Reclaiming Thelma

Sorry about the whining yesterday but it really did help.

And tonight I decided this far and no more.

I reclaimed what was mine.

I reclaimed my time with my children. I gathered them around me tonight and didn't let them go.

I reclaimed my daughter. After her repeated requests for time with me, we did a cooking show while we prepared dinner (and now I'm going to ask my lovely assistant Emma to stir these onions while I expertly chop the peppers). The black bean burgers turned out much better this time and I think it was all of the silliness flying around the kitchen that did the trick.

I reclaimed the kitchen table. After dinner and over strawberry/banana/chocolate milkshakes (we started adding things and couldn't stop) we taught Mark how to play Skipbo. I love that he's old enough to learn more games. He was highly offended that trading wasn't part of the game.

I reclaimed the futon upstairs. I burrowed between arms and legs and children leaning over and into me and I read them a story from the Friend magazine. When is the last time that happened?

And I lost a few things.

The impatient clip to my voice.

The deep crease between my eyebrows.

While it was not perfect and still had it's share of Mark flicking his milkshake around the table with his straw, Emma scooping ice cream...up to her elbows, and Braeden arguing his way along, it was altogether better to be here than anywhere I could have been. And it's been a long time since we were home for a peaceful (relatively peaceful) evening.



If you were here, you could see the smile on my face, repentant after yesterday's angst.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever:

-- had a son tell you he needed new church shoes because they were too tight then act like you were torturing him when you suggested a shoe shopping trip?

--realized you were double booked, no triple booked for tomorrow?

--agreed to a project which uselessness is only eclipsed by how time consuming it will be?

--had your schedule interrupted so many times that it's beyond recognition?

--have children that still need to be fed and want clean laundry even when you're so busy you can't think straight?

--whined (excessively) to both of your sisters? (sorry girls)

--directed all your frustration at your son even when he's only responsible for about 10% of it? (sorry Braeden)

--wandered aimlessly around Target looking for an obligatory gift for someone you hardly know? Trying to strike that delicate balance between, "I don't want to spend too much money and I don't want to show up with a cheap gift"?

--been cut off in line at Target by a bustling lady with about 20-30 bottles of Suave shampoo (I am not kidding) in her cart ? She looked at me, startled when she realized she'd cut me off and I sweetly said, "That's OK, go ahead," because I firmly believe that even though I don't feel at all charitable on the inside I can at least (occasionally) pretend to be kind on the outside.

--bought a package of fun sized Snickers bars?

I so deserved it.

So how's your day been?

Just a Regular Guy

I recently read Jay Leno being quoted in Reader's Digest. He said, in speaking about politicians as guests,

They're my favorite guests. Arnold Schwarzenegger came on and announced he was running for governor. John Kerry drove a motorcycle onto the set. Newt Gingrich brought on a pig to show he was a regular guy. I love that stuff.

Then I reread the last bit: Newt Gingrich brought on a pig to show he was a regular guy.

Really? Really?

I tried to imagine the conversation he had with his wife the night before.

Newt: I need something to make me look like a regular guy...

Mrs. Newt: How about wearing jeans?

Newt: Not regular enough...

Mrs. Newt: How about taking a pet onstage? A dog? Cat?

Newt: Not regular enough...

Mrs. Newt: A farm animal?

Newt: Maybe...

Mrs. Newt: A sheep? A cow?

Newt: Not regular enough...

Mrs. Newt: A pig?

Newt: BINGO! Regular guys almost always carry around pigs. Especially when going on the Tonight Show.

No Child Left Behind

You know how on Mother's Day there are stories and sentiments floating around that make you feel slightly guilty, "I'm not that good of a mother..."

Well never fear, I have a story for you that will make you feel really good. You will think, "I am not that kind of a mother....I'm so much better!"

I'm just really kind like that. Remember this story? It seems like a pattern in my motherhood.

Last night we were at the church, assembling gifts as a Relief Society presidency. I had Adam and Emma and Mark there to help (Braeden was babysitting). We had two cars there because Adam had met me at the church.

The carrot dangling in front of the working children was that we'd go to Alfy's for pizza afterward.

As we were turning lights off and locking up and stowing the assembled gift baskets in the clerk's office for safe keeping, I called out to the parking lot to Adam to go ahead to Alfy's and order the pizza and I'd be there shortly. I thought he had both kids with him.

After a few minutes I too left the church and drove the short distance to Alfy's. We waited for the pizza to arrive then gathered the kids from the arcade area to come and eat.

Except for where was Emma?

We searched.

Then realized she was still at the church.

Adam thought I had her and I was SURE he had her. Adam rushed back to the church and I nervously looked at the pizza sitting on the table and couldn't eat any because what sort of terrible mother am I anyway?

Adam and sweet Emma with tear stained cheeks entered and relief flooded me.

When I had flipped off the light in the women's bathroom at the church, Emma had been inside. She'd been plunged in complete darkness. When she finally made her way out of the bathroom, the church was empty. She went to the parking lot and realized it was empty but the church was locked and she was stuck outside. She wisely (good girl Emma!) decided the busy street shouldn't be crossed to get to Alfy's. She also decided where she'd sleep (behind some bushes) because she assumed that if we were dumb enough to leave her in the first place, we were probably not smart enough to come back for her.

Happily all was well at last.

And we have a new policy: No Child Left Behind.

We'll work on that.

I'm Blushing

Mrs. Ascani, who is the wonderful teacher we work with in the Washington Virtual Academy, sends a question a week to her students to which she expects a reply. This week the question was, "Tell about a special woman in your life."

Here's the response Mark dictated to me:

I love my mom. My mom is so awesome and gives me hugs and kisses when I come back from Father and Son Camp. Did you hear about Father and Son Camp? I'm going camping with my dad and Braeden and my friend Gavin (who's not in my family) is going camping with his dad. I'm going tonight (or today). We're going to have marshmallows. We're going to have hot dogs too.

About this time Emma told him that it needed to be more about Mom so he threw me a bone:

My mom will miss me. I have an awesome house. She teaches school with me in the house.

Can you feel the love? It seems like the main thing that's "special" about me is that I'll miss him and will give him proper accolades when he returns to me.

I guess I should take what I can get.

And be thankful to Mrs. Ascani for trying to eke some appreciation out for me.

My Big Sister

At Women’s Conference I had a combination of up too late and up too early and a bad bed.

I was tired.

On Friday morning Marianne and Katie and I went to the Creamery on 9th to grab breakfast. I was too tired to decide what I wanted for breakfast. I finally gave up and followed Marianne around and purchased every single thing she did. Then I put it all in her bag for her to carry for me.

Sometimes in moments of weakness and exhaustion you fall back into the familiar.

I’ll never know if she was the leader and I was the follower because those were our personalities or because of our birth order. Nature v. nuture.

Marianne was my older sister in every sense of the word. She was my example, always at least half a foot taller than me. A leader. An achiever. My advocate. When in public, she comfortably took a step forward to speak for both of us and I comfortably took a step back. She made everything more entertaining. She wrote skits for us to perform for our parents on holidays, she planned big parties with her many friends, she always let me tag along.

She made everything fair. She devised a Federal Land Bank when we played Monopoly so no one would completely fail. She divided up babysitting and cleaning and dishes jobs.

She was a leader.

I would have sooner hated my own self than hate her but sometimes I hated being her younger sister. She excelled at everything. She was ambitious and bright, charismatic and worked hard. She was the lead in the school play, the drummer in the band, the star of the basketball team and the smartest one in each of her classes.

I…wasn’t.

My parents assured me different from Marianne was OK; was good. I rarely believed them.

I did love being her sidekick though. I took the wheel when she put on her make-up on the way to seminary. We sang a lot of country music really loudly in our 1969 Chevy Impala. We shared clothes and opinions and secrets and were together through waitress jobs and car crashes.

It was a desolate day when she went to college and a worse day when she left for her mission.

If I wasn’t Marianne’s sister, who was I? If she wasn’t here to follow, where would I go?

Shortly before she left for her mission, our dad was diagnosed with cancer. In the days after she left, our parents were in Salt Lake City, our dad in the hospital and I was the oldest at home, taking care of my siblings. Marianne was inaccessible like she’d never been. It was just me.

And I survived it.

And I guess I gradually grew up. I had a better idea of who I was. As much as I’ll always need her, I had an identity apart.

And it’s a good thing because within a few years I was in New Haven, CT and she was in the middle of sagebrush with no phone service.

It wasn’t long before she had a phone and we were each other’s lifelines. We talked about our babies, motherhood and Everything Under the Sun. What to Expect the First Year and Parent’s Magazine were our sources of all information and I can’t imagine surviving teaching my children to sleep through the night and be potty trained without Marianne on the other end of the phone.

Somehow we’re on the same ground now. It’s not that I’ve caught up to her, she is still an achiever and I aspire to her great heights but I’m me and she’s Marianne. And that’s great.

I’ll always be grateful to my big sister. By trying (and failing) to be her, I learned to be me and by watching her advocate for and protect me, I learned I was worth standing up for.

Today’s her birthday. I love you Marianne!

Will This Be On Your Blog?

Nearly every time I took a picture while in Nevada, the subject of the picture (if they were old enough) would say, "Will this be on your blog?"

Yes.

Yes.

And Yes.


Visiting Katie and Baby Olivia:





Birthday Lunch at Marianne and Robert's house:

Liberty, Deseret and Emma

Grandma Dahl, Grandma Jaynes, my dad, my mom and Katie

My parents, baby Olivia and Katie

Clarissa (who's almost as tall as me!) and Enoch (who's much taller)

Ammon and Melanee (who will be parents in October!)

Ruben and Morgan

The picture that made me miss Mark because they're all his age: Liliana, Hyrum and Isaiah

Olivia, Jennifer and Marianne

The pop sensation, Tina Trampolina:

Emma, Liberty and Deseret, a.k.a. Tiny Trampolina, performed their original songs and choreography for us all, Clarissa was accompanying them on the piano

Clarissa, Emma, Deseret and Liberty, complete with white t-shirt and pink tank top uniform

Dinner at The Star:

Tabor, me and Enoch

The after party:

Grandma and her girls, baby Olivia and Savannah

Comfortable on the piano bench: Olivia, Tabor, Robert and Marianne

Enjoying sweet Savannah

Four generations

My dad: sound asleep on the couch

How most of the time was spent: laughing

Enoch, Tabor and Ammon
Marianne, Thelma and Olivia,
Dad and Mom

Sunday morning:

Isaiah

Jennifer feeding Savannah and Luke wearing the vest Braeden wore to Enoch and Jennifer's wedding. Was Braeden that small? I ask you.