Writing About Nothing

We Might Just Agree

2012-01-27T08:26:00.000-08:00

When I was about a junior in high school, I had a brief love affair with Southwest style. A Georgia O'Keefe phase? I loved cacti, painted pottery, and muted colors. I decided that I wanted canvas bedspreads for my bed and Marianne's bed. (She was gone to college and her bed was sort of a staging area for my laundry but I wanted a new bedspread for it as well.)

I asked my mom to make me two canvas bedspreads. "Canvas?" she said incredulously. Yes. I liked the texture. It was spare and seemed like...sand. It took a little convincing but soon enough, I ended up with two canvas bedspreads.

One day I came home from school to find a prickly pear cactus my dad had dug up from the sagebrush and put into a pot for me.

Another day I came home and found a cow skull on my shelf, which delighted me. It was perfect.

My parents thought my decorating ideas were weird but they supported them just the same.

So now there's Emma.

As mentioned earlier, we've gone back and forth about her bedroom. I thought her ideas were cheesy. I had such better ideas. Neither of us could get the other one to see reason. Then I remembered my parents--my mom sewing canvas bedspreads, my dad digging up cactus and gifting me with a cow skull. (If I can align my parenting as close to my parents' as possible, I think I'll do OK in the world.) I also considered that the part of Emma that is self-assured and independent is (usually) one of my very favorite parts about her. Who was I to squelch her ideas, her vision?

I told her we would do whatever she wanted.

Yesterday afternoon, we were driving to the store to gather paint chips. She said, "I've been thinking about what you said and I think I see your point." I nearly fainted dead away (which isn't safe when you're driving to the store to gather paint chips).

Here's the thing about Emma. You just never know.

I Just Don't Know

2012-01-26T06:16:00.000-08:00

I have a lot of ideas for redecorating Emma's room but she has different ideas. I am trying to strike a balance. On the one hand, it's her room. I want her to have the thrill of coming up with an idea, executing it and watching it fail or succeed. On the other hand, she's not paying for the paint, curtains, etc. And I'll be doing most of the work. I have a vested interest in it all.

I have a single spaced nine page long typed list of books I want to read (really, I am not kidding) and I'm reading a boring book right now.

I want to spend more time writing but every day it gets pushed to the bottom of my list then falls off the list, right onto the floor. Where it's kicked around.

Just when I feel like I have conquered one teeny little corner of motherhood, my children dazzle me by doing something so stupid I realize I have to reassess and give this new problem immediate, prompt attention. (Why can't those people let me rest on my laurels, however puny those laurels may be?)

Just when I feel like maybe I have rotten children after all, they do something terrific and charming and make me believe that maybe all isn't lost.

Marianne and I have children that sleep through the night, can get dressed themselves, put their own shoes on, buckle their own seatbelts and even get their own snacks. But we never have time to talk on the phone. If you had asked us ten years ago if we'd have more time now, we would have said an emphatic yes. What happened?

Sometimes I don't feel like I know very much about my life.

But here's something I do know: I have terrific friends.

Yesterday:

Janet picked up Braeden from play practice (and Hans didn't even have to be at that practice).

Stephanie hosted Mark when I needed her to.

Jill agreed with me about Emma's room.

Heather inquired about my writing which made me feel good.

In a world where a lot doesn't make sense, my friends do.

A Poem for My Sister

2012-01-25T08:00:00.000-08:00

Marianne is really the one that's good at writing clever poetry but I changed a few words in "Oh The Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss in honor of my sweet little sister, Olivia. She recently found out that baby number five will be boy number four! It's exciting news. Babies are always exciting news.

So here's "my" poem. (I'm the Milli Vanilli of poetry.)

For Olivia:

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're going to have four!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can pick a name
any boy name you choose.
You're not on your own. (And Edgar’s picky you know.)
But I’m sure you'll decide a name that will go.

You'll have four boys to love. Look 'em over with care.
I know you will say, "I am glad that they’re there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart not to know that four boys are a treat.

And Lili will not have any
reason to frown.
No sisters, of course,
but lots of girl cousins in town.

It's lively there
when four sons are your share.

To moms things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
like cub scouts. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start sewing badges too.

OH!
THE BADGES YOU'LL SEW!

You'll have some wolf pups!
You'll have pack meeting nights!
You'll even have eagles
who soar to high heights.

Your pinewood derby cars will have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don't
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
that boys and their laundry
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in clothes that smell bad.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left sort of sad.

You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.

And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where boy socks seem to rot.
Some things are picked up. But mostly they're not.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
You may wonder what happened to your little kin.
When did they get tall and with hair on their chin?

They’ll start to be hungry all day and night...
“Is there something to eat?” Food will vanish bite by bite.
They’ll always be famished, want snacks of any kind
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
providing food; you may lose your mind.

Then they’ll need rides
and you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for mothers just waiting.
Waiting for scouts
or sports practice, or lessons
or doctors, or dentists
or orthodontists, or play practice
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Mothers are waiting.

NO!
That's not for you!

Someday you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

They’ll get a driver’s license,
once more you'll ride high!
In the meantime you’ll have books to read.
(Because audio books are what you will need!)

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
Your boys will achieve. There aregames to be won.
Your sons will be heroes at all kinds of ball,
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don't.
Because, sometimes, they won't.

I'm afraid that some times
they won’t succeed too.
No one is perfect,

comfortingwill be up to you.

Being mom!
Whether you like it or not,
Making them happy
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're a mom, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many kid troubles as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

PARD, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So...
be your baby a Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!

The Shame

2012-01-24T05:45:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, something happened. Something embarrassing. My friends have asked me when I'm going to blog about it. I said, "Never."

It was humiliating.

And don't you think it's nice if you, dear reader, have only the best opinion of me?

Too late?

Alright.

Here's what happened.

We were sitting complacently at church in sacrament meeting. It was testimony meeting. All was right with the world.

A sweet, kind older lady in our ward went to the pulpit and told about her recent serious health scare. She collapsed, was rushed to the hospital, had a cardiac arrest, lingered near death. She spoke earnestly about how she'd been comforted during that time, how she'd felt like she wasn't alone.

Then she said, "On a lighter note, I got a nice get well card with names of adults and children. One child had written, 'Get Well Sicko' and had drawn a circle around it. It made me laugh. I don't know who Mark is, but I want him to know that this 'sicko' got better."

I had the sinking feeling that I knew who Mark was.

I had the sinking feeling that everyone else in the room, everyone else who was laughing, knew exactly who Mark was.

Mark excitedly whispered to Emma, "That was me!" Emma jabbed him in the ribs and hissed for him to be quiet.

Braeden hung his head. So did Adam. And me. Thankfully we sit in the front row usually so we didn't have to make eye contact with anyone. I felt terrible. Mark, Mark, Mark. I also felt very grateful that this lovely woman had a sense of humor.

After the meeting, Braeden whispered in my ear. "He has shamed our family."

Everyone else I talked to for the rest of the day was delighted by it though. (They were glad it wasn't their child, I'm guessing.)

There's nothing like having your child's poor behavior called out in front of your entire church congregation.

Determined to make a lesson out of it for Mark, I told him that he needed to be careful what people knew him for. I said, "You want people, when they hear the name Mark, to think of someone kind and good, not someone who is rude when they're trying to be funny."

I upped the ante.

I said, "You're named after your grandpa and he's a very good man. You need to make him glad that you have his name by your good behavior."

Mark said, "Didn't your dad tie his teacher to his desk in high school?"

"Yes...he did. But that was a long time ago! Grandpa is a very good man now!"

I would give up but I don't want anything like this to ever happen again so I'll persevere.

I just want Mark to start wearing a sign pinned to his shirt. "My mom really is trying."

This Weekend

2012-01-23T06:03:00.000-08:00

This weekend:

--there was a steady drip of melting snow

--we finally made it out of the confines of our neighborhood (such is the life when you live at the bottom of a hill on a street that doesn't get plowed...you're the last one to get out)

--we celebrated leaving the neighborhood with an exciting grocery store trip

--we also ate dinner (later) at Alfy's and read each other the most poorly written trivia questions ever, which I think Alfy's should be famous for: "True or False. Can a horse vomit?"

--I fought a cold all weekend and slept poorly. I had a repetitive dream about watching a football game in Alabama. I think it was drug induced. (I take medicine when I'm sick. When people say, "I don't like to take medicine," I think they're the same as the people that say, "I don't like chocolate." What is wrong with those people?)

--I read something disguised as truth but not true. I thought about why it was wrong and figured it out. I love the exhilaration of discernment.

--and speaking of exhilaration, we went to a youth church meeting Sunday night celebrating 100 years of seminary (and now I will no longer feel sorry for myself because some kids in Peru leave their home at 4:30 a.m. by canoe to go to seminary). The wonderful part of that meeting though, was that I recognized truth there. Absolutely. I felt it in my soul.

And that is the best feeling of all.

Snowed In

2012-01-20T08:09:00.000-08:00

Adirondack chairs on our deck

The snow days keep coming.

I couldn't be happier.

Yesterday (since I didn't have any deep desire to move furniture) and after I taught Mark school (because he doesn't get snow days...go ahead, think I'm cruel, he does), Emma and I invited her friends over for a little craft.

These are the same girls that get together and read aloud the stories they've written and made each other handmade Christmas gifts. They're creative types.

We took crayon shavings, melted them between waxed paper and cut out shapes. The girls confidently did their own thing, tried new things, never said, "help me!" or "what should I do?" I love the self assured ways of imaginative girls.

It made a tremendous mess but that will happen.

I hung my creations in the window to catch the sun.

I know, I know, we don't actually get sun.

Maybe I'll keep them up until July.

In the meantime, I would happily take as many snow days as I can get. Although we may have to walk to Costco eventually for more milk...

New and Improved

2012-01-19T07:39:00.000-08:00

When I approached our children with the idea of the changing of the schoolroom, I met with a predictable response.

"We can't do it!" Braeden said, "Let's wait for Dad."

"We can do it," I promised.

"I like it the way it is. It won't work. Noooooooo."

"Yes."

And we did. (And it helped that Braeden could have friends over after it was done.)

Here's how it looked before (roughly--these were taken last summer but it was mostly like that still):

Here's how it looked after:

I got rid of one desk, moved one bookshelf to the stairway landing and two bookshelves to the hall.

I need to move the rug over but I really do need Adam for that. He needs to lift the futon which weighs approximately 2 million tons (because he's the only one that can do it alone) and everyone else needs to grab a corner of the rug.

When Adam got home from work, he gave his stamp of approval. He asked Braeden if he'd helped (yes, a lot...there were a lot of books to move and heavy stuff too). Braeden said, "I doubted her at first, but it worked."

I said, "Braeden, when are you going to learn not to doubt me?"

Adam added, "I still doubt her sometimes, but I've learned not to object."

Sometimes you have to take what you can get.

Snow Days

2012-01-18T07:08:00.000-08:00

Monday was no school because of Martin Luther King day and we have had snow days since. I love sleeping in a little. I love having my kids home. I love the extra time I have because I'm not the chauffeur for lessons and practices. Everything's cancelled.

We've had a steady stream of hot chocolate, Adam's devised a drying rack in the garage out of a ladder and space heater and ski poles for the steady stream of wet snow clothes, and life has been cozy.

I have been able to make a slight dent in unfinished projects. One of them is Emma's room. She's redecorating it. She thought this meant I would drive her to the store and buy her paint and whatever else her heart desired.

It truly means it's time for her to go through her things and pare down and tidy up before I'll buy anything.

That isn't quite as fun.

And she's moving slowly because of the siren song of her friends and the snow.

She wants to get rid of a bookshelf and I want to incorporate it back into the schoolroom where it started in the first place.

So you know what this means.

Today, while I have my muscle home for one more day...

...we are moving furniture. I have a new layout in mind for the schoolroom.

Lovely, lovely snow days.

Pros and Cons

2012-01-17T08:51:00.000-08:00

There are pros and cons of being homeschooled.

Pro: You don't have to wake up too early. Mark rolls out of bed and watches Netflix (and eats a bean burrito...his favorite breakfast). After awhile I call him upstairs. In his pajamas.

Con: It's a snow day here and Braeden and Emma don't need to go to school but Mark does.

Pro: When you are homeschooled your parents sometimes take you on trips like London, Disneyland, Palm Desert while everyone else is in school.

Con: When you are not homeschooled, you have to stay home and go to school while everyone else is in school.

Pro: You can do your schoolwork at a desk, on a couch, on the floor, upside down with your feet in the air. On a boat, with a goat. (Horace)

Con: You don't learn how to taunt. The other night we were playing Qwirkle (which is a very fun game incidentally) and Braeden and Emma were attempting to provoke each other. "Something something trash, I burn it?" Braeden said. "What is that? How does that go?"

Emma said, "I don't play with trash, I burn it?"

Braeden said, "No, that doesn't seem right."

Then they turned to me. "Mom, how does that go? We didn't go to elementary school."

"Well, I did," Emma said. "I went to sixth grade." Accuracy is key to her happiness.

"Not enough," Braeden said, "We didn't learn this stuff."

I said, "Someone says, 'make me' and you say, 'I don't make trash, I burn it.'"

I know I've told them this gem of wisdom before but just like everything else:

1) They don't listen (unless I say "time to eat").

2) They only remember about half of what I teach them.

Poor homeschooled kids.

Queen of All the World

2012-01-16T08:20:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been daydreaming desert daydreams. I love the desert like Adam loves moss.

We were driving among misty tall trees and I told Adam it was a testament to how much I love him that I have surrendered dry heat, stunning sunsets, wide skies and determined wildflowers for him. (Anything that grows in the desert is determined.)

Quoting Isabel Burton, I told him, "I would rather have a crust and a tent with you than be queen of all the world."

Mark was in the backseat and asked, "If you were queen of all the world, couldn't you just get Dad?"

Which is true, I could.

So never mind. I do want to be queen of all the world, after all. (I don't mind eating crusts but I don't want to sleep in a tent.)

In the interest of giving the Pacific Northwest its due, here's the sunset Emma shot with my phone from her bedroom window the other night. Beautiful.

How It's Going

2012-01-13T06:28:00.000-08:00

My New Year's Resolutions:

I have been writing (some).

The other day I mailed the Lovely Lady of the Lea's birthday card.

I have not mastered Pachelbel's Canon (stop judging me, it's early days yet).

But look at this:

Ta Da! The top of my dresser--perfectly clean!

Don't look at this:

things I want to hang up/decide what to do with and boxes of papers and detritus I am sorting...

I don't want to talk about it but it will be nice to have something to work toward in 2013.

Birthday Cake and Other Sugar

2012-01-12T09:04:00.000-08:00

For Emma's first birthday I put effort into decorating a cake for her. It turned out pretty cute, not spectacular, but cute.

If you're wondering when I'm going to stop taking pictures of pictures and use a scanner, the answer is--when I get a scanner. I will get a scanner when my current printer dies so it could be awhile.

I spent a good portion of the day on the cake and largely ignored our children (as much as you can ignore a three year old and a one year old). They were probably watching Barney while I was carefully placing honeycomb cereal for hair.

We had a bunch of friends over to celebrate. Braeden ate a lot of cake then ran around like a wild man with his little friends. The party ended abruptly when he threw up all over the middle of the room. That clears a room like nothing else. Everyone left except Mindy and Bill. Mindy helped me clean up and Bill took the kids in the other room (Adam had had to leave the party early, lucky guy).

So this cake makes me think of two things: Mindy and Bill = great friends and I should not have wasted so much time on that cake.

Ever since, I've been making ugly birthday cakes. (Not on purpose, they just turn out that way.) My kids no longer would watch Barney all day even if I made the option available and I don't spend all day on their birthday cakes.

As a result, the cakes look like this:

I am ashamed.

It did taste really good though. I am still on my quest for the perfect chocolate cake and this one is in the running. I got the recipe from the December 2011 Good Housekeeping magazine.

And it was supposed to look like this:

Did I mention I am ashamed?

Besides the other glaring differences, I didn't put candy canes on mine because that is so last month.

My kids thought the mint in the cake was a little strong so I may not include the mints between layers when I make this cake again. The ganache was divine. You really can't go wrong with a pint of cream and a pound of chocolate though.

Last night, in addition to cake, we celebrated with presents for the birthday boy. Among his gifts were boxes of cereal--for the boy who inhales food. He was a little surprised by the gifts, but pleased.

They weren't the typical kind of cereal I buy either. There was no notice given to sugar content. Grandma Geri gave Braeden a generous gift card but also a box of Zingers.

What does it say about a person when people give them food for presents? That they're an always hungry teenager?

Geri covered him in boxes of ~~sugar~~ food for a picture. What does it say about a person when they can't stop talking to smile at the camera?

That they're Braeden.

I'm Now Invincible!

2012-01-11T05:39:00.000-08:00

Years ago, Geri told me two things about parenting.

1) When Emma was two she told me, "You are in so much trouble when she is twelve."

2) When Braeden was eleven (and sort of a pain), she told me, "If you can let your son live between the ages of 11 and 15, you can do anything."

Guess who's 15?

(And it's true, the closer he has been getting to this age, the more I've enjoyed him.)

This is Braeden on his second birthday. Yes, that's me in the becoming plaid flannel shirt. That's Jessica down in the corner. She turned 16 a few days ago which boggles my mind.

Despite pictures like this...

...and this...

...it is hard to ignore signs that my babies are growing up. (Denying it by looking at old scrapbook pages isn't helping.)

Braeden's growing up. Babies don't keep. Neither do toddlers. They have undeniable expiration dates and they morph into something bigger that eats more.

My mom told me that the last several times she's talked to Braeden on the phone she's asked him, "Are you sick? Do you have a cold?" (My mom's protective lioness nature goes on alert when she's confronted with sickness in those she loves.) Braeden kept telling her he wasn't sick and she finally realized his voice is just deeper.

I hadn't really noticed it but I have noticed that when Adam is home, I can't always tell who's talking, Adam or Braeden. Weird.

Over Christmas break, Braeden shaved for the first time.

I loved watching Adam move his mouth around in shaving conducive shapes with Braeden. I think strange things are cute.

Sometimes Braeden pats me on the shoulder in an everything's-going-to-be-OK sort of way. He rolls his eyes sometimes at my (hilarious) jokes.

He is growing up.

And I love him more than I could ever, ever describe. If the only thing I ever did in this life was be mother to Braeden, I think I should be satisfied that I had accomplished something important.

Among Friends

2012-01-10T06:26:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to a Drama Booster Parents Meeting. I hate meetings but these aren't so bad. Maybe because I get these people.

Before the meeting started, the president said that her husband told her it was a bad night for a meeting because it was the championship game.

The rest of us looked at each other with blank expressions. Championship game?

"Basketball?" One mother questioned tentatively. The rest of us still had blank looks, shrugging.

"National College Football," the president said.

"Oh."

Whatever.

No wonder Braeden has found his niche with the drama kids.

I think I've found my niche with the drama mamas and papas.

My Wheelhouse

2012-01-09T05:56:00.000-08:00

Friday night I texted my brother, Ammon. I asked him if he was busy. It was, after all, Friday night and he is, after all, a young whipper snapper. For all I knew he was out painting the town.

My home phone rang. It was Ammon. He was ready to field my questions. He always is. When I have questions for things he knows about (which is a lot) he is willing to explain (and re explain) to me.

I had questions for him about the curtain rod in our boys' room that jumped off the wall in an alarming display of recklessness that I'm not sure I can support. That curtain rod is supposed to stay attached to the wall.

Ammon patched our drywall once after Braeden's foot punched a foot shaped hole in it.

Ammon knows drywall.

Ammon was carefully explaining ways to repair the thing to me and I kept saying, "Wait, I don't understand." He lost me when he was describing ways that a house is framed and how I could reinforce the wall by inserting a new stud. He wondered if my house was framed with 2 x 4s or 2 x 6s. What? He started explaining again. At one point he said, "What does Adam think?" (Which may have been his nice way of saying, "Is there anyone else there I can talk to that would get this so I wouldn't have to keep re explaining it?")

I reported Adam was still at work. Adam was ultimately the one that would be doing the repair and he gets that stuff better than I do but if I'm anything, I'm impatient and I wanted to query Ammon for advice rather than sit on my hands (or make dinner).

After I thanked my smart and capable little brother for his help and got off the phone (and while I was making dinner), I wondered if there would ever be a time when Ammon would need to ask me for advice or help. I ask my parents for advice on Everything. I ask my sisters for advice on parenting and sewing (no, not YOU Olivia, the other sister) and recipes and homeschooling and gift ideas and the like. I ask my brothers for advice on home repairs, car repairs, purchases and the like.

No one asks me for much advice.

I decided maybe they don't realize my wheelhouse...what I KNOW. (Then I had to decide what that was also...)

And here it is.

I know cake mixes.

I can make a cake from a cake mix in no time at all (multiple flavors too...that's how good I am).

I can make cookies and muffins from cake mixes too. Recently when I made cake mix muffins, Mark said they'd be good with frosting. Emma said, "No, then they'd be cupcakes." (Therefore, illegal breakfast fare.)

So here's the word to anyone who would ever like my advice. If you need help with a cake mix, call me.

Remember to Be Happy

2012-01-06T06:09:00.000-08:00

That's what I need to do.

Because sometimes I forget.

I am not happy that my older two kids are back in school. I miss them.

I am not happy that my older two kids are back in school and so I need to wake up in the early cold dark hours when it's only reasonable to stay in my warm bed.

I am not happy that I haven't been sleeping well. At all. Waaaaaaaaaaaaah.

I am not happy about dark rainy days and wet socks.

I am not happy about resuming busy after school hours and evenings.

But then the sun came out...briefly, weakly. I remembered that there is a lot to be happy about.

I remembered starting out on a walk the other day and smelling the rich smell of wet earth and thinking spring. Maybe?

I remembered texting with my sisters. Olivia and I assured each other that our chocolate consumption was healthy. Marianne and I referred to wrestling someone off a tractor. It's a long story. But when you have sisters, it's fun to text with them.

I remembered how very kind Adam is to me when I can't sleep. He wakes himself up to talk sensibly to me. He tells me to turn off my alarm clock...he'll get up with the kids. He's a good one.

I remembered time spent with Mark. During the Christmas vacation I missed him a little because he was off and running with his neighborhood friends and I saw less of him. I love having school with him and his various stuffed animals. (He insists they like learning about science.)

I remembered shopping with Mark. He likes to "speed shop." He asks me for tasks and bolts away at top speed to find them. I call after him to not run but that's like telling a Seattle sky not to rain. He runs back and slam dunks whatever he found in the cart and asks for a new item to find. He says, "C'mon Mom. I am in the zone." We'll probably get asked to shop elsewhere because I doubt stores enjoy red heads that catapult around but in the meantime, we're getting our shopping done quickly.

So I guess what it comes down to is this: re entry is no fun but life is still good.

Like a Wink and a Smile

2012-01-05T09:02:00.000-08:00

Braeden, drowning his sore teeth sorrow in a plate of pasta

Braeden is mild tempered. He is a peacemaker. He is easy going.

Unless orthodontia is involved.

He gets mad and surly when his mouth is associated with metal. (He's stormed out of the chair and out of the office, full of wrath and indignation, in the middle of an appointment. I hardly recognized my good-natured son.) Janet told me he was grumbling on the way to seminary the other morning that people should compare teeth before they decide to have children. He feels like he was dealt an unfair hand. He blames us.

I still would have married Adam though, even considering the hours (and dollars) spent at the orthodontist.

We go together.

Some things just do.

Chapstick and gum for example. I never use one without wanting the other.

Tangent alert:

I love Burt's Bees lip balm. Most chapstick makes my lips more chapped because I'm allergic to it somehow. I don't know what it is I'm allergic to but I know Burt's Bees doesn't have it.

I also love Stride cinnamon gum. I order it from Amazon because I can't find it at the store. It lasts longer than other cinnamon gum. And tastes good. (The reason I like cinnamon gum is because of Stephanie. She is against aspartame and told me cinnamon gum is the only kind without it. I congratulate myself on my healthy lifestyle choice and chew cinnamon gum and try to ignore the fact that I'm getting plenty of aspartame from Diet Coke...you can't always be virtuously healthy).

Other things that go together:

hot chocolate + candy canes
socks + winter
powerpoint presentations + instant boredom
sunglasses + summer
road trips + music
cold milk + chocolate cake
Mark + Legos
pizza + root beer
chocolate milk + tuna fish sandwiches

Then there are the things that don't go together:

wii fit + questions (Sometimes the Wii asks me, "How was going back to that routine after not doing it for a few days?" Really Wii fit? You just sit right down and I'll tell you all about it.)

water + Styrofoam cups (it makes my teeth hurt just thinking about it)

hot chocolate + cinnamon (I've tried to like this. I can't.)

rap music + my ears

orange juice + brushing your teeth (bleck)

and of course:

Braeden + orthodontics

My Cell Phone in Shiny Armor

2012-01-04T06:45:00.000-08:00

I like having a cell phone so I can talk to people on the go. I like that I can text Adam across a store. I like that we haven't coordinated a time and place to meet in ten years. We just call.

I really like all the lovely additions to my phone. (The apps! The calendar! The calculator!)

The camera.

The good news about having a camera on your phone is that you can take quick shots when you want to remember something wonderful like going to see Cinderella at the 5th Avenue Theater in Seattle with the girls:

Emma with her cousins Talia, Raelyn and Asia and Grandma Geri--she gave them tickets to Cinderella for Christmas

The bad news is that between my skills and the lighting in the theater, the pictures aren't always stellar.

I love the 5th Avenue Theater more than I love this picture inside the 5th Avenue Theater.

I was also glad to have the phone camera handy when we were lounging in a conference room in Adam's office building while we were waiting for him. Since I had nothing to do, I snapped pointless pictures. A picture of Braeden looking loungy:

I was able to document that both my sons had holes in their socks (fascinating information, right?):

Mark wrote his name in red marker on the dry erase board. I think every dry erase board at Amazon has been tagged by our kids.

And I took a picture with my cell phone of Emma taking a picture of Lake Union with her cell phone:

I think if I were Adam I would forget about work and sit in that conference room and watch sea planes land on Lake Union all day.

Maybe it's a good thing I'm not Adam.

The very best thing about the phone?

Giving it to Mark so he can be entertained.

He is sort of easy to entertain.

Recently overhead from the backseat while Mark was playing Angry Birds on my phone: "Eat that you little meat bricks!" (apparently pigs = meat bricks)

Flying

2012-01-03T08:03:00.000-08:00

One of the gifts Geri gave all of her grandchildren for Christmas was indoor skydiving. I think it was one of the best and most memorable gifts she's ever given them. (Which is saying something...she's good at gifts.)

On Saturday we all met at iFLY in Seattle. The kids were outfitted in flight gear, had a quick training and were ready to go.

Mark went first (with a little trepidation).

But soon enough, he was smiling.

There was a learning curve with the instructor helping them to position their bodies correctly. Our kids all kicked their legs like they were swimming the breast stroke.

Before very long though, they figured it out and were...flying.

Mark

Braeden

Emma

They each had a few turns and in addition to having the exhilarating experience of soaring in a vertical wind tunnel, they had their parents and siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles and grandma all cheering for them.

They also ended up with some dazzling hairstyles.

Afterwards, we all had lunch together and watched their flights on a DVD and in every direction you looked, we were all smiling.

Which sometimes is the very best gift of all.

Resolve

2012-01-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

Last week I suddenly was seized with an urge to take down my Christmas decorations. For my entire life, I have taken down Christmas decorations on New Year's Day but you know how I get itchy for change...

And I also wanted to hang up the new curtains Adam bought me for Christmas.

I like them...a lot.

Here's the thing with me when I feel compelled to start moving furniture: I need help from the brute squad. They helped me move the bigger pieces of furniture around but then Emma didn't want to help anymore (since her friend Hannah was over). I tried to make her feel guilty with a "fine, don't help."

(When will I learn that only works on Braeden?)

Braeden was the only one helping me because he's my stalwart mom pleasing oldest child. I knew I shouldn't inflict my urgent need to change on everyone else but for all of Braeden's wholehearted help, he's as careful as a spooked colt. I needed Emma to help me with the ornaments on the tree.

She and Hannah (sorry Hannah) were roped into removing red ornaments...and putting them into their specific little boxes. No, not those boxes, these boxes...

Hannah said, "Wow. You guys are really into organizing these ornaments."

(My role in life, that I had explained to Hannah earlier when I asked her to grab a corner of the love seat because we were moving it to a different room, is to make my children's friends happy that they have their own, more rational mothers.)

I love to organize things. I love to think of clever little schemes to arrange things. I love to come up with plans and goals and New Year's Resolutions.

It all seems so tidy and lovely.

(I am not so fabulous at keeping things organized or tidy or keeping New Year's Resolutions.)

I have read about one word New Year's Resolutions. I've thought about what one word I would pick.

I would like to choose something lofty like "intentional" or "deliberate". I aspire to a new level of being. I want to be the type of person that rationally does the most important things and doesn't worry about lesser things. I want to always make the best choices and never waste time. I want to be in charge of my destiny. I want to be the Louisville slugger and not the ball.

But.

Alas.

That doesn't leave much room for spontaneity. Or slothfulness. And sometimes you need a little dose of each.

I decided I wanted three spick and span little resolutions. Here they are:

1) Learn to play Pachelbel's Canon in D on the piano. (Braeden asked me if I wanted to memorize it too and I said "Sure, why not?" but I really meant to say, "I don't think so," because I don't think so.)

2) Send each one of my far away family members a birthday card. I have them all organized in a little file. I even picked out which cards to send to which niece. I selected one with a lot of verve for Carolina because she is some-thing.

3) Keep the top of my dresser perfectly clean every livelong day. (My bedroom is never perfectly clean because it's the least public + biggest room in my house. This naturally results in it being the place to stash things. No more! I say, no more!)

If I'm really being honest (and if you're still reading, to which I say thank you because this is getting wordy), what I'd love to resolve to do is to write my story.

I have a story in my head that I want to write but I am scared. If it's still in my head, it has the potential to be an actual book that actual people may read someday.

If I write it, it may turn out to just be really stupid and no one would ever want to read it.

So I'm scared.

Here's my real and genuine New Year's Resolution:

Happy New Year!

Books I Read in December 2011

2011-12-30T09:40:00.000-08:00

Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher ***

I like books by Rosamunde Pilcher. They satisfy my anglophile tendency from time to time. This book was long with a parade of sympathetic characters. They were kind and gracious and made me want to buy an estate in Scotland and hole up for the winter.

The Christmas Shoes by Donna VanLiere ***

This book is based on the song, "The Christmas Shoes" which is one of those overly sentimental songs I don't like all that much. I did like the book. The characters seemed real. It was sentimental and made me cry but that's not exactly newsworthy.

This Year it Will Be Different by Maeve Binchy ***

I think I like anything Maeve Binchy has ever written. She is a great story teller. The only drawback with her collections of short stories, like this one, is that I get involved with the characters and want to read more than just one short story about them.

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand ****

The best book I've read this year. It's a true story about the life of Louis Zamperini. He was an Olympic runner and a POW during WWII. I learned a lot in the book about World War II in Japan (where he was held prisoner). I also learned about resiliency and forgiving and the amazing capacity for survival humans have. I'm telling you. Fabulous book.

True Colors by Kristin Hannah ***

This was a great book. I love Kristin Hannah's books. They sometimes go into more...ahem...detail than I prefer but the stories and characters are so compelling that usually I need to stay up late and finish the book. This one was no exception.

1:30 in the Afternoon on Christmas Day

2011-12-29T08:56:00.000-08:00

Braeden was reading his new book:

There were still a few unwrapped presents destined for our Christmas evening at Grandma Geri's house.

Mark was laboring over his Lego Millennium Falcon set:

Emma was singing karaoke with her new machine:

I tried to get her to let me sing too:

She wouldn't give up the microphone.

Live it up Emma. As soon as you go back to school I am not going to teach Mark school anymore.

I am going to sing karaoke. All day.

And you can't stop me.

Parental Doubts

2011-12-28T09:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder about the damage I'm inflicting on my children's psyches. There are the April Fool's tricks to consider. Permanent damage? There's the whole half birthday thing. They are being raised to think people will care when it's their half birthdays. Will that be problematic?

Then there's Horace Vandegelder. Will it be an obstacle to our children going on to lead normal lives considering their pet while they were growing up was a goat? A very low maintenance goat made of metal?

Every year, on Christmas morning, our children climb into bed with us and try to convince us to go downstairs. This year, Mark slid in next to me with ice cold feet. I was vaguely aware of more arms and legs and noise. I groggily asked if everyone was there.

Braeden quipped, "Not Horace Vandegelder."

Emma added, "He wets the bed."

Should I have instead got them a puppy? And had less weird kids?

I don't think so.

I mean, look how cute Horace Vandegelder is?

in a stunning Christmas bow

And I kind of like my weird kids too.

Christmas Eve part 2

2011-12-27T09:31:00.000-08:00

This is a post for me. (As opposed to all the other posts I write? Never mind.)

Here's what I want to remember from Christmas Eve.

Our kids exchanged their presents to each other. Mark gave Emma a present then hugged her in his typical exuberant and you'd-better-brace-yourself sort of way.

Braeden wore a tie and suit coat all day. I don't understand it. This is the same kid I have to bully into wearing something presentable (aka not shorts and a ratty t shirt) any other day of the year.

He bought Mark a gift.

Mark liked it.

A lot.

It doesn't happen nearly often enough for Mark's taste but sometimes Braeden, the venerable older brother, gets on the floor to play.

I think Emma was off drawing in her new book Mark gave her.

I played something complex and phenomenal on the piano. (Not really. It was something easy or I wouldn't have been able to play it.)

And Adam took pictures.

We had Chicken Tikka Masala for dinner (why not?) and opened Christmas crackers. We were all very regal in our paper crowns.

And happy.

Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T16:38:00.000-08:00

My head is twice as big as Adam's in this picture and it's sort of a weird picture anyway but it's a picture of me with my eyes open and that, my friends, does not happen every day.

Adam and I are ying and yang. To my early bird, he's last minute. It mostly works pretty well. We tolerate each others' differences with bemused head shaking.

But sometimes Adam's time table turns out to be wonderful.

On Christmas Eve, thanks to my time table, we were completely ready for Christmas. We were enjoying an idle day playing games and reading and answering Mark's question, "When are we opening presents?" over and over.

Adam said, "I wanted to buy you clothes but I didn't."

I was OK with that. There were plenty of presents under the tree with my name on them.

Then he said, "I know it's crazy but do you want to go shopping...today? Coldwater Creek has everything on sale for 40% off."

He named two things I love: Coldwater Creek and a sale.

But shopping on Christmas Eve?

Then I thought, why not? Adam has a way of making everything enjoyable. I was in.

We drove to the store. We found a close parking spot, and quickly. We walked into Coldwater Creek. There was one other shopper there. And two employees. And a big sale. We wandered around the quiet and empty store. I found three things I liked. I tried them on. I liked them more. I asked Adam which I should get. Adam said, "Pick two."

I said, "Are you sure? There were a lot of gifts for me already under the tree."

He smiled. I tried them all on again. Adam said, "You'd better get all three."

I said, "Really? Are you serious?" But I knew he was serious. Because he's my Adam. The very best sort of Adam.

While we were walking back to our van, we marveled at the ease of our shopping trip. Leaving the parking lot, we saw a rainbow striped truck. Adam said it reminded him of Fruit Stripe gum. That reminded me of Tiger Tails. I asked Adam if he remembered Tiger Tails...they're like Twinkies but with stripes and coconut? I told him I hadn't had one for a long long time and I wondered if they were as good as I remembered. He abruptly turned into the Walmart parking lot. "What are you doing?" I asked, like he'd lost his mind. I don't darken the door of Walmart, ever. And certainly not on Christmas Eve.

Adam said, "Now you've given me a challenge. I'm going to find them for you."

He told me I could stay in the van and he promised to abort the mission if it was too crazy inside. I called after him, "You don't have to do this!"

But it was futile.

He was gone.

I sat in the van and watched people walk into and out of Walmart. On Christmas Eve. I was listening to Christmas music on the radio. I heard, "Unto us, a Son is given..."

And I thought about the words and what they mean to me.

I thought about the words and what they meant to the people I saw walking into and out of Walmart.

A Son was given to the young woman with hoop earrings bigger than bracelets and dark make-up, frantically smoking before she walked into the store.

A Son was given for the teenage girl with inky black dyed hair, walking out of the store in pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers.

A Son was given to the bored looking employee, picking up garbage in the parking lot.

A Son was given to the lost looking man who wandered out of the store.

A Son was given to the dad, juggling a McDonald's bag full of food and trying to keep his little boys from running into the street.

A Son was given to all of us.

And His name shall be called, Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.

I felt warm and Christmasy inside. And I felt a bond to the potpourri of Walmart shoppers. We were all recipients of the best gift ever.

Adam emerged from the store. He couldn't find Tiger Tails (I've since learned Hostess no longer makes them! The humanity!). So he bought me a maple bar, because he knows I love maple bars. Considering the stacks of treats at home, I needed a maple bar like I needed a hole in my head.

(But that didn't stop me from eating it.)

My Christmas Wish

2011-12-23T09:01:00.000-08:00

I hope:

...you feel loved
...they adore what you got for them
...everyone at your house is healthy
...and happy
...including you
...and that we all remember why we are celebrating

Thank you for reading my blog and being my friend and making my life better.

Merry Christmas!

Gone Too Soon

2011-12-22T10:06:00.000-08:00

It's hard to feel let down three days before Christmas and it's a good thing. Because my visitors just left and I always feel a little sad when my visitors leave. My family lives too far away and I see them in short spurts and I wish it wasn't that way.

Yesterday morning Enoch and Jennifer and their three darling children arrived.

Emma introduced Savannah to all of her old ponies...which we have carefully saved just for such delightful little guests.

The boys built a "campfire" then had "roast chicken"--the Angry Bird. They quickly moved away because they didn't want to have their picture taken (Mark hid under his blanket)...too bad, boys.

We spent a lovely day trying to keep Mark, Isaiah and Luke and their dart guns contained, playing ponies with Savannah and Christmas shopping. I enlisted the help of my own darling children to babysit, Enoch slept and Jennifer and I hit the town. We were on the quest for the holy grail...the perfect gift for Savannah. When we finally found it, choirs of angels were singing and we felt like we'd won a gold medal at the Olympics. You can't beat finding perfect Christmas presents.

We had pizza and ice cream and happy cacophony last night. I'm telling you, nieces and nephews are where it is at.

So are brothers.

And sisters in law.

I unfortunately didn't get a picture of Enoch and Jennifer. I decided to snap a picture of their Christmas card so you could see what an attractive group they are:

If you live anywhere near me you knew they were here this morning.

This is what they drove.

Enoch started it up early to get warm and it rumbled and shook and then he blasted his horn a few times for good measure when they pulled away.

That's my brother.

Shy and self-effacing. Maybe he'll come out of his shell sometime.

Leaky Eyes

2011-12-21T08:23:00.000-08:00

I cry easily at best. During the Christmas season? Forget it. I cried when I finished reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever to Mark. I cried when I read A Christmas Dress for Ellen to our children. I cried so much I had to pass the book over to Emma. She read until she started crying too much to continue. Braeden had to finish. (Then Adam came home and decided to take a picture of Emma and me, our arms wrapped around each other, sobbing. You'll just have to imagine how unflattering the picture was. I'm not posting it.)

Then, Adam showed me this:

Oh my goodness.

I ought to buy stock in Kleenex.

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-12-20T09:09:00.000-08:00

I am still smiling.

Last night my heart felt full of Christmas.

The Jorgensens came over...it had been way way too long since that has happened. We talked and laughed, Mark chased Britta, Janet chased Inge and tried to keep her from trouble. (My house isn't very baby proofed.) Emma and Freja shut themselves away in Emma's room (with the door tightly closed). The boys played a game on the floor of the school room.

Then we called everyone together for a Family Home Evening. I knew better than to try on my own (more on that tomorrow) to read A Christmas Dress for Ellen so I had Eric read it. We watched this which is sort of long (over 8 minutes) but worth every minute if you want to take the time:

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Speaking of bells, a few times during the evening, our doorbell rang. Friends and neighbors stopped by with treats, caroling, and greetings of Merry Christmas.

We performed a reprise of "Carol of the Bells" (the Jorgensens brought their bells too so everyone got involved).

Adam read from the scriptures, we ate treats and tried to keep food off the carpet and laughed and talked some more.

And chased cute Inge some more.

We exchanged Christmas gifts before we left. Janet always gives me the best Christmas presents. I love Christmas presents.

But I think more than that, I love an evening with old friends. I love my house bursting with laughter and music and a jumble of people. I love the Christmas season, the glorious joy that brims inside me until it fills up my eyes with tears.

There is no better time than now, this very Christmas season, for all of us to rededicate ourselves to the principles taught by Jesus Christ.

Because He came to earth, we have a perfect example to follow. As we strive to become more like Him, we will have joy and happiness in our lives and peace each day of the year. It is His example which, if followed, stirs within us more kindness and love, more respect and concern for others.

Because He came, there is meaning to our mortal existence.

Because He came, we know how to reach out to those in trouble or distress, wherever they may be.

Because He came, death has lost its sting, the grave its victory. We will live again because He came.

Because He came and paid for our sins, we have the opportunity to gain eternal life.

Because He came, we are gathered tonight to worship Him, in bonds of brotherhood and love.

Thomas S. Monson

Kids These Days--I fixed the link

2011-12-19T08:50:00.000-08:00

Adam kindly pointed out my link went no where...what can I say, I'm on vacation.

Hopefully it works now and it will all make more sense.

The other day I read this. It made me laugh.

Then Friday, Braeden skipped school (it was my idea...it's hard to get over being a home schooler. I want my kids home with me. When they aren't doing much at school, I seize the chance to gather my little chicks under my wings.). Visions of sleeping in danced in my head. I remember my first thought on the first day of seminary, "How many days until Christmas vacation?"

Here's the thing though.

Braeden wanted to go to seminary. So he did.

What is wrong with these kids? Don't they know their mothers are tired?

This is unrelated, but I think Santa whispered a gift idea into my brothers' ears, "Go visit Thelma."

Tabor last week and Enoch and family are stopping by this week. I am waiting to hear from Ammon.

Ammon? Ammon? Are you reading this? Come and visit and don't worry, I won't have a list of home improvement projects for you.

(Yes I will.)

Theatrics and Sweetness

2011-12-16T06:33:00.000-08:00

On Mark's birthday he and Olivia devised to create a play for the assembled audience. Mark wanted to use my laptop to "type the script." Since Mark approaches writing of any kind with kicking and screaming (and gnashing of teeth), I was all for it.

Olivia wanted to be a dancer and Mark of course wanted a fight scene.

Here is Mark's script:

Act 1 (girls in a field) La la la huh? (Viking appears) Ah ah! (Viking leaves)

(girls come back) What was that? (girls leave)

5 days later...It's the Viking! Run!

Act 2 (Viking chases the girls) Ah ah (wizard Mark comes) Get away! I will defeat you!

Act 3 (Mark and Viking fight. Lights go out)

Mark beats Viking

At the last minute, he recruited Tabor to be in the play as well.

this is before the Viking attacked: Olivia was showing us her dancing skills

Ruby being kept from Viking harm by Emma


Tabor stoically being attacked by the Viking...I love Olivia hiding behind her daddy

Unfortunately we didn't get a picture of Mark's heroism, just him careening in the background.

taking a bow

All I can say is next stop, Broadway.

Pardon me while I add a few more pictures of my adorable nieces. All the time growing up with brothers and sisters, you never realize they'll someday have the sweetest little babies that will delight you and make living with your brothers and sisters worth it. (Although I can't say Tabor ever gave me a day's trouble.)

Ruby's post nap snack. She ate her cheese stick like it was corn on the cob.

Olivia and Mark...Mark told me to get the camera and "take a picture of the cousins"

delightful babies...although that scratch under Olivia's eye is from Ruby

Ruby loves her mama...I love Katie too

No wonder I cried when they left.

And perhaps I cried most because of Tabor, leaving. I love my brother. He is a great talker but also a good listener. We laughed and teased each other. We talked about silly and unimportant things but we also cried a little and talked about things that mean more to us than anything else. He forgave me when I accidentally smacked his broken leg while I was running to answer the phone before it woke him from his nap.

I am trying to forgive him for the gory details he provided about his horrific accident and broken leg. (Seriously Tabor, I can never unknow that.) Tabor often says he hired on to be tough.

But I didn't.

How to Feel Like You're in the Minority

2011-12-15T06:25:00.000-08:00

On Monday night, we went to the Seahawks-Rams football game. There were 66, 557 people there.

66,555 were cheering for the Seahawks.

Tabor and I were cheering for the Rams.

(I demanded of Adam what he was thinking cheering for the Seahawks. He was unapologetic since he's been a Seahawks fan his entire life. Fine. He did buy me a hot chocolate and you can't fault one for anything when they buy you a hot chocolate.)

It was cold. But a lot of fun.

Even Adam was cold.

Now that's cold.

When the Rams did something good (not often, but it did happen a few times), Tabor and I were the only ones cheering. Since Tabor didn't stand out enough with his tall lanky body, crutches that are taller than I am and cheering for the visiting team, he dressed like this for the game:

Tabor is who he is and I love him for it. (And also he bought me a hot chocolate on the way home and you can't not love someone when they buy you a hot chocolate.)

After the game we used the field passes Harvey gave us and waited outside of the locker room while he and other big players emerged after the game. We chatted with him for awhile and even though he is one of the meanest players in the NFL, he is one of the nicest guys around. He is humble and generous and soft spoken. And also funny. It was great to see him. Cousins are a wonderful invention. Even if you don't see each other often you have a connection. The whole blood is thicker than water thing.

He asked us, after he'd coughed, if our lungs hurt from the cold. He said, "Mine do." Tabor pointed out that we hadn't been working hard as he had been. While we were eating garlic fries, he was doing this:

He's number 62.

And this:

He was fun to watch. I was glad I wasn't opposite him. I also thought how our grandpa, the Harvey Dahl this Harvey Dahl is named for, would be bursting with pride to watch him. I told Tabor and he told me he was sure Grandpa was proud. And watching.

And that made me smile. My grandpa, bragging in heaven to anyone who would listen.

Birthday Boy

2011-12-14T07:08:00.000-08:00

Mark turned 9. It's a commonly felt (and expressed) sentiment when our kids get older that we can't imagine where the time's gone and how our baby possibly got so big.

Thanks for disregarding the fact that the cake fell a little in the middle. It happens every time I make this particular cake but it still tastes good. Besides, it made a lovely pooling of frosting and how is that ever a bad thing?

In addition to feeling like the time has flown with impossible speed, I have the contradictory thought, "It's only been nine years?"

How did I lead a happy life before this boy was a part of it?

I can't remember.

For one thing, lunch wasn't as interesting. One day last week we were eating lunch, listening to music. Mark joined Elvis singing "Here Comes Santa Claus."

sorry it's blurry...snapped with my phone

He makes every part of every day better.

My Friends' Kids are My Kids' Friends

2011-12-13T10:18:00.000-08:00

I'm still not organized to regale you with tales of my adventures over the weekend.

In the meantime, here's something entertaining. Braeden did a video about the Greek myth The Judgment of Paris for his English project. He enlisted his siblings and some of Janet's and Jill's and Stephanie's kids.

Here's the fruit of their labor...see what I did there? Fruit? The Golden Apple?

Good Busy

2011-12-12T06:02:00.000-08:00

Last night I either had dinner with:

1) Two Vikings with reddish beards (a cowboy Viking?)

2) Paul Bunyan and Pecos Bill (American Tall Tale Night?)

or

3) my cousin and brother (they're both six and a half feet tall but I have a sneaking suspicion Harvey outweighs Tabor)

As a rule, I don't like being too busy. Sometimes when everything that's keeping you busy is wonderful, it's not bad though.

This weekend we celebrated my favorite red head's birthday, my brother Tabor and his lovely wife Katie and their charming girls came to visit and tonight we're going to cheer on Harvey. My first NFL game. (I won't really know what's going on, but at least I'll be cold.) I will happily be with Tabor and Adam though (the latter will probably buy me a hot chocolate) so how could I not enjoy?

More details to follow.

Comfort and Joy

2011-12-09T06:25:00.000-08:00

I used to read a lot to my children. Back when they were little. They'd snuggle next to me or on my lap. It was always my favorite part of any day.

Except then they all got too big. They read their own books and are no longer captivated by chunky board books made for chubby hands to hold. No more Goodnight Moon.

Sigh.

(I do still read to Mark every day with varying degrees of interest on his part. Lately we've been reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever and you can't not love that book. He begs me to keep reading when we finish a chapter. That makes me happy)

In December, we unwrap a Christmas book every day to read as an advent calendar. With our increasingly busy children, sometimes we have to catch up for missed days. We don't have long stretches of time together like we used to.

Sigh.

But the other night, Braeden sat on one side of me, Emma on the other. They each nuzzled close to me. Mark came and proclaimed he was sitting on my lap. I was as happy as a clam. (A slightly squished clam...Mark's bigger than he used to be.)

As I craned my neck around Mark to read the story, I thought that I was probably in the best place I could be...in a nest of my children, reading.

Occupy My Van

2011-12-07T08:55:00.001-08:00

The other night, Adam and Braeden left to go home teaching. A few minutes later, I left for book club. I walked out my door and instead of seeing my beloved van, my gleaming chariot, I saw Adam's car sitting forlornly in the driveway.

They had taken the van! The van with heated seats. The van that's so pleasant to drive I love doing errands. (OK, maybe that last bit's not true.)

They'd left the decrepit car that you need instructions to drive because the gas pedal sticks and you have to carefully engage the parking brake using a prescribed method of simultaneously lifting and gingerly pulling on a spring because it's broken. The same car Adam will drive until it's absolutely un-drivable. (Because he's like that.) The car that hasn't even had an engine since 2006 and instead uses hamsters running on a wheel for power. (OK, maybe that last bit's not true.)

I called Adam immediately. "You took the van?"

(Yes, there's the whole what's-mine-is-yours-thing but that is my van and the car that looks at me with contempt is Adam's.)

Adam apologized for taking the van, he'd forgotten I'd be leaving. I said it was OK. (I'm so magnanimous sometimes!) Adam said, "Now you'll know how the other half lives."

I could hear Braeden chanting something in the background. I said, "What's he saying?"

Adam said, "He's saying, 'We are the 99%!'"

So I realized then that the Occupy Movement, which has so far been only in cities as far as I can tell, has infiltrated the suburbs.

It has infiltrated my van.

Pikkujoulu 2011

2011-12-07T08:26:00.000-08:00

Monday was Pikkujoulu. It's our "little Christmas" celebration. Pikkujoulu is the hard to pronounce way to say "little Christmas" in Finnish.

We celebrate our little Christmas the way the Dahl family celebrated Christmas Eve when we were growing up. It's more of an American-of-mostly-Swedish-Norwegian-British-descent celebration rather than a Finnish celebration. But I think having a hard to pronounce Finnish name for it adds a little something.

We had a cute shepherd on hand...

Or a goatherd?


Horace Vandegelder...still the best pet ever. He requires nothing and is even remarkably quiet.

We had piano playing...

Some meditation?

And a grandma that helped make things better.

Braeden throwing his head back in laughter makes me happy.

We also performed our own Carol of the Bells with my bells I got for Christmas last year. I wrote down "sheet music" for the bells and Braeden played the song on the piano. For some reason, it helped if we were all hunkered down on the floor together.

Emma's not pictured but she participated too.

Geri joined in with us later and we switched around some. I played the piano and Braeden got a turn on the bells. If you heard dogs barking in the neighborhood that night it could have been a reaction to our concert.

Adam read to us from the Bible:

Emma has taken to hiding behind a curtain of hair...Violet from The Incredibles?

And we had lots of good treats.

Mark noticed a new addition to our Christmas bears that Adam had surreptitiously added at some point.

We love her but I'm not sure we've settled on a name. We usually discuss for a few days.

Hyvää Pikkujoulua!!

O Christmas Tree(s)

2011-12-06T06:32:00.000-08:00

First there's the living room tree. Adam says I won't let anyone touch it except me.

This is not strictly true. Often we all decorate it together. I do, however, have exacting ideas about what goes on it.

It must be lovely and red or white or straw.

I am more open minded about the family room tree. It is a clamor of ornaments old and new. There is an abundance of red on it because I love red but otherwise it is a happy mixture of Christmases past.

As you can see though, we take it seriously.

Adam said that's a very genuine expression on my face which is sad because it's not all that flattering. I am puzzling intently on which ornaments should go on next. I orchestrate the ornaments in waves so everything of the same type doesn't end up at Braeden's eye level. (Braeden's quick on the ornament placement but suffers from aesthetic myopia.)

On the other hand, the bigger Braeden gets, the more that grocery bill is paying off. Adam reveled in how easy it was to put up the tree this year with his help.

Emma shares my insistence that everything looks just right.

It's nice to have her.

Mark likes to get under the chassis and decorate from a different angle.

(You can see why Emma's help is key.)

As for Adam, he takes pictures. I hinted (you know, sweetly) that maybe things would move along faster with his help.

So then he got a little impudent.

He also told me I'd be glad to have pictures.

And he's right. I am.

post script: last night (for Pikku Joulu--more on that tomorrow) Adam gave me my new favorite ornament:

I had a dollhouse exactly like it when I was growing up. I think besides my bald doll, Nellie (she shouldn't have had her hair washed by me), it was my favorite toy.

I got all excited when I saw the ornament at Hallmark and Adam went back later and bought it.

He knows how to make me happy.

Fudge

2011-12-05T05:49:00.000-08:00

I love my mom's fudge with all my heart. It's the best fudge the world over. Maybe fudge is like stuffing and potato salad, you like best what you grew up with. I don't know. But I do know that this fudge is my soul food.

I make it early in December (without the nuts because my children don't like nuts...what is wrong with those people?) and keep it in the refrigerator and cut dainty little squares whenever I want. Which is often. It lasts until New Year's.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

This year, I decided to make some variations on the recipe.

I added crushed candy canes to some:

Pistachios and dried cranberries to some:

Topped some fudge with sea salt:

And mixed in some peanut butter chips to other fudge:

Of course, I also left some smooth and unadorned:

Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.

Mae West

Curls

2011-12-01T08:55:00.001-08:00

When Mark was a toddler and had looping red curls (sigh...gone, but not forgotten), people used to ask me two dumb questions.

First dumb question:

Where did he get that curly hair?

Which is, of course, a mystery.

We are involved in genetic research to figure out how on earth he could have ended up with curly hair.

Second dumb question:

Do you curl his hair?

Obviously. You know how toddlers are. They don't mind sitting still to have their hair curled. And I have lots of extra time on my hands for things like curling my toddler's hair.

(Pardon me while I regain my composure after seeing these pictures of my baby.)

Mark's hair has been short lately but it's growing a bit and starting to curl in fascinating ways. For example, Cub Scouts produced a unique and exciting look for him:

The Ducktail

His fashionable scout hat flattened it all down and the collar of his scout shirt curled up the end.

Last night I took my boys to get their hair cut. It was time. Well past time. Braeden, without the voluminous mop on his head, is now 2 inches shorter. And as evidenced by the picture above, Mark's hair was doing strange, strange things.

They look handsome now and I promised Titi, the wonderful woman who cuts their hair, that I'll never cut it again. (I keep promising that...I keep breaking my promise...I keep regretting that I broke the promise. It's a vicious cycle.)

Yes, we DID watch Napoleon Dynamite recently...why do you ask?

Learning

2011-11-30T09:42:00.001-08:00

I have learned a lot from homeschooling. I have learned how my children's little minds work (I have learned a lot about them). I have learned different teaching methods (different things work better for different children) and I have learned from their curriculum. Since Mark is my third child, I remember teaching most of the information to Braeden and Emma already. Occasionally there's something that seems like brand new knowledge to me though. (Maybe I need to work on my capacity to retain...)

The other day, in science we were reading about different states of matter, Mark (and I) learned that when you heat ice, it stays at 0 degrees Celsius until it is completely melted. Interesting!

I shared my newly acquired knowledge at dinner. Everyone told me they'd already known that. I wasn't surprised that Adam already knew that because he already knows everything (which is annoying unless you need him to give you an answer to something...then it's helpful). I thought I would at least impress Braeden and Emma. Nope. They already knew.

I decided to share my knowledge with the seminary carpool the next morning. (I can't remember why it came up.) I asked them if they knew about ice staying at 0 degrees Celsius until it's all melted. They, who are always surprisingly chipper at 5:45 in the morning, (I am by far the least awake one in the van and I'm the one driving. Don't tell their mothers.) told me that yes, they knew that.

I said that I'd learned that teaching Mark science. Braeden added that I wasn't a very good science teacher because it's my least favorite subject. While true, I found that an unsupportive statement at 5:45 in the morning.

So I learned a second lesson. If you have some interesting new tidbit that you think will enlighten other people and make them think, "Wow, that Thelma certainly knows her science," just keep it to yourself. Everyone already knows. (I mean they already know the interesting tidbit. No one is thinking "that Thelma certainly knows her science.")

Books I Read in November

2011-11-30T08:17:00.000-08:00

I started to read:

A Covert Affair by Jennet Conant**

I wanted to read it. I wanted to like it. Then I decided I wanted to read something more interesting. Didn't grab me after 50 pages. I usually don't have the staying power to read on if it feels like homework. I gave it two stars instead of just one because this rating system of mine makes an incredible amount of sense in my own head and I do think this would be an intriguing book if I were less shallow.

I did read:

Whirligig by Paul Fleischman***

This book is young adult fiction. I read it because Emma's language arts teacher said they'd be reading it and that it was "controversial" so we may want to read it ahead of time. I felt like I won Great Mother points because I actually remembered the title of the book and found it at the library.

I read it with a picky eye (because I was looking for the controversy). I didn't really find much controversy. I didn't like the way a few middle school girls talked about how they needed boyfriends to be acceptable because as eighth graders they were at the peak of their beauty (!). They were minor characters though and hopefully seen through for their silliness when Emma reads it.

It was a great book about redemption and what matters. I liked it.

Distant Shores by Kristin Hannah ***

I love Kristin Hannah books and I have to read them cautiously because they have a way of taking over my life. This book is about a sad marriage and lost people. It's also about courage and hope and forgiveness and I liked it.

Crossed by Ally Condie ***

I am usually not a sci-fi fan but there are exceptions. I like Ally Condie. We met her and she was lovely and kind. I enjoyed Matched which goes before Crossed. I am looking forward to the third book in the series. These books are intended for a YA audience I think but they are interesting for adults too.

Brava, Valentine by Adriana Trigiani***

As I rule, I like books by Adriana Trigiani. Her characters are fabulous. This book wasn't one of my favorites. The main character Valentine, had all these issues to work through and it dragged a little. (Just get over yourself already.) But I still enjoyed the book. I like books that transport me to different places like this one did.

I also am cleaning our master closet and bathroom for November and it turns out December too. Big job. Big, big job. And there's a lot going on otherwise as well. You know, Christmas stuff. My linen closet (which is in the master bathroom) is currently a thing of beauty. Sheet sets are folded into dignified bundles with the pillowcases housing the corresponding sheets. Lovely. It wouldn't work if anyone else folded them because no one else would take the time. But since I fold the sheets, I am in charge of the destiny of my linen closet.

Now someone needs to be in charge of the destiny of the shelves in my closet.

My Lists Have Lists

2011-11-30T06:00:00.000-08:00

I cope with any sort of busy-ness with list making. Lists, lists, glorious lists! They keep me from worry. If it's on the list...it has a prayer of getting done. My children know that mantra. They know if they have a request for me, I need to write it down.

But around this time of year, my lists become monstrous. There are the gifts (choosing, buying, wrapping, sending), there's the food (this year I'm trying several varieties of fudge...I have a list of the kinds I want to attempt), there are the to dos (send Christmas cards, plan events, decorate).

Then there's my regular full time jobs...home schooling and mothering and chauffeuring and housekeeping.

You know what I mean. This isn't something unique to just me.

The other day I was talking to Stephanie. She's my friend for very many reasons and here's one of them. I told her I felt busy with the Christmas season upon us. She said, "Yes. But it's all joyful."

And it is.

pepperkaker hanging in my front window

I need to remember not to let the frenzy eclipse the joy. Because that would really be missing the point.

I've Got A Cousin for That

2011-11-28T06:21:00.001-08:00

A few years ago, I realized that I have 50 cousins. 50! I like that it's such a nice round number. I have also realized that when you have 50 cousins, you pretty much have every type of person as a cousin.

I have cousins who remind me of snotty teenage girls I see in movies. I have cousins who aren't doing much of anything with their lives. I have successful ambitious cousins who impress me. I have musician cousins and a professional football player cousin. I have funny cousins who make me laugh. I have kind and adored cousins who I wish were my neighbors. (I have cousins who I am glad are not my neighbors.) I have creative cousins who dazzle me.

Hannah dazzles me.

This morning I saw her blog post and had to share it with the world.

I have two questions for Hannah:

1-How did you get so spectacular?

2-Will you adopt me?

Thankful

2011-11-25T08:49:00.001-08:00

For Thanksgiving dinner, I was assigned to take rolls, sweet potatoes and dessert.

These were all things I thought I could handle. I make bread every livelong week. I have made rolls fairly often. My love affairs with sweet potatoes and dessert make them familiar undertakings around here.

I made the rolls Wednesday afternoon. I quadrupled the recipe. Last time I made rolls for a family gathering, they were a fail. I am trying to perfect a perfect whole wheat roll recipe and they're not...perfect yet. It seemed to be going better this time. I thought I had a better merger of the wheat flour and gluten and lecithin. Then, since it was a quadruple recipe, I put them in 9x13 pans so I could bake more at once. (I can fit two of those pans in my oven, but not two cookie sheets.)

This was a mistake.

The tops (and bottoms) were nicely browned but when they were cooled, I realized they were not sufficiently cooked inside.

So I called my mom. (What else?)

She said to try baking them some more. I did. But I felt demoralized. All that work and I didn't think the rolls were going to be all that good.

Adam (a.k.a. the fixer of demoralization) took me to the store with him after the kids went to bed. First he bought me a pumpkin pie milkshake at Jack in the Box because he knows my currency. By the time we'd wandered the store and bought Brussels sprouts for Adam's creative contribution to Thanksgiving and yogurt just because we're impulsive like that, I was cheered up.

Thanksgiving dawned with promise and I donned an apron and got to work. I planned to make pumpkin spice whoopie pies for dessert...something different. There's Jill, my across the street bestie and then there's Jill whose blog I've recently found and enjoy. The blogging Jill posted a recipe that I decided to try. I thought they'd be a nice contrast to the actual pies.

I was humming along and then I realized that I had messed up. Again. I'm really pretty lousy at following recipes. If I'm doing anything like talking on the phone or am involved with peace talks between warring children or the like, I usually mess up something. Adam responded to my cry of anguish and came into the kitchen. "What happened?" he asked. I told him that I was doubling the recipe. It called for 1/2 cup of milk and I'd put in 2 cups of milk.

He said, "How did that happen?" He seemed incredulous. I think it's a kind thing to seem shocked when someone does something stupid. Much better than if he'd acted like he expected me not to be able to add 1/2 + 1/2. (By the way, can you do me a favor and not mention this to the Snohomish School District? If they learn what a dolt I am, they will come and take Mark away from me and not let me homeschool. And I would really miss that guy.)

Pumpkin Whoopie Pies turned into Pumpkin Cakes. I used the maple cream cheese filling for frosting and it was lovely. I still want to try the whoopie pies someday. I'll have to build up my courage.

We went to Adam's mom's house for Thanksgiving. It was a terrific day. Adam's cousin Kristie was there and I had a great visit with her. (I had no idea when I married Adam that I would like some of his cousins so very much.) Braeden got to laugh with his uncles, Emma was happy with girl cousins and Kristie's sons provided fun for Mark. Adam chatted with his cousins (who are older) and learned things about his grandfather, who died when Adam was only seven. It was altogether nice.

As is our custom, we went to the movie in the evening. We watched The Muppets.

All five of us loved it! I can't recommend it enough. It was funny and sweet and there were lots of '80s references that made me laugh. You should see it.

Late last night when we crawled into bed, a little jittery from the big Diet Coke we'd shared during the movie, I slid my ice cold feet over to Adam's warm feet which he never minds.

I thought about our day. I thought about all that I'm blessed with in my life, all that I'm grateful for. I realized something.

On my list of things I'm thankful for, Adam's the first ten things. At least.

Alphabetically Speaking

2011-11-22T10:08:00.001-08:00

raking leaves at Grandma Geri's house--lovely autumn!

I am grateful for:

Adam and Ammon (my baby brother)
Braeden and Bread
Coralee (my mom) and Cousins
Diet Coke and Daydreams
Emma and Enoch (my biggest little brother)
Fall and Forgiveness
Grandparents and Geri (Adam's mom)
Holidays and Home
Ice Cream and IKEA
Janet and Jill
Kitchens and kites
Limes and Linn (Adam's dad who we miss)
Mark, Mark (my dad) and Marianne (my favorite sister)
Nieces and Nephews
Olivia (my favorite sister) and Oranges
Peanut butter and Plays
Quilts and Quirks
Remembering and Road trips
Stephanie and Sisters-in-law
Tabor (my middlest little brother) and Texting
Umbrellas and Uncles (my kids often tell me they have the funniest uncles in the world)
Vans and Vacations
Washington and Washing machines (clothes and dishes!)
X-rays and Xylophones (because what other words start with X?)
Yoga and Yogurt (frozen)
Zippers and Zzzzzzzzzz (especially)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Surviving Long Division

2011-11-22T06:37:00.000-08:00

When I had three children to homeschool, I was dazzlingly busy. It was a full time job. Homeschooling Mark still takes a big block of time but is a less intense. I love it. I love spending time with my boy.

I mean, look how cute and cuddly he is.

Here's what is hard: the in between time. Mark will be working on an assignment and he is working fairly independently, maybe with just a question now and then. And I am sitting there. Inactive.

It didn't happen when I was a school teacher in a classroom. There was always someone who needed something. It didn't even happen when I had all three at home. There was always something.

Now, I can sometimes slip away and do a quick task...the laundry room is directly off the school room. Sometimes I have time to make my bed, or load the dishwasher. (But I have to be careful. My little sprite is an opportunist and he'll escape if he sees an opening.)

And then sometimes, Mark is doing long division. For reasons known only to the writer of our math curriculum, it moves at a breakneck speed. In a matter of weeks Mark learned all the multiplication facts, zipped through division and has moved onto long division. I say "learned" but not really. He has a solid grasp on about half of the times tables (which I think is pretty good actually). So he needs me to be available as he toils away at long division.

It's not active time, like when I'm teaching him a concept. I just need to be there at his elbow, reminding him to now subtract, now bring down the next number, and 8x7 is 56.

It makes me a little crazy to sit there not doing anything except supplying an occasional long division prompting.

Inactivity makes me itchy. I needed a mindless task to keep me from losing my mind.

I found a perfect candidate, a paper chain.

Awhile ago, I got a book from Amazon that was numbered incorrectly. The good people at Amazon sent me another one. (Wow, they have good people there. Handsome too.) I didn't toss the mis-numbered one in the recycling because I wanted to do something with the lovely printed pages.

Something...

I found a perfect candidate, a paper chain.

I've been slicing paper into strips (and all the while helping with long division).

I've been looping them into hearts (and helping with long division).

I've been linking them into a chain (while helping with long division).

I think I'll wrap it around my Christmas tree. Or not. I'll see how it looks. Maybe I'll just end up with a chain to rival Marley's Ghost.

Either way. It gives me something to do during long division

Errand Day

2011-11-18T17:24:00.001-08:00

Dear cranky lady in the Costco line behind me,

Stop being so cranky. The woman up there ahead of us was writing a check. Remember checks? You looked like you are old enough to remember crooning along with Bing Crosby so I bet you remember checks. She was not "writing a letter" like you queried in a snarky tone. Be patient.

Dear check writer,

Really? You were writing a check?

Dear grandma sitting at Costco waiting for your husband to buy a hot dog,

You're adorable. I loved your amiable smile. You reminded me of my Grandma Dahl.

Dear Costco guy that loaded my cart,

When you weren't putting my stuff in the bags I brought but stacking it in the cart, I was more harsh than I meant to be when I said, "If you won't put the stuff in the bags, will you hand it to me so I can?" Sheesh. I should take my own advice and be more patient. I'm sorry. (And thanks for putting all my stuff in the bags.)

Dear library worker,

Thanks for pointing us to the Dinosaur books for Mark's school report. He was two and a half seconds from losing patience and I appreciate your help.

Dear returns guy at Target,

Thanks for letting me return those shoes. Mark wore them outside for about an hour then he told me his feet hurt. I told you they had been worn outside, you carefully inspected them (I had worked hard to clean them!) and then gave me my money back.

Dear woman at Safeway,

I noticed you because your oldest child, who kept lagging behind was named Braeden and you kept calling his name to keep him in tow. Our paths criss-crossed a little through the store and you had your hands full with a toddler, newborn and Braeden who was a preschooler and wouldn't keep up.

We left the store about the same time too and by then your toddler daughter was screaming at the top of her lungs. I wanted to tell you two things but I didn't think you would hear me over the racket she was making. 1) You're doing a great job as a mother and 2) It does get easier. Grocery shopping, that is.

The First One

2011-11-17T17:52:00.001-08:00

When I was in high school, I was at my Aunt Mary's house on Thanksgiving morning. She opened a closet and showed me stacks of wrapped Christmas presents. She told me, while grinning like a Cheshire cat, that her gifts were complete

It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I'm not quite as on the ball as my aunt, but I aspire to her greatness. I aspire.

I get that not everyone shares this view. Braeden told me his friends thought it was weird that I decorate for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. (Who didn't see that coming? My kids talking with their friends about how weird I am.)

But I love it. I'm the early bird and Christmas is the worm. It combines everything I like: planning ahead and buying gifts and Christmas! What's not to love?

Yesterday I wrapped the first gift. It was a rather big gift for Adam (Curious, Adam?) and I wasn't sure where to hide it so I decided to wrap it.

My mom told me "only Thelma" would take a picture of Christmas decorations. I don't think that's strictly true but I took a picture of the first gift because I think my mom would also think "only Thelma" would do that.

When you're the middle-ish child in a big family I guess you'll do anything to get attention.

to Santa from the Mrs.

Photo Shoot

2011-11-16T10:43:00.001-08:00

I wanted a picture of our three darlings for a Christmas card.

We're not one of those families who:

1) can smile at a camera in unison
2) is very cooperative about family photos

I decided to try anyway.

I determined the apple green wall in Emma's room would be a good backdrop. (green = Christmas, am I right?) I gathered the troops and promised them a treat if they were cooperative. I was thinking The Spotted Cow for ice cream or Starbucks for peppermint hot chocolate.

We got all artsy and added a picture frame:

It didn't help.

We finally got a tolerable picture.

But they didn't get a treat.

It's That Time of Year

2011-11-15T10:28:00.001-08:00

Every year about this time:

I talk to my sisters persistently about what our children are getting for Christmas.

I try to devise a fresh take on our Christmas card.

I create a Christmas spreadsheet (spreadsheets make the nerdy list maker in me supremely happy).

I find some new Christmas music.

(I think I've found this year's addition to our collection.)

I hunt for a Christmas decoration my grandma will like so I can send it to her.

I assess my wrapping paper and tell myself not to buy more. (Sometimes I don't listen to myself.)

And I go to IKEA to see what they have.

Last night we ventured to the blue and yellow mecca. We were meeting Adam there and got there before him. So logically, we ate some cake.

Mark and I shared a piece of chocolate and Braeden and Emma shared some apple cake.

Have you had that chocolate cake? You should.

After cake, we decided to check Mark into Småland. He was excited. I typed in all of his information and got to the door where they had a new sign posted. A new policy: age no longer mattered for admittance. Now, you had to be the right height.

And Mark was at least two inches too tall.

(I don't think it's very sporting of a Swedish company to discriminate against a kid who has his Scandinavian roots to blame for his height.)

And after Mark hit the IKEA showroom, they may change the policy to keep him contained in a ball pit. He approached the store like it was a parkour course. He also had to see if every prop computer would really work.

None of them did. But I know that because he tried every. One.

We were not too far along our way when Adam texted that he was there. I turned around and started walking the wrong way. Braeden, who will be the one to make sure I don't leave the stove on in my dotage, became concerned.

"Mom! You're walking the wrong way."

I said, "No I'm not."

He said, "Yes, you are. Look at the arrows. They're pointing back that way."

"No they're not." I kept walking.

He was really worried then. "Mom, look, see we've walked this way before."

"No we haven't," I said.

I think Braeden thought my declining years had arrived.

Emma said, "Braeden. She. Is. Messing. With. You."

I don't know about this sick pleasure I get in causing my children anxiety like that. Braeden was edgy until we met up with Adam and he realized maybe I wasn't crazy after all.

The kids all want chairs that swivel.

Which I must veto because all that swiveling would make me car sick.

Finally it was time for the pièce de résistance. The Christmas decorations. There's something about straw and bright red this time of year.

They make my heart sing.

When You Have A Twelve Year Old Daughter

2011-11-14T09:52:00.001-08:00

You can lay on her bed and talk about what you have each been writing.

She sometimes wants hugs and is chatty. She sometimes recoils from your touch and wants to be left alone.

You can give her advice on hair, clothes, books to read, cleaning her room...and she'll ignore every word.

Sometimes she stays up until 2:00 a.m. reading.

She'll do surprising things like dishes without being asked, or she'll help her younger brother clean his room. (Or she'll tell him to "go away.")

She will make you laugh with her cleverness and ability to remember funny lines from books and movies.

She will make you wonder at what goes on in her mind when you read her poetry.

You may have the exact same color of eyes...

...but she may have better eyelashes. (Do I even have eyelashes?)

Having a twelve year old daughter means loving a headstrong, sometimes timid, sometimes confident, always creative, affectionate, prickly, sensational girl.

At least for me that's what it means.

Dreams Really Do Come True

2011-11-11T15:01:00.001-08:00

Wednesday I posted "Ten Things I Want".

Number one on the list was that I wanted my neighbors to paint all of their trim--as opposed to just some of it. It may not matter so much but the new trim is bright red. And the house looked odd with partially bright red trim and partially white trim.

Thursday, after months of leaving it partway done, they finished painting their trim. (Do you think they read my blog?)

Number two on the list was to sleep until it was light outside.

Friday, since there was no school, I slept until it was light outside.

I am thinking I should have been more ambitious with my wishlist. I didn't realize the wishes were going to be systematically granted.

Friday was a nice day altogether. (And I needed such a nice day because it was at the tail end of the busiest week I've had in recent memory.) I sat next to Braeden on the couch and caught up on Everything. I talked on the phone with my parents and both sisters. I watched the wind blow autumn leaves around and then watched the rain come down. I needed to do errands and invited Braeden to join me. He agreed, then Mark reminded him that Braeden had promised to play on the computer with him. We haven't seen nearly enough of Braeden lately and everyone is clamoring for time with him. (When I am gone they just throw a party and eat a lot of Chinese food.)

Braeden felt torn and I told him it was OK if he stayed home with Mark, but I felt a little lonely. There was a time, not so long ago that doing errands without kids would have been another dream come true but now I really wanted Braeden's company. I thought, "I should have enjoyed it while I had the chance."

I remembered I needed to get dinner in the crockpot so the boys played and Braeden came with me after all. It made me so happy I bought him lunch.

At the grocery store, Braeden and I chatted and then he'd wander off to go check something out and then he'd find me again. I saw a harried man try to keep his toddlers close by while he was shopping and I remembered those days and realized that the reason I didn't enjoy it when I had the chance is because taking small children to the store isn't all that enjoyable. I'll just enjoy it now, instead of wishing I'd enjoyed it then.

At Costco, Braeden started gasping for air when he saw the pile of new Inheritance books. He's loved the series by Christopher Paolini. I bought it for him. (In hindsight, considering the lunch, Harry Potter DVDs and book, it would have been more cost effective to let Braeden stay home and play with Mark...) Braeden was thrilled with the book and couldn't wait to start reading it. When we left Costco, he was pushing the cart that weighed approximately 1000 pounds and asked me to carry the book under my coat so it wouldn't get rained on. As we were crossing the parking lot, he cautioned, "Don't drop it OK, Mom?"

Does he realize that I used to carry him around and never once dropped him?

I cleaned my kitchen when we got home because unfortunately even though I put a self cleaning kitchen on my list of wants, that hasn't happened.

Yet.

Tell Me You're Still Acting

2011-11-10T09:02:00.001-08:00

The moment we walked into the darkened theater I saw the bare stage and spotlights, it all rushed back: the smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd, the chills, thrills, magic, mystery, and wonder.

--Sarah Ban Breathnach

This week, I have spent every evening at Braeden's school, helping to feed the cast for the school play. Braeden is in the play* and so my service in feeding them is very self-interested. It's my one big chance each day to see my son. I love to see my dear boy interacting with his friends. I love meeting his new drama friends...who are um, dramatic. One night, Braeden led me backstage to show me the set. It was electrifying.

the set

In my tiny little high school, I was in school plays. I remember rehearsing on an empty stage and then the magic that happened the week of the play when the set was complete. It was a different world.

Speaking of different worlds, Braeden's school and mine hardly resemble each other. At his school there's a parent Drama Booster Club. The parents provide meals for Tech Week and sell tickets and help advertise and sew costumes and build the sets and print glossy programs and sell concessions at the performances. There's a make-up room with big lighted mirrors and counter space to spread out. There's a costume room.

In my school, our director's kids sold tickets at the door. There was a xeroxed copy of a program. I think our director and a handful of kids did the sets. We found our own costumes and did each others' make-up in a classroom, sans mirror. Oh, and the final week of rehearsals, when we were there late (even later when the lead--often Marianne--had basketball practice too) we brought a sandwich from home. That's it.

But it was still exciting. I loved it.

At my ten year high school reunion, my drama teacher was there. He was always kind, a little bit creepy, a lot phony and always, always dramatic.

He said, "Thelma! Tell me you're still acting!" (As if the world would feel the loss if I wasn't.)

I didn't even know what to say to that. I was a young mother with two preschoolers and zero interest or time for acting. It did however provide a lot of entertainment to Olivia when I told her later. Occasionally she'll say to me, "Tell me you're still acting!"

Walking onto the set the other night with Braeden, I thought about being in school plays. I felt a little shiver of excitement for my son.

And I realized I AM still acting.

I am acting like I know what I'm doing being the mother of three very unique children with diverse needs. I have been acting for a long time.

And it's still just as scary and exhilarating as opening night.

*Braeden is an understudy but will be in the performance on November 12.

Sick

2011-11-09T15:21:00.000-08:00

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

---Shel Silverstein

My mom used to say sometimes that I had "school bus sickness". I was sick until after the school bus had come and gone, then I had a miraculous recovery.

I admit, sometimes I just didn't want to go to school.

Mark seemed to inherit this proclivity for illness from me. He's sick every morning. Deathly ill. He moans and groans and promises me he slept horribly and can't possibly do school. Yesterday morning he told me his "stomach was about to explode." I asked him if he wanted to eat anything. He moaned that he'd better not. I asked my little boy who cried wolf if he wanted toast? Yogurt? Cheese? (Cheese, he always wants.)

He wanted none of it.

To further make his case, he told me he was sure he wouldn't be able to play with his friends later because he was SO sick.

I kind of ignored his ailments like I usually do.

A few minutes later he said maybe he should eat and he knew just what he wanted, some of the Chicken Tikka Masala leftover from the night before. He whistled as he went about heating it up. (Poor sick baby.)

When I went into the kitchen I saw that in addition to his steaming bowl of spicy Indian food, he had also helped himself to a Coke. (Which I vetoed.)

I texted Adam with our son's cure to his gastrointestinal ailments.

He texted back, "His take on the BRAT diet."

Ah, I remember the BRAT diet. I remember when my little ones had upset tummies and I'd give them Bananas, Rice, Applesauce or Toast.

I wish I'd known then that Chicken Tikka Masala is really the cure. Because Mark had a miraculous recovery once he had eaten it (and once he realized I was not paying attention to his afflictions).

When Mark's not too busy being sick, he loves to take pictures of himself. Unsettling pictures of himself.

Ten Things I Want

2011-11-09T08:36:00.000-08:00

A Sunday on La Grande Jat (from Wikipedia)

1. I want to tell people that if they're going to paint some of the trim on their house, they need to paint all of the trim on their house. (And by people I mean my across the street neighbor. No, not Jill.)

2. I want to sleep until it's not dark anymore in the morning.

3. I want to tell someone at the high school that there are two misspelled words in the fight song that is posted larger than life in the gym.

4. I want to shrink wrap my children so they'll stop growing. Especially Mark. His feet are almost as big as mine and that's ridiculous.

5. I want a self cleaning kitchen.

6. I want my sisters and brothers to be my neighbors...and my parents. (Oh, and if you become my neighbors, will you paint all the trim on your house?)

7. I want a do over on homeschooling Emma. She's as sharp as a little tack but the other day she didn't remember who Seurat was. Who cares if the girl can spell and do algebra? She ought to remember who Seurat is.

8. I want to clone myself so my cloned self can go to boring meetings and my real self can stay home and be with Adam.

9. I want to sign my rhododendron up for some sort of remedial class so it can figure out the seasons. It's blooming.

10. I want courage to pursue my dreams and perspective to know what dreams are worth pursuing.

Peter Pan

2011-11-08T06:20:00.000-08:00

“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!’ This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.”
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Some days Braeden tells me he doesn't want to be growing up. Growing up means new adventures but some days it just means early, early mornings, hard school work, limited free time and lots of demands.

Some days Braeden wishes he was Peter Pan, living in Neverland, fighting pirates and never growing up.

A while ago, I was trying to reach something in my top cupboard in my laundry room. Usually I have to drag a chair in to stand on but in an effort to save time, I was just trying to stretch and reach it. On my tip toes, it was just barely out of my grasp. In frustration, and without thinking about it, I called to Braeden. "Can you reach that bottle for me?" I asked.

A slow smile spread over his face and the realization dawned on both of us. For the first time, I asked my boy to do something that I physically could not do. Flat footed and with ease, he reached the bottle and handed it to me.

In that moment, I think Neverland had lost a little of its shine. Braeden was glad to be growing.

For this post, I decided I wanted a nice picture of Braeden and me standing next to each other.

I asked Adam to take a picture of us and he said, "What do you want the picture to be?"

I said I wanted to look beautiful. Too much to ask?

Apparently.


here Braeden is just about to say something cheeky or has just said something cheeky

here I am in the middle of smacking him because getting him to stand still and not be goofy is nearly impossible...but he does make me laugh

here's the best we could come up with...wow, I love this boy

Meeting Ally Condie

2011-11-07T06:03:00.000-08:00

Hannah, Ally Condie, Emma and Freja

Last Friday Jill and I took our girls and Freja to Seattle to meet Ally Condie, the author of Matched and the latest book in the series, Crossed.

First, if you're going to go to Seattle with three giggly and excited girls, I recommend Jill as a traveling companion. Maybe everything's better with Jill.

We navigated Friday evening traffic and found our way to the University Book Store in the U District. We found our seats and the girls were ready to go, alternately bouncing in their seats and saying, "I'm SO excited" to each other.

(Emma and I are both extremely lucky in our friends.)

Ally Condie was well spoken and kind and interesting. I want to be her when I grow up (although I think I'm already older than she is). Jill promised me that she'd be my agent and come to my book signing (assuming I, you know, ever have one).

Ally Condie took time to chat with each person in the line. She agreed to pose for multiple pictures with our group. She was gracious and sweet. Emma, who is often too shy to order food in a restaurant, was a chatterbox. She went on and on about how she herself is writing a story and how she usually doesn't like science fiction but loved Matched.

I think it made Emma's day.

And when I see that smile on my girl's face...

it makes my day.

In case you were wondering what my boys were doing while we were away, you are in luck! Adam posted on his blog. (I love it when he does that. I love his writing. And him. I don't love all his pizza ideas.)

On a Sunny Saturday

2011-11-04T06:14:00.000-07:00

In October, Adam was asked to help referee for an LDS Institute Young Single Adult flag football tournament. It included teams from Tacoma to Bellingham. (If you're not from here, that includes a swath 120 miles long with a whole lot of people in the middle.)

Adam loves to referee (why, I can't say...I would rather do just about anything) so he immediately said yes. I asked him if he knew how to referee flag football (he'd only refereed basketball as far as I knew). He said, "No, but it's at Husky Stadium."

That did add a little something.

Our children and I went to watch him for the first couple of hours (he refereed for over 6 hours with a 12 minute break). It was my first time being in Husky Stadium at the University of Washington. Apparently the wave originated there at a football game in 1981. Who knew? The kids figured out that if they navigated a short wall they could get to the Tyee Club which is where the luxury seats are. We sat there and watched Adam boss around flag football players.

The view was stunning, the day was sunny with a perfect not too warm, not too cool temperature and we had the Tyee Club to ourselves.

Lake Washington...people tailgate at the football games in boats. (People that own boats do at least.)

What was not to love?

What I Cleaned in October

2011-11-03T06:21:00.000-07:00

In October I cleaned our bedroom. It's (ridiculously) the biggest room in our house. (I want to carve off a corner of our bedroom and attach it to the kitchen.) Because of its size, it sort of became a depository for random furniture and belongings that didn't have a home otherwise.

Then I got tired of that.

I took back our bedroom. I moved furniture out and moved around the existing furniture (by I, I mean Adam and strong children moved things, I pointed directions).

I created a little seating area in the corner.

Then, I tackled the dresser. Its drawers contain craft and sewing supplies because all of our clothes are housed in our closet. I wish I had a before picture of the drawers to show you. (No I don't, you'd be horrified.)

They were scary drawers. The kind of place where you had to leave a trail of bread crumbs to find your way out. I took everything out and sorted and sifted and ended up with this.

And this.

I even got exceptionally carried away (because I love organizing and compartmentalizing as much as the next person) and wrapped up all the loose, random lengths of ribbon.

Oh, what a thing of beauty is a little organization!

(I took pictures in case it doesn't last.)

Books I Read In October

2011-11-02T08:48:00.000-07:00

The Peach Keepers by Sarah Addison Allen***

I like this author. I like how her novels are completely realistic with believable characters that I can relate to and then there's something magical involved. It kind of delights me. This wasn't my favorite book by her but I still liked it.

Crunch Time by Diane Mott Davidson**

Again an author I usually like but this wasn't my favorite. She writes a series about a caterer who also solves murders. The detective part is mostly interesting to me and I mainly like reading about the food (these books make me hungry).

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery***

This book took me a little while to get into. Usually I don't have the patience to persist with a book after 50-100 pages if I'm not completely interested but this one was highly recommended. I ended up liking it. There were interesting characters, fascinating ideas and beautiful language. It also felt a little bit like homework from my college philosophy class. Emma asked me if she could read it. I told her it may be a little too hard. She doesn't like to hear that. I told her to read any random paragraph. She did and handed it back to me. "I see what you mean."

Letters From Home by Kristina McMorris ****

I re-read this book because my book club read it and I loved the book and wanted to revisit it. It is compelling and romantic and pleasant (as long as you skim the war parts which I did because I don't like to read about war).

I'm a skimmer.

I even drink skim milk.

What Mark is Getting For Christmas

2011-11-01T07:48:00.000-07:00

The Cub Scouts took a field trip to The Northwest Animal Hospital. (If I had pets--which I can't see happening any time soon--I would take them to The Northwest Animal Hospital. After hosting us, Dr. Johnson is my favorite vet ever...plus he's my neighbor and Stephanie's husband.)

He let the boys try on the heavy, lead aprons and gloves they use when they do x-rays.

Look how sedate and calm Mark looks. He is holding perfectly still. (He doesn't have a choice...all his effort is being used to keep himself upright.)

The possibilities! If Mark had an apron like that, we could use it at church, during school, at the grocery store.

No more "Hold still, Mark," no more, "Stop running around."

Mark's constantly trying to catch gravity unawares.

I'm all about giving gravity a little help.

Day 31

2011-10-31T06:42:00.000-07:00

I wish I had something profound and momentous to write about today. The climactic ending.

I don't.

Writing a post every single day for 31 days wasn't easy. (I'm a little grateful to be done.)

I'm also grateful for the opportunity. I'm glad I did it. Before October began, I wrote a list of possible ideas that I could write about (two of my favorite things: lists + planning ahead). I tried to pick things that were universal, things other people could relate to. (I could have written every day about being grateful for Adam--but what good would that do anyone else?)

As October progressed, I had a longer and longer list of post ideas. So maybe here's the lesson, maybe we could think all day about ways we're grateful and still not cover everything. Considering everything wonderful in life (despite everything awful in life) leaves me feeling loved and supported and taken care of by Heavenly Father because who else could be responsible for all of this goodness I enjoy every day?

Part of gratitude is knowing who to thank.

On an unrelated note, Happy Nevada Day.

It happens to be the same day as Halloween but there's nothing to like about Halloween (except pilfering candy from my children). So Happy Nevada Day.

there is the land that I love the best...fairer than all I can see

the land of the setting sun

Variety

2011-10-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

The variety of all things forms a pleasure.

Euripides

You know how dogs have dog food, cats have cat food, fish have fish food?

We could have people food. I am sure that nutritionists could come up with some blend of something or other that was perfectly healthy. We could eat a plateful three times a day. It could be the same color, temperature and consistency day in and day out. We would survive. (And not have to figure out what's for dinner.)

But can you imagine what we'd be missing out on?

Apizza in New Haven, CT...when can I go back? When? When?

The scope of flavors and textures is astounding. Sweet, sour, savory, salty. Crunchy carrots and pretzels, smooth puddings and mashed potatoes, crusty bread, chewy caramels, fluffy scrambled eggs, crumbly muffins, crisp apples, juicy peaches. Consider the colors, the blends that result in different ethnic flavors, the chocolate!

I am grateful to live in a world with such variety. How could anyone ever be bored in a world such as ours?

Choices

2011-10-29T09:04:00.000-07:00

Every man builds his world in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice.

Ayn Rand

I appreciate choices. I recognize not everyone is given the vast choices that I am as an American woman, so I feel humbled and grateful.

Often I wish I had more time. Really though, how can you wish for more time? It's like wishing for more earth. It is what it is. No one can be afforded more. It's about choices. How do I choose to spend my time? I notice when I am feeling angst about not enough time, it is often because I'm not spending my time in the right ways. I feel unbalanced.

What a wonderful blessing to be able to identify the best ways to use my time (haven't mastered that skill but I'm working on it). What a blessing to not be victim to time, but instead mindful and choosy with my commitments.

If I'm busy it's because I choose to home school Sir Mark, I choose to do laundry, I choose to load the dishwasher and sweep the floor, I choose to volunteer for this or that, I choose to exercise and socialize and listen to how Emma's day progressed, period by period.

I am grateful to be able to make choices all day long.

source

Golden Ticket

2011-10-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

The happiest people I know are not those who find their golden ticket; they are those who, while in pursuit of worthy goals, discover and treasure the beauty and sweetness of the everyday moments. They are the ones who, thread by daily thread, weave a tapestry of gratitude and wonder throughout their lives. These are they who are truly happy.
Dieter F. Uchtdorf

In the recent Relief Society broadcast, President Dieter Uchtdorf spoke. It was a fabulous talk and I have been thinking about it ever since. One part pertains to this blog series I'm working on in particular:

In the beloved children’s story Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the mysterious candy maker Willy Wonka hides a golden ticket in five of his candy bars and announces that whoever finds one of the tickets wins a tour of his factory and a lifetime supply of chocolate.

Written on each golden ticket is this message: “Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket … ! Tremendous things are in store for you! Many wonderful surprises await you! … Mystic and marvelous surprises … will … delight, … astonish, and perplex you.”

In this classic children’s story, people all over the world desperately yearn to find a golden ticket. Some feel that their entire future happiness depends on whether or not a golden ticket falls into their hands. In their anxiousness, people begin to forget the simple joy they used to find in a candy bar. The candy bar itself becomes an utter disappointment if it does not contain a golden ticket.

So many people today are waiting for their own golden ticket—the ticket that they believe holds the key to the happiness they have always dreamed about. For some, the golden ticket may be a perfect marriage; for others, a magazine-cover home or perhaps freedom from stress or worry.

There is nothing wrong with righteous yearnings—we hope and seek after things that are “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” The problem comes when we put our happiness on hold as we wait for some future event—our golden ticket—to appear.

Today I'm grateful for the chocolate bar. Things that aren't perfect, aren't sublime, aren't exactly what I've always dreamed about but are like chocolate. Sweet and satisfying.

The Kindness of Strangers

2011-10-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Tennessee Williams

It was my turn to drive the kids to seminary yesterday morning. As we were going, I noticed an indicator light that was indicating something (although I didn't know what). I still don't know all the ins and outs of our van (but in all fairness, I didn't know the ins and outs of our old van and I drove it for seven years...ins and outs of vehicles aren't really my thing). Hans told me it indicated tire pressure. Hmmm. I checked to see if I had a flat tire and I did not. Hmmm. I called Adam who is on a business trip in North Dakota. He told me to go to Les Schwab and get the tires checked.

So I did. I had low tire pressure which apparently happens after time and especially in cold weather.

The guy at Les Schwab filled my tires and sent me on my way and I felt relieved. I feel anxiety when it comes to my vehicle not working (particularly when Adam is living it up in North Dakota).

There were a lot of things that defined my childhood. My mom cooked everything from scratch, my dad's hat could always be spotted above a crowd, there were Wranglers everywhere you looked, and we drove unreliable cars.

My dad kept them running quite well considering the various ages and mileage counts of our cars, but they invariably had troubles. When we were in college, Olivia and I were driving to Utah from Nevada and our car started to cough and sputter. I was filled with a familiar dread. This was before we had cell phones and we were in the middle of the desert. Then the car started to belch smoke from under the hood. We happened to be at the Dell exit which is an exit in the middle of nowhere with no services (or mechanics). I pulled off the exit (on account of, you know, the belching smoke). A car pulled directly behind me and a man emerged from it that appeared a little frightening to me. I groaned inwardly. Our car problems were soon to be compounded by a mass murderer.

He tapped on the window and indicated that he'd look under our hood. I seriously doubted he could be of any help but because I truly had no options, I opened the hood. He told me what the trouble was and went back to his car to fetch something and fixed our car!

He handed me this piece of hose that had blown.

I have kept it all these years as a reminder.

I want to remember that the world is a pretty good place. There are kind people everywhere that are happy to help.

Also, I want to remember that I shouldn't judge the scary looking guy in the car behind me. He may just be an angel in disguise.

The Most Fun I've Ever Had With My Yearbooks

2011-10-26T08:04:00.000-07:00

All the yearbooks from my years at Wells High School--7th grade through 12th--are about as thick as Adam's yearbook from his senior year. My little yearbooks may be scanty and they may have low production quality, but they are highly entertaining.

One Sunday afternoon, we pulled them out and perused their offerings. Adam grabbed the nearby camera and started taking pictures of us.

This may have been when they saw a picture of Enoch in his seventh grade basketball picture. "He's all limbs!" In the dictionary, under gangly, there's a picture of Enoch's seventh grade basketball picture. (I'll wait here while you go check.)

We confirmed that it's not a recent thing, I've never been photogenic. Also, they couldn't believe how many cousins I went to school with. "Was everyone related to you?" ( just the fabulous ones.)

Let me tell you though, Wells High School in the late 80s and early 90s was one hilarious place. Especially when Braeden's commentary is applied.

I am grateful for memories. I'm grateful for my little school in a little town. I'm grateful that my roots are planted in rocky Nevada ground. But perhaps I value the memory of laughing with my children more than anything that happened in high school.

Some memories make me cringe (How could I be so stupid?), some memories bring back sadness, but most of my memories, I am thankful to say, are happy memories.

It is lovely to be able to retrieve and savor my grandparents' red brick house, my loving father-in-law who was a spectacular grandpa, summer moonlit nights driving home with my sisters from our waitressing jobs. Gone now, but steadfast in my memory.

Good Influences

2011-10-25T05:43:00.000-07:00

picture of Austin, Trevor, Dillon, David and Hans...shamelessly stolen from Facebook

Today I'm grateful for people in my children's lives who influence them in wonderful ways.

Saturday night we attended the Eagle Court of Honor for David, Hans, Dillon, Trevor and Austin. Five boys Braeden and Mark look up to. David and Dillon are four years older than Braeden and he has esteemed them, along with Hans, as heroes I think since he met them.

picture of Dillon...shamelessly stolen from Facebook

Dillon lives close to us and he and Braeden went on bike rides, destroyed old electronic equipment, and played video games together. (Dillon would provide Mark with a broken video game controller so he could "play" too. Mark was young enough that he couldn't tell the difference. I was old enough to know Dillon was a genius.)

Braeden and Dillon nearly seven years ago...I did not steal this picture from Facebook.

I felt a little worried sometimes when Braeden was nine and Dillon was thirteen that the day would come that Braeden would be way too young and a menace to Dillon. I was afraid Braeden would end up with a bruised heart. It never happened.

I remember seeing Braeden when he was twelve at his first youth church activity. He was of course glued to Dillon's sixteen year old side. He hit Dillon at about his elbow.

It was about that time that they gradually hung out together less. But Dillon never, ever was unkind to Braeden, never blew him off, never stopped being his friend.

How can a mother not love the boy whose heroism never dimmed in her son's eyes?

picture of David and Hans...shamelessly stolen from Facebook

Since our families are close, we've spent various holidays and evenings together with David and Hans. They treat younger Braeden with the kindness of an equal. They laugh at his jokes and hear his ideas. I know enough to know how rare this is; how good these boys are.

It meant a lot to me to see these five boys, who Braeden has grown up with and watched and tried to emulate, achieve their Eagle awards. It made me grateful for good examples. Grateful for kind boys.

Glad for heroes.

(And speaking of heroes, I'm going to keep following Susie and Janet and Stephanie around so I can learn how to raise such good boys.)


A picture of happy mothers...shamelessly stolen from Facebook. What is with me stealing pictures. Is nothing sacred?

Books to Read

2011-10-24T06:12:00.000-07:00

For where can one find more noble distraction, more entertaining company, more delightful enchantment than in literature?

Muriel Barbery

I am grateful for books to read. Wonderful wonderful books. I love sinking deep into a story, so deep that when I finish reading it I feel sad because I'll miss the characters and disoriented because I was so immersed in the world of the book. I love to read.

It's not just escaping into novels that makes me happy though. I love books that inspire and enlighten, books that challenge what I think to be true, books that teach me something new.

And I love sharing books. My children, as a rule, refuse to read what I recommend. It's how the world works for us.

Imagine my surprise when Braeden picked from a handful of books in his English class, to read Pride and Prejudice, one of my favorite books. It gets better. He said he picked it because he knew I loved the book! Is your next question what is he trying to butter me up for? I don't know but believe me, it will work.

My boy, reading Pride and Prejudice. I told him his wife would appreciate it some day.

The first few days of him reading were painful for him. He told me, "Nothing's happening. They just talk and talk. And talk." I told him to keep reading.

And he did. I also toyed with him. I asked him if Jane had died yet. He said, "She dies!?!"

I said, "Oh, I've said too much."

The other night, I was making dinner and Braeden yelled from the other room, "Mom! Mr. Bingley just proposed to Jane!"

So maybe the best part of books: sharing them. Delighting together in the magical combinations authors make with 26 little letters.

Perspective--Pollyanna Applied

2011-10-23T10:05:00.000-07:00

If you count all your assets, you always show a profit.

Robert Quillen

Yesterday I wrote about Pollyanna...today I'm going to channel the little optimist a little.

The glad game works. I dread going to Costco. The crowds, dodging the frantic people clamoring for samples, the loading and unloading of the cart. The putting everything away when I get home. Blah.

I do feel glad that Costco is so close to my house. I feel glad that I can buy my six gallons of milk for a relatively low price. I am glad I don't have to go to WinCo Foods instead. I am glad I have the means to buy the food that keeps us fed and happy. I am glad I have the strength to push my cart and lift everything that needs lifting.

See, I feel much better about Costco.

The reason the glad game works is that it changes perspective; you look at things in a different way. Sometimes it takes something unfortunate to remind us. For example, one of my friends recently tore her Achilles tendon. She can't drive or walk on it for 8 weeks.

She's a mother of 5 children. How does a mother of 5 not drive or walk for 8 weeks?

It's a hassle to take kids to their activities, to run errands, to drive hither and yon. But I am glad I can.

It's not fun to have a long To Do list, to have more things than seem possible to accomplish. But I am glad I can try.

I am grateful for reminders that even when things aren't perfect, I have a lot to be happy about.

Pollyanna

2011-10-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

A woman whose smile is open and whose expression is glad has a kind of beauty no matter what she wears.

Anne Roiphe

I think because I loved Hayley Mills, I loved the movie Pollyanna when I was growing up. I just thought she was adorable with her blonde curls and button nose. (I was a little alarmed when I found out she was in reality older than my mom...not so much a little girl anymore.)

Anyway.

I loved Pollyanna. I loved her message of being glad. She made a game of it.

The glad game:

"You don't seem ter see any trouble bein' glad about everythin'," retorted Nancy, choking a little over her remembrance of Pollyanna's brave attempts to like the bare little attic room. Pollyanna laughed softly.

"Well, that's the game, you know, anyway."

"The--GAME?"

"Yes; the 'just being glad' game."

"Whatever in the world are you talkin' about?"

"Why, it's a game. Father told it to me, and it's lovely," rejoined Pollyanna. "We've played it always, ever since I was a little, little girl. I told the Ladies' Aid, and they played it--some of them."

"What is it? I ain't much on games, though." Pollyanna laughed again, but she sighed, too; and in the gathering twilight her face looked thin and wistful.

"Why, we began it on some crutches that came in a missionary barrel."

"CRUTCHES!"

"Yes. You see I'd wanted a doll, and father had written them so; but when the barrel came the lady wrote that there hadn't any dolls come in, but the little crutches had. So she sent 'em along as they might come in handy for some child, sometime. And that's when we began it."

"Well, I must say I can't see any game about that, about that," declared Nancy, almost irritably.

"Oh, yes; the game was to just find something about everything to be glad about--no matter what 'twas," rejoined Pollyanna, earnestly. "And we began right then--on the crutches."

"Well, goodness me! I can't see anythin' ter be glad about--gettin' a pair of crutches when you wanted a doll!"

Pollyanna clapped her hands.

"There is--there is," she crowed. "But I couldn't see it, either, Nancy, at first," she added, with quick honesty. "Father had to tell it to me."

"Well, then, suppose YOU tell ME," almost snapped Nancy.

"Goosey! Why, just be glad because you don't--NEED--'EM!" exulted Pollyanna, triumphantly. "You see it's just as easy--when you know how!"

Sometimes The Glad Game annoyed people around Pollyanna (her aunt). People now refer to someone who's too cheerful, too saccharine, too much as a Pollyanna.

But I like her.

I think there's something to looking for the good in situations. It's not easy but does lessen the sting a little of unpleasantness.

Ordinary Days

2011-10-21T06:19:00.000-07:00

When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.

Virginia Woolf

I don't bring my iphone to listen to at the gym anymore...ever since the incident...which still makes Stephanie laugh when she remembers it. Lately I've been reading instead.

The other day I was on the elliptical runner, trying to stay aloft while I read The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. (Sometimes my balance wavers when I turn pages...) It was 6:30 in the morning and my brain was barely awake and the book is full of philosophy and sophisticated language. (It was translated from French to English. When I come across a word I don't know I wonder if it's an English word? French? Something else altogether?)

So it wasn't an optimal reading environment, but something I read struck me nonetheless:

Elsewhere the world may be blustering or sleeping, wars are fought, people live and die, some nations disintegrate, while others are born, soon to be swallowed up in turn--and in all this sound and fury, amidst eruptions and undertows, while the world goes its merry way, bursts into flames, tears itself apart and is reborn: human life continues to throb.

I am grateful for the continuous throb.

The ordinariness of ordinary days. There are small annoyances like my alarm clock going off, gas tanks that need to be filled, children that drop belongings like autumnal trees drop leaves. There are the small pleasures like kissing hello and good-bye to my loved ones; chatting on the phone with my mom, sisters, Janet; laughing with Jill and Stephanie while we simultaneously walk the neighborhood and solve the problems of the world.

There are small dramas. (I have a twelve year old daughter, of course there are dramas.) There are minor crises. There are little triumphs.

But mostly it's just ordinary. Ordinary flawed people living in an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood.

And we're mostly pretty happy in our ordinariness.

Beauty

2011-10-20T05:50:00.000-07:00

For the beauty of the earth,
For the beauty of the skies;

For the love which from our birth,

Over and around us lies;

Lord of all, to Thee we raise

This, our hymn of grateful praise

Folliott S. Pierpoint

Jill told me about a conversation she had with her son. They were driving and saw the mountains in all their grandeur. We have some spectacular mountains around here. (Especially on the days when the sky is clear enough to see them.) Jill told me they wondered how anyone could deny that there is a God in the face of such beauty.

I have to agree with her.

...and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.
Alma 30:44

Being a Grown Up

2011-10-19T07:37:00.000-07:00

Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

Author Unknown

My adored brother Tabor broke his leg in quite a spectacular fashion. (He doesn't do things halfway, that one.) In thinking about the difficulties in getting his truck, horse trailer and horses home (8 hours away) with a broken right leg (when he gets out of the hospital, that is), I thought, grown ups should not have broken limbs! There should be some statute of limitations that you can't break when you have responsibilities to attend to.

Maybe you should just live a more docile life; be more careful. Are you reading this Tabor? Do you have internet in that hospital bed?

Despite the hassles that come along when we are thwarted in our grown up duties, it's rather nice to be an adult. I would be kicking and screaming if someone dragged me back to junior high.

Here's why I'm grateful to be all grown up:

Adults...

can eat what they want
have credit cards
can drive
have presumably learned some skills
have the ability to earn money
aren't intimidated by haughty teenagers
don't have to carry enormous backpacks
can take a roadtrip
don't have to clean their room
don't need to ask permission
aren't lectured to be more careful when they spill the milk
can read what they want
don't have to write a five paragraph essay after they finish reading a book

...and (all right Tabor) can ride wild horses.

Double Dipping

2011-10-18T08:41:00.000-07:00

This is what the school room table looked like one morning. I asked Mark how we'd have school. He said he'd use a clipboard. He did.

I'm posting twice today. Because.

This morning I was whiny before Adam left. It's sometimes an obstacle to him getting out the door. Me, whiny. I told him writing posts every day about a specific topic (although it's a topic I love) is wearying. I need a little narcissism. I need to write something meaningless and then post it.

Adam told me to do it. He said, "Post twice."

Why not?

I spend my days with Mark. He is my delight. (And yes, OK, I'm grateful for the time with him.)

Here are just a few of the ways that he makes my life entertaining:

Mark was doing a math test...adding and subtracting long digit numbers. The regrouping! The humanity!

He paused and said, "You know Mom, since you refuse to help me, I'm actually kind of getting how to do this."

That's sort of the point Mark.

☆☆☆☆☆

Mark ate cheese for breakfast. Then he wanted cheese quesadillas for lunch. I told him it was too much cheese. He said, "But I want to have a Mexican day. I want to eat Mexican food for every meal."

I suggested French Toast for lunch which Mark thought was a fabulous idea. While I was flipping thick slices of homemade wheat bread dipped in eggy goodness and sprinkled in cinnamon, Mark said, "Wait, is French Toast Mexican?"

I said, "Say that again Mark and think about the words you're saying."

He started to laugh. "I can't believe I said that. Mom, did you get what I just said? French Toast? Mexican?" He laughed and laughed, delighted.

☆☆☆☆☆

Mark was eating some rotisserie chicken and said, "Look! There's a bone!" Then he said, "I wonder if that is it's tennis elbow?" (In Mark's defense, we are usually a strictly boneless skinless chicken kind of family.)

☆☆☆☆☆

In school we have been learning about verbs. Mark said, "If there was going to be a book about my life, I bet there would be a lot of verbs in it. I like doing verbs more than learning about them."

☆☆☆☆☆

Here's Mark, living his life doing some verbs:

Blurry images but he is part Sasquatch...

(See what I did there? You know how pictures of Big Foot are always blurry? I wish Braeden were home from school so he could roll his eyes and tell me I'm not that funny.)

OK. I feel better. Tomorrow, back to gratitude.

At This Moment

2011-10-18T06:04:00.000-07:00

Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.

Henry Ward Beecher

On a whim, I sent out a mass email to some of my family and friends. I asked them to tell me what they were thankful for at that moment. I told them not to think about it too much, just to answer.

I wasn't sure anyone would reply.

Well, they did. It made me feel all warm inside that my loved ones would be so obliging. Their answers made me feel even happier. What a lot of gratitude there is circling the planet at any given moment.

Here's how they answered:

A: My car doesn't leak when it rains.

M: A quiet house which is very rare.

K: I'm grateful for my job. It keeps my family afloat and offers me so much flexibility and freedom. I feel truly blessed to work here.

W: I'm grateful that my hubby and I both have jobs and can pay our bills. I don't always (ever) like going to work, but I'm glad we can provide for our family.

S: I am thankful for abundant hot clean water; but that is kind of three because 1. abundant (not in desert) 2. hot (we have electricity) 3. clean water (treatment plants).

F: People who keep their covenants, righteous choices and those who choose to endure to the end. These were my first thoughts!

M: My husband and boys. :)

M: My very first thought was I'm grateful I have an interview tomorrow for a new job in the kidney transplant department and that my current supervisor totally supports me doing this!

H: There are so many things to be thankful for but the first thing that came to mind is........good health.......especially after accompanying L. to chemo yesterday :'( so sad to see someone so sick.

H: Right at this moment I have gratitude for a talented son coming to my rescue and helping fix up the house. I am allergic to paint and have a husband that will not paint. In one day he did the ceiling in the kitchen and my bathroom upstairs that so desperately needed new paint. He will also did my hallway and stairwell where it is impossible for me to get to.

M: Nap-time and a soft bed. Being pregnant I can't make it through the day without a nap and a good long night sleep.

A: I'm grateful I have a job I enjoy.

J: Yesterday my husband and my daughter and I went to the temple. We did some initiatory and endowments. One was a family name. Soon we will be able to seal and entire family.

E: I'm thankful for my wonderful family, especially my dear wife. I'm also thankful for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

N: I am grateful for my dog so that I am not alone all day now that we are empty nesters!

L: I am thankful for my mother.

J: First thing that came to mind: That there wasn't an explosion at the high school. (editorial note: There was a bomb threat that day.)

S: walking my cute dog, in the sunshine. Also, walking with my walking buddies (wink, wink)

J: Friends who are there for you no matter what and always there with a kind word, shoulder to cry on and hugs to say they care!

C: I am grateful for good health and the ability to walk and work and do
things.

A: Oh boy, that's hard. I am grateful for so much! I guess right now I am
grateful to be home safe from work in my nice house with my husband who
loves me. How's that for wonderful!

O: I am grateful for my children and for dark chocolate.

B: You may think these are strange, but old age is creeping up on me, and I am so thankful
That I have my teeth.
That I am not in constant pain.
No one has to push me in a wheel chair.
I don't need to wear a diaper.
I have the use of my limbs eyes and ears.
I don't need surgery or chemo treatment.

And
I'm thankful for blue sky.
That my garden hasn't been frozen yet.
My kids want to go to church and seminary.
My kids passed the wasl
My older kids are continuing with a college education
My husband has a job
We have a home and cars
We can pay tithing, FO, and help the poor and needy.
I have many friends~particularly my Savior, Jesus Christ,
and the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

T: I'm thankful that O. told me yesterday was "her favorite day because we roped together."
Also thankful to be able to do what I love and get paid for it.

H: I am grateful for friends that make me laugh, recommend good books, and love me no matter all my short-comings.

I'm grateful that I live near them, and that family livea not so near :) love them bit they need to make appointment to visit!

I'm also grateful for church leaders that speak simply and use beautiful metaphors like forget-me-nots.

S: I am thankful for a living prophet.

J: Shoes. When I see H. without shoes, it makes my feet hurt. I'm glad I
have them.

Firefighters. They just put out a fire on the hill behind our trailer.

Sisters-in-law. Some of us weren't blessed with sisters in our immediate
families. Sisters-in-law are the blessings/bonus check for surviving
childhood with only brothers.

Running water that is safe to drink

Fast internet.

Freedom of religion.

A living prophet. The other day in Primary I told the kids I didn't know
about a living prophet when I was their age. Some were really confused by
that, others were amazed.

General Conference

My children

A dishwasher

My camera

My memory. I hate that my grandma is not able to remember things like she
used to.

Communication. I hate living far away from my mom, but I'm glad we don't
have to send letters via the pony express to tell each other something. We
can talk every day. Several times a day.

Advil. How did those pioneers survive all those children without Advil.

Stain remover.

Music

D: I am grateful for my grandchildren. I need a t shirt that says "If I had
know how wonderful grandchildren are I would have had them first"! They
always make me feel loved and awesome!!

K: I am grateful for silly songs in the car.

Ability to Create

2011-10-17T06:01:00.000-07:00

Everyone can create. You don’t need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf

created by my dear old dad

Usually when I’m feeling dissatisfied with life I need one of two things, more time with Adam or to create something. It’s very predictable.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, one of my favorite speakers to listen to, said, “The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul. No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.” I could not agree more. There is nothing quite as satisfying as creating.

Creating can take on many forms for me. Sometimes it involves words, sometimes glue and paper, sometimes paint. Sometimes it’s corralling clutter into order. It’s all gratifying. I love that we can create.

Everyone I know creates in different ways. My dad makes bits and spurs out of steel and silver, my mom makes quilts and amazing meals. Adam likes to create ways to display information. One sister sews, the other one creates connections in family history. I have one child that writes stories, another that draws maps of fictional lands, and another who builds with Lego blocks.

What a wonderful world we live in that is constantly being improved by people adding more beauty, more order and more innovations.

Unpleasant Luxuries

2011-10-16T09:26:00.000-07:00

If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you got a problem. Everything else is inconvenience.

Robert Fulghum

Emma got braces recently. They made her miserable. (The cost made me a little miserable.)

There are a lot of unpleasant things in the world that are wonderful luxuries though. Blessings really. Braces are among them. How lucky we are to be able to put a little money and a little pain into a lifetime of straight teeth that will not only look better but work better?

I started thinking about more disagreeable things that turn out making life better. There are vaccinations, going to the dentist, getting a mammogram. Wearing seatbelts, driving within the speed limit when you’re late, red lights when you’re late, (What? I'm late sometimes) bicycle helmets.

What about receiving constructive criticism? It’s no fun to be told you’re wrong/ineffective/not doing well enough but sometimes it’s the nudge you need to improve…the only way you can improve. It’s nice to have people that care enough about you to kindly tell you the truth and what you need to do better.

Like braces, worth the discomfort.

Conscious of My Treasures

2011-10-15T10:39:00.000-07:00

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

Thornton Wilder

At the beginning of the school year, I had a flurry of paperwork to fill out. I had to sign my name that yes, I’d read the syllabus. Yes, I knew what the grading scale was, how to get in touch with the teacher, what materials were needed.

It was all kind of a pain.

Then I came across another kind of form. It was a health history. I’ve filled out health histories for my children dozens of times; it was nothing new.

But something struck me.

I realized how really marvelous to fill out the forms, one each for Braeden and Emma. I answered no, no and no to disease after disease they don’t have. Yes, they’ve been immunized and yes, they have a doctor. (A doctor we love by the way.) What a blessing to have healthy children. What a blessing to have my eyes opened while I was filling out paperwork.

I have a lot to be thankful for.

Soul Help

2011-10-14T06:05:00.000-07:00

We thank Thee, O Father of all, for... all the soul-help that sad souls understand.

Will Carleton

With Mormons running for president, Mormonism seems to be in the news.

The New York times reported 25% of people would not vote for someone just because they were a Mormon. (Voting for someone based on their religion doesn't make sense to me. It's like voting for someone based on their gender or color of their skin. Irrelevant. The politics of the person is what matters. There are Mormons whose politics I agree with--and would vote for--and those who I certainly would not.) In my naivety, the 25% is surprising to me but not shocking. It's not the first time there have been prejudices against Mormons and I'm sure won't be the last.

It's reminds me of how I feel about terrorists hating Americans. Really? Most Americans I know are pretty good people, not worthy of hatred.

Here's what hurts my feelings though: when people say that we're not Christian, that we don't consider Jesus Christ to be our Savior. It is like terrorists hating America because we don't believe in freedom or equal rights or apple pie.

My belief in Jesus Christ is central to my life. My reliance on His atonement for my happiness and peace is central to my life. It makes me sad to hear that so blatantly denied.

I was feeling a little downtrodden by all of this and then opened my Bible for my daily scripture reading. I've been reading Isaiah in the Old Testament lately. When I read Isaiah, I absolutely don't get 2/3 of what I read but then something shimmering in its grandeur comes along. I have been taking note of all the scriptures that so elegantly testify of Christ.

Coincidentally, chapter 53 is where I happened to be reading:

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

I am healed by my belief in Christ. Those words fill me with the reassurance that I know what I know. It doesn't matter what people I've never met think I believe.

Because I know.

Today I'm grateful for that knowledge.

Divine Discontent

2011-10-13T06:53:00.000-07:00

The eyes of my eyes are opened.

E. E. Cummings

Sarah Ban Breathnach is one of my favorite people I’ve never met. I love her book, Simple Abundance. In it, she talks about Divine Discontent.

The dissatisfaction you can feel…manifests itself in different ways. Suddenly you don’t like any room in your house. Decorating mistakes from past lives haunt you. Your clothes don’t fit or look right on you anymore. You’re bored with the meals you’re cooking. You’re sick of opening the front hall closet and covering your head…

Raise your hand if you’ve been there.

She goes on to say, “Hold on. As the English historian Dame Cicely Veronica Wedgwood points, ‘Discontent and disorder [are] signs of energy and hope, not despair.’”

I love that!

It is with a grateful heart that I contemplate that maybe when I’m feeling kind of miserable and out of sorts, maybe what is really going on is a preparation. Just maybe I’m feeling Divine Discontent and maybe it is the harbinger of something really wonderful that’s about to unfold.

If nothing else, there’s only one direction to go, up.

Wise Words

2011-10-12T06:38:00.000-07:00

Learn everything you can, anytime you can, from anyone you can--there will always come a time when you will be grateful you did.

Sarah Caldwell

I am grateful when I read something that clicks, that makes sense, that changes me a little.

I am a magazine junkie. I just love magazines. When I was in college, my roommate Jamee said if she was wealthy she would buy every magazine there was. I had to agree. In high school, I was devoted to Seventeen Magazine, as a new mother, I inhaled Parents Magazine. Now I read several different magazines with varied levels of interest and loyalty. Sometimes I read things that entertain me. Sometimes I read things that irritate me or bore me. Sometimes I read things that speak to me.

That's what happened recently. I was reading Ladies' Home Journal (which I'm usually not crazy about, I just got a subscription for $5 so why not?). I read an article called "Smotherly Love" by Michelle Blake. It stopped me in my tracks.

She wrote about her experiences as a mother. She said, "I realized my daughter was a complete person, separate from me. It was as if I'd turned on the kitchen light in the middle of the night and discovered that the forks and knives were dancing."

She wrote that she always acted like she believed they were separate people, "But somewhere deep inside my overfunctioning maternal instincts there lurked a notion that I, and I alone, had to get them through...anything major, anything that might make them unhappy. I felt responsible for every aspect of their lives, but above all I felt responsible for their happiness."

When I read that, I knew she was talking to me. Every brain cell was sitting up and paying attention. I needed this article!!!

I read on.

"This is a tricky business, as every parent knows. When our children are little we have enormous power...We sing to them, get them into dry diapers, show up at the door, make a face, blow a bubble. We are the great and powerful Oz. As their needs get more complicated, however, so does their happiness. And though trying to keep an infant fed and dry and smiling and more or less happy is a more or less reasonable goal, trying to keep a 7-year-old happy, let alone a 12-year-old, is not. It's not even a good idea...."

"...The truth was that seeing my children unhappy made me unhappy. And I didn't like that...so I lost touch with one of the best gifts a mother has to give: perspective. I...knew that not being the teacher's pet or not having a starring role in the class play was small potatoes in the big picture, but too often I forgot those insights...Too often they got the message that the fleeting unhappiness brought on by disappointment of any kind constituted an intolerable burden--for them and for me...As my children started taking tests and getting grades...and the stakes got higher...I realized something had to change. Since the world didn't step up and volunteer to alter itself, changing had to be an inside job."

For the author, meditation was the answer. It helped her learn that happiness was already available and could be found through relaxation. I think the same is true for me. I may not be into meditation but I need to relax a little! I don't mean relaxing in my comfy chair with a book (although that sounds nice). For me, if I can remember the wisdom of Michelle Blake, I will just need to relax when things aren't perfect. (Which is all the time because things are never perfect.)

For example, the other day, after reading this article, I found a homework assignment Braeden had forgotten to take to school. A less enlightened me would have started in a tailspin. He forgot his homework. He's not responsible. This is going to affect his grade. This is going to prevent him from getting into college. He won't be able to find a good job without a college education. He might resort to a life of crime in the face of unemployment. He will end up in the state penitentiary. He doesn't even like to wear bright orange jumpsuits...

An exaggeration but you see what I mean.

With the new thinking in my mind from reading this article, I thought, "Hmm. Braeden forgot his assignment." It's not my assignment. It's not my problem. I don't think it will change how I parent so much on the outside. If I'd seen the assignment before Braeden left I would have reminded him to take it. The change is on the inside. I am not in charge of my children's happiness. They are going to have to forget assignments and have heartbreak and probably lose things that matter a lot to them.

Because that's life.

Parting words from Michelle Blake:

"Instead of continuing to hammer home the message that pain and failure are unbearable and must be avoided at any cost, I tried to communicate the lesson that...if you aspire to anything other than sitting in your room playing video games, pain and failure are inevitable. The goal is not to avoid them but to learn how to take them in stride."

True. And thank you Michelle Blake. I think my children thank you too.

Hard Things

2011-10-11T06:20:00.000-07:00

The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts. No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving.
H.U. Westermayer

Yesterday I wrote a little about loss and grief. I'm taking a step down from that today to things not quite as painful but still...a pain.

Today I’m grateful for hard things. Not concrete or tooth enamel, I’m talking about difficulties.

Grateful for difficulties?

Stay with me.

Having homeschooled my children, I often gave them assignments that were hard for them. “Why does it have to be so haaaaard?” they’d whine. It was obvious as their teacher that the only way they would learn was to do harder assignments. It was the only way to progress.

There are plenty of times when I ask the same question…in the same whiny voice.

And it’s as true for me as it is for kids in school. It has to be hard because it’s the only way we’ll progress. We can continue to do assignments that include only the one times tables or we can move on to the twelve times tables, long division, algebra.

We can continue on with only pleasant days or we can move on to disappointment, faults, big mistakes, hurt feelings, hassles.

When we think of our Heavenly Father in the role of the teacher, perhaps He’s giving us assignments. They’re hard. They will push us beyond what we’re comfortable with. We may not feel confident that we can handle the work. But just like any good teacher, He knows what is an appropriate assignment. He knows what we can handle and what we need to learn and progress.

I’m grateful for hard things.

Loss

2011-10-10T06:02:00.000-07:00

Have you ever thought, when something dreadful happens, a moment ago, things were not like this; let it be then, not now, anything but now? And you try and try to remake then but you know you can't. So you try to hold the moment quite still and not let it move on and show itself.

Mary Stewart

It is with humility that I write this post. I have been acquainted enough with real grief to know that helpful platitudes are anything but helpful when you are in the midst of something truly awful. (I am not interested in renewing or furthering my relationship with grief...in fact, I don't even want to be friends.)

There have been a few times over the past few years that the searing pain of loss has taken my breath away. Whether loss of a dear loved one or loss of what you supposed to be true and good, loss is terrible.

What I'm grateful for comes well after the loss and it is the instructive nature of such experiences, coupled with an empathy that you suddenly possess.

Some things can never be understood unless we live them. Then, after we've lived them, we can be a help to others. We learn lessons that no one can take away from us and lessons that could not have been learned in any other way. We also experience at times tender mercies in the midst of our grief that assure us that there is a God, that He is mindful of us and loves us.

For that I am grateful.

Belonging

2011-10-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

The only people with whom you should try to get even are those who have helped you.

John E. Southard

I am a Mormon woman so I am automatically a member of Relief Society. That means a lot of things. Besides being a place where I’ve learned more about the Gospel of Jesus Christ, it’s also been a place where I’ve learned how to serve, how to feed a crowd, good ways to plan menus, a new bread recipe, and some clever crafts. It also means that every time I’ve moved, I’ve had to say good-bye to a circle of friends that have helped me pack, clean and babysat my children while I packed and cleaned some more. It means that every time I’ve moved, I’ve instantly had a group of people to welcome me. It means that when I’ve had babies, members of Relief Society brought me food. When I was sick with mono, they took care of Braeden (and brought me food). When Adam’s dad passed away, there was more food, more love, more service.

For all of the big things in my life that have come along, being a member of Relief Society has really mattered. I’m not sure how I would have coped without it.

But there are the small things too. And they matter. They make me feel loved. Make me feel like I belong. Make me feel grateful.

A while ago, Jill had some friends coming into town. She asked if I knew anyone that had a booster seat she could borrow for the visit so her friend didn’t have to bring one on the airplane. I told her I’d ask around. And by ask around, I meant send an email to the members of my Relief Society.

After I sent the message but before it got posted to everyone, Jill talked to Janet and was able to borrow a seat from her. When the email went out, seven women responded (some of them within minutes) with either emails or phone calls.

“I have a booster seat your friend can borrow.”

How can I not be filled with gratitude to be part of such a group?

Creature Comforts

2011-10-08T08:35:00.000-07:00

There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.
Sylvia Plath

Thoreau said, “Most of the luxuries and many of the so-calledcomforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to theelevation of mankind.”

But I disagree.

Today I am glorying in creature comforts.

Besides brown eyes, left handedness, and mostly unruly hair,Mark and I have something in common. We both like creature comforts. We love snuggling into a warm nest of softness. We love assembling a vignette ofdelights to make us content.

And so, a list of my favorite creature comforts that make methankful to be alive:

Fleece blankets

Hot chocolate

A perfect pillow

Warm socks

Ice cubes in my drink

Cool cotton sheets

Cardigans

Sitting by a fire
Sitting in sunshine
(wearing sunglasses)
Climbing into a hot car on a slightly chilly day
Hot apple cider
Gloves

Perfectly toasted marshmallows

Sitting in the shade on a warm day

Drinking from a straw

A comfortable chair with a place to put my feet up
and of course, a really hot bath...I may cook myself some day

Lists

2011-10-07T06:29:00.000-07:00

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.
William Arthur Ward

I am a list maker. I have a to do list every day (lately it’s a TeuxDeux list because I have that app and I love it). How I love a good list!

Lists make me feel grateful too. Here’s a list of lists I am glad I have:

List of books I want to read
List of movies I want to see
List of songs I own in itunes (more specifically a list of my favorites so I don’t accidentally collide with Gypsy King a.k.a. torture)
List of blogs I read
List of people I send Christmas cards to
List of menu ideas…when I have what’s for dinner figured out, I feel like I’ve achieved Nirvana
List of recipes I want to try
List of housecleaning jobs divided amongst my children (I finally--for now?--have landed on a system that works marvelously

Some of my lists are less literal and more in my head:

List of people to ask for help with a home repair (my dad or brothers)
List of friends to call if I need help with my kids
List of people to talk to when I’m in a crisis (big or small)
List of people to ask for help with a sewing dilemma (my mom, Marianne, Adam’s mom…Olivia is definitely 3rd or 4th string on this one and she laughs when I ask her because she’s like me and has no idea)
List of people who I am forever indebted to because they’ve been kind to my children
List of people who shaped my thinking
List of people whose service meant more to me than they’ll ever know

Being Taken for Granted

2011-10-06T07:02:00.000-07:00

We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.
Cynthia Ozick

I don’t like being taken for granted.

There are things I take for granted all the time, though. Adam loves me, the sun will rise, my fridge will keep my food cold, my keys are hanging on a hook by the door. Why do I take these things for granted? Because they’re reliable.

I remember with great clarity something that shocked me when I was a second grader. I was dressing as a gypsy for Halloween. Part of my costume was my globe penny bank that was wrapped in tin foil. It was supposed to be my crystal ball. My mom was coming to the school to help with my classroom Halloween party and she was going to bring me my "crystal ball."

She forgot to bring it.

It was shocking! Incredible. My mom, likely bringing toddler younger siblings in tow had left whatever she had going on at home to be at my classroom Halloween party. She’d probably brought cupcakes decorated with ghosts (tootsie pops draped in a paper napkin with black eyes carefully drawn on each ghost).

None of that effort on my mom’s part mattered to me. She’d forgotten my crystal ball! My mom, who never forgot anything and could always, always be relied on, had not done what I’d asked.

In relating this story, I of course realize what a self-centered little gypsy I was. I also realize what a remarkably dependable mother I have. How wonderful that I have one (and only one) memory of my mother letting me down.

I am not advocating taking people or things for granted…not at all. I do think however, that maybe being taken for granted is a little bit of a compliment. A bit of a blessing.

Next time I feel like I’m being taken for granted, I’ll pretend it’s because I’m as capable as my mother. And I’ll feel grateful.

Housework

2011-10-05T07:24:00.000-07:00

My life will always have dirty dishes.
If this sink can become
a place of contemplation,
let me learn constancy here.
Gunilla Norris

I am grateful for housework…mostly because of the first word, house. I’m grateful that I have a house. And I know and you know that it takes work to make a house livable, a place where people want to be.

It’s not going to clean itself. Someone’s got to do the laundry and prepare the food and all of those repetitive and mundane tasks and most days, I’m glad it’s me.

The current order of things around here is that Adam earns a living and I ~~spend it~~ create a home. If it weren’t me doing the housework, it would mean that I was either sick or incapacitated in some way. And that doesn’t sound fun.

What’s more, I like to think that when I create neat fragrant piles of laundry or when I set the scene for an orderly and appealing home, I am also expressing love to my family. According to Kahlil Gibran, "work is love made visible." (Adam if you are reading this, don’t think that on those days you come home to utter chaos that it means I don’t love you. Not true.)

I get help from the rest of my family in these tasks as well I should. (Sometimes I wish I could do it myself instead of coercing my children into it, but I feel a need to teach them to work and since this is the only work I have for them to practice on, we forge on.) Mostly, though, it’s up to me.

When I have the right attitude about my housework, it really is quite rewarding. From Sarah Ban Breathnach:

Creating a comfortable, beautiful, well-run home can be among our most satisfying accomplishments as well as an illuminating spiritual experience. Like sweat equity, channeling your time and creative energy closer to home will produce a big emotional return for yourself and those you love.

I love my little home. I love its smooth and textured surfaces. I love the memories and comforts it holds. I will take a little better care of it.

And be grateful for the opportunity.