews, they were glowing
And in the land of the Vegas
He’d make his first showing

Thus, the venue was fitting
For a fighter of such hype
His spreading fame and catchy name
Meant the timing was ripe

For a town where true winners
Are few and far between
A new breed of champion
Was about to be seen

When the bell finally rang
He made like a bee-line.
He was a survivor flying high
With the ferocious eye of a feline

But his first fighting moments
Were not his most glorious
His trainer grew tense
To watch was laborious

With his eyes slightly swollen
The beating was tollin’
The punches kept coming
And he wasn’t rollin’.

The rumble was fierce
Was this a mistake?
The thumping was more
Than even Jack Bauer could take

A lil’ rope-a-dope
Then a pop, pop, and a bam
His breathing twice halted
And the trainers, they ran

But as he fell to the mat
He never had a doubt
That he would prevail
And things would work out

So he shot right back up
Among the roars of the crowd
If Cinderella Man had been there
He would have been proud

For this steel jawed cager
On victory was hell-bent
And like a phoenix from the ashes
He began his ascent

He started his comeback
With tempestuous attacking
He then gave a clinic
On administering a shellacking

With his fists clenched tightly
He battled ever so mightily
He stung like a bee
While floating butterfly lightly

He pounded like thunder
(but not from down under)
And it fast became apparent
He was no one hit wonder

His speed made him blurry,
His right hooks came in flurries,
And with an uppercut like Ryu’s
He did his job in a hurry.

Balboa would have been shocked,
Clubber Lane he’d have clocked,
Ivan Drago? Not a chance
That Russian would have gotten rocked

The pundits were speechless
The fight was a rout
And without hesitation
The comparisons came out

He’s in the mold of Ali
With the spirit of Joe Louis
Iron Mike even said;
“Man, that white boy’s ludikwis!”

For in the thralls of defeat
He withstood all the heckles
And not since Beck to Harline
In the jaws of Rice Eccles

Had a victory felt so right
And a comeback been so uncanny
He’d grabbed the bull by the horns
And showed he had the anatomy

But more importantly he was here,
He’d thrown his hat in the ring
And his heavenly arrival
Prompted angels to sing.

Pound for pound he was pure,
With no need for disclaimer,
Making one thing for certain:
Jer and Aim’s kid was a gamer!

there's a line and i crossed it: jeremy gets a pedicure

it's been too long. but my indefinite delay is being delayed to bring you yet another emasculating event in the life of jeremy cooper. the pedicure.

yes, i am the guy who got highlights in his hair on more than one occasion, but a lot of guys were doing that back in the nineties.

yes, i am the guys who does the majority of the decorating in our house, but i do it while i eat beef jerky.

yes, i am the guys who likes to go shopping for clothes, but, as i've mentioned in the past, that includes the lingerie department (for my wife, not me).

yes, to all of the above. i realize that these revelations may change some of my blog zombies' opinion of me... some for the worse, some for the better. as my son caleb would say: too bad, so sad... to both sides; for a pedicure doth not a man make. traditionally, a man and a woman doth a man make, although in today's world the same thing can be accomplished with ice cubes, test tubes, injections, etc. (but somewhere in the whole process i'm pretty sure you still need both sides to doth make it).

back to the matter at hand...

in my mind, it is quite simple to straddle the realm of masculine and metro without dipping too far into the deep end of one side or the other while participating in the aforementioned activities. that being said, some activities definitely cross the line and when it came to pedicures, i had my doubts regarding the very being of its effeminate nature. still, in the spirit of tolerance, i decided to get myself some street-cred in the castro district sort of way by getting a pedicure.

this all transpired over the weekend while i was in california on an attorneys' retreat with my firm. we had finished our afternoon bike ride along the beach and were in need of some male sport and being the brooding pack of men that we are, we decided it might suit our fancy to pass our time getting pedicures. some of the guys immediately abstained as they would sooner be caught dead than get a pedicure.

i, on the other hand, like a good husband gave heed to the suggestions my wife had given on many occasions in which she implored me to get a pedicure for the sake of our marriage. i decided to put our relationship before my outdated notions of masculinity and resolved to get my toenails done (just for the record, i didn't get my toe nails painted... that's crossing a line far beyond the line i crossed). plus i didn't have to pay and my boss was going too, so what did i have to lose?

i must admit, that i lingered in the shopping center parking lot for a moment considering the consequences of my actions and even when i had to check my man-card at the door and swallow what little pride i had left in me, i quickly overcame my inhibitions and plunged down into one of the greatest inventions ever made: a mechanically operated massage chair with a mini-jacuzzi for your feet.

the experience was divine and funny all at the same time. i felt bad for the girl working on my feet, aim won't even touch them. i don't know how anyone could do that for a living, but she did a great job. i could hardly understand her, especially when she was speaking vietnamese to her colleagues. i'm not sure what the vietnamese word is for vomit, but i'm certain she used it while talking to her co-workers as i'm pretty sure she was close to losing it for the first 12 minutes or so.

i can't speak for her, but for me, it was a nirvana-like experience. the pedicure givers lure you in with these foot and leg massage things and then pull this "ten more minutes for ten extra dollars" line... how am i supposed to resist that? especially when i'm not paying for it?

it went on and on until finally the girl taking care of my feet and the other two girls taking care of my co-workers' feet realized that our boss was the one paying for everything. like any smart person, they followed the money. it wasn't long after that that they sent us packing and congregated around el jefe. one girl was working on his feet, one was giving him a back rub and one was chatting him up just to keep him distracted from the ever-growing bill he was accumulating. the rest of us then had to sit in the not-so-comfortable chairs while we waited for him to finish up. it was quite a sight.

like all good things, the pedicure finally ended and we were on are way. but as i walked away from my first pedicure, i held my head high. no walk os shame here. i was smiling on the outside, and although no one could see them, my toes were all sparkling and shiny on the inside.

now, i reluctantly admit that i think i'm addicted and will not be so bashful about getting another one as long as my dad's not there. and for those who would question my degree of manliness, all i have to say is...

really?

do you want to see what it feels like to get dropped kicked in the mouth by some silky smooth, asian waxed, hand polished (not painted) and buffed toe nails? so stealthy you won't even see it coming... like a ninja.

that's what i thought.

ode to j and k: polar opposites attract

i have been meaning to drop this post for a while now. my parents celebrated their 85th wedding anniversary, or something like that, on 12/21/08. as my father likes to point out, 12/21 is the first day of the winter solstice and the longest night of the year. he likes to act as though he intentionally picked that night as their wedding night for what should be obvious reasons. truth is, the length of the night had nothing to do with their choice of date. knowing mom and dad, 12/21 was the only day they could squeeze in between trips to mississippi. at any rate, big jeff has gotten a lot of mileage out of his clever remark regarding their wedding date.

so, with that in mind, and only a month and 6 days late, i am finally getting around to wishing my parents a happy 68th wedding anniversary. for those of you who know jeff and kenna, you've probably wondered more than once if their union was the result of an arranged marriage. i somewhat jest, but i would be remiss if i didn't comment to some degree on just how different these two people are.

for instance, just how wide the divide is between jeff and kenna can be pretty well understood by taking a look at their working-out routines. big jeff is an early morning treadmiller. he gets up every morning at around 4 am and hops on the treadmill for his daily two to three mile jog and when i say jog what i really mean is something more like a pulsating, heart pounding run for his life. a leisurely trot or a casual stroll won't cut it for big j... the man only knows one speed: overdrive. as such, he sets the treadmill to its fastest speed, raises the incline to the max and goes to town. he pushes it and he pushes it hard, so hard that he has to grab hold to the side rails to keep from flying off the back. sweat flies, cheeks turn red, facial lines crease and foreheads furrow with strain as he fights his way through it.

so intense is his running session, my wife once talked to a guy who worked out in the gym where my dad ran while we were on vacation (yes, he doesn't let up during vacation). when he realized my dad was aim's father in law while she was down running, he surprisingly said "that guy's your father in law? he's an animal. i was in here the other morning and he was on the treadmill going so fast and holding on so tight as if for dear life i had to go over and ask him if he was alright. i thought he was stuck...i was worried he couldn't stop and was going to hurt himself. i even offered to push the stop button for him or pull the plug." big jeff said he was ok in grunt language. are you getting the picture?

on the flip side of the equation is kenna jo. in k-wad's case, i have only seen her run once in my 33 years of life while she was trying to catch a plane in buffalo, new york (that's a story for another day). she ran for about 10 yards and then doubled over on the verge of tears declaring that the strain was more than she could bear. 10 yards. no joke. are you getting the picture? well, here, let me add to it...

my dad's treadmill was always in the master bedroom up until recently. next to the treadmill sits a nice piece of equipment i like to call the loafer's exercise bike. a loafer's exercise bike is one of those exercise bikes that is essentially a la-z boy recliner with pedals. the loafer bike has one of those long back rests that you can kind of just kick back against while moving your legs up and down to make it look like you are exercising. this is how kenna jo works out: laid back on the loafer bike, cruising along with the no resistance wheel setting locked in, and controlled breathing measures in full effect. such is the routine for my dear mom.

thus, picture if you will, big jeff on the tread mill running like a bat out of hell, but with more sweat and strain, while kenna moseys along at her own pace and takes in more moisture than she loses. and that, my friends, is a fairly accurate glimpse into the dichotomy that is jeff and kenna.

in all seriousness though, mom and dad are singular individuals.

big jeff fancies himself as the blue collar guy working in a white collar world. he puts his head down and trudges through the quagmire of the professional sector only wanting to get the job done, while the wise guy smileys and car selling sycophants of the world presume to take all the credit. he's not in it for the glory. he grunts, he laughs, and he's sometimes non-responsive as a result of his more controllable than he'd like you to think ability to selectively listen (thanks to a bad ear). he respects hard workers and struggles with the big mouths that make promises they can't deliver on. he's the rocky balboa from rocky one, and maybe two, who peels himself off the mat everyday to take on the appollo creeds and clubber langs of the world only to start over and do the same thing again the next day.

kenna jo, on the other hand, is the consummate beauty queen contestant and life is her pageant. if kenna jo could sing her way through life as if performing in a road show, she'd win an oscar and be translated. she's the former model turned stay-at-home mom who never cared much about cooking, sewing, or cleaning (that's not to say she got better at one of those things later on), but who are we kidding anyway? we know full well, as big jeff likes to remind us, certain things can be learned, while others cannot. kenna can smile at just about anything and has an uncanny ability to stay positive. she sings with a curler in her hair, she works out in the pool with styrofoam weights to paula abdul and she loves to be pampered more than she might admit. she's princess aurora from sleeping beauty jovially wandering in the woods and singing melodically to the cute little animals nearby while safe in the knowledge that her fairy godmothers are there to take care of her.

these are the people that raised me. perhaps that explains some things. never mind that though, all in all i think they did a pretty good job and continue to do so. with that, i will say thank you mom and dad for your examples and for your love and your care. thank you for your streak of 45 years of marriage and what it means to me as your son. i anticipate many more years of wedding anniversary celebrations on your and your offsprings' behalf.

jameson's vegas birthday: rockin' the suburbs

disclaimer: i hope this post does not offend anyone who was not invited to jameson's party. we kind of threw it together last minute and didn't put a lot of thought into the guest list. i have already thought of several people we forgot to invite. believe me, it wasn't intentional and if you like, i'd be happy to hang out with any of you who were/are offended and sing you a guitar hero set for an hour to make up for it. actually, you'd probably have a better time listening to me sing than you would have had at the party. not that the party was bad, but i am just that good at guitar hero. just get in touch with my agent to arrange it.. and please, no press at the event. but in all seriousness, we apologize if we have offended you.

because jameson had his actual birthday in utah, we decided to let him have a party with the vegas coops and his friends from church and school a few weeks later at the homestead. it was good stuff. we did a guitar hero theme party and split the boys up into two bands when they arrived. one band called itself krispy kreme and the other dunkin' donuts. the boys then designed their band t-shirts and did their hair to match the occasion. once everyone was decked out we made our way upstairs and played some guitar hero.

i think the boys had a good time, but even if they didn't, i did... and that's all that really matters. aimee made a life-sized cake of jameson with a guitar on stage that had a fog machine and light system surrounding it. the candles were actually a five-minute fireworks and laser light show with the elvis impersonator from "legends in concert" singing him happy birthday. we then had the killers perform a set for the kids. let's see if any of you can top that. again, i am lying except for the part where i think everyone had a good time.

i'd like to give special thanks to grandma k and auntie jo for their help with the party... especially grandma's moving rendition of michael jackson's "beat it." maybe i'll post the video someday after i've safely secured my inheritance.

check out the invite and the pics for yourself.