He is going to be that kind of brother

After a girl is grown, her little brothers — now her protectors — seem like big brothers. 

Terri Guillemets

Every time I get my brothers to help me with something--which is often--I tell Mark, "I hope you're going to be that kind of brother."

(Most recently I called Enoch when I had an electrical situation so he could assure me I wasn't going to burn down my house.)

My brothers are good at Stuff and Mark is good at Stuff so I want him to help his siblings when they need it.

The other day I was sifting through the detritus that is my former-school-room-but-too-disorganized-to-be-called-an-office-yet.  Through the open window I heard Emma get home from her voice lesson.  She got out of her car and called Mark over.  (He was on the side of our house, digging a hole. Like Elder Haynie said during conference, sometimes boys dig holes.)

I heard Emma tell Mark that her car indicated low tire pressure.  From my upstairs perch, I saw Mark show Emma how to find out what the tire pressure should be.  He retrieved the air compressor and explained how to use it.  Then he filled her tires for her, talking to her carefully the whole time so she could do it herself in the future if needed.

I like brothers that are good at Stuff.

When the call is from Virginia, I pay attention

I was on the landline phone with my mom yesterday afternoon when my cell phone rang.  It was a Virginia number.  I quickly hung up with her and answered my cell phone.

It was a lady--I don't remember her name--but she was with Braeden.

First, she assured me he was OK.

Then she told me he'd been in a bicycle accident.

She had taken him to a doctor's office and he wanted her to call because he didn't know his social security number.

My mind reeled with a thousand unasked questions and I propelled myself to the file cabinet where the social security numbers are filed.

"So he's OK?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "He scraped up his arms and hands but he's OK."

"How's his bike?" I was trying to get a sense of the scope of the accident.

"His bike is fine."

But how is he?!?

I said, "So he's seen a doctor?"

"No," she said, "We are waiting.  He thought he needed his social security number for the forms he needs to fill out."


I said, "Will you tell him he doesn't need to write it down?  I will give it to you but he can just say no to writing it down."

She said, "OK."

I read off the numbers to her.

"So he's OK?" I asked again.  (Poor long suffering lady.)

"Yes."

Then I heard him talking in the background which just. About. Killed. Me.  Every cell in my body wanted to talk to him.

"Thank you for taking care of him.  Tell him I love him and to be careful."

"He can hear you," she said.  I thanked her again and we said our good-byes.

I dialed Adam's cell phone and then I burst into tears.   It really wasn't much of an event.  He crashed his bike and got a little scraped up and is OK.  End of story.

But I can't talk to him and I don't really know any details which is hard when for the past eighteen years, my life has revolved around the details.  Adam understood.  He said all the right things to make me feel better.

Being the mother of a missionary is not for the faint of heart.

Being the wife of Adam, you can have a faint heart.  He's good at that sort of thing.

In addition to practicing

I bought a Beethoven bust for the top of the piano.

So far, I haven't noticed a marked improvement in my piano playing, but that doesn't mean a bust of Beethoven won't help.

When Emma saw my newest acquisition, she commented on the somewhat...eccentric...collection of items surrounding the piano.

She said, "You have your bright red ukulele, Beethoven, a pumpkin and spurs."

To which I could only shrug.

I stand by my choices.

Trade

A few hours after Emma got home, Adam left on a business trip.

There are still three of us around here but of course a very different dynamic.

Sunday afternoon, we took a walk.  We drove to the Provo River and walked along the trail towards the lake.  It is a lovely walk.  The river is on one side and there are houses backed up to the other side of the trail.

We walked by a house with a crazy amount of ducks in the backyard.  And one goose.  It's like the one kid who keeps says, "Duck, duck, duck duck..." while walking around the circle and never says goose.

(Annoying kid.)

I had Mark on one side of me and Emma on the other which was also lovely.

On her trip they had told a lot of jokes (and unlike me, Emma can actually remember jokes she hears) so Emma started telling us jokes. Mark--also a joke rememberer--added some jokes of his own.  Emma would spring a joke on us that would loop back around to a previous joke and Mark would almost fall off the trail laughing.

It felt magical to be walking along on a warm Sunday with yellow leaves swirling around and my children laughing on either side of me.

On the drive home, Emma, still under the influence of the teenage girl overload she'd experienced, directed us in a game of Marry, Kiss and Kill.

You name three people and the other person has to say which of the three they would marry, which they would kiss and which they would kill.

Mark kept saying he couldn't pick because he was a boy, which was a fair point.  (It's hard for 12 year old boys to play teenage girl games.) 

He did however contribute lists of people for the game.  Here are some of their combinations:

Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Un and Ghandi

Barack Obama, Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump

Voldemort, Snape and Malfoy

When we returned home, we played Monopoly Deal.  I kept losing and not just losing but being annihilated.  It's mostly a game of luck so I don't know how to change the situation.

I finally decided that whoever won would have to load the dishwasher.  It didn't help.  I still lost.

And I made both kids load the dishwasher.

They deserved it.

Conference weekend

I like having my days my own. I wake up happy when I consider what I have ahead of me on most days.  Our house is consistently cleaner than it has ever been and I'm not just wistfully shifting things around on my to do list, but actually finishing tasks every once in awhile.

Some days turn up lonely though.  Friday a confluence of events brought on the loneliness.

October 2 meant one month from the time Braeden left.  One month?  That is completely depressing.  Twenty three to go.

Twenty three!?! (imagine me saying that in my best whiny voice)

Combined with that, Emma was gone.  She went to Cedar City for a Shakespeare competition.  (They tied for second overall!  Yay PGHS!)  I missed that girl.

I miss the swirl of my children. When I homeschooled all three of them, by afternoon, I usually had tension right between my shoulder blades.  It wasn't easy.

But I wish I could go back.  Knowing how fleeting the time was, I would do a better job.  I would enjoy it more.

This was my favorite weekend of the year, General Conference.  When we lived in Washington, Janet and I would get together with our daughters while the men went to the Priesthood session.  We would talk and talk and talk like we can do.  I miss Janet.

To make matters worse, with Emma gone, I didn't have anyone to hang out with during the meeting.  It's not like I can't be alone--I quite like it--but when it has traditionally been a celebratory girl time, it felt kind of sad.

I must have been a desolate and tragic figure because Adam prompted Mark to invite me to join them for dinner after their meeting.  It is traditionally their time and it was kind of them to include me.

We had a nice dinner together.  Over bowls of pasta they told me all about their meeting and during some of the stories they told me, I started crying.

(Nothing quite like creating a scene in Noodles and Co.) 

I guess the moral of the story is that traditions can shift just like families shift, crying over inspirational stories is a good kind of crying and listening to conference lifted me above any sadness I could have.  There's something about hearing truth that sets me aright.  Remembering who I am and whose I am soothes all my perceived little woes.

And it made me happy knowing Braeden was listening to it too.

Some random stuff

1- A few days ago I fell walking down our stairs--missed the last step--and landed on my elbow.  It is very bruised and sore and I feel a) old and b) vulnerable.  When little kids fall, they pop back up and run around some more.  Me?  Not so much.

2- We got an email from Braeden's mission president outlining evacuation plans for the impending hurricane.  Now it looks like the hurricane is going to miss them but there will still be a lot of rain and the possibility for flooding.  If I know Braeden, he is thrilled.

3- Marianne directed me to come up with a craft for Thanksgiving (like the bracelets last year).  She's my older sister so she is the boss of me and I am taking this responsibility very seriously.  I am trying to come up with something that is not too expensive or difficult or cheesy and I called Marianne to report my progress.  She thinks I'm better at crafts than I am.

4- Emma is gone on a school trip so we are getting a taste of Life With Mark.  I have a feeling a lot of time will be taken with me stopping Adam and Mark from breaking things.  Those two throw things.  Recently, Adam would throw a football in the direction Mark was going to leap.  Coincidentally it was in the direction of a lot of breakables.

Books I read in September 2015

The Rosie Effect by Graeme Simsion ***

This book follows The Rosie Project. It was good although I think I enjoyed the first one more.  These are entertaining books with lovable characters and sometimes they made me laugh out loud. 

A Long Time Gone by Karen White ***

I like most everything I've read by Karen White.  (My favorites are her ghost stories which is weird because I don't like ghost stories.)  This story is set in rural Mississippi and is about a young woman who's returned home and also about her mother and great grandmother.  There's a lot of mystery and intrigue and romance and a little whining.

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah ****

Kristin Hannah never disappoints.  I love her books.  This book is set during World War II, in France.  It's about two sisters and their different experiences and fight to survive and also a bit about the French Resistance.