The Super Speed Action

I am currently riding on the Super Speed Action roller coaster. I think I am on the 6th of the 128 loops, just before the 3rd big dip. As you may have guessed, this ride, and the other one pictured here, the updated 200 Fast Speed Action were designed, drawn, and named by Dallin. He is riding the latter, which, I assume, is in a cooler climate due to the fact that he is donning a Russian ushanka, complete with ear flaps. (Either that or his plans to grow a mullet and perm his hair are now revealed.)

It’s just been recently that I realized my present existence IS a variable fast and slow-paced, heart-pounding ride on these very roller coasters. The epiphany struck while I sat marveling at Dallin’s designs the other day; half excited, half petrified at the thought of continually swirling through the vortex of tracks that occasionally dead end and pick up somewhere else on the page without explanation.

I needn’t explain to any pregnant or formally pregnant woman the emotional, hormonal and physical ride of the blessed 40 weeks we call gestation. But for those of you who haven’t been there, it really is a terrifying thrill. I can’t and won’t experience everything that others will in life, but I’m glad that I get to experience this one.

That, however, only accounts for one dimension of the ride. Besides the ups and downs, there is twisting and rolling. I drag myself up each morning at the bleating of a nearly two year old Lindsey from her crib, “Maaaaaaaa, maaaaaaaa . . . . maaaaaaaaaaa, maaaaaaaaaaa,” a sound that has replaced the buzzing of my alarm clock in its ability to emote grouchy tendencies throughout the whole of my frame. But somewhere, in the shuffling walk toward her crib, her surprised, raised eyebrows, and outstretched baby arms the sound changes into one of my favorites. “Maaaaaa, maaaaaaaaaaa? . . . . Maaaaaaaa, maaaaaaaaa?” she says in disbelief at my arrival. And then I am rewarded with one of those awesome stomach-lifting dips in the roller coaster—soft little arms clutching around my neck in a squeeze that can never last long enough before she pulls away to look me in the eyes and very solemnly, zero.3 inches from my face, assures that I am taking her to the kitchen.
After retrieving breakfast for each of the three 5-and-unders, making sure that everyone gets the proper type of cereal in their bowl of choice and with just the right amount of milk and favorite spoon, we start the upward hill of getting dressed. Dallin and Afton like to choose what they will be wearing. Afton prefers to wear underwear. . . and that is about it. So, it is with considerable coaxing that I talk her into choosing something besides her bare skin or favorite pair of pajamas. Dallin, on the other hand, has no problem wearing clothes, and will even ask my opinion on what “works” together.
“Mom, what can I wear with this new shirt?”
“These brown shorts.”
“Ooooh . . . . .” he says smugly laying them down next to each other, “so brown and new match!”
Meanwhile, Afton preens as she asks for a purple bow to accompany her outfit.

And thus, another task I approach with boredom turns into a part of my ride that I would gladly get back into line for.

All this, along with the fun, suprising adventure of my life with Jared make me wonder what will be around the next corner for us. As President Hinckley said so well, and for my own sanity I must remember, the trick is to "enjoy the ride."

Posted by Sarah