Grateful Friday

Today after school I'm taking down my February calendar and all the hearts and hanging up March and a few shamrocks.

The past few mornings the sky has been glorious in the morning.  It's getting lighter every day.  Last night the sunset reflected on the snowy mountains was beautiful.  Every surface was either glowing or shadowed  dramatically.

I like changing seasons.

There are other parts of life where change is...less welcome.  It's keeps me up at night and puts a pit in my stomach.  

I'm grateful for the lessons about change the seasons teach.  

Seasons change whether we like it or not.  I need to be accepting of change.

Seasons change in their own time.  We can do nothing to hurry them or slow them down.  I need to release my grip on timetables.

Some parts of seasons are prettier than others.  They all are part of the process.

And who knows?  With every change, maybe there will be gorgeous skies (and a few shamrocks).

The ups and downs

The other day I was in the office at school and a 6th grader came in and asked for a bandaid.  He said, almost apologetically, "I got hurt at recess and it won't stop bleeding."

I was amazed, mostly that his teacher didn't have bandaids in the classroom because I use bandaids daily.  I think third graders have a much lower threshold for what needs a bandaid and I must also.  I will slap a bandaid on anything because I want to get on with it.

A lot of my day consists of hearing complaints.  They come in from recess and tell me about the wrongs that were dealt them.  I say, "Did you tell the recess teacher?"

They say, "Yes."

So then I realize they aren't looking for justice, they are looking for sympathy and my outrage to match theirs.  I try.  "That's terrible," I say.  "I'm sorry that happened."

That seems to satisfy them.

Sometimes the aches and pains are general and vague.  My cure all is to go sit down and rest.  "Sit at your desk and rest.  Don't even get up to sharpen your pencil.  I will do that for you.  You need to rest."

They go to their seats and after awhile, come and find me again.  (No one has ever taken me up on the offer to rest and I'll sharpen the pencil.  I think they forget.)  "My leg/head/side/arm still hurts," they say.

"But you aren't resting!" I say.

So they go sit down again.

Soon enough they've forgotten any ailment and we can get on with it.

Because there is so much to get on with.

I was sitting with some of my below level readers and having them write word chains.  dim dime dine din fin fine.

One boy was writing along, puzzling over every b and d choice.  When he got to fin, he wrote phin.

"Not ph," I said.  "It's an f."

So he erased the h and left the p.

I go home exhausted every day.

There are such rewards though.  I love those guys.  I love when they burst in the room in the morning, excited to tell me something they only marginally remember.  "We are going to visit my cousins during spring break!"

"Wow!  That sounds fun.  Where do they live?"

"I don't know."

But I love that they want to share their good news with me.

I love that they draw me pictures and paint pictures for me in art.  They write things like I'm the best teacher in the world and I am really not but it's their way of saying they like me too.

I love the way one student finds me in the chaos of when the final bell rings and everyone is shouting bye! and I'm saying, "Don't forget your backpack!" and "Whose coat is this?"  

He finds me and takes a little bow and says, "See you tomorrow, Teacher."

And I'll be there because I know how lucky I am.

Brown eyes

 I have a student who is a constant delight to me.  She is tiny and spunky and creative and since she has older siblings, knows the words to Phantom of the Opera and Hamilton and belts them out at times.  A while ago, they wrote imaginative narratives. Some of the students wrote sort of non stories about the video game Among Us and some of the girls wrote stories about unicorns and rainbows.  

This girl wrote a multi-page story about how the school was evil.  She wrote about how the teachers gave so much work because they wanted to make the students heads explode.  The teachers also turned some of the students to their dark side by making their eyes brown.  When I was reading it and the student was standing expectantly waiting for my reaction, I said, "Hey, I have brown eyes."

"I know," she said.

In the story, the kids eventually were able to triumph over the evil school and the teachers became nice again.

A few weeks later I was giving them a math test.  This student said, "You really ARE trying to make our heads explode."

I bent over and looked at her sparkly blue eyes and asked, "What color are my eyes?"

She shook her head and giggled and did her math test.

I told my family about it because I usually have stories to regale them with about these kids I spend my days with.

The other night at dinner, Mark was telling me about some confusing sciencey thing like he does.  (He will explain things to me like how some groups of infinite numbers are bigger than others....).  I said, "You're making my head hurt."

He smiled at me from across the table and asked, "What color are my eyes?"

My Jacob Marley

 I love when Emma is magically here when I get home.  That happened yesterday.  She comes sometimes when she needs to focus and her apartment isn't cutting it.  I told her that all day I'd been thinking off and on (because I was teaching and that has a way of taking up my attention) about our new neighbors.  They are going to build a house in the lot next to our house that has been empty since we moved here.  We've known it was going to happen eventually but now that it is, I feel sad.  I like looking out the window and seeing sagebrush.  There's only one small window that it will impact, but still.  I keep returning to it like a toothache my tongue keeps finding.  

I said, "Speak comfort to me Jacob!" to Emma.  She started telling me how it wasn't that big of deal, how it wouldn't impact us that much.  I said, "Come outside."

I showed her the orange marks that I assume are the perimeter of the house.  She said, "Oh, never mind.  That's awful."

"Emma!" I said.  "You're supposed to be making it OK."

She said, "I'm trying."

Then she led me to the other side of the house and showed me our neighbors on the other side and how because of the differing levels and angles, our houses felt further apart than they actually were.

So then I told her she was doing a good job.  I felt better.

Everyone needs an Emma.

Grateful Friday

Things making me grateful:

I'm getting my second COVID vaccine tomorrow.

Taking Joan for a spin in the car wash.

Snow on the mountain.

The custodian at school who salts and plows the sidewalks and pavement, sits next to kids during lunchtime when they are struggling, and is willing to have students who need a reward hang out with him for a few minutes.  He puts them to work and they think they won the lottery.   

How much Braeden and Emma and Mark (and Anna) love each other.

Mark helping me study for Battle of the Books.  Every time I would say out loud...OK, how am I going to remember that?  He would respond, "Memorize it."

Thanks Mark.

I appreciate his help though.  The teacher team is going against the championship 3-4 grade team.  Three of my kids are on that team.  I love them, but it's go time!  Jamie bought us team costumes.  We aren't messing around.

I'm grateful, again and always for a weekend with Adam.

Birthday

Yesterday the National Weather Service had issued a winter storm warning.

Utah Department of Transportation asked people to delay travel until 10:00 AM.

Alpine School District said challenge accepted.  I don't know who decides we will or will not have a snow day but I think they probably have nerves of steel.

I was very grateful for Joan as I slip slid my way to school.  State Street, the major thoroughfare was covered with snow and following the tracks of the person in front of you was the only way you could pretend you were in your lane.

There were 11.7 inches of snow at the Salt Lake Airport (a single day in February record).

I texted my family about the craziness and Emma texted:

I told her to send pictures.

The last picture she said she was experimenting with her self timer.  Also it took her 1 1/2 hours to get home because the blizzard started.

When Emma said she wanted to go see the sunrise on her birthday, I told Adam she was crazy.  He said, "No, she's not.  She's complicated."

Truer words were never spoken about my girl.

Also I'm glad she has a Subaru because she has wanderlust.

I asked her Sunday what her plans were on her birthday.  She said she didn't have any.  I asked her if she wanted to have dinner with us.  She said, "Yes!  I am done with class at 8:00."

I said, "Um."

That's pretty late for me for dinner.

We decided instead that we would have high tea in the interim between me being done with school and her class that started at 5:00.  I picked her up and we went to Starbucks for hot chocolate.  (I burned my tongue.)

It was marvelous to sit and chat with Emma.  She asked me a question and said, "But I want to know how you feel about it."

(It's nice to have a daughter!)

When Braeden found out Sunday about her lack of plans, he quickly planned a surprise party for her.  He asked me for contact info for her friends.  I sort of came up empty.  I knew names but not phone numbers.  It was determined that the party would be at 9:00 pm.  Mark was invited and he's been late for school all week but whatever, they aren't counting attendance this year.  (If they were, that kid would be at attendance school for days!)

While we were sipping our hot chocolate, Emma told me that her friend Katie had invited her over at 9:00 and Katie was baking her a cake and they were going to have a little party.  She said, "Braeden is coming over at 9:00 to give me a gift but I'm leaving right after that to go to Katie's."

I called Braeden on my way home.  

He ended up telling Emma about his surprise and the result was two parties which I haven't heard about yet because Mark is still asleep.  

What matters is that my girl felt loved.

Because she is.

I'm glad she's ours.  She's funny and stubborn and creative and kind and loyal and fierce and tender.  She's complicated and I'm glad.

Prayers

 One of my student's mother emailed me yesterday and asked me to pray for them because they had their green card interview.  I said absolutely.  And I did pray for them.  My opinion is throw opportunity around like confetti.

Another student asked me how soon until March.  I said, "A few days."

He said, "What day is March 1st?"

I showed him on the calendar.  He said, "OK.  Because that's when my milk expires."

If you're wondering how much children share about their home lives, the answer is quite a bit.  And I told him he'd better get drinking.

I have a student who has a sentence written on a card that the special ed. teacher wrote for him.  He doesn't know much English, but he reads, "Mrs. Davis, will you help me please?"

I'd pretty much drop everything for him when he haltingly reads that sentence for me.

Over tacos ($1 street tacos at Don Joaquins on Tuesday night.  Please and thank you) Adam solved an annoying problem that had me stumped.  I also congratulated him on being the genius mastermind of getting Mark to talk.  Mark is not what you'd call an oversharer.

I'm sorry for everyone who doesn't have Adam as a husband.  

Today is Emma's birthday.  22 years old.  

22 years ago on February 16, I went to bed miserable and impatient.  You've never met a more impatient pregnant woman than I was with all three.  I prayed before bed and pleaded for relief.  I crawled into bed and my water broke.

I hope my prayers on behalf of green cards are heard as clearly and answered as swiftly.

Restorative

 Yesterday was a day off and it was a nice one.  I feel rejuvenated.

I did some laundry and a little tidying up (Adam cleaned the kitchen like the champ that he is).  I talked on the phone with my mom (and my dad a little) and Marianne.  I went shopping with Emma for her birthday and she had just finished having lunch with Braeden and Anna so I got to see them too.  The four of us went to Bath and Body Works and smelled soaps and I bought them soap.  It was one of those screaming deal kind of days at Bath and Body Works.

Mark wasn't feeling well so I tried to take care of him.  

In the evening Adam and I drove to Sandy and had dinner with Olivia and Edgar and two of their boys.  It felt a little like a date and I enjoyed driving with Adam and of course seeing Olivia and her people.

Sometimes you just need a day off to reconnect with people and I'm grateful I got one.

Blog coverage

 We decided that since Valentine's Day was on Sunday this year, we would revisit our intermittent tradition of a seven course meal.  The BYU kids were all in.

We planned it out a full week in advance because a seven course meal is not something to be taken lightly.

Adam was the head chef and Mark and I were the sous chefs.  Also I set the table and figured out all the serving dishes.

Setting the table for Valentine's Day should be done with abandon.  I created a table that was too much and then I added some stuff.

Dinner lasted two hours.  We ate slowly as the courses were presented.  We visited and laughed a lot.  It was lovely.

After everyone had left and we started the dishwasher for the first of many many times until the dishes will be done (not done yet), Adam asked me if I had pictures.

He said, "I want blog coverage."

Turns out Emma had taken pictures so here we have blog coverage, for our family scrapbook/journal/record.

(Because we want to remember.)

Appetizer:  baked eggs and wild mushrooms on toast

Soup: tomato and roasted red pepper

Salad:  arugula, basil, tomatoes, marinated fresh mozzarella in a balsamic vinaigrette

Entree: steak and herb cheese and green beans

Emma is trying out being a vegetarian for February (She's never really liked meat that much.) so Adam grilled marinated portobello mushrooms for her.

Her plate looks like a face.

Sorbet (to cleanse the palette):  strawberry hibiscus

Dessert:  chocolate covered strawberries

Cheese

My favorite part of the cheese course was the homemade tomato jam that our neighbors gifted us with for Christmas.  It was delicious!

I love Valentine's day and the people I shared it with.

Grateful Friday

 In our ward we have "pods" of women we are assigned to minister to.  I was recently assigned to a new pod and we went out to dinner together last night.

I haven't been out to dinner with friends for at least a year.  It was really nice.  The four of us know each other but it was nice to visit and get to know each other better.  I'm the oldest in the group and also two of them are remarried.  When one of them asked how long Adam and I had been married, they were astounded by 25 years.  

The conversation was mostly about children like it is when mothers get together.  One is the mother of sons and I assured her with the advice Geri gave me once.  If you can let your sons live between the ages of 11 and 15, you can do anything.

It's true.

The other two are mothers of teen and preteen daughters.  I assured them that eventually their daughters will be restored to their sweet native dispositions.  They'll like you again.

They lamented that they wanted their kids to find "their thing" and good friends.

Every stage of motherhood seems to come with its own set of worries and feelings of I-don't-know-how-to-do-this, but I'm glad to have a lot of that in the rearview mirror.

I'm glad my three are well past the teenage/preteen angst.  I'm grateful they all have very much found their thing and they all have good friends.  

I'm grateful to be a woman and a mother and for the joy that comes from getting together and visiting about it all.

I'm grateful for 25 years with Adam.

Also, this was tucked into my lunch bag this morning, from Mark:

We're celebrating Valentine's Day at school today so chances are there will be enough chocolate but, you know, be prepared.

Enough is enough

Seating charts are tricky. 

I try to pair a student who reads well with one that struggles more so they can work together on projects.  But then you have to consider height.  Also, I have to find the sweet spot for my Spanish speakers.  If they're right next to each other, they will speak Spanish all day to each other and tune the rest of us out.  If they're too far away from each other, the one who speaks and understands little English will be isolated all day.

And of course there's the chatter.  We rearranged chairs Friday and there were little parties happening everywhere.  So much talking.

I told them yesterday that I was going to change the seats again and there was silence.

But the die was cast.

I texted Mark and asked him to come and help me after school because I was also going to take down all the snowflakes.

Before Christmas, Mark and I hung plastic snowflakes from the ceiling with fishing line all over the classroom.  They were out of reach for most students but also, my students are pretty well behaved so a firm, "Don't jump up and touch the snowflakes," worked for most of them.

One boy struggled to resist the urge to jump up.  Yesterday, mid-flight, he elbowed another boy in the face.  It was a whole thing resulting in an ice pack and an apology and me deciding the snowflakes had to go.

I was telling Mark about it.  I said, "I felt irritated but then I remembered--"

"That your son would have done the same thing?" he finished for me.

"Yes," I said, "But worse."

Mark agreed and to demonstrate he jumped up and hit his head on a snowflake.  Then he turned on some jazz music and started doing my bidding.

So now the classroom has been transformed.  Winter is over and the snowflakes are gone.  The desks are in a pattern of boy girl, boy girl.  I put the quiet children strategically between the less than quiet.  I put the shorter kids in front and the taller kids in back.  

I don't think they'll like it.

But I'll tell them we will try a more social arrangement again sometime and they can do better.

In the meantime, I come home from work exhausted from the skirmishes, but I had my portrait done yesterday, so there's that.

My boy who speaks very little English presented me with this:

He said, "Teacher!  You!"

I think he captured me pretty well.

Big moment

 Last night we went to Provo to be there when Hyrum opened his mission call.  By opened, I mean read the email.  You used to open an envelope.

Things have changed.

He opened an email and about five phones were pointed at him, live-streaming the event.  I was there when Marianne opened her mission call.  She tore open the envelope and had a phone cradled by her ear and read it out loud for everyone in the room and our parents, on the phone.

Things have changed.

What hasn't changed is the excitement of the moment.  The room erupted when Hyrum read that he was called to serve in Ghana.  He staggered a little and went a little pale before he read the words.  It was surprising.  And exciting.  

I am thrilled for him and really for Ghana in general.

I have been thinking about that moment, the big moment in our culture where missionaries open their letters/emails.  It is life changing.

The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that it's way more than that moment.  For one thing, the location may change.  A lot of mission locations have changed in the last year.  It's not the exact location that changes lives.

And it's more than that moment.

The exciting cheers that went up when he read Ghana were the culmination of generations who worked hard and had faith and made brave choices.  It was the culmination of Hyrum working hard, having faith and making brave choices.  It was a reflection of him being taught by primary teachers and Sunday School teachers and seminary teachers and his good, good parents.

And now the life changing part is up to him.

I have a lot of confidence in him.  It is a wonderful thing!

Conspiracy

 I usually think conspiracy theories and people who believe them are a little (or a lot) wacky, but I think something nefarious is afoot here.

Adam bought me a Marimekko duvet cover for Christmas.  It makes my heart skip a beat.

This is not our bed because if you think our bed is nicely made this morning, you would be wrong.

Even in its current rumpled state, it is cheerful and beautiful.  Ever since I first saw Marimekko designs, it was love.  (It's a Finnish company and I am guessing perfect to brighten long dark winters.)

Also, it doesn't fit our comforter; it's way too big.  We've had that comforter for years and I wash it periodically in hot water so I reasoned the comforter had shrunk.  We went to Ikea Friday night for some storage solutions for my classroom.  (I inherited a classroom that was almost completely stripped of it's permanent storage by a previous teacher.  Everything I have was either brought from home or dragged from the surplus pile in the hall in the summer.)  We picked up another duvet.

Adam looked at the online order of the duvet cover and the package of the new duvet.  The Ikea duvet is ten inches narrower than the Marimekko cover and 4 inches shorter.

Why can't the Finns and the Swedes get along?

Gifts

 On Saturday Adam and I listened to a comedian on a podcast talk about giving others our offering.  His was giving people the opportunity to laugh.  He talked about the shift in himself when he decided to give people the opportunity to laugh rather than try to get laughs.

Saturday we went to The Importance of Being Earnest at the Hale Theater. Gifts galore.  Oscar Wilde's writing is a gift.  The talented actors had a gift to share.

Also on Saturday there was a stake women's meeting.  I didn't go but I watched the recording on Sunday.  (What a nice side benefit of the pandemic that is!)  It was also about gifts.  The main speaker was an artist.  She told her story and a little about her process and about the ways she was led to share her gift.

Our stake president spoke about one of his ancestors who was born a year after her pioneer parents had entered Utah.  She lived on a tiny farm and raised fourteen children and wrote hundreds of poems.  He shared some of them that he had found on Family Search.  They were delightful.

He said our gifts were meant to be shared, but he thought they were also meant for us.  They are sometimes for our own joy and delight and the joy and delight of those immediately around us.

Our gifts may never make us famous.  No one may every want to hear a podcast or a speech about how we've used our gifts.  Maybe no one will laugh and clap in a theater because of our talent and performance.  Still.  We have gifts.  

A little later on Saturday when I was putting a bandaid on my splitting skin (winter hands), I thought about one of my students who has even worse winter hands than I do.  He has full fledged eczema and uses the lotion I have on my desk but it doesn't seem to be helping that much.

I remembered how Neutrogena Norwegian formula helped Emma's hands when they were a little like that.  I immediately ordered some from Amazon.

We all have gifts to share.  Sometimes it's just remembering the kind of lotion that will help.

Grateful Friday

 Last night when I was leaving the school after a loooong night of parent teacher conferences, I said goodnight to a kindergarten teacher.  She said, "Happy Friday.  It's Friday now."

And I'm ready.

(It wasn't actually midnight but truly felt like it.)

A week of so much makes me grateful for the ballast in my life.

We're studying the Doctrine and Covenants this year, which I'm enjoying, but I listen to the Book of Mormon while I get ready in the morning.  It's like an old friend I never get tired of.

I'm grateful for prayer and faith.  I'm grateful for the faith of my mother.  She is definitely ballast.

I'm grateful for Adam.  His encouragement keeps me upright.

Today we're wearing orange to school. The teachers have matching orange t-shirts with the name of a kindergartner who has leukemia.  Today we're showing our love and support for him.

That heartbreaking diagnosis makes me feel grateful for my healthy children.  Even though my youngest has reached adult status (what?????) being a mother is the identity that matters most to me.  Those three are my thing.

Mark told us about a study (he read? listened to on a podcast?) that found that the more egalitarian a society was, the more distinct types of jobs men and women had because people could pick jobs they wanted.  He said that the same thing happened in families.  In nurturing homes, children pursued their own passions and in more abusive homes, all the children basically end up doing the same thing.

Who knows if any of this is true or not.  There's a study for everything and often they contradict each other.  Adam and I decided we're going to choose this study as truth because it makes us out to be nurturing parents.

Our evidence is Braeden, who is applying to PhD programs to study political science which I more or less understand (less, I understand less).  Mark follows the stock market and explained the whole Reddit/Game Stop thing to me.  Emma is the one who is taking a comedy and satire class.  They were supposed to write jokes in the style of Mark Twain.  She said her sense of humor was broken and they kept getting worse, for example:

Money can't buy happiness, nor can it buy back the limited edition Yu-gi-oh cards my ex-wife got in the divorce (I already asked, she said no).

Whether or not it reflects well on us as parents, I'm glad our kids are so unique.  If for no other reason, they entertain me and help me understand stuff.  

I'm every day grateful they are mine.

At the end of a long day

Mark hugged me and sent me for a nap.  Adam came home from work and hugged me and we went to JCW's for dinner.  These guys know how to take care of me.

Emma does too.  She is in a creative writing class and they are writing terrible poetry.   Her teacher gave them a list of 10 things to make their poetry terrible and Emma, overachiever that she is, used all ten.

 

Roses are red--violets are Blue 

Thy fair ocean Eyes are, too

Like beautiful Juliet and heartstricken Romeo

To a tragic early Grave thou shalt reluctantly go

'Twas early spring when I look't on thy Angelic face

Our joyful first Kiss:  it earned First place

Where'er we do meet, in green Forest--or under a blanket of stars

Thou shalt forever be in my heart

It's nice to have consoling people and terrible poetry at the end of a long day.

And it's only Wednesday

There are parent teacher conferences this week.  It's a hard and long week.  There's the prep for the conferences which isn't difficult really, just sort of time consuming.  I need to assemble all the things and set up all the conferences (virtual or in person?  do you need an interpreter?) and remind, remind, remind.

I was at the school for over 12 hours yesterday which makes for a very long day.

I think conferences are easier for me than some of the young single teachers because the parents don't intimidate me.  I think they are harder for me than some of the young single teachers because I understand the fierceness and worry in some of the parents.  These kids are their world and they are looking to me for help.  Reading, spelling, math, making friends...can I fix this?

I promise that I'm trying.

The hardest part is the glimpses of desperation I see in the families of my students that I love.  Life is hard and life right now is extra hard.  

When I got home Adam reminded me that I can't fix that.  He said, "That's not your job.  Your job is to love them."

(And also teach them.  We start fractions next week!)

It's a job I love and I'm so grateful that I get to it.  But I can't believe it's only Wednesday.

Thank you Mrs. Lindberg

Do you know about squishies?  I wouldn't except I spend my days with third graders and, at least at Bonneville Elementary, they are ALL the rage.  They are small...squishy...toys.  That's all.  They don't do anything interesting except squish.  Also, when they get taken out to recess they get super dirty because the squishy surface is also a little sticky so they're pretty gross.

Still.  They are all the rage.

I had two girls who set up little houses? communities?  who knows? on top of their desks.  They would play with them and I was constantly reminding them to get back on task.  I knew that if I made them put everything inside their desks, they would only be playing in there when they should be listening.

So I remembered when I was in third grade.

Back then Smurfs were our thing.  Marie and Barbara and I made a Smurf village on a countertop in Mrs. Lindberg's classroom.  It was out of paper and cotton balls.  Mrs. Lindberg let us stay in at recess to work on it.  Was she doing that to keep us from playing in our desks with the Smurfs?  It never occurred to me until now that maybe she was.

I approached my students and offered them some real estate on the countertop.  I told them as long as I don't have recess duty, they can continue to work on it.

Everything was moved from their desks.  I am under strict instructions to guard because people like to steal squishies according to the girls.

The squishies aren't actually pictured here because the girls took them home.  They don't trust me THAT much.

Kindly ignore the stained countertop.  I asked the principal recently if I could take a sledge hammer to the entire thing and he said no.

I'm grateful for this little set up.  It's over on the counter and when they're at their desks, they won't be distracted.  

I think about my elementary teachers a lot.  I loved them all (except one who terrified me).  I'm standing on the shoulders of giants.  I appreciate the things they taught me.

Please, Dr. Pepper was my father

 Emma and Mark had a whole conversation about how knock off Dr. Pepper changes the pepper instead of the doctor (see:  Walmart's Dr. Thunder, Shasta's Dr. Shasta).

They talked about what if they kept the pepper instead.  Mr. Pepper, Captain Pepper, Rear Admiral Pepper,  Professor Pepper, Reverend Pepper....

Being entertained by other peoples' conversations is a good pastime.

Cringing at their conversations?  Not so much.

Adam and I went out for Indian food on Friday and we were seated in a quiet back corner of the restaurant.  Well, quiet besides the nearby table of loud talkers.  These two women talked loudly about things I'd rather not hear.  They they bemoaned and described their terrible mothers (lots of detailed anecdotes!), how a family member told one of them on Christmas that her leopard print shoes made her look like a tart (those are my words--I'll spare you the actual description), and a chronicle of all the mental illness and how the (terrible) mother didn't understand and judged because of it.

We tried to ignore them.  We tried to have our own conversation.  We kind of succeeded but we mostly looked at each other sort of incredulously.  I did text Emma snippets of the conversation though because I always text Emma when something awkward is happening in my life.

Besides, I knew she would appreciate the well placed "tryna" that was part of the conversation.