Christmas break (so far)

Friday was the first day of Christmas break for us.  It felt like the rest of the world had an earlier break, but we tried not to complain.  Ha.

Mark went to work with Adam.  His company is moving to a bigger office (hurray for prosperity!) and Adam was helping with the set up.  Adam is the kind of guy that will help with stuff like that.  He took Mark along because Mark is the kind of guy that is also good at stuff like that.

Mark got lunch and a new hat out of the deal.

I let Emma sleep until 11:45 because she had breathed threatening words to me if I woke her up before 10:00.  I don't spook too easily, but Emma can be scary.

Emma and I ran a quick errand and then went to lunch.  We came home and worked on the world's biggest crossword puzzle (maybe...at least the biggest one I've seen).

It was in a recent Sunday edition of the New York Times that Adam procured for me, because look at the size of that thing!  There are over 630 each of down and across clues.

Emma and I are like a well oiled crossword puzzle machine and we work well together except for when the clues are about sports or German words.  We just look at each other in despair.  How should we know?

Although I did impress Emma by knowing the Anaheim Ducks.

The four of us went to Nunsense in the evening.  It was a play about Catholic nuns (and one priest) recording a Christmas special on public access television.

It was as random as it sounds and I laughed a lot.

Emma's high school director directed the show and her choir teacher was in it (he was the priest).

I'll never look at Mr. Wilcock the same way, especially when he was filling in for one of the nuns, doing a cooking segment and got tipsy making the fruitcake by sampling too much rum.  It was something, I tell you.

Also, I felt really accomplished because at times they had the audience sing and I thought, "I'm being directed by Mr. Wilcock right now!"  Life goals.

We hadn't had dinner so we hit Applebee's for half price appetizers.  We ordered five and I expressed concern that it was too many but our waiter encouraged us and I forgot about the part where we had Mark.

We ate everything.

Saturday had all of the delightful Christmas Eve happenings.  I made cinnamon rolls while Adam and Emma went shopping (two last minute peas in a pod), then Adam and I did our traditional Christmas Eve shopping.  There is nothing about my early bird personality (I have all the Christmas gifts wrapped by Thanksgiving) that would suggest I enjoy shopping on Christmas Eve, but I love it!  Adam and I go to the outlet mall and it is pretty much empty and there are huge sales.

We watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and The Mormon Tabernacle Choir Carol of the Bells that I love.  It made me cry and also I cried a few times because I missed my missionary and then I cried some more when Adam did his traditional Christmas scripture reading.  I'm my own worst enemy because all the crying is really bad for my eyes and I got another infection.

If someone is going to be sick on Christmas, I'm glad it's just my eye.  Could be worse.  Has been worse (I'm looking at you, the several years we had the stomach flu).

For the first time ever, I woke up my children on Christmas morning.  (That never would have happened when Braeden was home!)  I would have let everyone sleep except we had church and snow removal.

We woke up to a white Christmas and Adam and Mark finally got to try out the new snow blower.

Santa Claus found us and we had an enjoyable time opening gifts.  When your love language is gifts, Christmas morning is pretty much paradise.

We went to church and then I had a lot of excess energy to burn while we waited for Braeden to call.  (I could have used the energy to clean up, but I pointed it in a crossword puzzle direction.)

Talking to Braeden was wonderful and sad.  A lot more wonderful than sad, but dang.  I miss him so much.  I loved seeing him laugh.  I loved seeing his face and expressions and hearing his voice inflection and mannerisms.  He is different in subtle ways but still my boy.  It was easier to hang up knowing that next year he will be here.  The highlight of the phone call for me was when we had a prayer together and Adam asked Braeden to say it.  It's been a while since I heard him pray.

I love him!  (You noticed?)  It's hard to love someone so much when they are far away, but as I told him, he is exactly where I want him to be.  Last year, that conviction was a little shaky, but now I'm sure.

That's the list I typed up with questions for him (don't judge me) as well as the box of Kleenex and my glasses which I took off because of crying.  Motherhood should come with a warning label.  Not for sissies.  

Tomorrow we are off to Seattle so I'll be away from blogging for a little while.  I miss you already.  

For some parting shots, here is a snowy Christmas evening for you:

A weary world rejoices

I've never met her but I like Shannan Martin's blog.

After Thanksgiving she wrote this and it keeps rolling around in my head:

When I was a kid growing up in the country, I remember my dad teaching us that the best way to carry something heavy is to carry something equally heavy in the other hand. From personal experience, this applies to buckets of water, oversized suitcases, grocery bags filled with cans of Spaghettios, concrete blocks, and dense emotions.

Decades later, I remain a distracted and forgetful student of balance. Gratitude and sorrow aren't, as I once believed, mutually exclusive. They actually pair quite well together, one in each hand. 

The older I get, the more aware I am of sorrow; my own, people's I love, people's I don't know.  There is sorrow in the world.  I have friends who are newly widowed or newly divorced.  I know people whose children are far away (and not just on missions) both figuratively and literally.  I know people who are lonely or estranged or afraid.

The world feels like a weary place sometimes.  When I was growing up, Christmas just held so much magic.  It was a time of celebrating with abandon.  It would always be happy.  It would always be joyful.  It would always be.

Now I know better.  Christmas hasn't been picture perfect from the start when a baby was born into a world where some people were out to get Him.

I love listening to Christmas music, especially Bing Crosby singing sentimental favorites.  Those songs remind me that they were sung during World War II when the world was uncertain.  When people were sad and grieving and separated.

I couldn't agree more, "gratitude and sorrow...pair quite well together, one in each hand."

Because of Christmas, because a Savior was born to redeem a fallen world, we have a reason for hope.  We have repentance and forgiveness.  Death is not the dismal end.  We have a reason to believe in joy and light.  Our brokenness can be mended.

Without the sorrow, the birth of Jesus Christ wouldn't mean nearly as much.

O Holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Merry Christmas!

Reset

Yesterday was a day of thwarted plans and traffic jams and long lines.  Then there was the orthodontist appointment and voice lesson taxiing.  The sky was overcast and gloomy.  And my eyes sort of ached all day.

Somewhere along my grumpy way, I remembered an email I'd read earlier in the week sent by one of my kids' friends.  He's a missionary and although he did come to our house a few times, I hardly know him really.  Emma is on his email list but I read his email too.

Because they make me happy.

He's just the most optimistic kid!  Surely his mission isn't such a riotous good time all day every day but that's the impression you get from his email.

He loves his life!

And I like reading about it.

I aspired to be more positive.  I got home from the marathon errand running and turned on all the Christmas lights and just decided:  today I'll be as happy as a bird with a french fry.

As if me deciding were all it took, Adam got home and said scouts was cancelled so he'd be home after all.

Then the UPS man delivered a box.  It was a little bear, sent from Stella.  When I posted about our other Skipper Bear, she emailed me and told me we were thinking along the same lines because she had already sent us a little black bear.  She suggested we look at the Appalachian Bear Rescue site for a name.

We haven't figured out a name for the new little one yet, but I am leaning toward Finnegan.  He is pictured here with big brother Skipper Bear.

It's just the kind of cuteness overload that can turn any sort of day around.

With a bang

A few days ago I was upstairs and I heard the garage door bang open and closed.  Then I heard the door between the garage and the mudroom bang.  Then the mudroom to the kitchen.  This series of bangs could mean only one thing.

Emma was home.

No one quite makes an entrance like she does.  She needed some things for an afternoon class and I wondered if she wanted some lunch.

Mark says one thing he misses about being home schooled is "lunch with Mom."  My lunch now is just a succession of weird snacks.  For example I offered Emma some sort of stale muffins from last Friday and I had a cheese stick.  I pulled out the leftover onion dip Adam made for a recent work party.  We had it with sweet potato chips.

The recipe is one of Janet's so we reminisced about fond Jorgensen memories.  We chatted about her day and I told her the report of Braeden's emails from the morning.

I let her crush up the remaining chip crumbs and mix it in with the last of the dip and eat it with a spoon.

We talked about her Christmas concert.

She looked at the time and grabbed her stuff and headed back out the door for school.

I love that the school is five minutes away.

Sometimes I look back on my blog and see some small and random memory that I would have forgotten if not for my blog.  Today I want to record so that I'll someday remember that cold December day when Emma unexpectedly came home for lunch and made my day ten times brighter.

I love having a daughter.

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....