Prom

Saturday was the prom.  Braeden went with a cozy and intimate little group of 9 couples. 

Adam helped him with the cuff links and button cover things (what are those called anyway?).

How on earth did my little baby boy get so big and grown up looking?

It must be more fun to be the girl's parents because then you can take pictures of the kids.  When you're the boy's mom, you just get his picture and sort of under duress.  (He was antsy to leave and I had to play the do-you-know-how-much-I-spent-on-that-tux-so-stand-there-and-let-me-take-a-picture card.)

It's impossible to get that boy to pose for a serious picture.

Sitting on the hearth there is "John Candy." It's Braeden's name for his Hawaiian shirt.  He is changing into it after the dance when they watch a movie.

Here's probably the best shot, catching him unawares:

And then there's the time Emma and I had to stand on chairs on either side of him to kiss his cheeks.

He was not as willing as he might have been:

One last pose with his mom before she lay on a new guilt trip and he was on his way.

Mother's Day

I could write about all the things my mother has done for me...the sacrifices, the meals, the rides, the wedding, the baby quilts, etc. etc. etc. (an infinity of etc.)

My tribute to her is this (in no particular order and not nearly a comprehensive list), some things she taught me:

--you will never regret time spent with your children

--when your kids screw up, it is not the end of the world, but make them think it is the end of the world (I've been applying this one repeatedly lately...)

--send them with more money than you think they'll need

--don't let anyone treat you like a second class citizen

--fill your house with books

--when in doubt, say a prayer

--it's better to be overdressed than underdressed

--serving someone else will make you feel better

--live up to your responsibilities

--dress modestly

--if anyone, including her own children, deny her children's abilities, they will be soundly dismissed as ridiculous

--read to your kids

--how to make bread

--how to clean a bathroom

--how to deliver a sizzling lecture to offspring when needed

--how to advocate for myself

--go to the temple

--the best decade for music is he 60s (don't argue with her on this one)

--any job worth doing is worth doing well

--do not sob, sop the mess


aaaaaand.....

--maybe just one pancake (sorry, I couldn't resist)


As for my own Mother's Day, here's my pride and joy (most days).  Adam took the pictures for a gift for me but they weren't printed the right size so they'll print them again.  These they "autographed" for me.  I like these kids.

A love note

Mark picked up the paper with a sniff of superiority.  Someone had sullied his desk, and we all know the boy likes his desk pristine (his room is quite a different matter, unfortunately).

"That's yours," I told Mark before he slid it into the recycling.

"It is?" he said wonderingly.

He read it and a slow smile spread over his face. "Why did she write this for me?" he said.

I shrugged.  "Because she loves you."

Then Mark's smile almost cracked his face in two.  Sisters can be pretty great.

It's a good thing I have self esteem

I bought a sun hat.  One of those big wide brimmed ones that look like you would wear to go bird watching.  It's for Girls' Camp.  I don't want to get sunburned and I have reached that age where practicality trumps fashion. (Maybe I've always been at that age?)

I modeled the hat for Emma.  "What do you think?"

She laughed.

I showed Braeden.  I said, "Your sister laughed at my hat."

He slung a comforting arm around my shoulder and said, "Well, I won't laugh."

Then he did.

The next morning I was sitting in a chair, with my laptop.  Mark came in the room and looked a little amused.  He walked over to me, leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Bad hair day?" he asked.

When errands get intimidating

After Braeden's Eagle Board of Review, we were told that the paperwork had to go to "National" and then when they sent it back, we could proceed with the court of honor.

We got the phone call.  The Eagle had landed.

I went to the scout office.  I was directed to follow a woman who was leading a procession up several flights of stairs to where all the district cubicles were.  She delivered us each to our appropriate district people.  As we wound our way through the catacombs, I thought, "How many scout troops are there around here?"

Then I realized.  Probably at least three for every church spire you see.  So a lot.

I got Braeden's certificate and then entered the scout store.

Cue scary music.

It is about ten times bigger than the one in Everett, which is the only other scout store I've ever been in.  I couldn't find anything or make sense of anything.  It might as well have been an auto parts store.  I tried to ask one of the militant employees.  (I don't know, put a scout uniform on a grown person and suddenly they take themselves really seriously.) I was told I had to wait in the serpentine line of people waiting at the register, then I could ask my question.

The scout store is one of those places like the post office or airport security.  The customer isn't right.  The employees are right.  You know it and they know it.

I laid my problem out to the store employee:  I'm clueless.  She started slapping things on the counter that I needed.  She peppered me with questions I didn't know the answer to.  She showed me what I needed to purchase for my Eagle and what was the most "popular" option of everything.  It was dizzying.  She directed me towards the additional gifts I could purchase for him for the occasion (I took a pass) and we breezed by the Eagle themed paper plates and napkins and cups and crepe paper decorations.  (Nah, I'm good.)

The woman in line ahead of me had also been in pursuit of things for her Eagle scout.  She was particularly interested in the Eagle themed picture frames but they seemingly didn't have anything ostentatious enough for her.  I don't even know how much money she spent but she was pretty much into the whole thing.

At one point she said, "Getting my son's Eagle scout award was harder than giving birth."

Having done both, I had one question for her (unasked because when have I ever struck up conversations with strangers?):

Just what kind of amazing drugs did you have when you gave birth?

When two of the mice are away...

...the cats take the other mouse to St. George.

(I'm not sure if that works as a title.)

Last weekend, Braeden and Emma flew to Seattle to make themselves homesick to see their friends and cousins and watch the musical at Glacier Peak High School.  Adam and I worried a bit that it would be a setback to them but we also knew they'd love going.

Sometimes it's hard to know.

So far, it seems OK.  Braeden was a little downcast about returning home but has rallied.

They had a great trip.  They loved seeing all their friends and like they both said, the most surprising thing about it was how easily they slid back into those friendships.  I'm happy for them, and grateful they could go.  Also, grateful to Geri for hosting them and simultaneously entertaining them and letting them have something of a free reign to be with friends.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Mark had to stay home with his parents who were too unenlightened to send him to Seattle too, although he wanted to go.  We headed to St. George, for a Girls' Camp scouting mission.  We took Adam's car to test out its road trip worthiness.  It passed with flying colors.  Mark raved about the leg room and said that was his "biggest concern" about Adam's choice of car.  It's always nice when we can put our extremely opinionated youngest child's mind to rest.  Mark is good company on a road trip.  He's willing to chat or not and as long as we keep him fed and watered, he's pleasant.

Mark had a strawberry milkshake with his dinner.  He said, "This is what it is going to be like when the kids are gone.  Strawberry shakes for days."

I love how he calls Braeden and Emma "the kids".  I love that he's planning ahead.  I'm glad we'll have milkshakes to console us.

We stayed in a hotel and enjoyed the hotel ritual we've employed on every road trip since we started taking them:  Adam takes the offspring to the pool and I stay in the room alone.  It's my favorite way to recharge my introvert batteries.

We woke up early the next morning (early-ish) and headed to Zion National Park.  I've been there several times before, but that place knocks my socks off.

On our hike, I realized Mark is entering that great teenage boy stage where he is no longer a little kid that needs to be coaxed or cajoled on a hike but is strong and swift and needs to wait for his doddering old parents.  I texted Braeden and Emma pictures of their brother, the ginger mountain goat.

After Zion National Park, we went to Pine Valley to check out where we'll be camping for Girls' Camp.

It is a lovely spot and smelled like the pine forest in Soarin' Over California, so there's that.  I think we will enjoy Girls' Camp and for me, who loves not camping, that speak volumes about how pretty these places are.

(Our original condo staying Girls' Camp has been nixed.  It's a situation of me shooting myself in the foot.)

Now we're all home.  We're ready to buckle down and regroup and prepare for the next Big Thing.  Because our month has a lot of Things, mostly Big ones.

Full joy

Women's conference was wonderful.  I loved every minute of it.  I am grateful for the extra burdens Adam shouldered so I could go.  I was glad to sleep in my own bed, but admittedly, it was kind of nice in the past too, when I was a few states away and couldn't worry about any home stuff...

The sessions I attended were one and all inspiring and encouraging and fed my soul.

And I loved hanging out with my people.

I loved chatting with my dear cousin Hannah between sessions.  I don't see her nearly enough.  (I also loved seeing Hannah and Olivia together.  They look alike and act alike and have been good friends since they were little, little girls.  They were college roommates and they are still sort of inseparable.)

I loved seeing my Aunt Olivia (Hannah's mom) and my cousin Britta and my cousins-in-law Ruth and Camille.  I hadn't seen any of them for a long while.

And then of course there were my sisters and sisters-in-law and my mom and Clarissa.  (We missed Jennifer!)  There is just something peaceful and reassuring about being with these women who are strong and capable and wise.

It's always been a happy fact of my life that I can find my family members in a crowd.  When I was a growing up, I could always find my dad.  All I had to do was look up--and look for his hat.  At Women's Conference, I was able to find Hannah at one point and Marianne the next day, using the same strategy.  Having tall relations has its perks.  But then being tall has its downside.  Here's Marianne and her long legs in the Marriott Center where the rows of seats are close together.

Legs for miles need an extra row in front.  Also, cute shoes, Marianne.

Tabor and his girls (who he was watching in Katie's absence) happened to be in town taking a horse to the vet.  He joined us for dinner.  When I got to the restaurant, I said, "I am meeting a group..."

The host said, "Cowboy hat?  Mustache?"

Yep, that's my group.

Somehow Olivia and Marianne and Tabor and I ended up on one end of the table and somehow when we're together we all revert to a time when we were all ten years old.  (There never was a time when we were ten years old at the same time, so we have to make up for lost ground.)

I told Tabor to smile and Olivia said that is his new smile and I said it couldn't be his new smile.

It isn't a smile.

When Olivia commented that she had more ice in her glass than she wanted, Tabor reached his hand inside her glass and pulled out several ice cubes and plunked them into his own glass, getting water everywhere.

And making me laugh way louder than I should have.  (See?  Ten years old.)

When Olivia went to the bathroom, Marianne surreptitiously slid Olivia's wallet onto her lap.  When Olivia came back, she immediately blamed Tabor.  Tabor, who hadn't seen Marianne, became immediately worried about the lost wallet.  Olivia wasn't worried because she was sure Tabor had taken it.  Marianne and I weren't worried because we knew it was on Marianne's lap.  And Tabor was worried enough for us all.  He kept trying to convince Olivia that he hadn't taken it and she needed to be more concerned and finally enlisted my mom to aid him in making Olivia do the responsible thing and get alarmed that her wallet was missing.

My mom was halfway down the table.  She looked down at us and wearily said, "I'll buy you dinner, Olivia."

It's not her first rodeo and she's not about to be upset by mundane things like a lost wallet or her children's shenanigans.

Finally the wallet slid off Marianne's lap onto the floor and when it was retrieved, Tabor was blamed all over again.

You've got to admit, he sort of deserves it though.  He's always been the pesky brother (and since he doesn't read my blog, I can confidently malign him here).

When the waitress brought the checks and our credit cards, she called out names.  Marianne, Olivia, no problem.  I wondered if she could pronounce Thelma.

Nope.

She said, "Thela?"

I raised my hand.  Because the m is silent.  Yes, that's a thing.

We all reconvened at our house and it was a lovely time catching up.  We took a three generation Olivia picture:

Before the picture Tabor asked me where our picture taking wall was.  I said we don't have one and he designated this one.  I think we need to keep looking though.  Lots of weird shadows.

Everyone needs three Olivias in their life.  They class the place up.

Tabor and girls stayed with us and after everyone else left, Tabor remarked how much he'd enjoyed visiting with our aunt Olivia.  He said, "Talking to her makes me want to be a better person."

I can't think of a better description for our aunt Olivia.  It's possibly why we keep reusing the name.