It's Relative

If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair. Because five minutes at the fair, you'll be going, 'you know, we're alright. We are dang near royalty.' 

Jeff Foxworthy

I don't fancy myself to be a great party planner.  Mediocre at best.  Sometimes I think maybe I don't give myself enough credit though.  It depends on who I'm comparing myself to.

I was looking online at party ideas and I came across this idea:

A good idea for a party is for everyone to show up with a wig and then swap wigs by the end of the night.  The host should have some extra wigs on hand for those people who arrive without a wig.

!?

 

1) I don't want to wear a wig to a party.

2) I don't want to go to a party where other people are wearing wigs.

3) I don't want to swap wigs with anyone.

I googled wig parties though and they're a thing.  It's not just one person's crazy idea of a good time.  Have you ever been to a wig party?  Am I missing something?

The site that recommended the wig party also suggested "hiring a castle for formal parties".

I'm thinking maybe the site originated in the U.K.  I don't know of any castles for hire around here.  Unless you count Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas.

This all led me to start thinking about a party I attended with Adam back in his Yale days.  It was the Christmas party for the students in his graduate program.  The party was held at Mory's.

picture swiped from Wikipedia

I dressed carefully because I felt slightly intimidated by the graduate students at Yale.   They were a whole lot smarter than me and seemed infinitely more sophisticated.  I was from a log house in the middle of the sagebrush and had been dropped in a city where I continually got lost (there were no mountains to help me navigate).  I was barely keeping it together while learning to be a mother far away from anything familiar.  I didn't know if I had it in me to pretend like I was a person that could string intelligible sentences together at a Christmas party.  

We took nearly one-year-old Braeden with us.  In addition to be exceedingly poor, we didn't leave him with babysitters because I was not constitutionally equipped to part with my baby.  (I know, you're shocked, right?)

We went to Mory's and as we walked through the smoke-filled lower level, I willed Braeden not to inhale.  I grew up waitressing in smoke filled casinos and went home smelling like an ash tray but I didn't want my tender boy to breathe any smoke.  Ever.  (I know, I was darling. As Braeden would say now, "I don't know whether to smack you or pat you on the head and tell you it's going to be OK.")

We climbed the creaky stairs and entered a crowded room filled with Adam's classmates.  We sat in a corner.  I think I was the only spouse there.  I know Braeden was the only baby there.   A big table filled the room and people were seated around it.  They were passing around huge urns filled with an unknown alcoholic concoction.  They were all in varying degrees of drunkenness and singing.  They'd apparently run out of Christmas songs and had moved on to Hanukkah songs.  Their cheeks were flushed and eyes were glassy and no one seemed to truly be having very much fun.  There was a forced merriness to it that was kind of sad.

We were seated next to a guy that was in the class ahead of Adam (it was a two year program).  He was also a Mormon, married with children but we didn't really know him because he went to the grown-up family ward instead of the student one like we did.  Was there a token married white male Mormon each year?  Some affirmative action plan we were unaware of?  His wife wasn't there.  He leaned over to us and said, "I should have gone to Relief Society with my wife."

Which made me think, they should have asked his wife and or even me to plan the party.

For all of my inexperience and woefully lacking cosmopolitan-ness, I think I could have planned a better party.

At the very least I would have included chocolate.

The Difference Between Mothers and Daughters

A few years ago, I got an idea for a story I wanted to write.  On confident days I called it an idea for a novel.  On fraidy-cat days I called it ridiculousandnevermindforgetIsaidanything.

I have a lot more fraidy-cat days than otherwise.

And I've been busy.

So my idea has mostly remained just that...an idea.

With my homeschooling roster depleted, I thought maybe I'd pursue the idea.

Maybe.

When my parents were visiting in January, I told my mom the idea one day while we were driving across the Snohomish Valley.  She said, "I like that Thelma.  You should write it.  That's a great idea!"

So I felt a bubble of confidence.

Maybe I would.

Maybe.

It's scary and uncomfortable because there's this invisible editor that sits on my shoulder while I write that tells me it's all really quite preposterous and I should stop wasting my time.

I decided to take courage and my laptop to my kids' piano lessons.  I'll sit in the car without a book to read, and I'll write.  I'll have no distractions and no way to escape the editor.  She'll just have to deal with it while I write.

Yesterday, Sarah, our inestimably wonderful piano teacher who gives candy to her students, came outside to chat.  (She's also my friend.)  She noticed the laptop and said, "Are you blogging?"  In a bizarre and uncharacteristic burst of confidence, I said, "No.  I'm working on a novel."

As we drove away, I told Emma, "It makes me so nervous to admit I'm writing.  It feels ridiculous.  I don't know what I'm doing."

Emma said a few encouraging, of-course-you-can-Mom things then she asked me what my story was about.

I told her.

She said, "That's it?  That's the whole story?"

"That's it."

"That's kind of lame."



I've heard of a face only a mother could love.  Apparently there's such a thing as a story idea only a mother could love.

I'm still going to write it, by the way.  I'm just not going to tell Emma any more about it.  Or let her have dinner.

(OK, I'm kidding about that one.  Barely.)

Now Are We Going to Celebrate Half Anniversaries?

Adam and I took a quick trip to one of my favorite places, Salt Lake City.  I love the mountains there.  I love the memories I have of there (mostly involving my grandma).  I love the history that is there.  I love my history that is there.

I was emotional.

Am I getting more emotional as I get older?  Do I have more water in my head than I used to?  Will I ever run out?

Adam pointed out on Friday that it was our 15 1/2 year anniversary.  Fifteen and-a-half years later, we went back to the beginning.

Will forever with Adam be long enough?

The Salt Lake Temple is the most meaningful place on earth for me.  It is where our family began.  It is where my parents' family began.  It's where my grandparents' families began (both sets).  It's quite a place.  My spirit stills when I turn into the gates of Temple Square.  A powerful hush quiets other cares and the significance of the place brings a sharp focus to my perspective.

I wish I could live there.

Maybe I'd be a better person.

In a delightful turn of events, we got to have dinner with two of my brothers and their dear wives on Friday night.  It took a little phone work to coordinate it.

Then some more.

If you knew Enoch, you'd understand.

I love my brothers.  I love their wives.

I don't love this picture.

me, Melanee, Cormac (really), Ammon, Jennifer and Enoch

Besides the obvious (Why, yes, I am the least photogenic person in America.  Thanks for noticing.), Cormac, who is photogenic, is not pictured.  He's behind my head.  Darn.

Here's a shot of him (snatched from Melanee's blog), for good measure.

I love this guy.

Saturday, and the reason for our trip, we attended the sealing of Adam's cousin Jamie and her husband Tice in the Salt Lake Temple.  Ashton was sealed to them.

 It was a happy occasion.  (I cried.)

Sadly, this is the best picture I got of their family (seriously?!?).  There's Ashton, Jamie and Tice all dressed in white.

Adam has some really nice cousins.  Knowing them is an unexpected* bonus of marrying him.

Adam's cousin Pam, me, Adam, Jamie, her mom Kathy, Adam's cousin Kara and her children and Geri who we happily traveled with.

*Unexpected, kind of like riding in Enoch and Jennifer's Freightliner truck which probably deserves a blog post all its own.

Changey Change Change

I'm still figuring out my new life without this little cherub around:

What?  That's my boy Braeden...OK, it was thirteen years ago.

Mark and I are forging a new way.  I've realized I have less of an impatient clip to my voice since I'm not busier than I can handle.

I kind of like it.

Today Mark said, "You're being really nice to me today."  Of course, that was shortly after I'd bought him a toy and right before I bought him a mint oreo milkshake.

(If you can resist this boy, you're a better woman than I...)

For the first time in years, I no longer have a free built in babysitter so Mark was my amiable side-kick on errands today.  And we went on errands that were more creative in nature than necessary.  When's the last time that happened?

I told him we had to go to only two places and then I'd take him to lunch.  He was starving.  He's always starving though.

We went to Lowe's to look at paint chips for an idea that's percolating in my brain.  We also stopped to look at ride on lawn mowers because Mark can't resist their siren song.  Mark pulled out paint chips one after another.  How about this?  This?  This?  He found a faux finish paint chip.

"This looks like sand paper."

"Is it sand paper Mom?"

"This looks like sand paper."

I was looking at Sea Breeze and Forest 4 and said something like, "Mmmm."

Mark has always been good at demanding attention.  "Mom," he grabbed my arm, "Could I use this like sand paper?  Would it work?"

He had my attention.  I explained the idea of faux finishes and he nodded his comprehension and I replaced all the paint chips he'd pulled out and handed to me.

We got back on the road and he said, "Where now?"

I said, "Library and then Pier 1."

"What?!" Amiable Mark was turning into incredulous Mark.  "You said two places and then lunch."

"I forgot about the library.  I just have to drop these books off.  You don't even have to get out of the van."

Amiable Mark returned.  "That's just like sitting in traffic then," he said happily.

Whatever gets you through, Mark.  Whatever gets you through.

Walking across the street to Pier 1, I set Mark up.  "Now this is a Mom kind of store.  You won't like it but if you're very good, we'll have lunch.  And you have to be very careful.  There are breakable things.  Will you be a good boy?"

"Are there candles there?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

Mark loves good smells and he's absolutely horrified by bad smells.  He must have a sensitive sniffer.

He happily walked into Pier 1 with me and while I browsed around for a birthday gift for Marianne (It's coming right up...in May.  I like to plan ahead, OK?), Mark lifted candles and inhaled the scents.  "Mmmmm," he'd say, "I like this."

About 1/4 of the way through the store, he was done though.  Let's go.  Let's go.  Are you done? faded away when he found the little toy display.

Then I bought him one of these:

It bought me some more time and distracted Mark from picking up dishes and wine glasses to show me.

We had lunch and went grocery shopping.  Mark was pleasant and chatty and convinced me to let him push the cart.  He said as long as he was pushing, I could drink his milkshake. How could I refuse?

So, our new life.

It's different.

It's nice.

I am lonely for my older two children.  I miss them.  I feel a little bewildered still.  But I know this:

Change always comes bearing gifts.

Price Pritchett

A Few Things

I've been known (just a little tiny bit, not so much that you'd even notice really) to complain about the dreary depressing soul-robbing gloomy dismal lovely grey weather around here.

Every once in awhile, on a winter day, the sun will shine!  Glory Glory Hallelujah!  It's the most wonderful thing in my world.

And then I see that my windows are dirty.

Really quite dirty.

And I don't mind the clouds so much.

 *********

What's more American than teenage boys getting together to challenge each other to drink a gallon of milk in an hour?

Their mothers letting them, I guess.

Let Freedom Ring!

I should mention that when the first boy started throwing up, Braeden was wise enough to stop drinking.  He only drank a little over 1/4 of a gallon.  He brought the jug home and put it back in the fridge. (milk is precious to that boy)  I said, "Did you drink out of that jug?"  Ew.  I am squeamish about that sort of thing (plus, how long exactly was it out of the fridge?).  I wrote his name with a Sharpie on the jug.  I don't want to drink germy milk.

*********

When I have not been contemplating my dirty windows or uncivilized son, my mind keeps revisiting Downton Abbey.  Curses on Masterpiece Theater!  They drew us in with the sumptuous costumes and the intriguing characters and beautiful house.  They drew us in with the unequaled Maggie Smith whose Dowager Countess makes me laugh every time she opens her mouth.  They drew us in then left us out in the cold with a cliff hanger ending (and they're not even starting to film the next season until March!  The humanity!) and a lot of questions.

1) How can those sisters be so awful to each other?

2) And that wicked lady's maid, O'Brien?   She's almost a sympathetic character but not.  Quite.  What will happen to her?

3) Will Mr. Bates get whatever trouble he has ironed out?

4) Will Matthew finally get smart and give Mary the boot once and for all?

I could go on. (And Adam and I have.  At length.  We started out talking about Downton Abbey and ended up talking about slavery and Palestinians and Angles and Saxons...)

Oh, but you're not obsessed with it?

Alright then.  I'll stop.  

Carry on.

That Which Was My Delight

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.  

~Kahlil Gibran

I didn't cry when Braeden left for school in the morning.

I didn't cry when it was the time we used to go pick Braeden up.

I didn't cry when school with Mark was over and there was no one else to teach.

I didn't cry when Mark and I had lunch and it was too quiet.

I didn't cry when Mark was sprawled on the floor during silent reading time and I was on the couch and Braeden wasn't on the green chair.

But, when Adam called and asked with a voice that told me he Understood, "How are you?" I cried.

I cried and cried.

Because I'm not OK.

I had no idea what I was getting into when Braeden started kindergarten and I bravely called myself a homeschooler.

first day of kindergarten

I was inexperienced enough to feel confident and unconquerable.  Things happened.  Mark was born and I floundered to keep it all together.  We moved a few times.  Emma joined in the school scene.  Then Mark.  We discovered Braeden had a learning disability.  I struggled and gnashed my teeth and sought comfort/free therapy/solace from Adam and my siblings and parents and friends.  It was Hard and wearying but I had a Purpose.  A Grand Purpose that in my mind was worth all the anguish and time and sacrifice.

And now?

What exactly is my Grand Purpose?  

I still have Mark (and it occurs to me that I could really mess him up psychologically by throwing my arms around his ankles and making him promise me he'll never leave me...I won't do it but I'm tempted).  There is still a large portion of my day that's taken by homeschooling but it is vastly less intense.  It feels calm and lovely (much how I always wished homeschool with three had felt) but the irony is, I miss the fierceness of those days because I was smack dab in the middle of my three children.

The best place to be.

I know I'll get used to it.  I am (more or less) accustomed to Emma's absence.  It feels a little different with Braeden though because I never so much taught Emma as tried to stay out of her way as she powered through her education with her perfectionist tendencies that make me marvel.  (She didn't get that from me!)

I'll get used to Braeden's absence.

And I think that's the hardest part of all.

post script:  two happy culminations for my day.  Braeden came home from school cheery and lighthearted.  He told me all about his new classes and new teachers.  All traces of his nervousness are gone.  Adam called me on his way home from work.  He said, "Can I take you out to dinner to celebrate the first day of the rest of your life?"  How can anyone be uncheered by an Adam?  We took the kids with us to celebrate.  Here's to new beginnings.

Books I Read In January

I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves. 

~Anna Quindlen

 

I read.  A lot.  For about eight years after becoming a mother I didn't read anything besides parenting books and the occasional magazine and I've been catching up ever since.  A half hour of silent reading time in the afternoon is a highly enforced institution around here.  I always have a book with me.  I read in bits and snatches whenever I can.  The problem with my reading is that I never remember what I've read.  I decided to record what I've read.  So then at least I'll know.


Saving CeeCee Honeycutt  by Beth Hoffman*

It was a nice story about strong women and friendship...good topics.  There was something missing though.  Some of the characters didn't seem quite right (not believable) and it was a little saccharin at times.  Still, it made me want to go to Savannah and live in a big old mansion.

The Unexpected Mrs. Polifax by Dorothy Gilman **

Very entertaining novel about a plucky lady who at 64 applied to work as a spy for the CIA.  Love plucky ladies.  Love using the word plucky.

Friends Like These by Sally Koslow**

Book about 4 friends living in New York City.  It was well written and an interesting look at a life very different than mine.  I am pretty sure I wouldn't want to be friends with most of them though.

Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor **

This is the true story of a brain scientist's stroke.  I love my book club because I read books I wouldn't otherwise read.  I am a world champion skimmer and I skimmed a lot of this book...when it was too technical or wordy.  I was fascinated by it though.  It was a positive and interesting book.  I have an irrational fear of having a stroke every time I get a bad head-ache.  (Me + my imagination = drama)  Maybe it was good I read this book for that reason.  Maybe it wasn't.

Can You Keep a Secret? by Sophie Kinsella *

I like some Sophie Kinsella books more than others (I loved Twenties Girl).  This one had not such great language that resulted in a lot of skimming and flinches from yours truly.  I probably should have just stopped reading it.

If You Believe by Kristin Hannah *

I like Kristin Hannah.  This book definitely had some scenes I skipped completely--pages and pages.  Yikes.  It was a good story, just a little (or a lot) more information than I needed.

The Piano Teacher by Janice Y. K. Lee *

The main characters in this story weren't very likable.  What I did find fascinating about this book is that it was set in Hong Kong during and following World War II.  I don't know much of anything about that part of the world so I learned new things.

Currently reading:


The Book of Mormon 

It is the one book I can reread over and over and the book I miss the most when I don't read it.


Queen Bees and Wannabees by Rosalind Wiseman

The subtitle is "Helping your daughter survive cliques, gossip, boyfriends and other realities of adolescence".  Knowledge is power right?  I hope so because this book...these realities...are a little scary.

Weather of the Pacific Northwest by Cliff Mass

Nothing like curling up with some info about air currents when queen bees and wannabees have you all nervous and shaky inside.


Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor

I picked this one up because I loved The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd.  I'm not very far but I like it.  Sue and her daughter Ann trade off writing chapters about their travels together.

It makes me want to travel.

I love to rate! 

* = it was OK
** = I liked it
*** = I loved it




On an unrelated note:  the very hardest part of homeschooling for me has been the letting go.  Today Braeden's at school all day.  I didn't sleep.  I tried to have a poker face before he left but that kid knows me.  We just didn't look each other in the eye.  If you come back tomorrow and I'm still blogging, you'll know I survived it.


I'm not making any promises.