Performances

If I cannot fly, let me sing.

Stephen Sondheim

Last night Mark had a recital with his voice teacher.  Earlier in the day, he and I had looked through the boxes of Braeden's old clothes for things Mark may fit now.

I'd hold up something and say, "How about this green sweater?"

Mark would say, "It's green?!?"

I would say, "Yes.  You're color blind."

He would say, "Nah."

There was a period of time when Braeden, whose favorite color is green, had almost all green shirts.  Mark rejected them all.  I guess if he can't see the color, he doesn't want it.

A few shirts were "not his style" and a few were exactly what he wanted and his eyes got big and a smile would spread on his face.

He decided to wear a blue shirt to the recital.  (He can see blue.)

He was awfully cute and pretty poised considering it was his first recital.

Somewhere along the evening, I realized Braeden wore that shirt in his senior pictures.  It fit him differently, but still.

By that point he always wore the sleeves rolled up because they were too short but he still liked the shirt.

We ducked out of Mark's recital right after he performed, swung by the Wendy's drive thru for a healthy and well balanced meal and headed for Emma's choir concert.

It was the Christmas concert.  They have three sold out performances instead of one free performance like all the other choir concerts.  I prefer the Christmas one because everyone gets a seat.  Those other concerts are crazy town and the stuff of fire marshal's nightmares.

Also, it's a great concert.

During one song, Adam nearly killed me.  He whispered in my ear, "Look at the boy second from the right in the front row.  It's little Ted Cruz."

After I figured out my left and right and spotted the kid, I started laughing and then I couldn't breathe because I was trying so hard to stifle my laughing and then I couldn't stop laughing because that kid looked EXACTLY LIKE TED CRUZ.

When Emma's choir sang I didn't notice any look alike political figures because my eyes were trained on her.

My girl loves to sing.  And I love hearing the A cappella choir.  They always sound great.

Earlier in the day I had texted Emma:

There's one more choir concert tonight and I'm looking forward to it.  I like kids who can sing.

Oh what fun

It was a good weekend.  One that I need to unpack and tidy up from.  I was too tired last night to do much besides catch up with Miss Emma.

We left her behind because she had to work and Adam and Mark and I went to Nevada Saturday morning.  The weather outside was frightful (just really cold) but the heated seats were so delightful.  We had a nice trip, listening to a few podcasts and with Mark at the music helm, a lot of 80s music.  It's his favorite.  We listened to Van Halen, Bon Jovi, A-ha, Tears for Fears.  Adam drew the line at Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train.

We got to Olivia's just in time for her annual Ladies' Brunch.  I missed my little lady, Emma, but I was happy to be there.

Here's the whole group plus Omar who stood in the picture before his dad took him and his brothers to town. (picture courtesy of Olivia's blog)

How I love this group!  These women are my support.  They hold me up and lift me up and love me.  I hope these girls, the next generation, feel the sustaining power of our sisterhood.  We're there for them in every way and I hope they know it. 

We laughed and cried (OK, not everyone cried but I was one of the ones who did).  We ate delicious food and talked about our past year (that was when the crying happened) and what we are looking forward to in the new year.

We played After the Manner of the Adverb which was at times hilarious and at times scary.  When the adverb was offensively, everyone was a little too skilled at being mean to each other.

Despite the expertise at giving offense, we're usually nice to each other, so that's what matters, right?

We spent the rest of the afternoon visiting and then reconvened at my parents' for the rest of the evening.   Mark was ordained a Teacher by these stellar men.

I'm grateful for the uncles and grandpas (here and not pictured) that provide support and examples to my boys. 

I'm also sort of fond of that Adam.

Sunday we went to church and heard Clarissa speak.  I sat between my uncle Fred, who I love, and Adam.  We were on the front row because my whole life, I've sat on the front row at church.  It's my spot.  And it's also Enoch's spot and I always get into sacrament meeting before him and then there's no room for him and then he has to go back a few rows and curl his long legs up into some sort of configuration while I'm languishing in leg room.

I'm pretty sure he forgave me.  Or he will someday when he's not so tired from getting home late from a basketball tournament the night before.

Maybe I owe that kid a Diet Coke with Lime.  I sort of need to stay on his good side.  Starting back when he was in seventh grade he could put me in the coat closet and hold me there. 

Anyway, Clarissa's talk.  It was wonderful!  She is the perfect mix of earnest goodness and poise and  and then she can't find the exact scripture she's looking for but handles it with panache.  I love her! Halfway through her talk when the tears were streaming down my face, I considered asking Mark to reach up by the pulpit and grab me a Kleenex (advantage of sitting on the front row) but then I remembered I had Kleenex in my purse.

These are facts I should remember earlier.

Clarissa also sang a solo and knocked the socks off the entire congregation.

Every time I'm in the Wells Ward, I remember I'm an aspen tree, standing on my own but part of something much bigger than me.  That place is full of cousins and second cousins.

Then there's the people who aren't related but it feels like they are.  At the lunch at Marianne's house after church, I was sitting next to Rachel Moore (used to be Knudsen) and a young woman who used to be a missionary around there and was back visiting was reconnecting with Rachel.  She said, "Are you related to everyone?  It seems like everyone is related."

I said we were pretty much related and Rachel explained that our grandparents had known each other and our parents had gone to high school together and we had grown up together.  She said we tried to get related by having some of the siblings marry but it never worked.

I love being related and practically related to good people.

We drove home in the late afternoon.  It was 9 degrees when we left Marianne's house and had warmed up to a balmy 18 when we got home.  It was a nice drive with more podcasts and music.  At one point Adam tilted his head toward the back seat where Mark was and said, "I'm glad we will have four more years of this."

Me too.

New arrival

Braeden pulls the strings and I'm his puppet.  That kid asks nicely and I will make it happen; I'll try my best.

He wanted the Christmas bear to be in honor of Stella this year.  I was telling Emma and she got downright feisty.  Because she was tired of Braeden pulling the strings?  (He named last year's bear too.)  No.  It was because the girl doesn't want to know how the sausage is made.

"You are telling me too much information!" she said.  "I don't want to know that you don't already have the bear.   You aren't supposed to tell me anything about the bear."

It's just supposed to show up one day and I had ruined the magic.

I realized my mistake and immediately stopped talking to Emma about bears.

Adam and I found a bear that looks like the black bears Stella helps support as part of the Appalachian Bear Rescue.  They are darling bears.

A few nights ago, Adam called the kids to the living room for scripture reading.  They usually sprawl on the floor in the family room or on our bed, so this was different.

This guy was sitting on the couch in the living room and it was love at first sight.

My vote was to name him Skipper Bear.  Skipper is the miracle ABR bear that in a roundabout way, brought Stella into our lives.  Emma said she wanted a girl bear.  We didn't know if Skipper was a boy or girl.  We told her we'd Google it and find out.  Adam said, "This bear will be whatever gender Skipper is."

(You didn't know we have discussions about stuffed animal gender in our home that are solvable by Google searches, did you?)

I found our Skipper Bear is indeed a male.  I showed the kids a picture of Skipper Bear when he was first rescued:

And then when he was able to be released back into the wild:

Much oohing and ahhing ensued.

I have a feeling Skipper will be one of our favorite bears.

After the kids left the room, Adam said, "We have to get a girl bear next year!"  And I agreed.  When Emma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy....

The basement

OK.  It's nothing that's going to wow anyone.  I got more caught up in book arranging than decorating for Christmas.

And no, I didn't arrange the books by color.  That was a never to be repeated disaster where we couldn't find anything ever.

I put the novels in alphabetical order by author.  I separated the memoirs from anthologies from short stories.  I put the non fiction on different shelves.  Adam's college books--political science and religious history--together and my writing books and books by people I love like Alexandra Stoddard and Sarah ban Breathnach on another shelf.  It all made me feel more peaceful, just knowing things were in order. (I put them in order initially when I placed things on the shelves but books tend to migrate.)

I sprinkled a little Christmas cheer around.

I dragged Braeden's desk from his room and set up a Santa Claus writing station...with a picture of the jolly old elf as muse.

I was very careful with these friends.  Two of the three have been grievously broken and glued together again.  I love them and need to treat them better.

Here's Emma's creation, the Christmas village:

And I put up these little trees with a picture of my three cherubs on Mark's first Christmas.

I put three Christmas puzzles on the table.  I wonder if we'll ever have the time to sit down and put one together in this busy everyone heading different directions season.

But hope springs eternal.

Things I've learned

Staring down the second Christmas with Braeden on his mission, I am thinking about this time.  It's a unique time.  It's a brief time (although it doesn't feel all that brief).  Here's some of what I've learned as the mother of a missionary.

1-People are amazing.

This morning the woman who is hosting Braeden for Christmas kept texting me questions about what he likes so she can treat him well on Christmas.  My response "he likes everything" wasn't enough.  She wanted something more specific.  She really wants to show him he's loved.

All the random people that text me pictures of him and tell me they love him?  They make my day.  They have no idea how much it all means.

2- Braeden is changing in wonderful ways.

I see it in little glimpses and nothing so concrete that I could explain it well.  I see him focused.  I see him more mature.  I see him generously serving.  I see the wise advice he sends his siblings.  (My favorite advice is when he tells them to listen to Mom and Dad.  And I'm not even paying him to say that!)  I am looking forward to getting to know him all over again.

3- It's hard.

The information we get could only be described as coming in dribs and drabs.  For starters, writing isn't Braeden's best form of communication.  If I could just talk to that kid for 5 minutes, I'd get a lot more.  Also, emailing just once a week isn't enough!  I wish I had more contact with him.  It's hard not to know how he is doing, really.  It's hard to see him struggle and be helpless to fix anything.  It's hard missing him.  Awhile ago, I was talking to Marianne and Robert about the hole in our family with Braeden gone.  Robert said, "It's only one less person."

But he's a lot of a person.  We didn't fully appreciate until he was gone what Braeden added to our lives.  I used to tease him that he isn't really the center of the universe.

I could have been wrong though....

4- Even though it's hard, soldier on.

Over and over I have seen Braeden keep going even when the going is rough.  I'll never forget the day last winter when I was particularly worried about him.  A lady called me who wanted a recipe.  She was going to be feeding him later.  She told me how great he was and what a help he'd been.  She said, "Our dog even likes him."  In that moment, I realized that even though it was hard, even though he was struggling, he was powering through it.  It's a lesson I've tried to internalize when the going gets tough for me.  I can still serve.  I can still try.

5- It's worth it.

It is.  When I see the differences, big and small, he's making in people's lives, I just feel grateful that I am able to share my bonnie boy with the world.

His mission has prompted conversations with our other children and taught them in ways we never anticipated.  He is forging a way for them.

I'm grateful for the stretching his mission has required of both him and me.  It is painful stretching but it has ultimately stretched us in directions we needed to go.

Tiny notes

Dear Yale Alumni Magazine,

Is it proof that I never would have fit in as a Yale student that the only part of your magazine that interests me is the personal ads?


Dear Yale Alumni Magazine Personal Ads,

You've been disappointing me lately.  I love the pretentious people seeking other pretentious people.  Give me more.

(please)


Dear Dickey's Barbecue Pit,

Hats off to you for being an all American melting pot.  On your menu you had Bangers and Mash on the menu featuring jalapeno kielbasa.  A dizzying array of cultures.


Dear Olivia,

As someone who has lived in both England and Poland and who is married to a Mexican, I think you should go to Dickey's for Bangers and Mash jalapeno kielbasa.


Dear Every Sweater I've Ever Bought,

I am flattered that you think I'm the type of person that would catalog away this tiny little bag of yarn in case my sweater gets a hole or snag.  I'm flattered you think I would have the skills to put this little piece of yarn to use.

Dear Marianne and Adam,

I love that when I'm shopping with either of you, I can say, "What's 20% off?"  "What's 30% off?" and you just spit out a number since you both are math whizzes.  You both also try to teach me.  You say things like, "Well, what's 10% and then double that and you get 20%," or "Well, it's 1/5..."

Maybe because you're both the oldest child you want to help me but really, I don't want to do the math.  That's why I asked you.

Keep being smart, you two.  You kids come in handy.


Dear Mark,

I had a run in with a mop handle.  Sorry about that.

(We'll call this my revenge for someday when I'm a grandma.  Grandma got run over by a reindeer but she smashed the reindeer with a mop handle so she probably had it coming.)

Happy frivolidays

Frivolity + holidays.  We've been having a good time.

Last week, Tuesday? We headed out to go see the lights in downtown Provo (which weren't really a thing) and we hit Cracker Barrel for dinner and then bought a snow blower.

We have exciting lives, I tell you.

Life is more fun with these two.

Thursday, I met Marianne's and Tabor's families for lunch and I got to see Clarissa, returned missionary extraordinaire, for the first time since she returned home.  I cried.

That night, Adam and I went to the temple and I cried.

Friday, Mark and I went to A Christmas Carol at the Hale Theater and I cried.

Saturday, I didn't cry.

So that's something.

A Christmas Carol was so good!  I'm always amazed by what magic can be created in such a small theater.  The actors are incredibly talented and the costumes are beautiful and the sets are clever.  Besides, Mark was a good date.  He brought his own money and bought me some Peanut M&Ms.  He slid them over to me, really proud of himself.

I like that guy.

Adam was refereeing while we were gone.  He's been doing a lot of that and is enjoying it.

Saturday was Mark's birthday and I didn't take a solitary picture.  Just take it from me, he was cute all day.

We went to the ward Christmas breakfast at the church, sans Emma.  When I woke her up, she groaned and I considered all her late nights working at the theater and said, "Why don't you sleep instead."  She mumbled something that sounded grateful and we went without her.

Mark opened his gifts from Grandma Geri when we got home, with her Facetiming on the phone.  (Is Facetiming a verb?  Because I'm making it one, if not.)  He loved his gifts, a Seahawks stocking cap, some Seahawks socks and a thick book about code breakers and spies during World War II.  He could not have been happier.

Until we hit the Lego store.

We had a leisurely lunch at Red Robin and then on to the Lego store.  Mark contemplated many sets and wondered if the $120 set would work if he "pitched in some money."  That was a no.  Emma bought him a Lego set.  She thought it was on the sly but while she was sneaking up to the register, Mark slipped his Lego VIP card to her.  So he would get the points from the purchase.

It's hard to get anything past him.

We headed to Park City which was wintry and beautiful.  We checked into our hotel and then sipped hot chocolate in a covered area by outdoor heaters while the snow fell.  It was pretty much perfect.

Adam and I went to his company party and the kids swam and ordered pizza.  The Christmas party was held in a big and beautiful snow lodge in Deer Valley (again, no pictures).  I knew one person there, Adam.  I happily seated myself next to a big window by the falling snow while Adam mingled around.  The waiters were a little worried about me and kept checking on me.  (Quick, somebody talk to the lone woman by the window.) I met all the kids who are on Adam's team.  They are closer to Braeden's age than our age.  All of them.  Several of them gushed to me about how much they all love Adam.  I said, "Well, I do too!"

That's me, building bridges of commonality.

We ate dinner with another couple who were closer to our age but who were astounded by the ages of our children.  (Their oldest is 13.)  I'm a little astounded by the ages of our children too.

The food was all delicious (I got one of the end cuts of the prime rib) and we enjoyed chatting with the other couple and when I was completely full, I learned they had crème brûlée.

So yes, Adam and I split a little dish of it.  (Although I think I ate most of it.)

Crème brûlée.  One of my love languages.

Everyone we talked to was worried about the weather and the drive back through the canyon to either Utah or Salt Lake valley where everyone lived.  When they found out we were staying in a hotel, everyone marveled about how smart that was.

That's what happens when you get older, kids.  You get wiser.  (Seriously, they are all SO young.)

It was quite snowy by then and we were grateful for our 9 minute drive back to our hotel.

The night in the hotel room was another story.  I was feeling a little less smug.  There was some annoying and intermittent tapping noise, the snow plows would barrel through on the street outside every few hours, lights flashing, and we all slept restlessly and not as much as we would have liked. 

At the very least, it was memorable.

We woke up early and headed back to Pleasant Grove in the winter wonderland.  Back in time for church.

December is a happy busy time.  I like celebrating my favorite Mark Christmas present a few weeks early.

He's the best Christmas gift I ever got. (And that's counting the Barbie Dream House, which was a pretty good one.)

We had cake Sunday night and as you can see by Mark's expression, candle lighting is very serious business