Words Times Words

Snow

2012-01-23T10:47:00.000-08:00

It finally snowed.

Every prediction for show during past two weeks has fallen flat, blown away by dry sunny skies. I used to not want snow at all, preferring to fast forward my life from January 1 to May 1. But then last year I started snowshoeing and things changed for me. I have been waiting for two months for the snow to come. The anticipation was killing me. It finally came on Saturday, but I wonder if there is enough to get out the snow shoes.

For me, snow meant no smog, no icky recycled already breathed air. It meant invigoration and pine trees when Darren and I ventured up Provo Canyon. It meant I could shed all the guilt from not working out in a germ-invested gym where sweaty, hyper people are trying to lose weight that they will gain again next year. Adios crazy gym people, I thought. You're all going to get sick touching all those handlebars. You're going to wear yourselves out and be bored in a month. But I am going up to the mountains.

I'm such a snot. But before we got a little snow, I was seriously thinking that I was going to have to join the ranks of gym-going people, eat my own words, and hate every minute of it. Guilt to exercise nags whether you're going to the gym or the mountains. So I might as well just exercise.

Let more of the white stuff come so I don't have to do that. At least the gym people are getting healthy while I am sitting around waiting for a snowy day.

Civility

2012-01-16T16:35:00.000-08:00

If I wasn't a Mormon I think I'd be a Baptist. Just for the music. OK, and the passionate people. What it really comes down to is I want to have fun at church. Why don't Mormons sing? Myself included. If I was a Baptist I would go to church for one hour. I wouldn't have to skip Sunday School to go home for a Diet Coke!

I particularly like this song from the Calvary Baptist Church in Salt Lake City. On Martin Luther Kind Day I like to listen to this kind of music. In fact, one of my radio stations on Pandora is set to contemporary gospel music.

My family and I saw a great exhibit, This Light of Ours, at the new Leonardo Museum in Salt Lake City. We walked around looking at hundreds of pictures of the civil rights movement. The college-aged student and my high schooler were rapt with interest. My 13-year old and 10-year old were definitely not rapt, but showed a heartening amount of interest. I will take what I can get!

This exhibit is outstanding. The photographs are stunning. I loved listening to Pastor France Davis of the Calvary Baptist Church speak (on video) about the civil rights movement in Salt Lake City. What we learn in school is about the movement based primarily in the South. I learned that all states were influenced and involved in some way. It was fascinating to see it at the local level. Utah was intimately involved. Utah? Yes, Utah.

As some of you know, I have been spending some time in the public schools. One day I listened to a group of 8th graders talk about racism. They discussed how it is alive and well in the halls at their school. They talked about the assumptions they make about people because of their race or where they're from. One Asian boy said, "Yeah, everyone thinks I'm so smart because I'm Asian. But I'm just normal." Others spoke about how it is easy to make racial jokes. About how fun that is. And how the people who are the brunt of the jokes are often laughing as well. That is what this group of mostly white kids claimed.

"Dude, I don't mean to tell those jokes, but they just come out," one of them said.

I wanted to chime and say that adults are just as guilty of racial assumptions and sometimes actions, maybe even more. Adults would like to say we are not overtly racist, but many of us are passively racist. We don't engage in racist activities, but we do nothing to help stop racism. We rarely discuss it. We don't like to admit that it exists. But I didn't say anything because I was a visitor and I just wanted to listen.

I was impressed with these 8th graders. They were informed. They were aware of their tendencies to make judgments about people.

Here is a poem that we read in my multicultural education class. I will never forget it.

When I was born, I was black
When I grew up, I was black
When I go out in the sun, I am black.

But you,
When you were born you were pink
When you grow up you are white
When you are sick you are green
When you go in the sun, you are red
When you get a cold, you are blue
And when you die, you are purple.

And you call me colored.

--Anonymous

My Life in Laundry

2012-01-10T08:37:00.000-08:00

If there were an "L" word, laundry would be it.

Laundry has consumed my life since my daughter was born in 1991. I was hopeful when she moved out several years ago after 18 years of washing her clothes that my laundry "load" would be lightened. Perhaps there would only be 10 loads a week instead of 12. And sometimes I do feel like there is less laundry. But sometimes it means that I find her clothes around the house when she has spent time here and that I take care of them and try to get them back to her. Practically I should "wash" my hands of her clothing. She is 20 after all. Not much about being a Mom is practical, however. Sometimes I take her stuff to the dry cleaner's, too. Bad mommy.

And yes, one less person in the house should theoretically mean less laundry. For a while now I have been trying to figure out why that really isn't true. I think I have an idea. Even though one person moves out, the remaining children here go through growth spurts (ie 13 year old boy) and their clothes get bigger. Dumb? If two kids go up a size then that increases the amount of laundry, right? Enough to make up the loss of one less person? Maybe not. I am delusional as I sort sort wash wash dry dry fold fold and stare hopelessly at the basket earmarked solely for unmatched socks.

Babies and toddlers generate tons of laundry, but their clothes are the size of washcloths compared to my teenage son's sports jerseys.(And believe it or not, they smell better.) And now that my husband has taken up basketball, biking, hiking and canyoneering, I now have a new genre of laundry--"adventure clothes."

In my teenage years, I would go through my closet in the morning and throw tantrums that there was "nothing to wear." Then I would throw my discarded clothes on to the floor where they would end up in the wash. Today, my kids don't have meltdowns about clothes (thank the Lord), but they still throw perfectly clean clothes on the floor if they decide not to wear them. When I don't feel like smelling them to find out if they are clean (or just don't have the stomach for it) I just wash everything--everything.

Wash wash wash. Fold fold fold. Like a Chinese laundry.

"Have the kids do their own laundry," my husband advises. What that means is that they let it accumulate for two weeks (14 pairs of underwear equals 14 days of not doing laundry!) and then they dump a truckload of clothes on the laundry room floor when I am also doing laundry. They put in a load and then go off for a "day date" to Jump on It and return five hours later with more sweaty clothes. In the meantime I have done multiple yoga moves to get over the pile to the washing machine to keep it all going.

Wash wash wash. Fold fold fold.

If I discover that I am out of Downey (the staff of my laundry life and the only thing about laundry that doesn't completely defeat me) I may lose it for a while thinking that I have to use a crummy dryer sheet. Running out of Downy is like running out of Diet Coke or clean underwear, if you must know.

Don't get me going on the sock basket that never has a single match. It sits on the floor by the dryer with 100 screaming occupants shouting, "match me, match me!"

"It's time for family home evening, kids," I said one Monday night. "We're all going to match socks!" Fun fun fun, match match match. Lame lame lame.

Life in the Book Lane

2011-10-16T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today I turned 45 and I got all these books for my birthday. Actually there are a few more not on this stack. Best birthday ever! Now I just need hours and days and weeks and months to get through all of them. Barnes and Noble had a "buy two classics, get one free" deal going on, so we took advantage. They were not expensive to begin with. So happy day. As I an thinking of being a teacher someday, there are so many books and I haven't read, and I am just not feeling prepared! So many books, so little time. At least they make a great centerpiece.

Life in the School Lane

2011-10-03T16:33:00.000-07:00

Wow. My head hurts. It is not used to the information that is being crammed between is flabby, squishy walls. It is used to being filled with light, airy subjects like books, family, PTA and how to get out of making dinner and the second hour of church. Or whether to order the pork salad OR the burrito at Cafe Rio. Not things like common core, scaffolding a lesson, unpacking a standard, objectives, rubrics and accountability. Sheesh.

My brain is stretched beyond capacity. So when more data tries to find a spot it strains the walls and causes inflammation and discomfort that can otherwise be called a headache. In other words, I am having a medical reaction caused by a foreign ( and how!) intellectualism. Like a pebble in a shoe. A similar analogy is the class sizes in today's English classes. The brain is like a classroom that can't get bigger. Students have to adapt by sitting at tables instead of desks, and it is often uncomfortable.

Here is the conversation I have been having with my brain:

Brain: (with conviction) This stuff is hard to absorb. If nothing else, there's too much of it. Get rid of some of it. You are not sleeping, and when you don't sleep then I don't sleep, remember? You do remember those REM patterns that I HAVE to have to function? I cannot process all this!!

Me: (sheepishly) I know. I can't get rid of all this stuff. If I get rid of it, I will not pass this class. I will do all I can to sleep better so you can perform better.

Brain: (with resignation) OK, just this once I will try to stretch a bit more. But I can't make any promises. I get tired, too.

Me. (with gratitude) Thanks for trying as hard as you can. When we are through with this tough part you get to do some fun stuff like watch a movie (you like that, right?) stare off into space, look at pretty leaves and sleep more.

Then under my breath I say, " Until the next round of info comes barreling down the track."

Brain: Goody!

And so it goes.

A side note: Thirty five to forty kids in a class is standard not the exception. I kept hoping to see some smaller class sizes when I switched from high school to junior high last week, but no, they are packed in like sardines, too.

An observation: Some teachers measure the stacks of papers to grade by inches and feet. No kidding. But today a teacher from Orem High came to our class to teach us his technique for handling the paper shuffle and I will definitely adopt his method. There is hope.

This class ends in two weeks. I can't believe how fast and furious it has been.

Mama Goes Back to School Part 3

2011-09-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

Here is my report of my first day in high school.

Here are the words that represent my experience: acne, BO, zits, yelling across the room, flirting, hiding, reading, texting, blushing, laughing, kicking (desks) and tapping (pencils). Apparently the tapper thought he was in band class.

Many times I heard, "What are we supposed to do?"

And the most alarming: 39 kids in one class. 39 kids that don't really want to be there. English is one of those classes that you HAVE to take. So there is no choice. ALL of the 39 were there, just not really there. If they were there mentally, they were faking it.

There are not enough desks. Three students were sitting at a table in the corner. One had her flip flops off and was smacking gum loudly. Her "neighbor" was voraciously reading "The Hunger Games." At least she was reading. That's a good sign.

Here are words that I said during both classes of 39 students: stop touching each other, don't kick his desk, don't throw the gum wrapper, and SHHHHHHHH about a hundred times. I sounded like a deflating tire. Do you need a piece of paper. Maybe if you like her so much you should ask her to Homecoming. (This just resulted in more blushing and laughing.)

I walked around and stood by students who were talking and laughing. I got more exercise than I've had in a week. When I stood by them, they talked and laughed less, but only until I moved away.

One girl came in and just laid her head on her desk. She got out a piece of paper and wrote a bit, then stopped. Then she laid her head down again. You could tell she had "stuff" going on. She was one of the saddest girls I've ever seen.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to figure out these kids' "stuff." And if so, I hope I can help somehow.

Mama Goes Back to School--Part 2

2011-09-04T21:09:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm glad there is a Part 2 to this ridiculous undertaking. It almost ended in Part 1. But here I am back in the saddle after being bucked off the horse several times this week.

Yee-haw?

I almost quit my class Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday--really and truly Thursday. It was all just too much. I had sat in class for 20 hours. Twenty hours in the same class. I did homework for this class for probably 16 hours. Instead of asking my kids how much homework they had each afternoon, they asked me. "Mom, do you have a lot of homework?" I just looked at them sort of glassy-eyed. "Yeah, I said, see you in a couple of hours. Or maybe tomorrow morning. Have a nice life."

On Thursday I had hit a low point. My brain hurt, literally hurt. I think it probably hurt as much as a migraine, although I never have had one. But that was what I imagined it might feel like. I could tell it wasn't just a headache, it was a a message from my brain. The message said, "I am overloaded, my message box is full. Stop stretching me." I told it, "I know, I am sorry. Bear with me for one more day and then you can have three days off." It was kind. Thank you, brain.

That was just the physical part.There were also the emotions that gurgled and bubbled over like a Yellowstone Park hot pot multiple times during the week. The thing is, you can talk to your brain and reason with it about hanging in there. You can persuade it to let a little more information in. But you can't talk to your emotions and tell them to STOP IT, THAT THEY ARE RUINING YOUR LIFE! Well you can, but they don't listen. They do what they want. The are unpredictable and embarrassing. They are fickle. They make you look and feel older than you are, something I definitely didn't want in this class of 20 somethings.

And then there's the sleep issue that I can barely talk about sometimes. I hadn't slept well Wednesday night. My brain hurt, I kept getting teary. I was beyond tired. What was I going to do? Was this how I would feel for the next two years? Shoot me now, I thought.

"You'll get used to homework," my Mom told me. "You'll be able to do to do it faster in a while." "If you quit, I'll kick your butt," my sister told me. "You're going to be just fine," one of the professors told me. She had been a non-traditional student like me. She said I'd be able to find part time work and that I wouldn't have to work 10-hour days like full time teachers. That there were jobs out there. I began to smile a bit. This kept the tears from flowing. My brain stopped cramping so much. Bless you, Professor Rawlings. Bless you Mom and Lisa.

Friday at noon arrived. The sun came out a bit. I would have some time to pull it together.

Friday night I watched "Princess Bride" with Nathan. I totally related to Miracle Max when he said, "He's not dead, he's just mostly dead." Yup. That's how I feel. Then came Saturday with its mundane housecleaning and grocery shopping. We went to the Storytelling Festival and laughed and laughed and that made me feel better. Today was relaxing. Tomorrow is a free day. I am well again.

Tuesday I go to good old Orem High just down the street to spend three weeks with Mr. Johnson in his 10th grade English class. I will try not to let anyone know I am Sammie's Mom so as not to embarrass her. I may have the neighborhood kids down the street in my class. They already think I'm strange, so oh well. I am told I will do anything from teach the class to make copies. I do have to do at least one lesson while I am in his class.

I hope I like him and he likes me. I hope it is a good experience.

Baptism by fire.

Mama Goes Back to School--Part 1

2011-08-29T20:16:00.001-07:00

I sent my kids back to school last week. And then I went.

Back to school.

It’s been 21 years and I am back in the classroom hoping my brain still functions. Actually I am hoping my brain functions way better than when I was a student at the U of U all those years ago. It had better because there is a lot riding on it this time around.

I have been a little worried lately about the brain thing. I keep asking the same questions over and over and my kids keep answering me over and over. I don’t listen to their responses so I have to keep asking. Here is an example:

“Are we picking up Zack for the game?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Five minutes later: “Are we picking up Zack for the game?

“Yes!”

Five minutes later: “Are we . . . .”

“Yes!!!!!!!!”

This resulted in my son telling me I had Alzheimer’s. This only increased my anxiety about returning to school as a geriatric patient who wants to be a high school English teacher.

After forgetting the pressures of school for two decades, I have new respect for my own kids who work hard every day and excel beyond what I was capable of doing at their ages. How I ever produced such kids is beyond me.

I practically worship the ground my high school senior walks on because she is taking three AP classes, one of which is Statistics. I have a panic attack when I think about anything number-related (ex. I often have to pass the fifth grade math homework off to someone more competent in my family). So the fact that she can take this kind of a class shows her grit and intelligence. It also proves that she has a lot of her Dad in her as far as how her brain works. What a blessing for her.

She does her stats homework and she hasn’t pulled out one strand of her beautiful hair. She just does it.

Today was my first teaching certification class. I felt like my classmates were teenagers. I was old enough to be their Moms, and I told them so. I told them I had a daughter their ages. I hope I didn’t look or sound too matronly. I tried to dress a little bit fashionably, but sometimes when you’re 40-plus those efforts fall flat. My oldest daughter who counsels me in these matters has recently moved out. I got my hair done so there wasn’t a gray hair visible. After pulling myself together as best I could, all I could do was hope.

My class is four hours, five days a week plus homework. Brutal. Its main goal is to weed out people who really shouldn’t or can’t be teachers. Was I going to be one of them? This thought was almost unbearable during the first two hours. The last two hours I settled down a bit.

About mid-way through the class, one student raised her hand and said, “Does anyone else feel like they want to throw up?” This resulted in uproarious laughter.

When I walked out of the class at 11:50, my head was swimming with info and caffeine withdrawal. Sometimes there are major blessings right down the hill. Thank you, Wendy’s.

When I got home I did homework for two hours. An hour of it was spent trying to figure out how to print off a pdf document so the font was big enough to read without a magnifying class. This was a huge effort, and to my credit, I stuck with it until I figured it out. I didn’t wait for more tech-savvy people to come home to help. I did it.

That was a good first step—independence with tech things. No more, “How do you turn on the DVD player?" Life is changing.

Papers, journals, textbooks, annotating articles, (I had to ask my daughter what that was) teaching in the public schools, dressing professionally, resumes, etc. And the real nail biter--exams. This is what my life has become.

And yes to the brave student in class today. I do feel like I'm going to throw up. But you can only throw up for so long right?

To Sleepover or Not to Sleepover

2011-08-22T21:18:00.000-07:00

Teresa and me at our 20 year reunion in 2005

School starts tomorrow and the one thing that I will NOT miss is the question, "Can I sleepover at so and so's house?" ) Or, "Can so and so sleep over here?"

So and so is, of course, a most beloved and cherished person, without whom the world would cease to turn. Why have there been so many so and so's around this summer?

There seems to be three schools of thought on sleepovers: never under any circumstances, occasionally with close friends, and what the hell, they’re only kids once. This last school of thought seems to be what many parents thought in the 70s and 80s, and my friends and I took full advantage. Their parents thought the same thing. It’s a different world now.

Here’s what I have heard the hardliners say about sleepovers. Their stance is that nothing good can come of them. They don’t like the “sleepover hangover” in which kids are good for nothing the day after. They have heard “horror stories” of kids who have major issues later in life because of something that happened at a sleepover. A stake president said something once about the evils associated with them.

I tend to fall into the second category. I hate the hangovers, but I know of the potential fun and euphoria of a sleepover under the right circumstances. My parents, however, should have never let me have sleepovers when I was young because of my negative reaction to them.

On several occasions I was so homesick that I would call my Dad to come get me. Usually at about 3 am. I remember sneaking into my friend Kristen’s kitchen so that her parents wouldn’t hear, calling my father on her rotary phone (the noise, noise, noise!) and begging him in a whisper to come get me. I did this again with my other friend Kristin (must have been the name). On both occasions the Kristens’ parents were awakened to my utter embarrassment as we waited for my Dad to arrive. And I am sure the Kristens always wondered if I hated them all of the sudden or if I was just a wuss.

When I got older I had tons of sleepovers with positive outcomes, but there are some things I learned and saw that were maybe not so positive. These are for sure the things that the hardliners of today are warning against that we didn’t even think about then. Maybe that is why I am a damaged adult today!

Here are the highlights of my teenage sleepovers, which almost always involved my best friend Teresa. (see above photo.)

Once Teresa had a 50s birthday party where we put on American Grafitti and her Mom donned her 50s clothes and taught us the jitterbug.

Everyone brought tons of candy and pop and we gorged. Three girls ended up throwing up and having to go home, and that was a major downer for the rest of us. One by one they fell victim in the middle of the night like an Agatha Christie novel. After that, Teresa couldn’t have another sleepover for years it seemed.

Murder in the dark in Teresa’s woods was one of the best. There were hand-picked boys who were invited to play in the woods with us but then “left” at a certain time determined by Teresa’s parents. I remember Teresa not coming in the house for a long time after the deadline, and then all of us peppering her with questions about a certain boy (who she later married).

Truth or dare. The thrill of learning intimate stuff you wanted to know about your friends, but wishing you’d never confessed the stuff you did. “We swear that what we say tonight, will never leave this room” was the standard safety net to get you to tell, but later someone blabbed your secrets and you were busted. Never mind, you blabbed theirs, too.

There was the old standby ritual of putting a sleeping girls’ fingers into a glass of warm water to get her to pee in her sleeping bag. The perpetrators always claimed success, but the victim always ended up crying and hating the mean girls who did it. They were out of sorts for the rest of the night, understandably (especially if they really did pee in their sleeping bags).

Why did we have sleepovers with mean girls? So stupid.

Sometimes we slept on the trampoline and giggled so loud the neighbors complained. We told some hand-picked boys what we were doing, and they scared us to pieces and got us screaming in our jammies. The boys were banished by annoyed parents and we were threatened with having to go home.

I don’t know how our sleep-deprived parents stood it. Maybe that’s why many parents today are saying no. Some have come up with a great alternative that I have used as well: lateovers. Sleepovers are fraught with unknowns, but lateovers are safe. A kid is retrieved by his or her parents at around 11 pm. They have still had fun, but they will get their sleep and not get into trouble. Parents today are smarter than parents of my day! This works!

So I am torn. There is a closeness and a deepening of friendship that comes about at a sleepover with a best friend that often doesn’t happen other times. There are the amazing memories (both good and bad) that make for great stories then and later in life. There are life experiences that shape ideas about friends and fun. There is the feeling of doing something special with people you care about. It shouldn’t be something that happens often, but that happens with the right people at the right times.

Friends are the cherished people who won’t be around forever like families, and so it’s nice to take advantage when the time is ripe. When’s the last time you, as an adult, had a sleepover with your childhood best friend? Probably years ago, but I bet you still remember every vivid detail, and sometimes wish for those carefree summer nights

Mother Google

2011-08-04T08:20:00.000-07:00

Artwork by Mary Lee click to enlarge

I have been thinking about how Google is really too good to be true for lazy parents like me. Three times this week my kids have asked me some questions:

1. When did Disneyworld get started?

2. How many people live in the United States?

3. Do black bears attack people as much as grizzly bears?

I had sort of a rough idea of the answer to these questions, but like most, parents I don’t know for sure (and I know I can’t fake it). Sometimes I don’t even have the slightest idea (and they know it).

So instead of saying, “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” or “Go ask your father,” I took the slacker Mom way out. I just said, “I don’t know. Google it.”

And they jumped on the computer and Googled all the questions and found their answers and a whole lot more than I could have told them. Simple. Easy. Too easy.

Sometimes when I’m feeling even more "slackerish" I tell them to read Wikipedia when they want a bunch of information on a certain topic. I figure if I do it, so should they. This is the Age of Finding Out Things Fast. Wikipedia is oh so fast and informative and fills my mind with meaningless trivia that I promptly forget. It’s sadly more entertaining that going to the library even. Never thought I'd say that.

I should feel OK about this practice, but I just can’t shake the knawing feeling that this is a big Mom copout on my part, and not exactly how I should be interacting with my children—at least not very much.

Yes, Googling things is quick, convenient and makes it so I can continue reading my novel on the couch or flipping through aromatherapy catalogs, but. . . . . it also limits the valuable connections and discussions I could potentially have with my children.

My Dad used to answer my questions by pretending he knew everything about the topic at hand and then somehow morphing the conversation into his own loosely formed connections. It was entertaining but not necessarily informative. I appreciate him now, even though I suffered through his long-windedness back then. I might give anything just to have one more of those conversations.

To the brown bear/grizzly bear question my children asked this week, I could have responded: “Well, I think it might be grizzly bears because they are bigger and stronger and seem to be more aggressive. We have a book about different kinds of bears. Remember what we saw in that pamphlet we got in Yellowstone Park last week? It talked all about this. I will see if I can find it.” Then I would have to get up off the couch.

That would have been the "non-slackerish" way to answer the question. It would have required eye contact in which I could have ascertained the general physical condition of the child, like if he or he needed to take a shower or change his clothes or brush his teeth.

If I am sitting on the couch absorbed in an Eddie Bauer summer sale catalog, however, I have no way of knowing these things and other important things like why they need this information. Is there a report due tomorrow or have they made a bet with a friend? Or are they so fascinated by this information that it may open up a lifetime of inquisitiveness and study that could lead to a career as a park ranger or wildlife biologist?

These are good things that parents should know, and can find out fairly easily if they pay attention and get up off the couch--especially slacker Moms like me!

A Decade of Leah

2011-07-27T10:26:00.000-07:00

Leah at Huntington Beach in June

Leah with a Danish Santa in Copenhagen

My last child has reached the double-digits. This feels like a milestone to me and represents a new phase in my life and hers.

She was born at a crossroads in our family's life. We were getting ready to move to Copenhagen, Denmark for a semester when she arrived. She was born on July 30, 2001, and we boarded the plane on September 3. She was still a newborn with blotchy skin who needed to be nursed every two hours.

I remember being crammed on the plane in the very back with my back aching and my legs cramping for 10 hours. I was excited to go to a country where my ancestors had come from and where my grandfather had served as a mission president during WW II.

But I was terrified of how we'd get along with four kids in a foreign country, one who was a newborn.

Leah was a beautiful baby and turned out to be much easier than a three year old or a seven year old or even a 10 year old because she could be transported easily in a pram and obviously didn't need to walk for long distances. She didn't require home schooling or entertaining.

We were a spectacle--a family of four kids--hopping on buses and trains and taxis. When 9-11 happened and we went to the American Embassy in Copenhagen to pay our respects, I wondered what kind of world Leah would grow up in. Would there be more terrorist attacks and would her life be altered because of it? Though there was nothing I could do to prevent it, I didn't like the idea that all her life she would know she'd was born six weeks before 9-11.

She was a bright spot in a world that seemed condemned to darkness. Those thoughts came to me repeatedly as I ate Danish chocolate at 3 am while trying to get her back to sleep.

Now she is an inquisitive 10-year old who loves people and worries about her family and friends. She loves to do art projects and paint and swim and play with friends. She is a joy to me and a good student and a beautiful girl.

Happy 10th birthday Leah! I love you!

Mother Gothel Meets Huck Finn

2011-07-25T19:48:00.000-07:00

what I want this summer!
Artwork by Mary Lee
www.avoidancebehaviorworks.blogspot.com

I have a skewed misconception that summer brings with it much sought after time to nurture flowers, complete long-put-off tasks and focus on all the slackers in the house (mostly me). The dreams of endlessly reading, going to the pool, watching stars, taking idyllic picnics and bike rides have somewhat been realized over the past month, but not as much as I’d hoped.

You’d think I’d know that by now. Reality always comes crashing down about July.

Every Mom I know goes into summer armed with new goals for the kids. By the second week of fighting them I have decided what I want them to do isn’t nearly as important as not hearing them complain. The chore charts and reading charts and pick up the poop charts are written on the white board but ignored. Heaven help the person who tries to walk into the back yard to mow the lawn.

I think all kids grow up thinking that they have more chores than their siblings and that their moms do this on purpose to torment them. NOT FAIR are the two most spoken words in our house.

And I cannot believe that my kids think they need me to make them lunch every day!

Yesterday I turned into “Mother Gothel” from Tangled—the evil Mom who grabs Rapunzel around the arm and hisses, “Don’t ever ask to do that again!” I was violent and I hissed, just like her. Yup. That’s me. Mother Gothel. Also this week my daughter turned into Rapunzel and said, “Mother! Or should I even call you that!” They don’t like me much this summer.

This is what my kids have been doing this summer to “enrich” their minds.

My 13-year old went to an all you can eat pizza place and ate 13 pieces of pizza. His father and I are so proud. Hall of fame for this boy. We’re just grateful he didn’t throw up like the other kids did. He can’t remember to shower and then argues about if he smells or not. He thinks he can spend all day at Seven Peaks without any food or any money to buy a $7 plate of nachos.

My 17-year old daughter tried to fry and egg on the cement. Apparently it wasn’t hot enough. Thus the blob of yolk in the driveway. “We cleaned it up—promise,” she insisted. She has also spent all her income on concerts and Summer Sno (she’s almost bought enough to get a free one—her father and I are so proud) When it’s time to pay for some toiletries or movies she is flat broke.

My 10-year old is literally devastated if she can’t find a friend to play with. Keeping her happy and entertained is often expensive and wearisome and requires me to actually play or cook or do crafts.

I am reading Huckleberry Finn and loving Huck’s descriptions of floating down the Mississippi with Jim at night staring at the stars and listening to the night. I often wish for my own quiet leisure where there is time to think. I actually feel rested as the river images come to life for me.

I like this part the most. Huck says, “Sometimes we’d have the whole river all to ourselves for the longest time . . .It’s lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky, up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made, or only just happened—Jim he allowed they happened.”

“We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and see them streak down. Jim allowed they’d got spoiled and was hove out of the nest.”

This week I will watch stars and float around a bit and try to keep Mother Gothel at bay.

What I've Been Doing

2011-02-22T12:42:00.000-08:00

I haven't vanished into winter oblivion. I've been posting at the Daily Herald's Utah Mom Click.

I've found a great illustrator for my posts. My friend Mary Lee, who used to live down the street, is the artist/cartoonist/illustrator. She just happens to be the most creative person I know. I consider myself to be very lucky indeed.

Check out her fabulous cartoons on parenting and family life. I can so relate to all of this, and I am sure many of you can as well.

avoidancebehaviorworks

Here are some of my recent posts.

Elk Antlers?

Courageous Parenting

The Dangerous Descent into Driving

Teenagers and Toilet Paper

Ode to my Teenage Son

Bands, Brackets and Braces

Duh! Can't you Speak Teenager?

Teenage Speak: Understanding their Words

Why are you Wearing that?

Why are you Wearing that in Public?
I hope you can relate to some of these!

Kitty Mama

2011-01-18T19:22:00.000-08:00

It's January 18 and I feel like I've been assaulted a bit as a parent, and that America's education system has been similarly raked over the coals, perhaps justifiably.

Last week I went to hear Condoleeza Rice speak at the BYU Marriott Ceneter. I had no idea how much I would like her, and how what she said would speak to me in unexpected ways. I felt uplited to achieve more in my personal life, but also that my hands were tied as a parent concerning my ability to help my children become better educated.

Ms.Rice, who I believe was undoubtedly the best thing to happen to the George W. Bush administration, was stern in her reprimands of the status quo. She said, "The number one threat to national security in America today is the disastrous state of our K-12 system." We are not competitive, she says. Not remotely competitive. Ouch. We all agree that she's right.

How do we become more competitive? She offers several ways, but it seems like my kids will be middle-aged by the time her suggestions can take hold. And then America will be a tortoise, left in the dust by the smarter, faster hares in Asia. But she made me want to do something, to at least try. What exactly I don't know.

In the meantime, there is Amy Chau, the author of "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mama," who is all over the news right now. She makes me proud that I am the wussy tortoise and she is the ruthless hare. I am a kitty Mama, and proud as a peacock about it.

She is a woman who I could not spend five minutes with. She lambasts American parenting, insisting we are coddling our children because we let them have the pleasures of childhood. We don't drill them into the ground with academics and music. Never mind that her own children nervously vomit when they worry they can't live up to her abusive standards. Never mind that Asia's young women between the ages of 15-24 have an astonishingly high suicide rate due to unrelenting pressure.

Her parenting methods work, she claims. She says this is a traditional approach to parenting in China. I doubt many Chinese parents would have the energy, grit or heart (or lack of) to parent their children with such lack of compassion and harshness. It's just too exhausting and emotionally draining. I just think she likes the publicity she's getting for being the "Tiger Mama" and the $800,000 advance she got to write the book. (That part makes be a bit envious, I must admit.)

This Kitty Mama is sickened that she's getting rich writing a book that has a message that is so at odds with the human value that espouses freedom to become anyone you want to become. Amy Chao has forced her children to become what she wants. How will her children every learn to make a decision on their own?

So she makes me want to sit on my butt and watch my kids tiptoe through the tulips, read a little, have a sleepover, watch a movie, go out to lunch, hang out in their pajamas, all the things she says we wimpy American parents do. Hey guys, eat a cheeseburger while you're watching TV!

And I want to punch her in the face and tell her that a person who is truly intelligent is the person who has emotional intelligence. Because if you can't get along with people, you will never find success in life no matter how well you play the piano or what college you graduated from.

I agree with David Brooks of the New York Times. He says that Amy Chau's the wimp, not American parents, because she isn't making her children do the truly hard things like discern the emotional cues of their peers or play on a team or work in groups to figure things out. They don't have to get along with anyone.

Those are the skills that "competitive" people have. I will think about this when I help my daughter with her 10 math problems that she had for homework last night. I will think of this when I ask my son if he has any homework and he says, "No."

Meow.

Top Ten for 2010

2011-01-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

I am glad 2010 is over. It has brought many blessings and new and exciting things. But it has also been personally draining and exhausting. I am a goal setter, but not a goal achiever, and this is problematic in a culture that values putting off the natural woman and striving for perfection.

If you are wondering why Michael Jackson is staring at you, skip down to number 10, but y'all come back ya hear?

Here are some happy things about 2010. Yeah, Michael is one of them.

1. The best thing about 2010 was that my daughter had a year of healing, physically and mentally, and she is on her way. We didn't know what to expect. We were terrified as much as any two parents could possibly be, but she is remarkable in the progress she has made and her determination to beat her illnesses. I admire her ability to pick herself up every day and work toward getting better.

2. My brother in law Mike is alive and well. He walks with a crutch and his legs don't work like he would like them to. But he is a medical miracle. He is back at work. He survived a burst illiac artery in June which most people do not. We can't imagine life without his tension-relieving sense of humor and generous nature. It's a good thing that I didn't have to pray at our Christmas family dinner, because I would have been reduced to a pile of mashed potatoes when I think of the blessing of his life, and how we almost lost him.

3. My Mom survived breast cancer and Darren's Mom has recovered from her debilitating auto immune disease. I can't even say what it was because the words are so long. I have high hopes that my Mom's back surgery will be successful later this month, and that her health will be restored. Good luck Mom!

4.Being PTA president has been surprisngly pleasant and enjoyable. It has been rewarding and self-esteem boosting. I feel like I have done well, and can say that I have achieved the goal of doing my best for our school. I am proud of the work that I have done, and actually have some goals in this area that are achievable in the months to come. Wow, achievable goals, who would have thought?

5. Our puppy Theo brings joy and more joy even though he poops a lot and chews things up. He is adorable and fast as snot and we all love him except one person in our family. And that's OK because he has five other people who can't imagine life without him. He is a trail runner and a mountain climber (even a moose chaser) and that makes Darren happy. Darren frequently says what a cool dog he is. This is way more than I had hoped for when we got a dog. Darren was less than enthusiastic, but now we finally have somone in the family who can keep up with my ultra-fit, super outdoorsy husband.

6. Speaking of outdoorsy, I have taken up snow shoeing with Darren and I love it and am starting not to hate winter with the same vitriolic passion that I used to. We have couple unit time and I get to breathe fresh air and exercise while enjoying our beautiful surroundings. And it is so cheap and accessible and easy. One can't fail at snow-shoeing. There is virtually no skill required, (why else would I be able to do it) except it is sometimes hard to get those tennis racquets all buckled up!

7. My shoulder is healed. I can move it almost 100% and this makes me so grateful and happy. I can do anything I want to do without worry or concern, and I am attempting to do just that. It does not pop out of the socket anymore and I truly hope that I will never have to endure seven shoulder dislocations again. The surgery was a great success.

8. Zumba class is a riot and so fun and such good exercise. What an amazing discovery for me. I did it all through the summer and less in the fall, but I resolve (how I despise that word because it is most uncharitable) to keep it up this winter. The music and the energy are fantastic.

9.My kids are healthy and happy (at least it seems that way, one never really knows) and they seem to be growing up to be intelligent, kind, good people despite their mother's erratic behavior. Hooray!

10. And last but not least, my Michael Jackson Wii game (bonus white glove included) that I got for Christmas is "SICK" (to use teenage phraseology). I am thrilled and surprised that I am not a complete washed-out has-been and that I actually have some moves. I beat everyone in the family, probably because I was very "impressionable" when Michael's music was at the height of mania. It swept over me, seeped into my blood and stayed around until Michael was no longer recognizable.

I lived for "stomps" at school when I could rock out to "BAD" and "BEAT IT." And I will never forget when a crowd of my friends gathered in the fall of 1983 in the dark to watch MTV's new video "THRILLER." I secretly wondered how a white 17-year old Mormon girl from Salt Lake City could have Michael's baby someday. That was before he got all gross and freaky! Whoops, not a secret anymore!

Happy New Year!

A 70s Christmas-Da Do Run Run

2010-12-26T12:39:00.000-08:00

It was a 70s Christmas for me this year in 2010. I took a trip down memory lane as I went through my stocking. I had thrown a tiny tube of Strawberry Bonne Bell lip smacker (you mothers know that sometimes you have to add a bit to your own stocking) and I was back in the past. Right then and there, while wrapping paper fluttered around me, I smothered that lip gloss all over my mouth so I looked like a three-year old who just got into her big sister's "private stuff."

Smells bring back the strongest memories sometimes, and this smell took me to the Christmas when I got a GIANT tube of Bonne Bell lip smacker in my stocking with a Barry Manilow tape and of course the token orange. I was 13 then, but now I was back in time crooning, "Looks Like we Made It" by Barry Manilow, Shaun Cassidy's "Da Do Run Run Run,"and the Bee Gees's "Stayin' Alive."

I was back in disco class with my best friend Teresa at Cottonwood Elementary in Salt Lake City. The strobe lights were turning on the lunch room ceiling and I had on my bell bottoms. My back pocket was stuffed with that GIANT tube of Bonne Bell and an enormous Goody Comb so I could comb back my feathered hair. A cursive "E" hung from my neck. I had bought it at "Grand Central."

The Bee Gees were the living end, but Andy Gibb was the cutest, we all agreed. And there was no denying how we all felt when John Travolta had on those white pants."Well you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man, no time to talk," I grooved. My braces were not the little "brackets" that they call braces today, they were BANDS, and they literally took up my entire mouth for a year and a half. I am sure they sparkled with the disco ball.

In 2010 in my own living room this 44-year old woman was remembering slobbering all over the cover of Shaun Cassidy's album, remembering how my Dad said his music was "asinine." And of course in the privacy of my own room I was weeping silently, "Oh Mandy, how you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away, Oh Mandy, well you kissed me and stopped me from shaking AND I NEED YOU!" I played that song over and over and wondered if I could ever love anyone as much as Barry obviously loved Mandy, but more importanly would anyone ever love me like that?? I wanted to meet Mandy, this intensely loveable woman and get some tips from her. Sigh.

Back to the present. When we went to my sister in law's later on Christmas day, I said to her, "Look what I got!" I pulled the tube of lip smacker from my pocket and said, "Smell this." She smelled it and got this Oh, is there anything else in this life but this smell look on her face and then said quietly, "Can I put some on?" I nodded, thrilled to find another 70s chick who could appreciate my euphoria. It was just like junior high when your friend asked to share and you said yes, and your Mom said, "Don't share lip gloss!" and you told her that you only shared with Teresa, and she rolled her eyes. Such bad girls.

"The watermelon was amazing too!" we agreed. Next year, I'll take another trip with watermelon.

Winter Pants

2010-12-18T00:48:00.000-08:00

An entire season has passed since I blogged last. It's gone from late summer to early winter in a flash. It's gone from the pool, to raking leaves, to carving pumpkins, to stuffing ourselves at Thanksgiving, to stuffing ourselves because it's December. Wow, how easy it is to measure the changing seasons by what you're eating and how your pants fit.

Morning Closet Ritual: Oh, it looks like I'm back in my winter pants. I wish I was still in my summer pants. Much bad lanugage. The only thing to do is put a sock in my mouth and scream bloody murder at the injustice of it all. Curse all the bakers and chocolate makers of the world! Especially those devils in Switzerland, the Linderball (sp?) makers. How dare they think they can control me! I'll show them. Then I spit the sock into the clothes hamper and walk out into broad daylight to face the world.

Ahem.

I did blog a bit on my PTA blog www.cascadepta.blogspot.com, lest any of you might think I had just become lazy. You could just click on it and then I could get my visitors up to 10 or so. That would be a nice thing to do for me since I am so sad about my winter pants.

But it looks like I might be clicking away again soon. It's not because my PTA blog has taken off and fulfilled its intended function--to provide an educational forum for parents--no not at all. Ha! I don't think there's a blog out there that has been more ignored by its intended audience than that one. I think my Mom read it once. Thanks Mom! I can always count on her!

I am going to be a part of "Mom Click," a weekly blogging section about parenting in the Provo Daily Herald. I will be writing about being a mother of teenagers, something I know nothing about but should after all this time. I seem to become worse at it the longer I do it. So if the Daily Herald is hoping for tips or words of wisdom, they have asked the wrong mama. I am struggling with basic communication skills with my teenagers, and I thought I learned to talk a long time ago, like about 43 years ago. Apparently not.

I will "discuss" this on Monday in the first issue of "Mom Click." It promises to be most educational. I don't have the link to that exciting section yet, but it will be forthcoming.

P.S. Goal for this week: Go in and out of the closet quickly. Avoid lingering there.

The Summer of Cherry Coke Slurpees

2010-08-15T22:58:00.000-07:00

Cousins--Lisa and Mike's kids and my kids (minus Adrie) at Hebgen Lake, Montana in July.

Every summer goes by quickly, that goes without saying. Almost every kid will attest to that. To someone who loves the summer with a passion, it's hard to see my favorite season pass by without being anxious and irritated. But this year it went by especially fast for me, perhaps because of what was looming with a big grin at the finish line--a big P a big T and a big A, in that order. But as that zoomed glaringly into focus, some other things happened along the way.

My brother in law Mike is alive and well. It is a miracle that he lives and breathes. Anyone who knows anything about medicine tells him that. The chances of surviving a burst illiac artery are slim at best. He has extensive nerve damage in his right leg and no feeling from the hip to the ankle. We are so thrilled that he's alive that the fact that he walks with a walker or crutches is almost of no consequence. He craves cherry coke slurpees and shows all who come to visit the massive scar that railroads down his chest three to four inches wide.

It is a miracle to us that he can drink cherry coke slurpees considering that everything in his abdominal cavity was basically shut down for four weeks. My sister Lisa, who once rolled her eyes at the slurpee habit, will now let him consume whatever his heart desires. He is 30 pounds thinner and weak. A lot of regular food is hard to digest. But not the slurpees. Seven Eleven is about two minutes down the road, good news for all those making multiple trips for him.

The kidney that doctors thought would be damaged beyond repair is functioning optimally.

Best of all is his sense of humor. It has always been legendary, and I wondered if he might be different when he got home after 5 weeks in the hospital. I wondered if we would all still be laughing. I wasn't disappointed when I first talked to him and was almost immediately laughing--just like always. His sense of humor remains smooth and unblemished, as if he hadn't been anywhere near death's door and back.

Physical therapy is life's work right now. His doctors say he can never move another piece of furniture in his life. Mike actually thanked the doctor for this piece of news, since he has been on more elder's quorum moves than he likes to remember. That means he and his family will stay put as well, which makes us all happy.

So Mike--son, brother, brother in law, husband, dad, uncle, and friend to many, is working each day to get his life back to a state of normalcy.

Once you've nearly died, though, normal is never what it once was.

The Silk Strand of Life

2010-06-29T17:59:00.000-07:00

Lisa and Mike 2009

So, "so much has happened since the last time I wrote!!!!!!!" That is how I began every entry of my journal as a teenager. And then I would drivel on about this boy or that, who was my true friend or not, how I could possibly survive my life during adolescence without so and so, and the lameness of every person in my household. "I just can't deal with it anymore!!! See ya soon!!!!!!"

Lord help anyone associated with me during that time. And then just recently, I blathered on to a friend about how I just couldn't keep my plants alive, how I seemed to be spending the summer in the car, how there just wasn't time to do what I wanted to do. She agreed, oh, she agreed. Blather blather blather. The injustice of womanhood, how it eats away at our very souls. How it disrespects our true needs!

And then real life came last week and smacked me across the head and humbled me to my knees, no, to my very belly.

Life is so real. Life is fragile. Life is tenuous. Life is a thread, a beam, a silk strand, the wind's whisper.

There is no way to describe my sister Lisa's anguish when she heard the words, "I'm not sure there's much else we can do for him," from the doctor's mouth. Or her horror when he said, "You'd better call the family," and "Come back now and see him." Or the flicker of hope in her eyes when he added, almost as an afterthought, "We may be able to do another angiogram to locate the bleeding." That was the only lifeline he gave her, this doctor, who has sworn above all to preserve,sustain and heal human life. We clung to it.

An unexplained rupture of the illiac artery had flooded my brother in law Mike's abdomen with blood and was drowning out his other organs. By the time he was stable 101 units of blood had been transfused into his body, replacing his own blood supply many times over.

"We've never seen a burst artery without some sort of trauma or accident," one doctor said. "Touch and go," said another.

There was the arrival of family, his 16-year old son, who was allowed back to see his dad as he was prepped for the "last ditch procedure." The aging parents who were dumbfounded by the news of their youngest son. A beloved brother, whose vow to give up cigarettes was put on hold indefinitely during his harried drive to the hospital. The 13-year old daughter and 8-year old son, who were not allowed back to see their dad, but cried in the family waiting room, their idyllic summer morning suddenly upended by catastrophe. Another brother saying on the phone, "I knew I should have stayed home, I just had this feeling . . ."

I stood in the hall and called and called everyone who loved Mike and Lisa and who needed to come. My own mother stood with me, walking from me to the room to Lisa and back to me. "I can't stand this!" she whispered. Thank heavens for contact lists on cell phones. Really, how did people used to do this? I watched Lisa talk to Mike, telling him to hold on, being so strong.

And then waiting, praying, and waiting some more until another doctor came in and sat down in the "consultation room." Ten pairs of eyes bored into him, gauging his facial expressions, his body language before he spoke, trying to decipher the outcome.

"He is stable," he said. "He is stable." Three beautiful words. "Not out of the woods yet," he continued, "but headed in the right direction." Not so beautiful, but still hopeful.

A week later he is still stable, in a semi-conscious state. His abdomen has still not been stitched closed because his organs are still too swollen. They were able to save his right kidney. He has had two operations since to remove clotted blood and check organs and another one will happen later this week. The tube down his throat can't be removed until he is less sedated. He fidgets with it and tries to spit it out. But when they reduce sedation his pain levels go way up. They are searching for the right balance. He has bags of antibiotics and nutrition flowing into him continuously.

If I know him, when he wakes up fully, he will want a Dr. Pepper.

Meanwhile Lisa holds his hand for most of the day and tells him funny things the kids said or who came to see him. His eyes flicker open in understanding and awareness but then close again as too much awareness of what he's been through could impede his healing.

And as for the 100's of us who love him, not healing is unacceptable.

Get well Mike.

A Most Perfect Weekend

2010-04-29T20:05:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a girls weekend with my long-time friend Danell. I consider myself sane again after this much-needed trip. In other words I feel I can live life again without feeling the need to check myself in somewhere where there are no sharp objects. This is good news for everyone associated with me in any way.

I flew into LA on Friday. Danell picked me up with 1940s sattelite music playing on the radio. Cheerful, happy, playful. The SUN was shining and it was 70 degrees. There were palm trees. There were no clouds, or precipitation of any sort anywhere! I was giddy! For any of you who live in Utah or who have been in Utah recently, you will know why this weather was like manna from heaven. And why I was delirously giddy.

We spent the day getting pampered at cheap places in China town, and eating amazing Italian food that wasn't in China town. Hey, how does an hour foot massage sound, followed by an hour table massage followed by am hour facial? Yes, you are turning a lovely shade of green, the same color as the mask that Wendy put on my face.

Saturday: Farmer's Market, The Grove, shopping, lunch, the BEACH. Waves and sand and sun and waves and sun and sand and warmth. Warmth I haven't felt for a long time. Glorious and restful and peaceful and better than any precription for anti-depressants that I've ever had.

Why do I live in Utah. Why? I am so much happier here.

And then a seagull pooped on my shoulder and I was back to reality. And that reality was is that even at the beach you can get pooped on. Nothing is as good as it seems. But it was still pretty amazing.

Sunday: the Getty. Glorious gardens, and more 70 degree sun without wind and clouds. A Leonardo da Vinci exhibit that showed his intricate drawings that classify him as an inspired genius. Icing on the cake.

Hours and hours on conversation with Danell, someone who knows me well. We made some plans for self-improvement and vowed to check up and check in with each other. The beautitful thing about this is that I believe I will follow through this time. I haven't been able to say that for a long time. She was just what I needed when I needed it most.

Thanks Danell for navigating me around LA for three days, for the cheerful music, for all the healthy, flavorful food, for the fashion tips, but most of all for the great advice and true friendship.

That said, If I see one more snowflake I think I will permanently lose it. Even if it gets cold again in Utah (today is looking fairly promising) I refuse to wear my winter shoes. I will tool around in sandals pretending it's spring, my little toesies freezing. They are painted a bring spring green which Darren calls garrish, and I call hopeful.

Hope is in the air.

Pleasures and Perils of Life with Puppy

2010-04-18T20:57:00.000-07:00

So our little puppy came home a couple of weeks ago. He is a lot of work and fun, just like all good things, I suppose. I won't beat around the bush, I'm crazy in love with him! His name is Theo Mark Garff Hawkins, and he puts a smile on my face. It is hilarious to watch him try to eat worms, attack plants, rip bark off a tree, or watch with rapt curiosity as a robin hops across the yard. The best of all is watching him play chase and ball with Nathan, kind of like a little brother would.

He falls asleep in the silliest places, almost on his feet sometimes. He wears himself out and then just collapses wherever he is. He gets upset when he's too excited and overstimulated, but by far his biggest problem is his nippiness. He thinks humanflesh is fantastic to sink his little teeth into despite his many bite toys that are supposed to "distract" him. He goes insane over his "good behavior" treats, kind of like a cat with cat nip. We have not been up at night with him much, and that was my greatest fear. He stays in his crate and sleeps all night.

Leah is like a little mother to him, fussing and fretting about him and letting thoughts of his welfare and whereabouts occupy her for hours on end. This is a good thing. Darren seems amused with his silliness, and is even admitting that he is "pretty darn cute." (see photo)

My goal to preserve the carpet has almost been met, despite a few accidents and mishaps. When spraying the cleaner to clean up the messes, Theo attacks the spray bottle and wrestles it to the ground like a bird after the kill.

All in all, we're well on our way to understanding the "man's best friend" adage, and books like "Old Yeller" and "All Creatures Great and Small" now have more meaning than ever.

Amazing how something so small can be so big, cliche and all.

I'm Just Getting in Deeper--March Madness

2010-03-26T05:46:00.000-07:00

And they called it puppy love . . .

Let's add a new puppy to the mix. Let's see if I can push myself to my very limits, and do the most irrational thing imaginable within the course of two short weeks. Let's consent to be PTA president and let's put money down on a purebred English Springer Spaniel pup. Why not? It's March Madness. I seem to have come down with a full-blown case of it.

I hate to think what next week might bring--tattoos, a mid-life crisis, adopting a baby from Haiti, selling my house, selling my kids and husband, going to work at Claire's at the mall cause all the earrings are so pretty, actually sending a manuscript somewhere. Who knows what I can achieve? Some one please knock me out for a week before I do any more damage. At least March will be over by then.

Oh, that little boy puppy has won our hearts. Talk about love at first sight. We are buying puppy things, reading puppy books and fixing the back yard fence. (Well, Darren doesn't know he needs to do that yet, but I'll put in on the schedule for Saturday.) We picked him out on Monday and were back visiting him Wednesday to take photos. He has the silkiest hair ever. It is like, well, silk.

Sammie, Nate and Leah have been asking for a dog for years, literally years. And of course we needed a boy because we have only one of those at our house. And since Darren has taken up rapelling down mountain cliffs, I just had to do something (or two?) equally bizarre and emotion-based.

Ok, honey, I'm up two to one, how about we just stop this insanity and call it good?

There Goes My Life as I Knew it

2010-03-10T20:33:00.001-08:00

I have no idea what I just go myself into, but it looks like next year is going to be one of the busiest of my life. If I had any idea what I was doing, I probably wouldn't have done what I just did.

H-o-l-y C-r-a-p. That is about as eloquent as I get right now.

I have consented to be PTA president next year. It's been mulling around in my mind for months now, the thought that I should do it. I have been waiting for the right moment, however, and it looks like it's finally come. First, I said yes, and then I said no and now I've finally said yes again. They are probably waiting for me to back out but this time I'm in for the long haul.

I had to wait for the right principal, one who thought along the same lines as me in terms of activities and goals and vision. It had to be someone who was leading the school on to better things, and making it stronger than in years past. Gratefully, that is happening now. I only have one child left in elementary school. And it seems like it's now or never. So I said now.

I took the plunge into the icy depths, the vast sea of PTA. If it has anywhere near as much red tape as the Boy Scouts I'd better resign right now. Given how I feel about bureaucracy, I am surprised I took this on. There are rules and bylaws and budgets (not my most shining accomplishment, budget keeping) and seconding motions and lots of papers to keep track of. We even say the pledge before meetings. At least I know that by heart.

I'd better go to Staples and by myself a big, fat PTA binder and plan on getting lost inside it for the next year or so. I will try hard not to lose it! But I am not promising anything. That was not part of the deal.

Everyone keeps saying that I'm not in this alone. That the president this year stays on next year to help in a leadership role to support and counsel. And, that delegation is the name of the game. I am good at telling people to do things. Just ask my husband, kids and siblings. They think I am a bossy britches. Hopefully, however, the PTA board will be more responsive to requests than them!

Yes, there are the rules and headaches involved, just like in every big organization. But there are all the people, an entire community of them, including 500 elementary school kids. How wonderful to get to know all of them. The thought of that is thrilling to me.

That is why I said yes.

Are You a Hot Mess?

2010-02-17T10:23:00.000-08:00

Adrie and Sammie at a skating rink in Midway.

I guess I need to take a class on current language usage of 14-20 year olds. I consider myself to be a good communicator, able to carrying on a conversation with most people of all ages. I am, however, having difficulty recently understanding what anyone is saying me in the above-mentioned age category. Am I old? Apparently so.

I'm not sure but I'm a HOT MESS, SBI, maybe some day I'll be LEGIT.

My friend Kirsten is on a cruise, leaving her home full of 12-18 year olds who probably communicate in teenager. Yep, she left behind a whole group of these language-impaired people. She is probably engaging in real conversation with real words, words that you can find in the English Dictionary. Words like, I'd like another one of those chocolate tortes, please, and can you feel that breeze, and the sun feels amazing, I think I'll lay here for a few more hours. Kirsten, I wish I were with you because I'm just a hot mess, and it has nothing to do with the sunshine you're soaking up right now.

HOT MESS. As far as I can tell, someone who is hot mess is messed up. If they are indeed "hot," as in attractive or desirable physically, then they are an attractive disaster. If they are a hot mess meaning hot as in strong or intense, then it means those people are incredibly messed up, good-looking or not.

Therefore, when I heard Taylor say yesterday, "That girl is a HOT MESS!" I assume she means that someone is really screwed up. Given that this girl she was referring to was attractive but ditzy, then I deduce that someone who is a hot mess is physically desirable but messed up. So if someone calls you a HOT MESS then you should take it as a compliment partially because at least you have the attractive part down, right?

Someone tell me if I'm on the right track here. Hey, maybe I want to be a hot mess.

OK, on to SBI. My Dad used say, "That guy's a real SOB!" so I know what THAT means. But when teenage language involves just the letters, then you have to ask. I humbled myself and said, "What?" Apparently SBI means Sorry About It. Kind of like too bad, so sad, your tough luck, get over it, deal with it.

It's a way to say that you acknowledge what happened to a person. If you say SBO, then you're telling someone that you understand that something happened to them, and so you respond with such a caring comment that you can't even say the words? This comment is so sympathetic, you might as well tell the person YBL (You Big Loser) because that is the amount of caring that comment invokes. Or how about INL (I'm Not Listening?) Hey teenagers, add these to your repertoire. Good ideas, don't you think.

OK, now LEGIT. I think I get this one. I can figure this one out on my own!!! I kind of like this one. Probably because I was smart enough to figure it out. It's short for legitimate so I had a bit of a hint.

If you are LEGIT you are with it, cool, skilled, smart, on the right track, doing something good, rocking the world, having a great time, doing your best, getting stuff done, and in every way making good strides in your life.

"You're so LEGIT!" is a compliment. We want to be LEGIT because that means we're doing good things and people have noticed it. I'd much rather be LEGIT than SBI or a HOT MESS for that matter.

Here are some things that are LEGIT with my world.

Nathan is such a LEGIT basketball player.

My weekend was so LEGIT because Darren and I got away for a night and had a great time.

Alyssa is LEGIT because she got into BYU!

Sammie is LEGIT because she cut up 12 pounds of grapes for me yesterday. Thanks Sam!

So, go on out and do something LEGIT but try not to make a HOT MESS out of it. If you do, SBI!

Hello Pysical Therapy: Nice to Meet You

2010-02-03T19:44:00.000-08:00

So a couple weeks ago I started physical therapy for my shoulder. It had been six weeks since my surgery, and that seems the standard time to start "working" something that has recently been torn to shreds and then surgically put back together.

I have never had the occasion to have physical therapy in my life. I had no idea what to expect. I thought it would be oh, 30 minutes a couple times a week. No, says my PT, Ned, we might as well get everything back together as soon as possible. Let's work hard now, so we don't have to later. OK, I told Ned. You're the pro. I'm just a 43 year old woman who can't do her bra up anymore or reach that one piece of hair on the back of my head. And since I want to be able to do those things once again, I am following Ned's regimen.

Our goals are to get back all my "range of motion" and build muscle at the same time. This is a delicate balance. If you strain it building muscle then that sets you back in the range of motion department, and if you strain it getting range of motion back then that slows up the muscle building process. So we must work incrementally each day to make sure the proper balance is struck.

Well, this balance takes about 90 minutes three times a week, not including driving time. I know, I know, what else do I have to do in the dead of winter? Much to Darren's delight, I am missing a whole bunch of winter clearance shopping opportunities. By the time I get Leah to school and take a shower and get ready it's time to go to PT. And then it's 11:30. I have to be to work in a hour, but I have a bunch of errands I still want to run and I need to grab some lunch, etc..

This getting better feels like a full-time job.

When I arrive at PT, first I have heat, then ultrasound, then exercises, then stretching, then more exercises, then ice. Bam! The morning is gone!

So Ned, he's the best guy. He can't believe I have no pain. He says most people who've had my surgery are a six or seven on pain and I came in with a one, and that was only because I really tried hard that day to reach that one piece of hair with the straightener. Since then I'm a zero on pain. And I'm getting closer to making my hair look like I give a darn.

I have no idea why I have been blessed with no pain. But I have been. And it's amazing.

On that first day, Ned looked at my chart and said, "You had an anterior AND posterior labrum repair. And you have no pain?" When I answered no, he said, great, we're gonna work then. And when I'm done "working" I wonder why I didn't tell him I was a five on pain so I could leave earlier.

But there I am. Learning while I'm working. Learning how intricate and astounding the human body is to repair itself like this. I'm feeling some sense of esteem that I am making improvements rapidly. I'm feeling great that when Ned takes measurements of my "range of motion" the numbers are going up.

This is the first time in my life that my measurement numbers involving my body are going up and that's is a good thing!

And then I feel grateful. I met a woman half my age who has degenerative arthritis and she will have to have MANY surgeries to repair bones that are rubbing together. She was doing exercises to prevent having the surgery I just had, but she said it's inevitable that she will have it some day.

There are patients who are still in a ton of pain. They drag themselves in on crutches and endure. And I think what a terrible time of year to be on crutches when at any moment a piece of ice could send them back to surgery.

One Mom sat on the table doing her knee exercises while reading a Magic Tree House book to her five-year old. She was there at least as long as me. I was so glad I don't have to drag kids to PT. Everyone there is doing all they can to restore their bodies or make them even better than before surgery.

It's sort of a sense of community I feel with all these recovering folks. Who would have thought.

The Art of the High School Excuse

2010-01-25T06:55:00.000-08:00

I had a good laugh this morning while driving Sammie to school. I don't have many good laughs in January (I'm like the Grinch, my heart feels too tight or small) but this one was the type to get everything flowing that's supposed to flow when you exercise or laugh heartily. Something about endorphins or dopamine, anyway. I unfroze my endorphins. That may be my only accomplishment today, but if it is, I'll be OK with that. Cause it just felt sooooo good.

While it lasted.

ON the way to school Sammie ripped a piece of paper out of a notebook and handed it to me. Then she began to dictate what to write as if I were her secretary and as if I were illiterate. She said, "Please excuse Samantha from B2 on January 20. She was sick. Sincerely, blah blah." I followed her instructions exactly until the last sentence.

She was sick. First of all when I write these things I wonder how many times Mrs. Cosgrove the attendance secretary has heard the "sick" excuse when she knew darn well the kid wasn't sick. Let's multiply the number of years she's worked as a high school attendance secretary BY all the kids who have skipped or sluffed (as I used to call it when I did it, ahem) or otherwise couldn't handle class on a particular day. That's enough excuses to rival those of our politicians, legislators and lobbyists in every state.

Side note: One day last year when I was "excusing" an absence of my older daughter, I told Mrs. Cosgrove she ought to write a book about the crazy excuses she's gotten over the years. She laughed. The thing is that per the attendance policy at our high school the only excuses that are accepted are ones that involve sickness, doctors, accidents, and major trauma. So unless you have that . . . So the poor woman's not getting very many laughs anymore. Too bad. It's a job that needs some laughs.

I said to Sammie, "This is so ridiculous. Let's write a REAL excuse for why you missed B2." She answered that if I did that she wouldn't be excused.

I went on, "Let's tell the truth. Let's say that you woke up 10 minutes before class and rushed to school but then wanted to come home and eat breakfast and fix your hair. So I came and got you. Let's say your hair was a wreck and you were starving."

"Mom!" she yelled. "Then she'll make me go to the assistant principal because that was not a LEGIT excuse and he'll give me a lecture about the importance of attendance and how I need to do better." Not legit. Since when is the honest truth not legit? I would have pondered this more had I not been trying thinking of other REAL excuses.

"I can think of other excuses," I giggled.

"Mom! I'm sure you can. Will you just write it?" she yelled. By now we had two of her friends in the car and I was really on a roll. I was in my typical 7:26 am mode: crazy hair, pajamas and a puffy coat. She was not amused.

"How about," I went on, "you just couldn't handle another day of dreary, boring, uninspired Mr.______________?"

"Or you just needed a break from the rat race that is high school. . ." Less funny, but no less true. My mind went back to my own "sluffs," which usually involved not having an assignment done or wanting to avoid someone. Or just being tired and overwhelmed. I remember feeling that a lot.

"That would go over real well," she said smugly.

"But that's the truth."

"This isn't about the truth."

"What's it about?"

"It's about getting excused and not having to go to ARC." (a detention-like prison where you have to PAY money to sit for an hour and think about your bad your decision to go home and fix your hair and eat breakfast because you woke up late.)

Oh. And then it came to me. The screwed up lessons our kids are learning because they are trying to avoid punishment for needing to live. That not missing class is more important than pulling yourself together. Attending a class by a teacher who hands out worksheets and tunes out for an hour is MORE important than sleep, food, hair (and we know the importance of hair in high school) or any other emotional need that a kid might have.

And you can't write that in an excuse because it's not legit. So we must lie to get excused. And then it's OK?

That we have to lie to excuse our kids for not attending classes by tenured teachers who have long given up on teaching, but are in survival mode until they can properly retire. And properly retire in this economy means that there will be many more burned-out teachers biding their time surfing the internet and handing out worksheets until they can jump ship. They figure they gave it their all for so many years for so little pay that they just don't have it anymore. So they will coast. And you can't really blame them. Or the kid either, for not wanting to go to class.

And if that class is a civics class or American government class and the teacher is uninspired because he or she has been overworked and underpaid for so many years, students will suffer the consequences. They will lack patriotism and be ignorant of the democratic process.

Let's think about high school for a minute. First It starts at an ungodly hour. Researchers have been saying for hours that teenagers are not awake before 9 or 10 am anyway, and it would behoove school districts to rethink school hours. No one listens. They can't. If they start later then they end later and then there is not time for extracurricular activities that students MUST have in order to get into a decent college.

If school districts start school later then students may not have enough time to get in all the AP classes that they want to take so they can also get into a good college. And because school districts have had to cut back on these classes they are not easy to fit in their schedules. Sometimes students have to go to other high schools to pick up an AP class that their school doesn't offer anymore. And then that adds scheduling and emotional stress.

So we push our kids to achieve and do well. But we don't support them that much. We give them some great teachers, some mediocre teachers and some crappy teachers and a Draculean attendance policy that requires them to either lie and go merrily on their way or tell the truth and be punished. And we sometimes cut the classes they need and make them find other alternatives.

Parents and teachers spend a lot of time telling students what a tough place the world is and if they don't buckle down and do well they won't amount to anything, get a job or be able to support themselves. Then our schools make it tougher by showing no mercy or compassion when it comes to attendance. Think of the real world: Most employees get a sick day or a personal day or an "emotional health day." At the very least, high school students deserve the same consideration.

I was not laughing anymore. I wrote on the excuse, "She was sick" and signed my name. I should have written Lying Mother instead. The earlier laughter had been a bright spot in a dreary month, but then I felt sick myself that it had come to this.

But it had been a great laugh.

The Most Exquisite Joy and Pain

2009-12-26T11:55:00.000-08:00

When people talk about their children, then often say that their most exquisite joys AND pains in life come from dealing with their children and their problems. As this month and year draws to a close, I can attest to this.

I had a feeling that December would be dangerous. But I thought it would be because of the candy, chocolate and sweets and all the negative things that result from making merry with food over the holidays. It wasn't that at all.

It's been a ________ month. I leave the space blank because there are too many adjectives to choose just one. It's been a month of stark contrasts. Ups and downs, highs and lows, despair and joy, anxiety and contentment. To pick even a few descriptive words would not do this month justice.

I know it's been insane because I haven't done half the stuff I usually do in December. I only realized this on Christmas Day, after it was far to late to engage in any traditional, nostalgic activities. I just kind of sat there, stunned by how different this year had been.

There was no baking or treat-making. I didn't read "The House Without a Christmas Tree," a book I've read every year of my life since I was 12 or so. I didn't check out any Christmas books at the library for the kids. We barely made a dent in any of our own huge stash of holiday books.

I didn't watch "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" or "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," my two favorite Christmas classics. I got to the part in "Christmas Story" where Ralphie has just shattered his glasses shooting his new BB gun. Then something else got in the way. So I missed the "Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra" part. Bummer.

The thing was, I didn't even care. Really. I was sad about those things for about one second, and then I realized the beautiful gift I'd been given instead.

It started with my shoulder surgery on December 9. I spent about three days in a pain med fog. I don't remember much of what anyone said or did during that time. I don't remember anything that my daughter Adrienne told me during those few days. Could I have done anything to help her if I had registered what was going on? She wasn't feeling well and was trying to study for finals and was agitated and anxious.

By the 15th I was feeling good and I was up and around, but then Adrienne snapped, broke down, and crashed, and our whole family was shaken in the aftershocks. Thus began the sleepless nights, the intense worry, and hours of conversations between Darren and me where we sat, sifting, sorting and asking questions.

It is interesting how men and women differ in their approach to crisis. Darren responded by actively trying to define and explain our daughter's problems through research and talking to people. Let's take care of the problem. Let's solve it. Let's get through this.

I would talk to people and then would feel completely overwhelmed by the enormity and complexity of the issues. The more talking I did, the more muddled and foggy I felt. Ideas and thoughts bounced around in my head like a pinball, back and forth, over, under, through, and then around all over again. EXQUISITE PAIN.

And like many women might, I wondered how a mother could miss such an elephant in her daughter's closet and proceeded to flog myself with a guilt-infused whip.

Our one commonality was deep love for our daughter, and our desires to make everything better. This time it would take much more than a Band Aid and a kiss. I couldn't pull her into my lap and help her fall to sleep nor could I even be with her for a period of days.

There were the two nights of valium that shut my brain off. It couldn't take being awake anymore.

And the day when she was home with us, back in our house. EXQUISITE JOY. All within a week.

Then Christmas came. We were together. I didn't care about anything other than that.

More EXQUISITE JOY.

Surgery Jitters

2009-12-06T18:59:00.000-08:00

Hi all,

It's been a good long while. I seemed to have fallen out of the blogosphere and let real life take over for some reason. Don't know exactly why.

So I have this problem shoulder. It's about as trustworthy as me actually following through on my new year's resolutions. I dislocated it AND injured it about 18 months ago when I fell into a rock bed in the middle of the night trying to get to the outhouse on a youth campout. Since then it has been playing games with me. It's very clever.

For example, a year ago it popped out of the socket and I endured five days of serious pain until it was finally put back. It was so far out and had been so long out that I actually had to have general anesthesia in the operating room to get it back in.

I was finally starting to trust it again because it had been behaving so well for an entire year! Then last month it decided to pop out again while I was exercising. See what happens when I try to be good and exercise? I wonder why I even try.

There I am doing the squat machine. POP! "Uh, Lynnette, (my friend and exercise partner) I have just located my shoulder and we need to leave right now and got get it put it back in."

Lynnette drove me to the doctor's and waited with me for nearly two hours until Dr. Mortensen was available to put it back in. By the time she had to leave Darren was there to watch and support and go for pain meds. We thought all was well. While taking an ex-ray to be sure in was in the right place, it popped out again. Dr. Moretensen prescribed some Lortab and said he'd be back in an hour to get it back in--which he did.

An MRI a few days later showed that the ligaments around the Labrum (the socket that holds the bone where it's supposed to be) are all ripped and torn and floating around. We opted to have surgery to repair it in January because it was just going to keep on coming out. I wanted to avoid being laid-up during the holidays.

So last Sunday I was leaning on the bench at breakfast and it popped right back out. "Ha, ha, ha, aren't I funny?" it seemed to say. This time I had to go to the ER to get it put back in because it was Sunday and Dr. Mortensen was probably teaching Gospel Doctrine at church. That took most of Sunday morning. We opted to move up the surgery since the likelihood of it dislocating again randomly was HIGH. Read: dangerously high.

I could just see myself ripping open a gift on Christmas morning, and ripping my shoulder right out of the socket if we didn't take care of it sooner. I didn't want to spend Christmas day in the ER.

People are treating me like a china doll at home and work. My students at work ask me why I'm not wearing my sling. People run to open doors for me. They ask if they can carry things for me. This is nice, but I feel like an old lady. The next thing you know they'll be shouting because they think I'm hard of hearing.

So, Wednesday I go under the knife, whoops, I mean scope. I get to come home the same day if all goes well. I get to wear a sling day and night for 4-6 weeks. I get to have two months of physical therapy after that. Along about April I should be back to normal, though it may be more like June.

I've never had surgery before, but I'm not worried about the surgery or subsequent pain. I am good at dealing with pain. I can tolerate a lot of pain. I had three out of four natural childbirths! (Sorry that was totally irrelevant, but I just needed a brief self-esteem boost!) I am worried, however, about wearing a sling for four to six weeks. I am worried that I will not be able to bear that burden.

It might help to think of some pros in this situation (if there are any). It might be nice to relax before Christmas and just sit around the house, and not run around all crazy and insane. It will be nice to have family and friends available to help. And of course the sooner it's done, the sooner my life goes back to the way it was before my injury. That's a plus.

Lessons I've learned from this:

1. Never get up in the middle of the night to use the outhouse when you are camping with teenagers, not even if you think the dam's about to burst OR FOR ANY OTHER REASON.

2. If you must go, camp right next to the outhouse.

3. Never go to a youth conference that involves camping.

4. Never decorate above your cupboards by pulling yourself up to get stuff up there. Bo-ing! Pop goes the shoulder!

5. Never decorate higher than you can reach.

6. Never decorate.

7. Never do the squat machine at Curves. Only do machines that work the lower body.

6. Never exercise.

7. Never get an ex-ray immediately following your shoulder reduction (put back in the socket procedure).

8. Never lean on the bench during breakfast while you are reaching for a napkin.

9. Above all, never think you can outwit, outmaneuver or manipulate your shoulder in any way. It is going to do exactly what it wants to mess up your life.

The Dangerous Descent to December

2009-11-01T08:23:00.000-08:00

Chocolate's gonna kill me.

I woke up this morning to the smell of chocolate in the air. Not hot chocolate, mind you. Real chocolate, pure chocolate, Halloween chocolate. Hundreds of pieces of chocolate that made their evil ways into our house last night and the leftover that I didn't give away that's still sitting in a cute basket on the couch.

You know that Halloween smell. Stick your nose into your kids' Halloween bag and breathe. There's your childhood right there. Do you remember the excitement of looking through all your loot, dumping it on the floor, trading with your siblings, stashing it away, eating 1 or 5 or 10 pieces a day depending on your disposition?

Remember how your Mom would come into your room in March and find 80 little wrappers under your bed? Do you remember running home from school every day in November to eat some candy? Do you remember counting your candy before you left for school and then when you got home? And when you accused your Mom of stealing your Hershey's she said, "How dare you accuse me of stealing chocolate?" But then you found a bunch of little wrappers in her bedroom garbage can?

My Dad never had this problem. If he knew there was Halloween candy in the house he didn't give it a second thought. Men! He had a talent for carving some really swell pumpkins with wavy eyebrows and silly ears, but that was about his main contribution to the whole Halloween thing. Oh and he had this awesome Frankenstein mask that he pulled out to scare the neighborhood kids on Halloween. But the candy thing? No.

That's what I remember. And that's what I smelled coming down the stairs this morning. Memories. Memories of when I was a kid and the reality of motherhood today and that horrible temptation I have to steal, plunder and pilfer my kid's Halloween candy.

Oh it is real. I want to offer big bucks for them to toss it in the garbage. Because I know myself. I know how I will think about where they have "hidden" it. And that it will not be hidden at all. It will call out to me like a kid who can't find his shoes or homework or soccer ball. I know it will irritate me until it is out of this house.

So I think of all that chocolate sitting around, and how long it's going to take to actually be out of the house, and then I think of the glutinous Thanksgiving feast later this month. And December? December's like a a big ho ho fest of candy and treats and stuff you hate to eat and love to eat all at once. It's the month when you feel sick about what you just ate but are forced to think about the next thing you have to make for the event tomorrow. And you go off to the stores to buy more stuff to make food that you feel bad about eating.

Help! Someone beam me to a planet where food isn't necessary to live. Oh, and can that planet also let me shave my head? 'Cause having to have cute hair every day is REALLY getting to me. Oh, and if that planet must have food, can the men be in charge of it? The ones who remain fit and trim for years on end and have no idea what it's like to fix food day in and out for a family and for every stinkin' event in a lifetime?

I am feeling a little put upon about the food thing about how unfair it is. And I am worried about what the next two months could do to my body and brain. Plain and simple, I dread what could happen.

And so, this morning, after I tossed a couple of Hershey's kisses into my mouth because if I smell chocolate I also have to TASTE it, I realized something else about today!! It's fast Sunday, and I just blew it.

I can't win.

A Trip up North

2009-10-28T20:57:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I got on a plane with my mom and sister and went to visit my brother in Seattle. It was a great family reunion. I had never seen Seattle in the fall. I had no idea the color was so spectacular. It was gorgeous even though it rained nearly the entire five days we were there. Here are a few highlights. Credit for photos goes to Judy (Mom) who not only remembered to bring a camera but took most of the pictures.

Here is my little brother Mark, standing in front of some amazing fall color. Apparently people in Seattle don't use umbrellas, they wear hats!

Mark, me and Lisa at Snoqualmie Falls.

Lisa, Mom and Mark at Snoqualmie Falls.

Something you don't see every day of the week!

Mouthwatering produce at the Pike Place Market in Seattle.

Don't stand too close or a flying fish my slap you in the face!

Mom has found some amazing color as well. It wasn't hard.

My new concoction for a dessert. Vanilla ice cream (the real stuff, not reduced fat) and gingersnap cookies smothered in caramel sauce!

Mom, Lisa and me at lunch at a fish and chips place near the Pike Place Market.

A Moment of Silence

2009-10-25T10:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we observed a moment of silence in our home. We paused to observe a rarity that my children have never seen in their lifetimes, and may not see again. We reached a milestone that I never thought we'd reach.

We accomplished something that I had pushed so far on the back burner that it was not even near the burner anymore.

For a fleeting few minutes and for what seemed like a blink of an eye our entire home was clean AT ONCE! That means that all the rooms were dusted and vacuumed, the floors were mopped, the bathrooms clean, the laundry done and the beds made. OK, all the sheets on the bed were not clean, but only I knew that small fact. The surfaces were free of clutter, stuff was put away, there was a HUGE bag in the garage waiting to go to the DI.

This has not happened for 18 years, folks, since Adrienne made her way into the world in July 1991. Even then we had a 500 square foot apartment and we couldn't get it all clean at once. IT HAS BEEN 18 YEARS!

I wanted to do it just to see that it could be done. Never mind that I worked for hours on it Friday and Saturday, and put off other things I should have been doing. Never mind I didn't sit down all day Friday, and I was cleaning a bathroom at 10:45 on Friday night. Darren was a little disappointed that I ditched him for the bathroom, but hey, I had my goal, and I wasn't letting it slip through my fingers. He got over it. He likes clean, maybe even more than me.

When are you coming to bed, he asked me, while I was still feverishly scrubbing the tub. "Enough is enough," he said. "It's not that important."

"EXCUSE ME," I said sternly, "I AM THIS CLOSE TO A GOAL THAT I RELEGATED UNATTAINABLE IN MY LIFETIME. I WILL NOT BE DISTRACTED!" Hell hath no fury like a woman on her knees with Comet and rubber gloves. Rubber gloves means it's a serious operation.

The next day he vacuumed the stairs for me and did some other odd jobs to help me reach my goal. I thanked him by raking leaves and picking beans. But it blew so hard yesterday it doesn't even looked like we raked leaves at all.

"We have too many trees," I told him, when I saw the array of color on the lawn.

"You don't think that in the summer," he replied.

"I know, I love them then."

My house is not large. It is small compared to many McMansions in this valley. I have no idea how those people clean their homes. I would not want that job. I am just grateful I could clean my modest house, all of it at once, maybe just once.

I am not a goal-oriented person. But I was a maniac for those few days, for some odd reason.

Probably just once, I am thinking since, today while looking around, I am seeing a few out of place things.

Two loads of laundry that produced themselves while we were sleeping.

Some crushed leaves on the newly vacuumed carpet.

Bed sheets that won't be washed for a while yet.

Unmade beds.

Sunday newspapers all over the living room floor.

My shoes from last night in the middle of the floor. So even I can't keep it up let alone the rest of the family.

Autumn Musings

2009-10-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to my Mom today! I won't say how old she is, except to say that it starts with a seven!

I love fall. I think it's the best time of the year. It's my birthday time and it's beautiful and sunny but cool outside and the colors make me feel warm and toasty and content. Out my front window there is a dust of snow on the tips of Mount Timpanogos, and then red bursts of color mixed with green dot the rest of the mountainside. Just like this picture to the left taken by some amazing photographer. It is a postcard-perfect scene, one that should be caught in the act of violating the beauty code.

There is the thinnest slice of time before the color's all blown away and the trees and bare and the reality of winter barges in like an alarm clock after a bad night of sleep. The feeling is that it's over too soon, just like that night's sleep, and isn't there anything at all we can do to hold on to the best of seasons or turn the clock back another hour?

That's how I feel every year at this time. I try to enjoy it while I can and hope that winter doesn't blow away my positive energy like the leaves.

Nathan is through with the fall soccer season. I feel kind of wistful about it. I love to watch him play soccer and have since he was five years old. When he does some amazing footwork that would put me into traction and then scores a goal, I feel like shouting to the crowd, "Hey! I birthed that kid! He actually came out of MY body!" But I refrain. But I'm proud as a peacock that that kid is my own flesh and blood. Amazed really.

What a FANTASTIC soccer season they've had. The Raptors finished fifth in their AA division. The boys are all so nice and such good sports and their parents are all so nice and such good sports (no easy feat), and our coaches, Ryan and Doug, are classy, kind, mellow and not obnoxious. We are blessed to be playing with the Raptors for the third year in a row. Best of all is what great friends the boys are. Friendship among players is one of the main benefits of being on a team like the Raptors. It's right up there with other things like learning sportsmanship, improving skills and getting into shape.

I love working with the resource kids for two hours a day. I don't have time to get burned out, and I have time to do other things, although I still can't seem to manage to get everything done that I want to. I think this will be my problem for life, and in talking to other women, it seems that it will be their problem for life as well. One of the great mysteries of life is how to get it all done before you're too old to get it done. I ponder this as the calendar moves stridently toward my forty somethingish birthday.

Any ideas on how to get everything done that you want to without losing sanity and sleep? A woman who I was talking to a couple of weeks ago said, "Just don't." OK then. Maybe she has a point.

So, the kids I work with at school are so entertaining, to say the least. When a math problem asks them to describe which method they used to solve the problem, they write pencil and paper, instead of multiplication, division, etc. Amen. They are exactly right. It cracks me up.

Watching general conference in my pajamas last Sunday and eating aebelskivers(Danish pancakes) with the family was another fall highlight. How cool not to shower until 4 pm, and even then just to put on sweats and no makeup. I was happy as a lark.

Other happy news is that there are no more peaches or pears on my trees anymore to yell at me to do something with them. I am not hearing, "Hey you! Lady! Pick me! Crush me! Make jam with me! Freeze me!" when I walk by. I am like Barry Manilow singing, "Looks like we made it, through another bumper crop. . ."

My counter tops are no longer covered with fruit that is ripening and losing their vitamins by the minute. Oh, but I do think the most divine thing in the world is homemade pear jam with powdered sugar on aebelskivers. And so I am grateful I listened to the pears and did something with them, even though it would have been easier to let them just look pretty on the tree.

And I think all the tomatoes have frozen! Oh, poor tomatoes! So sorry I didn't do anything more with you when I had the chance. Ahem.

I am going to Seattle next week with my mom and sister to see my brother and sister in law. No kids, just us. I can't wait. I love Seattle, even though it will be cool and rainy. Seattle is just a great city. Darren is taking the kids camping down south, so he will be happy as well.

For all these reasons, I love fall.

Duh!

2009-09-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

I am struggling to learn a whole new language. I'm not learning to speak it, but just to understand it. I'm not listening to CDs and I'm not attending a class, and my training is happening within my own four walls. If you're not jealous, you definitely should stay that way.

This is way worse than college French, or Spanish when we lived in South America. You see, South Americans smile and engage you when you try to speak to them in their language. They are encouraging and helpful. And my French professor, ooo laa laa, was tres tres magnifique!

I'm learning Teenager, a language of short, curt, surly phrases that I can't quite hear, much less decipher. In this language I have two seconds to understand and then respond to what is being said before the speaker is gone, vamoosed into the land of written communication that doesn't require annunciation, eye contact or even waiting for a response.

I am beginning to sound much older than I am, like a granny whose hearing aids are not adjusted right. I am routinely saying, "What?" or "Say that again" or "AH dint undastan a woood you jus sed," like that chicken farmer on Napolean Dynamite. I feel old and clueless, like I am a sagging remnant of anything worthwhile or cool.

Just when I feel that my self esteem couldn't plunge any farther into the toilet, I realize that Darren can't understand anything our teenager is saying either. And that he is also saying things like "Come again?" "WHAT?" and "I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU!" And this is a guy whose youthfulness, energy and language skills are legend. This makes me feel slightly less pathetic but not much.

When we press for more detailed answers from our teenager, such as "I am going to go to Heather's house, and I will be home at 10 pm" AND demand that she look us in the eye, she acts as though we've asked her to give up her cell phone for life. When we ask her to repeat herself, you know, come again?, she looks at us as if we are one step away from the nursing home down the street.

The language of Teenager has only one and two-syllable words. Most of them are "yeah" "no" "later" "OK!" or "duh!" One would think that would make it more understandable, but it doesn't. It requires saying "what?" more than any other language, routinely feeling stupid and throwing oneself on the couch and swearing under one's breath when the teenager has left the room.

Once in a while my teenager's eyes will look up at me. Yes, look AT me. I remember how pretty her eyes are. She'll smile and her teeth are white and perfect and straight and I'll remember how much her braces cost and how that smile really lights up her face.

I notice her hair, how it's this beautiful spun gold color that people would pay big bucks for. She's got this lower body hip stuff going on that I never had and don't know where it came from. She's just beautiful. And I want to freeze the image and pretend that when she opens her mouth something fluent and interesting and pleasant will come out.

And that I will be able to understand it and not look like a washed-up has been, cowering into the couch with my Metamucil and crossword puzzle.

She says something in Teenager and I say, "What?" She glares at me.

"Are you going deaf?" she asks.

"Undoubtedly," I respond. "But only when you're speaking."

"What?" she asks.

"Are YOU going deaf?" I ask.

"Whatever," she says and vanishes to find someone who can communicate on her level.

Oh, my gosh, that was three syllables!!! I take a celebratory swig of Metamucil, adjust my reading glasses and start to work on 2 down. A eight letter word for improvement.

Progress! No duh! Maybe things are looking up.

My Little Red Piece of a Not Minivan

2009-09-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

Cars are a pain, and did I mention that cars are a pain? If not, I'll just go ahead and set the record straight on what I think about cars. They are a pain! They are just something you have to fork over tons of money for and they break and they cost money to fix and they need gas and an oil change, and new brakes and cleaning.

Three years ago our minivan needed a new transmission and we forked over the bucks for one. Now the transmission is acting up again. Jerry, the transmission mechanic, says he's gonna have to "rip apart the tranny" to figure out what's wrong. We told him, no, the minivan is going to sit in the driveway to think about its bad behavior until we figure out what to do with it. A transmission is supposed to last more than three years, we told Jerry. He agrees. That's why he'll throw in the free labor and just charge for parts. Wow, what a deal! Thanks Jerry.

In the meantime I finally have, however, a car that is not a pain. It is bright red and it is a Toyota and it is fun and sporty and cool and everything my minivan has NOT been for the past 10 and a half years. I drove it out of the lot on Friday night at 11:16 pm with a grin on my face as wide as the Mississippi but in debt up to my eyeballs. Oh well.

It has a CD player. It has automatic windows. It has a remote that opens the doors! It has 8 cup holders! These are new innovations I thought I'd never see in my lifetime!

Don't get me wrong. Minivans serve their purposes. Like when I had four young kids and carpools and lessons and shagging kids all over the planet, yes, I needed that minivan, and it was good to me. I was grateful for it. It went with us a lot of places. Across the country and back, to Disneyland and back a couple of times, up north to the cabin multiple times. Camping all over Southern Utah.

I drove it to the rec center so many times for swim practice, that it can get there by itself. The daughter we drove to swim practice 756,987 times is now away at college. And I've decided I will never again be in another carpool as long as I live. My kids have fewer activities now. So I just don't need that big of a car anymore. And I don't WANT a car that big anymore, but I still can't help reminiscing about the good times in the minivan.

The minivan has had a thousand wet towels on its seats over the years. It's had at least infinity crumbs from various foods ground into its carpets and seats. It's had all manner of baby fluids on the seats. It's had multiple car seats strapped into its seats. It's heard hundreds of arguments, been hit a couple of times, had the garage door shut on it, and been left running with the keys inside and the doors locked.

You could say it's been around the block a few times.

It's been through the car wash dozens of times, and it should have been there more. It's sat on its side on a snowbank in Wyoming. It's been vacuumed to death. It's been fixed to death, serviced to death and gassed up to death. Yet it's not dead. It's still hanging on, all 160,000 miles of it. Poor old girl. It's almost like I should take her out and shoot her, to put her out of her misery. I just don't have the heart to do it. There still seems to be a some life left in her.

So she's going to sit.

Since I got my new car three days ago, I have to keep pinching myself. When I wake up in the morning I say, "Oh yeah, there's a cool car in the driveway that I can drive today, and I bet it won't break down because almost new cars don't do that." That is a most pleasant way to start the day.

I feel spoiled rotten. But I also will feel safe this winter and when I get stuck in the snow I will be able to get myself out. And I will not have to worry what's going to break next, or how to juggle things so we can leave the car to be fixed.

I'm the first to admit that I need that peace of mind. I have better things to do than wonder what's going to break next.

VROOM!

Nothing to Fear but the Parents

2009-09-04T17:35:00.000-07:00

I don't like to write about politics often because it puts me in a very uncomfortable minority most of the time. But since Obama is trying to indoctrinate our children with his political socialist/communist/fascist agenda, I say so what if I spout off a bit. If the president can then I can.

Life in America has reached a low point. There is fear in the air. Some parents across the US are pulling children out of school on Tuesday because President Obama is giving a live speech on the importance of education. There is fear among conservatives that he will attempt to politically indoctrinate our children with his evil values. That evil man! That in the guise of a speech on education IN THE SCHOOLS that subversive messages will weave their way into the minds and hearts of our children. Messages that will mimic those of socialist leaders.

That while America's school children, educators and parents are listening, he will somehow emit waves of leftist propaganda that will lodge itself in their permanent psyches. That they will be forever tainted by the words he speaks. That after they listen to a speech on the value of education, school children will somehow desert the values with which they've been raised and enlist to be part of the Obamacommunist regime.

Maybe America's school children will start campaigning for universal health care after the speech, or turn green and demand tighter environmental standards or lobby for gun control. And while they're at it, they might as well let the hardened criminals out of prison and open up our borders so we can all have a great big melting pot party in Texas! Yee hah!

It is amazing what President Obama will be able to accomplish in the short 10 minutes he is planning to speak about education. Not only is he evil, he is talented!

PaaaaaaaLeeeeeeese. How is it remotely possible for any of this to happen? Get a grip people. You can read the speech beforehand. You can discuss it with your children. You can pick it apart word for word and decode his hidden agenda.

Let's talk about Obama's values. This is what I have been hearing him say for months:

He wants universal health care. He wants everyone to be insured and be able to take care of themselves and their families. Why does this liken him to Fidel Castro? Health care in this country is a disaster. And it needs fixing. This is not propaganda, this is truth. That this is such a partisan fight saddens me.

He wants a clean environment. So do I. I want to drink clean water and breathe clean air. We know what happens to people when these basic rights are not met. We can protect businesses and the economy and promote a cleaner planet. Other countries have done it, and so can the US.

He wants students to get a good education like he did. He wants schools to do better at providing a top-notch education. George Bush put all kinds of government controls on states' curriculum in his No Child Left Behind program, and people did not react with the same vitriolic hatred that they're spewing at Obama.

If George Bush would have ever given a speech on education for American students, I'm sure he would have said many of the same things Obama will say on Tuesday. His father George HW Bush gave a similar speech in 1991. Study hard. Get good grades. Set goals. Go to college. Find something you love doing. Be a good, productive citizen. These are basic American values. This is NOT a partisan issue. This is not socialist rhetoric.

Parents who pull their kids out of school on Tuesday for fear of political indoctrination are teaching their children a lesson that will negatively influence them far more than anything Obama says in his speech.

First they'll learn that if they fear something may not be to their liking or correspond precisely to their comfort level, then they don't have to listen to it. That they don't even have to try.

Second, they'll learn that it isn't important to listen to others if we don't like them or agree with them. That you shouldn't give a person a chance. That you don't have to respect A DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED president at all.

Great values to teach your kids, all you parents who are so into VALUES! Think about it.

Does everyone who your child associates with daily meet your high ideal? Maybe there are lots of people who should not be part of your child's life. You just never know where evil may be lurking!

They say parents are a child's most important teachers. It's too bad that in this case fear and misinformation are clouding their better judgment, leaving them with very low marks.

Tire Marks Across my Back

2009-08-26T17:47:00.000-07:00

I don't think I can get through this post without waxing cliche-ish. It's just not possible to describe what it feels like to watch your oldest child pack up and move out. As many have pointed out to me, she is only moving 10 minutes away. I know this makes me the biggest wuss on the planet.

So I'm wuss. I don't care. I am what I am. She was my baby. She was my child. She is my daughter.

Let the cliches begin.

I feel like I have been run over by a tractor.

Enjoy it.

It goes so fast.

You turn around and they're gone.

Some day you'll miss the noise.

Your life is forever changed once you become a mother.

You thought you knew what love was, and then you had a child.

Adrienne was born on a humid day in July in Madison, Wisconsin. I was swollen and red as beet. I remember wondering if a person could die from being so incredibly hot, and if that was dangerous for the baby.

The last week of my pregnancy was spent praying that the God of air conditioning would find me and take mercy on me and lying in oatmeal baths to alleviate the itching of the pup rash that had made its home across my stretch marks. When I wasn't in the bath I was lying on the couch watching Wimbledon next to a rotating fan. The days stretched on like a nightmarish movie. My due date, July 3rd, came and went. So did July 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th and 11th.

Oh the misery. The swelling, the itching, the stretch marks that ran parallel purple highways down my belly that got bigger every day, the heat, the husband who tried so hard to help, but found that there was no possible way to help. "Just keep bringing in the ice cream and stack it right here," was all I could say to the poor man.

We will induce you, the doctor said on the 11th. Bless you, I cried. Nineteen hours later, on July 12, Adrie was born, yanked out of my body with a vacuum extractor, looking like she'd been through a womb war. She was even redder than me. I was besotted, instantly in love.

The next morning when I called the nursery to ask where MY baby was, they said to please come into the ICU. I called Darren who had gone home to sleep, and we met in the ICU. She has a low body temp, they said, and it is a possible sign of infection. We need to admit her and run a bunch of tests.

A low body temp. In this heat? How was that possible?

So began a week where I went home from the hospital without the baby. A week where I came back every few hours to feed her. A week where I had to wear scrubs to touch her. A week where nothing was wrong with her, but just to be sure, every tests known to human kind was performed on her. A week of poking, prodding and no conclusions. A week of many prayers from friends and relatives all over.

"We're taking her home," Darren and I told the ICU doctor six days later. "She's fine." Her heart rate had dipped in the night and so he wanted to do one more test just to be sure. "We're picking her up in the morning, then" we told him.

Next morning with my Mom trying to keep up, we stormed back to the hospital for the 100th time to get our baby. There was no question that we would not leave without her. Discharge papers, blah, blah, blah. Nothing had ever been wrong with her and I think we knew that from the start. What a ridiculous start to life she had had.

We got home, a week after she was born, and it was so hot that Adrie and I sat sweating on the couch, gazing at each other.

"Go buy an air conditioner," I told Darren.

Darren likes to tell people I locked him out of the house until he bought an air conditioner. I don't think I locked the door, but there was no questioning the seriousness of my request.

An hour later he came home with a window air conditioner. Adrie and I sat in front of it, sweating less, but loving each other more as each moment passed.

And so today, cliches beginning again, we will move her in to her dorm room with her roommate from Georgia and her meal card and with whatever else she has managed to glean (both good and bad) from living with Darren and me for 18 years. We can do nothing now but hope we loved her enough and taught her enough.

I know for sure we loved her enough. I hope the rest will work itself out.

There's No Place Like Home

2009-08-13T13:26:00.000-07:00

Dorothy was right. There is no place like home, where you feel good in your skin, where you know where everything is (well, where it's supposed to be), where your body curves into the mattress in just the right way, and the comforter brushes your face with cottony familiarity.

Home is where you know just how much to leave the window open at night for the coolest breeze or how many steps it takes to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Home is where the light switch is the just the right height, and everyone breathing softly in their own beds makes for your own peaceful sleep.

Home is where you fall asleep listening to crickets hum along with the sprinklers.

We are home from the UK. Wow. What a summer. It was a fast-paced, pound-the-pavement, do-everything-you-can kind of trip. A trip where you spent the money because it was a once in a lifetime. A trip where you'd wake up in the morning and say, "I'm in London, yes I'm in London. What's on today's agenda" . . . and then do it all over again the next day.

While in London, Leah memorized all the subway lines and how to get from point A to B. She studied the maps and put stickers on all the sites she's visited. She made more BFFs than a person should ever have. She touched the lives of 40 students by being a cute little girl who celebrated her 8th birthday with college students. She sobbed her eyes out when we had to say goodbye.

Nathan played soccer all the time, and improved his dribbling and passing by playing with the students. He learned all about rugby and went to several games. He learned where to get the best deal on a futbal jersey and how to haggle over it with the shop owner. He learned that it's OK to be bored sometimes, and how to entertain himself. He learned how to talk to adults, and look them in the eye with confidence.

Sammie made 40 new friends who treated her like she was one of them and not a 15-year old who was along for the ride. She saw what it takes to have fun and study for good grades. She had more fun than any one person should ever have in a summer. She learned how to be a loyal, caring friend.

Adrie got a 4.0 in her two classes and learned how to live in a dorm setting. She learned to manage her money well, and budget for what she wanted. She learned that her family is there for her no matter what, and we always have food even if the dorm servery doesn't!

Darren learned that he misses the great outdoors and could never live in a big city like London permanently. He learned that British history is fascinating but not the best subject to try to get through in 6 weeks. He learned that it's probably not the best idea to go abroad when you're chair of a university department. You just pile on your workload without the compensation. And you have so much work you can't get out to do all you want to do.

I learned that I can be a good friend and Mom to college-age students and that I relate well to them. I feel so good I was able to be helpful to them when they were sick, homesick, hormonal and sad. I learned that I love the theater, and that I have never been so moved when the music and theater combine together in just the right way.

It was the kind of experience we won't soon forget.

But there is no way to keep up with that kind of pace, even the most energetic types. No matter how glamorous or exciting the scenery and agenda, there's still nothing like opening up your own humble front door after crossing the ocean from other places. The dents in the wall don't look so big anymore. The carpet that needs cleaning still feels much softer than I remembered. The stairs, which used to seem so daunting, now appear like nothing compared to the 52 I had to climb to get to our flat in London.

Home is where the dishwasher humming means I don't have to wash dishes and the washing machine is always available. Home is where the kids are having water fights in the back yard, euphoric because they're with friends again.

Grocery shopping is easy and cheap. I don't have to carry them home. There is ice in abundance for every drink I want. Tap water doesn't cost money. Darren's garden has more tomatoes than we can ever eat. The raspberries and peaches are coming on. I'm gearing up to make jam.

Home feels good.

England's Lake District

2009-08-07T02:10:00.000-07:00

Darren said this hike near Windermere Lake in the Lake District was the best of his life! This is high praise indeed!

Nathan had another idea of how to enjoy the Lake District, even if it meant no clean undies for the rest of the trip! He couldn't stand that the students were jumping in, and would not be told no.

It was BJ, Melissa, Katie, Sammie and Garrett who got the ball rolling, and plunged into the freezing lake. All of the sudden Sammie looks like a college student to me, not a 15-year old, which she is is TODAY!! Happy Birthday darling!

Grassmere in the Lake District is the most charming town I've ever seen. We also visited Dove Cottage, where William Wordsworth lived and wrote. "Daffodils" is perhaps his most famous poem.

"Daffodils" (1804)

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

In Blarney Scotland!

2009-07-30T11:12:00.000-07:00

I am still seeing plaid scarves, tartans and kilts a week after we left Edinburgh. I saw so many in those two days that my brain is aswirl with the patterns and colors of Scotland, land of the Lochness monster, malt whiskey and hagris (cow's stomach). The most amusing T-shirt in one of the tourist shops was a drunken Lochness monster, rising out of the lake in a a plaid tartan playing bagpipes. The most revolting thing was cow's stomach which is part of the traditional Scottish breakfast spread. Those who tasted it said, no, it does not taste like chicken.

By the way, you pronounce it Edinbura, something I would never have known had I not visited the place and pronounced it wrong to the locals. I was surprised at the number of foods The Scottish put malt whiskey in. The funniest one was fudge! The bookstores have whiskey tastings, like wine tastings in the United States. Yes, this is a my own generalization, but to me Scotland appears to be a country of jolly alcoholics, judging from the number of pubs on within spitting distance. Kind of like the number of Mormon churches in Orem, Utah.

In comparing the Scots to the English, which they don't like, it's quite a sensitive subject, you see, I find the Scots to be loud and lively, with a distinct sense of fun. The English are quiet and more reserved and don't like to call attention t to themselves. But the Scots seem not to mind the limelight.

Edinburgh Castle seems to be the crown jewel of the city. It also contains crown jewels worn by some of the monarchs, dating waaaay back into the nether reaches of time. It is where Mary Queen of Scots was born and crowned queen as a baby.

Three-hundred fifty pound cannon balls that must have obliterated everything in sight!

This little Scottish terrier is named Greyfriars Bobby. He is significant because in the 1850s or therabouts he was the epitome of loyalty to his master. When his master died and was buried in the local cemetery called Greyfriars, Bobby would lay on his grave every day for 14 years until he died himself. I bought the story and read it to the kids and immediately got choked up because I didn't realize such loyalty existed. As humans beings we visit graves of loved ones sporadically, maybe once a year, or maybe not, but now I want a Scottish terrier. I know, totally irrational, but I still want one.

THE cafe where J.K. Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter on napkins. It has a great view of Edinburgh Castle from the back where she wrote. Some of the students had lunch here, and reported that it is very good. It was fun to see the origins of Harry Potter.

Baa Baa White Sheep all over the hills. Talk about free range sheep! This is sheep country, and they are fat and fluffy, the happiest sheep on earth, apparently. All our sheep photos were taken from the bus window, and so they are a bit fuzzy--just like the sheep! I will have to rely on my sheep salt and pepper shakers as a ceramic reminder the real thing! Oh, and my cashmere scarf which I told Darren I would have FOR LIFE and that it was definitely worth the price. He said it would absolutely be worth the price if I didn't lose it, which is highly probable, I must admit.

A Trip up North

2009-07-27T10:58:00.000-07:00

We returned Friday from one amazing, fast-paced, see everything in five days kind of trip. Here are just a very few of the highlights. I will get to Scotland, land of white, fluffy sheep and malt whiskey in a couple of days. That deserves its own entry.

Sammie at the Jorvik Viking Centre in York.

The Shambles in York, the oldest medieval street in Europe.

From the top of the York Minster, a cathedral that took 275 years to build.

The winding staircase leading up to the top of the York Minster. Nearly 300 stairs! Talk about motion sickness.

The magnificent spires of York Minster.

The ruins of Fountains Abbey, an enormously wealthly sprawling place that engendered much anger against the Catholic church. Many felt the monks should not be living so lavishly, and that the church had become corrupt. Henry VIII was responsible for destroying some of it during the 1500s when he tried to make the Britons Anglicans, not Catholics.

Darren at Fountains Abbey.

Fountains Abbey was the perfect place for Nathan to release all his energy. He and Leah scrambled all through the nooks and crannies of these ruins and it was a glorious English summer day, about 70 degrees, and we all thought it would the perfect place for a wedding reception, a very expensive wedding reception.

The Queen was at Home

2009-07-18T14:03:00.000-07:00

We knew we'd get poured on, but we went anyway. We knew there would be loads of tourists like us, trying to see the changing of the guard. We knew there would be confusion about if they were really going to change the guard given the weather. We knew if we lost each other we'd truly be lost. Thank heavens I had my multi-colored umbrella, the one that stands out among a sea of black ones.

But you just can't go to London without seeing Buckingham Palace. It isn't as interesting architecturally as other palaces. It's design is RAAAAWTHER dull. But there is a living queen inside the castle and she's been queen for nearly all her life, and that's really something. Whatever their opinion of the monarchy as an institution, I doubt many British people would make light of her years of service.

What we actually saw: policeman on horses telling people to clear the way, policemen on foot telling people to clear the way, a few fuzzy black-headed guards through the gate and the Union Jack flying on the top of the palace, signifying that the Queen is in London.

"When the flag flies up there, that means the queen's at home," I told Leah.

"Maybe she's in there right now!" said Leah.

That led to just a few hundred questions.

"What do you think the queen's doing in there?"

"What does the queen do all day?"

"How many rooms are there in there?"

"How many bathrooms do you think are in there?"

"Does the Queen have kids?"

"So Charles will be King someday?"

"What are the guards guarding her from?"

I told her sometimes she comes out on the balcony and waves to the people, and that they all cheer.

"Maybe she'll come out today! Let's watch and see!"

So we watched for a bit and then walked around the park for a bit and ate a cookie until the crowds died down and then made our way home. First we stopped at some overpriced tea and crumpets, queen-type tourist shops with fancy T-shirts that say "Pussy Cat Pussy Cat Where Have you Been? I've Been to London to Visit the Queen," and such.

Not sure if the guard was changed or not.

Les Mis in London

2009-07-12T15:50:00.000-07:00

These three cousins in this picture are primed for a night on the town at the Queen's Theater. They are seeing Les Mis in the West End and it will be one of the most memorable nights in their lives. Sammie, Adrie and cousin Kailey are "living the dream." They are so excited that they can barely stop smiling. Their excitement is tangible in this photo. They curled each other's hair and put on high heels even though it was quite a bit of walking to get there. They did makeup and much changing of clothes.

Darren and I were thrilled to share this memory with them. We kept talking about how grown up they looked. We wished that Alan and Kim, Kailey's parents, could be with us to watch them.

When we discovered we'd be able to see the play on Thursday morning, an energy shot through all three of them. Adrie had been wanting to see this play more than any other. While many of her fellow students were going to play after play, she was waiting, hoping for this one.

The girls didn't care that our tickets were in restricted seating, that they'd have to crane their necks in odd positions to see. They promptly went into the theatre and bought a Les Mis T-shirt. When Fantine began singing "I Dreamed a Dream" I hardly dared to turn to look at them for fear I might miss one note of that gorgeous song. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see their faces lit up with the pure contentment and joy that comes when one is soaring.

They didn't want to leave the theatre at intermission, instead they preferred to review the story and characters among themselves through wide-eyed grins.

As I sat watching, I wondered how I managed to live my whole life without ever seeing such an incredible piece of theatre. When it was over and my face was completely wet, I was almost angry. I wanted more. This is unusual for me. I am normally glad when plays are over since I have such a hard time sitting still for very long. Not this one.

I want to go back. I want to pay £50 to sit in the middle and see every inch of the stage. They say that art trumps life. And days later, as the songs go through my head, I am inclined to believe it.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters

2009-07-07T11:07:00.000-07:00

"Excuse me, sir, would you mind telling me where I might find Platform nine and three quarters?" This is the very King's Cross Station where Harry Potter came to board the train to Hogwarts. The trolley is permanently stuck to the wall.

The London Wall is the fortress the Romans built to keep out invaders. It was buried until the bombings during WWII uncovered the remains.

Stonehenge remains a mystery. How did they move the rocks 250 miles to this spot? Was it the Romans?

Anyone for a BAAAAAWTH? More Roman ingenuity.

The London Buffet

2009-07-03T01:02:00.000-07:00

When we signed up to do London Study Abroad we were thrilled that we would have seven weeks "to do all we wanted to do." Hmmmmm. There is no way in the world we can do 1/3 of all we wanted to do here. We are staring at a mouth-watering buffet of options that we'd love to sample, even gorge ourselves with, but have only the energy and time for assorted appetizers and desserts. Partaking of the main course would be like Thanksgiving, where you have to lay down for a while to digest even though you want to eat more. That is London.

In this photo we are in front of the Globe Theater, yes the very one, where we saw As You Like It on Monday night.

We have been here nearly two weeks and we have done an amazing amount of things. We have five weeks left to see the plays we want to see, sample all the ethnic food, and visit more museums, cathedrals, abbeys and palaces. We live next to Hyde Park, but if you go in every direction there is more, more, more. In the evenings we walk past cafes that we promise to come back and sample. Logistically, there is no way. But we hope.

We have walked miles and miles around and my feet hurt, despite the pains I took to get the perfect walking shoe (see earlier email.) I soak them at night. But I can't think of spending even a day resting and recouping because I don't want to miss out on a summer day in London. The heat has been stifling, the hottest summer in years, but we are in London, and we are in London.

Darren has the added stress of having to actually work here when he wants to be out and about doing all. I know, there is no pity for the poor Americans who only have the summer for London. But I tell you, consuming London to it's fullest takes a lifetime, a veritable lifetime, one in which you will never cross the threshold to satisfaction.

And then there's Bath, Stourhead, Cambridge, Canterbury, Dover, Portsmouth and Edinburgh OUTSIDE London that are on the schhhhhedule (as Londoners pronouce it).

This summer we are eating one just one strawberry (and British strawberries are oh, so luvley) off the fruit platter that is London.

So Much To See

2009-06-26T01:29:00.001-07:00

This is our illustrious second-born daughter, Sam, pretending to fall out the window from our fourth floor kitchen window. I love this photo because you can see my view while I do dishes.

We are resting our weary feet in the water fountain at Trafalgar Square. I didn't know London had such
beautiful blue skies.

Can you believe we saw this exquisite Leonardo da Vinci painting at the National Gallery? It was breathtakingly beautiful, but I know this poor photo does not do it justice. But I feel so blessed to have seen his work up close, not a copy, but his work. I could have looked at it for hours.

A lion at Trafalgar Square. There is a reason I am taking the pictures and not up there with the family. It was quite high.

Life at 27 Palace Court, London

2009-06-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Hawkins Family current conditions:

Jet lag: Over, as in done with, finished, bye-bye, phew! Killer.

Lost luggage: Arrived yesterday, enormous relief.

Flat: Old-fashioned tiles, woodwork and moldings, huge windows, shelves and shelves of books, mustard yellow carpet with funky patterns in it! Up four flights of stairs at the very top. Double killer, especially with groceries!

Weather: Sunny and 70s, with a lovely breeze blowing. Usually not this nice, say the Londoners. Stays light until 10 pm and then never gets that dark. Sun starts rising again at 4 am, due to how far north we are.

Neighborhood: Eclectic, urban, exciting, multi-cultural, cool European cars, great ethnic food, shops of all kinds and theaters.

Kensington Palace and Gardens: Five minutes away, with a lovely Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Playground, people playing soccer, jogging, biking and hanging out.

Adrie: Moved into the dorms with all the other students who arrived today. Seems happy to have 35 new girl friends and five potential boy friends. Sammie a bit sad to see her go, but is going to hang out with them sometimes, she says.

British Museum: Mind-boggling. Spent two hours there and saw a small fraction of the collection. The beauty is we can go back another time for another few hours and not feel like we have to cram it all in one day. Marvelous mummies and ancient jewelry.

Londoners: Exceedingly polite and courteous, but drive WAY TOO FAST! Sheesh! And on the wrong side of the road.

Arcadia: West End play we're seeing tomorrow. Don't know a thing about it.

Food: Expensive, expensive, expensive. Super-creamy yogurt and yummy dairy products. Tiny paper towels and no such thing as paper plates. Napkins come in packs of 50! We can use 50 in one day. We need to cut down on our consumption of napkins, we are such glutinous Americans.

Diet Coke: Weak, funny aftertaste, tiny cans. A Big Gulp would last a Londoner for weeks! No such thing as caffeine-free, poor Ellen, just has to drink the real stuff. Boo hoo, cry, cry, cry.

Ice cubes: Rare, nearly non-existent. A definite luxury. Most Europeans drink their drinks semi-cold or warm. Or hot.

Tube: (subway) Convenient, cleaner than New York's, but no less crazy. Officials had to stop one of the lines today to investigate a person who was down in the tracks.

We are: Happy, relieved to finally be here after thinking about it for over a year, excited for the fun days ahead, pinching ourselves that we are all here together in this fabulous city.

Loving 'Lanta

2009-06-20T10:39:00.001-07:00

Hi y'all. We've made a little stop in Atlanta, or "Lanta" where the weather is like an Amazon sauna with nary a breeze in sight. When we asked the shuttle driver if it was always this hot (knowing full well the answer) he said, "Yeah, that's just summer in Lanta."

The heat wraps around you like boa constrictor, making you drip like a leaky faucet all over the clothes that you have to wear again tomorrow because all your stuff is on a plane to London.

Why are we in Atlanta, Ga, home of peaches, the Braves and Jimmy Carter? Well, we opted to get bumped off of a very delayed, overbooked flight last night in order to get $600 Delta vouchers for each of us and first class the next day to London. That meant we didn't get to the airport Marriott until 1 am. That we didn't go to bed until nearly 2 am, but also that we got to sleep in a bit and chill this morning.

We are the only white folks (and are we white!) for miles around. This is good for my Utah County suburban kids who see a person of color about once every few years.

We are hoping our luggage made it to London last night, and that they have it tucked away waiting for us. I am not holding my breath, because that would be just too good to be true, icing on our British tea and cakes.

We had a huge lunch on Delta airlines and since it too hot to really do anything we will head back over to the airport soon.

I'm thinking Hawaii in February with those vouchers! Anyone know anyone cousin's sister's Dad who has a condo there?

Almost to London, by way of a toasted fried flounder sandwich and some ice col' lemonade!

Bye y'all.

Down to the Wire

2009-06-17T09:20:00.000-07:00

We leave for London in less than 48 hours. I have known about this trip for over a year now, but it's never really real until the clock is ticking away and there's lots of things left to do and I appear to be the only one in the house who is taking it seriously. My big issues getting ready for this trip have been the following:

1. It's too cold and rainy to go to the pool. What? This is Utah. I know. I wanted a day to bask in the sun before I hit cold and rainy GB. Oh well. It's better for the skin. You don't see Londoners with wrinkly, leathery skin. There' a reason for that: clouds. And maybe lack of outdoor pools. I'll take milky and creamy over leathery any day, but the sun still feels like good therapy to me. The kid's Seven Peaks passes are sitting here for Aunt Amy to use for her kids when she comes to stay because they expire before we get back. Have fun Greg and Matt!

2. Shoes. I have been on a quest to outfit the family with good walking shoes. This has involved multiple trips to multiple stores. I now know fully every store in this valley. Some I would have preferred not to ever know, but in a quest to find a "deal" I about killed myself and my family in the process.

Forcing teenagers to think about good-quality walking shoes has been a huge burden. Their idea of good walking shoes is flip flops, or white athletic shoes. OK, flip flops are against the study abroad rules for obvious reasons. But athletic shoes, for all I have read, just sort of brands a person as "HELLO, I AM AN AMERICAN TOURIST. I BET YOU DID NOT KNOW THAT. I WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT I AM FROM AMERICA, THE LAND OF THE FREE AND THE HOME OF THE BRAVE, THE BEST COUNTRY ON THE WHOLE DANG PLANET. JUST IN CASE YOU DIDN'T. BET I FOOLED YOU. HEY, CAN YA TAKE MY PICTURE, DON'T FORGET TO GET MY SPIFFY NEW TENNIES IN THE SHOT!"

My girls aren't like that (sorry girls, just feeling a weeee bit of pressure right now!) But I finally got them sulking and teenagering into one store, and that was the best I could do. They got what they got, and if their feet hurt it ain't my fault. I tried my hardest and I really don't care if their feet hurt in London or in the future.

Yes, I am done with the shoes problem. Darren has yet to think about his own feet, and I'll be damn-waggled (geez, now I'm thinking up new ways to swear!) if I'm gonna tell him he needs new shoes when he clearly says he doesn't. Been down that road before, and that's a Pandora's box in which I will deadbolt.

3. Suitcases. Wow. We look like the Clampett's (as in Jethro, Jed, Granny and Ellie Mae) before they struck oil. Black gold, that is, Texas tea. I think it's one of the suitcases we purchased at a garage sale back in 1993 before we were on our way to Santiago, Chile, to do research about Chile's transition to democracy from authoritarian rule.

While Darren was busy interviewing former, aged members of Pinochet's Junta (team of power-hungry, memory-challenged government officials) I was sad, lonely and pregnant in a foreign country trying to entertain a very precocious two-year old without blowing my brains out. So, 16 years later we're going to London with the same puke-green hard sided suitcase that doesn't shut so well. I think we've used bungee cords or duct tape in the past.

How you get your things abroad is irrelevant, I know, but I just love to compare our stuff to the Clampett's. (Sp?) House, cars, children, pre-oil bank accounts, etc.

4.House. Aunt Amy and Uncle Adam. I love you to death, but because you are staying in my house with your four kids while I am gone I have had to deep clean it to death. To it's grave. Darren says it's "good for me" to deep clean, and that someone staying in our house is the only motivation I ever have for deep cleaning. Yes, it does feel good to have things really clean, it's just that the process of getting it that way sort of feels like I am walking on nails with my bare feet. Amy, It's OK if you are reading this, but I know you're probably not, because you don't tend to get on email that much, but if you are, I hope you enjoy my nice clean house.

5. Medication. Insurance companies suck. They just do. They make you jump through all kinds of hoops (the kind that have fire burning in them) to get a 90-day supply of medicine. Just when you think you've gone through the last hoop without burning anything, they tell you it's impossible. That I can get 30 days with insurance or 60 days if I pay for it out of pocket. But this is 90 days. Heck no, that's way too long, sorry Mrs. Hawkins, even though your doctor and nurse have both called us to explain what you need, we are still saying no, you can't have 90 days, not even if you drive to Salt Lake to pick it up, not even if you empty out your bank account, not even, not even. No and no. Policy, blah blah, no, sorry, policy, no, blah, blah. Oh yes, have a great time in Europe.

What I love the most is this: After they've told me "NO" five times, and they have me feeling pretty much like a pouting three-year old, they have the audacity (no, not the Audacity to Hope, that's too much) to ask if there is anything else they can help me with. I am much too nice to say," And you think you've helped me? How did telling me I can't have my medication help me?" But I sure thought it. And now I'm blogging about it so I feel marginally better.

Check back frequently over the next few months! I'm gonna be posting. Promise.

Pinky swear and cross my heart, hope to die.

Funny joke:

I Left My Heart in San Francisco (and maybe some other things too!)

2009-04-22T07:36:00.000-07:00

What a great city. San Francisco is friendly and beautiful, and sooooo welcome after Utah's very ambivalent spring. Apparently 10 inches of snow fell in Utah while we were gone, downing various branches around the city. Glad I missed the whole thing.

We had a blast and wore ourselves out doing it.

Our first stop was the Jelly Belly Factory. Free tours and jelly bellies, and food shaped like jelly beans. So fun for everyone.

San Francisco's Exploratorium was more cool hands on things than any two hands or 12 hands in our case could ever have time to explore.

China Town was the real deal. We didn't find such great bargains as we'd hoped, but then we didn't have time to dig too far into the non-touristy areas. We had Dim Sum at a authentic little place, and liked most of it.

The most interesting and gripping place we visited was Alcatraz. Touring the prison with old inmates narrating the experience was a little scary at times, but Leah held up. The highlight was meeting Darwin Coon, a prisoner there in the late sixties, who was signing his memoir book. Learning about the escapes, the food and punishment was enough to want to keep us all crime-free.

Pier 39 was very fun and touristy, but by far the highlight was was the sea lions camped out on their own thrones (floating piers) and their antics. They were hilarious to watch. We probably watched them for an hour. They played king of the hill, and the older ones told off the younger ones when they got too rambunctious. Apparently they are there year round since the 1989 San Francisco earthquake.

Oh yeah. There was an aquarium thrown in there as well. Small and doable in less than an hour. Great since our feet were killing us.

The Mechanical Museum was a hit. It was so fun we ran out of cash and nickels. The kids had a blast playing all the turn of the century games (our equivalent would be an arcade of pin ball-type machines). We managed to avoid the peep show girls and the sex-0-meters, but had fun with arm wrestling, horse racing and fortune telling.

Six Flags Discovery Kingdom was way more than your average theme park in my opinion. This was the activity that I was least looking forward too, but ending up really enjoying. My kids will tell you they rode the best roller coasters, ever. I will say I rode just one of the many there, and that was plenty enough to last a a good long while. Whew! Our favorite family ride was the river rafting, where we all had a wet, wild ride.

Golden Gate Bridge was beautiful. We walked half way across, enjoying the views of everything, occasionally looking straight down to the rocky water below. It was unbelievable when a helicopter flew over the bridge with a big banner. We were so excited to see what the banner said. Another Geiko ad!!!! At the Golden Gate Bridge! Now for sure I will never call to save 15% in 15 minutes, cause they spoiled my maybe one and only experience standing on the bridge.

Watching the San Francisco Giants was amazing. The view of the bay made it hard to concentrate on the game, as our eyes would wander out to a passing ship or sailboat. We hoped someone would hit a home run into the bay, but that only happens 45 times a year, and it wasn't our night.

Whew!! Loved all the family memories. Thanks to Aunt Georgia and Uncle Dave for allowing us to intrude upon them in their home in Walnut Creek for four nights. This is our last trip before Adrienne graduates next month. It was everything we had hoped it would be before she moves on to college.

Test Me, I'm Yours

2009-04-08T16:59:00.000-07:00

Just as springs breaks through a bit and students start thinking the school year's mostly over, it's the time for teachers to reflect on what their students have learned over the past eight months or so.

I suppose "reflect' is a far too gentle word for the pressure that teachers feel right now. They must determine if their students have met their goals for the year. They have to try to keep them focused and working, a full time job in and of itself.

For kids in regular ed, they do that by administering standardized tests. They don't just measure student performance. Everything is measured from these tests--student performance, teacher performance, principal performance, school performance, district performance, statewide performance, and nationwide performance. There is a lot on the line when students are filling in the bubbles with their freshly sharpened No. 2 pencils.

If a state is following curriculum mandated by the NCLB (No Child Left Behind) there is even more pressure for teachers to adequately prepare students for these exams. Poor student performance could mean a teacher's job is on the line.

When parents are deciding where to buy a house, they often look at the test scores of the neighboring schools. This is often more important than numbers of rooms or bathrooms or whether there is a garage. It is inevitable that more affluent neighborhoods produce higher test scores. This is a sad fact of life that isn't fair for those who go to schools with lower scores, but it has always been this way.

If I had my way in this world (which I don't, I've been told)I would narrow the gap between the "haves" and the "have nots." I would ensure that every kid could be a "have" when it comes to education. Socio-economic status would affect home life, not school life.

For students in special education, there is even more red tape that teachers have to cut their way through. They come up for air for just enough time to dive in again to the sea of forms, forms and more forms. "I would go into special ed," one friend told me, "if it weren't for the paperwork." How sad. My sister who is a special ed teacher claims most of her job is filling out forms.

I have been working in a special ed classroom this school year. It is discouraging to see how some students actually worsen both academically and behaviorally from August to April.

It is frustrating for teachers to watch special ed students flub the test when 10 minutes before they knew the material. With special ed kids, you never know what's going to set them off to keep them from performing their best. For autistic kids, it can be a strange smell or a piece of string on the floor! Just because they knew it once is no guarantee that they'll remember it when it counts.

For example, in my class this year, there is a student who is very low-functioning. We have been working on letters and numbers all year. In September he could sign all his numbers from one to ten. Toward the middle of the year he added 10-20 to his repertoire. Now that it's time for an evaluation, he acts as if it is all new material. He looks at us as if we've asked him to repeat the pledge of allegiance when we ask him to count. (Big deal since he doesn't speak!)

At the end of the school year he as lazy as a lump. He doesn't care at all. He just wants to suck his thumb and eat lunch and avoid moving around. It is as if the desire to learn has been completely extinguished. He makes me want to tear my hair out daily.

Another student has gone from hardly speaking at all, to swearing up a storm and whining nearly all day. He has gone from being able to follow simple commands to crying and screaming about everything. No amount of reward or punishment changes this behavior. I don't know if I can take the whining another year if I return to this classroom.

Then there's the little boy who had me wanting to quit after the first day of school. His middle name is stubborn. He ran away from me and would repeatedly bang his hands on the desk. He fought me over writing with markers. He fought me over everything. He is still fighting and he is still a pain, but one day out of this stubborn boy came a few words.

His little voice is the sweetest sound I have heard all year.

He's Moving on Up

2009-03-18T07:38:00.000-07:00

It only took five years, 4 months and 37 days. But that's only from when I started counting. I probably had visions of this happening long before that, but that's when I really started paying attention to how long I've been whining about it.

My husband got a cell phone yesterday! Big deal, you say. Oh, what a big deal it is.

He has been hiding behind the excuse of "I don't want anyone to find me" for years now. Translation: he doesn't want me to find him. He cares less if people from work find him. But I think he's been hiding from me. I don't blame him. I can be a huge pain, high-maintenance, annoying, time-sucking and a general nag when provoked. I fully admit to these character flaws, and there are times when even I would love to hide from me.

It would be OK not to have a cell phone if he weren't a person of importance at his job. I imagine his secretary is giving a prayer of thanksgiving at this very moment, so grateful is she that she can now locate the chair of the department with all the major concerns of the department in a timely fashion. So grateful is she that when the dean calls to talk to Darren, she now has a number to give him. Lizzy, you deserve a raise. Maybe I'll talk to Darren about it tonight!

"He doesn't have a cell phone?" people would ask me over the years, aghast. "You've got to be kidding me!"

I kid you not.

Finally a couple weeks ago after a series of communication mishaps, I had lost it. I was trying to organize something with the family and had a last minute change of plans. Could I call him and tell him what was going on? No! So I went to find him. He was sitting at the physical therapists, getting his knees worked on.

I walked up to the table and told him in a not-so-very-nice voice that unless he got a cell phone within the next week, that there would be some serious consequences. And then I whispered a few in his ears. I do have some decorum.

The therapist working on him said, "Woa!" and tried to hide behind his little laser wand thingy, as to not get involved in a marital dispute.

"Uh," Darren said. "Could we discuss this later?" His face was turning red. But I had just got going. I was on a roll. I had reached my limit. Thoughts of every time I hadn't been able to find him over the years surged through my brain. There would be no mercy.

"No, we cannot. If you had a cell phone I wouldn't have to make a special trip down here, and embarrass you, to tell you our change of plans," I said.

"Well, maybe if you would stop changing plans, then there wouldn't be a problem." he retorted. But he sort of looked as though he shouldn't have said that.

I was speechless. I was dumbfounded. I was trying to save him time by coming to the physical therapists to tell him that things had changed, to please not go pick up our child. How dare he accuse me of changing plans. My blood was boiling over, despite my medication.

I decided not to make more of a scene, although I'm sure that therapist went home to tell his wife how grateful he was that she wasn't such a ___________. Fill in any word you want.

I just said, "You have about a week to get a cell phone, and I'm serious," and fumed on out of there.

It has taken about two weeks, and he has spent a lot of time down at the Sprint store talking to Russ about his options. Each time he has come hope empty handed, where upon I have had to whisper my threats into his deaf ears.

And then last night the phone rang. "Hi! I'm on my new cell phone! See you in a few minutes!"

"I'll believe it when I see it," I said, feeling hopeless.

And then he walked through the door with a little black device and when we said the prayer on the food for dinner we included thanks that our dear old Dad and husband had finally entered the 21st century.

Now he's got to figure out how to use it. He's going to pay his teenage daughters to enter in all his contacts and get him up to speed on technology.

I guess he can still not answer when I call, but I can still whisper consequences til the cows come home.

The Nervous Sun

2009-03-12T05:10:00.000-07:00

Here I am, it's been a month.

Here's what's going on in my neck of Utah, the "I'm just not going to let spring ever come" state. I love how John Updike talks about March in his children's book "A Child's Calendar." He says,

"The sun is nervous
As a kite
That can't quite keep
It's own string tight.

Some days are fair,
And some are raw.
The timid earth
Decides to thaw.

Shy budlets peep
From twigs on trees,
And robins join
The chickadees.

Pale crocuses
Poke through the ground
Like noses come
To sniff around.

The mud smells happy
On our shoes,
We will wear mittens,
Which we lose."

This is March. The sun peaks out and hides, then starts the whole thing over again. When the sun's out it's tolerable and even exciting, but when it's not, it's not worth staying outside. My son thinks it's definitely spring, and likes to wear shorts and t-shirts to school when it's 30 degrees outside. Can I just say that I am sick to death of fighting with him about clothes. When I ask him to take a jacket to school, you'd think I'd asked him to hike through the Kalahara without water. Good grief.

Yesterday at school was the 5th grade maturation program for boys and girls. "But we were separated," Nathan told me. I couldn't believe when he got in the car after school and "shared" this information with me. I was stunned when he brought it up at dinner in front of his teenage sisters. "What did they tell you?" they giggled. Their laughing didn't deter him at all.

"About how we're supposed to wear deoderant and take a shower every day. Giggle giggle, blush blush from the sister section. "And how pretty soon we're going to start liking girls." Giggle, giggle.

"We all gagged and pretended to throw up when he said that," he added. Peals of laughter from all of us.

"Next year you'll learn more stuff," I said.

"Great," he said, and rolled his eyes.

My crocuses are poking through. Updike's crocuses are pale but mine are bright yellow and purple. I'm glad we made the effort to plant them last fall. Thankfully they can't go back into the ground after they've sprung, like the sun going behind the clouds. They are the bravest flower of all, to stand up to the fickle days of March.

Hope there's some sun wherever you are today!

Stimulus and Stimulants

2009-02-12T07:11:00.000-08:00

President Obama and I have a lot in common these days. He doesn't know me from Adam (or Eve) although I would have practically traded in my fuzzy red socks to see him get elected. I would have jumped ship temporarily (or house and home) to work on his campaign if I had been at a different stage in my life. No, he doesn't know me and never will, but we are both working for a common goal these days.

While President Obama is feverishly trying to stimulate the economy, I am desperately trying to stimulate my brain which has been misfiring all my life. The catch is that it's a lot easier to stimulate a brain IF you have the right tools than to stimulate a sagging, ailing economy. The irony is that it's taken me 42 years of struggle to find out what's wrong with me, and once discovered, it seems almost too easy. For our economy, however, there are multiple layers of reasons for its malfunction, and connecting the wires is a Herculean task.

I wish that creating jobs and improving the lives of Americans were so simple and fixable as my own brain. As all economists are warning, there is no magic pill, unfortunately. But for me, there is, or seems to be, at this moment. I am in the honeymoon phase of OBF optimal brain function (my own term) and each day's moments are lovely and relieving.

A couple of weeks ago I was diagnosed with adult ADD. That's Attention Deficit Disorder, for all of you whose brains are functioning optimally today. No, I do not have the ADHD type, "H" standing for hyper. Most adults don't actually. I have come up with a few of my own words to make it sound better, or sillier than it actually is, like ALWAYS DOING DUMB things or ALWAYS DREADING the DAY or ATTENTION: DRAMA DANCE coming your way or ATTENTION: DISASTER DEAD ahead or other nonsense.

Just one more: ATTENTION: DUH! DUH!!!!!!!!

But this disorder is real, as real as my heart pumping blood. Real.

Multiple times a day since the diagnosis I say to myself, "Oh yeah, that's why that happened and that's why I did that." If anymore light bulbs go on in my brain I will have to put on sunglasses to fight the glare of revelation that has opened up to me.

Since I started taking my stimulant medication I have gone from feeling half dead to feeling alive. The snow is pretty, not a pain in the butt. The autistic kids at school are funny instead of a pain in the butt. My children are busy, interesting and entertaining with lots of good things that I can be part of instead of energy sucking creatures that consume food, make a ton of dirty laundry and keep me taxiing around the city for hours a day. I love them so much!

Geez, will I finally be able to sit through church without wanting to get up and wander? Will I stop running to the store all the time? Will I stop overeating? Will I stop being the world's grouchiest MAMA in the mornings? Will I be able to function past 9 pm? Will I be able to finish a novel? Will I blog more than once a month? Will I start solving problems instead of creating them? Will I keep this same cell phone for more than six months? Will I? Will I? Will I? Perhaps, maybe, and I hope so more than anything.

Darren says I'm "firing from all cylinders" this week, like the Titanic without an iceberg in sight. Smooth sailing, calm waters, full steam ahead. Don't. Look. Back.

IT IS ABOUT TIME.

Whew! Mr. President, my fog is lifting, and I wish you luck in finding the light that can lift the mucky haze from the American economy and people.

I wish it were not so real for you.

Sex Education the Guy Way

2009-01-11T17:27:00.000-08:00

It amazes me how men simplify things whereas women complicate things endlessly. Take sex ed at home.

Today we were reading the The Great Brain. We were at the when the brothers are talking about dog breeding and mating. Darren took this opportunity to ask Nathan what he knew about dogs mating and how it works. Go figure. Without a pause he moved right on to human mating before I could even blink. I was in the same room typing up something for my young women's lesson. I typed slower and slower and made more and more mistakes because I couldn't believe what I was hearing out of the blue on a Sunday afternoon.

It went something like this. Well, I don't want the parental controls to short circuit or anything, so I'll just say that my son will forever think that canine mating is the same as human mating, and that his Mom was laughing like a hyena in the background. I hope he can get the image out of his mind on his wedding night. Maybe someday he'll vow to explain things to his own children better that his own parents did. Or maybe Darren's right. The way to do it is to somehow weave the details into something that it remotely resembles, like animal mating. And then pray they don't want too many details.

In other words, the mechanics of it all was spelled out within five minutes and they were back to The Great Brain. When I turned around to look at Darren incredulously, he replied "What? That's how guys do it." Amazing. Nathan was bit red-faced and eager to get on with the story, but basically unscathed.

It was not like that for me and my girls. I worried and fretted when my oldest daughter started asking me questions--IN SECOND GRADE, NO LESS--and composed myself to come up with some textbook answers. She was young enough not to be embarrassed, and she sat thoughtfully after our little talk, with a bemused look on her face. Of course I was riddled with worry. "Is this too much information?" "Is she too young?" "Will she tell a friend?" all went through my mind. I was sick to my stomach that I had said the wrong things.

My second daughter would run from the room whenever I broached the subject, and we still have yet to have "the" conversation. Now she's 14 and it's too late. If I tried to talk to her now, she'd be halfway down the street before I could get out a sentence, madly texting her BFF how insane her mother is. "Can you even believe it, BFF?" she'd dash off.

So, Nathan's "done" so to speak. I do hope Darren smoothes things over a bit in the next little while. As for me, I'm through complicating things. I still have one girl to go, though. An approach somewhere between Darren's and mine would be ideal, but life isn't ideal.

I think I'm gonna buy her a book.

Bad Bad Blogger--For Shame!

2008-12-22T13:03:00.000-08:00

It's not like I never have time to blog. I've actually been off work all month with a dislocated shoulder. And my arm still works. So you'd think I could type just one or two little blogs. You'd think . . . I don't know what my problem is other than I'm just a major flake, OK? Anyway, here are some things I've learned in the last month since I've written.

*When you tell your husband you're done with your Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving, and then he looks at all the purchasing that is going in the Christmas column, you know you're doing a fair amount of impulse buying. Like a month's worth. And everyone's getting WAY too much for Christmas. And you're sort of in deep doo-doo. Yeah, that's me.

*A dislocated shoulder for five days (yes, I rock) hurts like hell. Lortab is good for lessening the pain and for getting off diet coke!! Yes, I'm off it after 25 years. And I owe it all to the lovely narcotic Lortab. Bless you! You eased my pain. As of this writing, I have not had caffeine, (well, OK, I've had some chocolate) since December 1, the same day I dislocated my shoulder trying to put up decorations. And I really don't miss it. I guess it is possible to improve your health a little at a time. Any ideas on how to get off the Lortab? HA! Just kidding.

*I think we underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. I've had sleep apnea for a couple of years now and just got diagnosed last month. Now that I am getting better sleep, everything is improving in my life. Lots of sleep is a beautiful thing.

*My girls can make more money babysitting than I can working in the public schools. All they do is babysit. I'm glad they can buy their own Christmas gifts since I've already exhausted that department. I'm proud of them for being good babysitters. Oh, and by the way, I used to make $1 an hour babysitting. And the kids I babysat were ROTTEN TO THE CORE! My mother made 25 cents an hour. And my daughters make wads of cash. Not fair that in one generation babysitting inflation has gone up 100 percent! My grandmother would tell me that life's just not fair, and that I shouldn't complain. She probably made 5 cents an hour! And she was probably just fine with that. Oh, the injustice of it all!

* My Christmas tree is gorgeous. It makes me happy. I will rip it down and trample it in another week, but for right now, it's just lovely.

I am loving reading A Christmas Carol. The language the message, the lessons are all so inspiring this time of year. I would like to take this opportunity to quote a passage that I find particulary moving. Scrooge and the ghost Marley are discussing Marley's demise because of his negligence of his "fellow-beings" AND Scrooge's imminent demise if he doesn't change his ways:

"But you were always a good man in business, Jacob," faltered Scrogge, who now began to apply this to himself.

"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing his hands again. "Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"

It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground.

"At this time of the rolling year," the spectre said, "I suffer most. Why did I walk through the crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me?"

Have a Merry Christmas, and may we all remember to be concerned with our "fellow-beings" who are in need every day.

Gratitude in Fractions

2008-11-13T14:33:00.000-08:00

Life moves along whether you blog or not. So I'd better blog before I forget everything that is happening in my life. Of course my legions of followers will be upset if I neglect them too long.

Things to be grateful for today:

1. The school year is 1/3 over. The principal reminded us of this with cookies in the faculty room. I can't believe I've actually survived 60 days in the autistic unit. Only 120 more. I remain unscathed as of today, but who knows what could happen tomorrow.

2. My Christmas shopping is 2/3 done. Thanks to a day off a couple weeks ago and Darren's great gift ideas, we're well on our way to the finish line. That's a good feeling.

3. The sun has been shining 2/3 of the time. If there were a sun god I would worship him or her, because I hate life without it.

4. I have been working out three days a week at Curves which is 100 percent of my goal. Lesson learned: If I make smaller goals I can reach them. If I would have said 4 or 5 days a week, then I wouldn't be reaching my goal, and that would be another thing to fail at. Know what I mean?

5. My house is 1/2 clean. It will never be 100% clean, so I will take what I can get. Darren has been going crazy cleaning with our new Kirby vacuum. He's got to get his money's worth. Our carpets look better than they have for months.

6. The work week is 4/5 over. Who can't handle one measly Friday? What could possibly happen on Friday that could mess up my life? Hmmmmm. I don't want to find out.

7. Barack Obama is president-elect. Looking at the tears streaming down all those African American faces on national TV made me 100 percent proud to be an American. I am proud that America has looked beyond race and made the right choice. I am hopeful and excited for the future. I am intrigued by this intelligent, understanding man.

8. Sammie's play is over. Oklahoma was great succes! It was 50 percent wonderful, 50 percent a pain. But she made some great new friends, so I am 100 percent happy about that, and I know she is too.

And who ever said I was below average in math?

One Party County

2008-10-23T15:34:00.001-07:00

Yes, I live in the reddest county in Utah, if not the whole blasted USA. For many in my neighborhood, they've forgotten that we live in a democracy. That means, all you lovers of the constitution and American values and patriotism, that I don't have to VOTE HOW YOU VOTE. I can vote how I want, and you can't do a thing about it. I wouldn't think of trying to change your mindset, and I certianly would never rip down your McCain signs.

Immature!

Yes, it's really cute to pull down my Obama/Biden lawn sign. Tee hee hee. You are so funny. What? You can't believe someone in your neighborhood who shares your religious values, does NOT share your political values? Or are you wondering do I really share your religious values? Am I going to corrupt your children at church with my liberal ideas? You can think whatever you think.

Remember when they read that statement at church two weeks ago about how political affilitation is a PERSONAL CHOICE and that our religion does NOT ENDORSE ANY SPECIFIC PARTY? Hmmmm..

I can't wait for this election to be over. I'm sick of feeling like a freak show at the circus because of my political choices.

Grow up people.

In Anticipation of my Five-Day Weekend

2008-10-15T16:00:00.000-07:00

Now that I have a five-day weekend ahead of me, I can write a bit. That's right, I have off Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday! I am thrilled. And best of all, my birthday is tomorrow. Wasn't it sweet of the Alpine School District to give me my birthday off? I thought so.

I think I'll take the kids to Gardner Village tomorrow to see the witches. I've been wanting to go the past two weekends but it's been raining cats and dogs. Tomorrow is supposed to be glorious.

Today was a crazy day at school. Don't ask me how autistic kids know it's a three-day week instead of a five-day week, and so they need to fall apart on the last day of the three day week---but do they ever! It was a circus.

There was a lot of whining about not wanting to do spelling, PE and everything else. One boy cried for Mommy off and on. Some even broke down in tears over the fact that they didn't want to go to PE, and how mean the PE teacher is. One kid spent most of the day lying on the floor, refusing to get up and untying his shoes the minute I tied them. He found my marker hiding place, and now I've got to find of new one. He refused to go to the bathroom and then had an accident right before lunch, and when we tried to get him to go change instead of get in line for lunch, he pitched a fit, thinking he would have to miss lunch. So he went to lunch in a very bad way, and sicked us all out.

Toward the end of the day I didn't care if he was lying on the floor, if his shoes were untied or if he stole all my markers. I just wanted him to go home to his poor mother who has probably gone completely gray and senile because of him.

We had head bumps, pushing, slamming doors, throwing blocks and screaming and swearing, among other lovely situations. We had ketchup everywhere after lunch and filthy hands from playing with the rubber on the playground. We had to run extra laps because of not listening. Oh yeah, one kid got his head stuck in the back of a chair and we had to figure out how to get him out. He also refused to do his spelling, and missed recess because of it.

This is real life baby!

Some good things happened, too. I got some chocolates for my birthday. I got to check out a brand new book from the school library. I got to visit with some nice teachers during lunch. I got to pay $200 for a new retainer for Sammie. Oh wait, that's not on the good list. But it still happened. Yep, Sammie stepped on her retainer, and no amount of super glue could undo the damage. Way to go Sam! Oh, and Merry Christmas, too!

In other bad news, my cell phone went through the wash and is not very happy about it at all. It thinks every call is a roaming call, and is continually in "searching for service" mode. I will not mention how many of my other cell phones this has happened to because it speaks very poorly of my ability to care properly for them. And other things, unfortunately.

A Month of Stuff

2008-09-27T13:51:00.001-07:00

It's pathetic that I'm now blogging once a month. My life has changed so dramatically. I'm not sure if I like that I never sit down to blog anymore. I feel like a lot of my life is going unrecorded, and I definitely feel a void. Plus, I know the masses out there are SOOOO upset!

All in all, life is going well. My job is good and I am enjoying the great kids and teachers I get to work with every day. We now have a girl in our class with cerebral palsy and autism. She is in a wheelchair. It has been a challenge to get used to how to care for her.

Fall is beautiful and warm. We've had a string of drop-dead gorgeous days; one couldn't ask for better weather. I keep thinking it's going to end, but it doesn't. Each day competes with the next for most beautiful. I love fall.

Adrienne got asked to homecoming last weekend, by a guy she's been friends with for years. Now we begin the process of dress shopping, something I'm told could take weeks by friends who have done it before. Apparently finding the right dress for homecoming is akin to finding the right wedding dress. When I went to school dances in the 80s, I just put on one of my church dresses or bought a new church dress. We never wore formals and now I know why. Sheesh! Good thing I'm raking in the big bucks these days working for the Alpine School District! Whew!

I am disgusted at corporate CEOs who are profiting from the huge financial crisis. I am disgusted with their greed and lack of accountability. I am disgusted that my children will inherit the mess fueled by their greed and selfishness. I don't think anyone in government knows what to do about it, really. Not McCain, not Obama, and definitely not Sarah Palin, who probably thinks she can put on lipstick and kiss it all better with her pit bull/beauty queen lips.

Just a bit about Sarah Palin. She scares me in ways that I can't express. But here goes! With all her talk about family values, what she has done to her family in the last month is deplorable. She has hidden a pregnancy, hidden from her children that it would be a down syndrome baby, brought her pregnant teenage daughter into the media's unforgiving limelight, all while claiming that they are one big happy family!

A woman who would put her family under a microscope to try to assume a job that she is woefully unprepared for . . . I don't get that. Why would anybody do that to themselves? Why would anyone do that to their children? Why did John McCain ask her to be his running mate? Why did she say she didn't even hesitate to say yes when he asked her? She didn't even think? That is increasingly obvious. She can never undo the consequences of her decision NOT TO THINK! AUGH!!!!!

I get to go out with Mom and Lisa tonight. I'm excited.

We have an awesome new grocery store in town. I am thrilled. It is full of people who never shop at Wal-Mart. That is why I love it. There are no crabby mothers pushing around screaming kids yelling, "I told you I'd smack you if you didn't shut up!" and then whacking their kid. Not one is sight. Aren't I a snob? It's called Sunflower Farmer's Market. The reason I love it is because when I shop there I feel like I'm in Seattle or Virginia or some other cool place besides Utah. Any place that makes me feel cool in Utah, I like.

Darren and I saw Hale Center Theater's production of Aida last night. It was fantastic. We loved it. We are thinking about buying season tickets. It is lovely to be able to go out to the theater on the weekends! It's been many years since that's happened.

The Steady Humming of Little (or not so) Mouths

2008-08-27T18:15:00.001-07:00

Life has changed drastically for me over the past 10 days. I am happy to say that I like the changes, I like the pace, and I'm not slowly going insane like I thought I would being the "para educator aide" in an autistic class full of 7-9 year olds. But the first five days however, all I could think was "What have I done, what have I done?" I didn't necessarily want to undo it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to keep on doing it.

Along about Wednesday of last week Darren said, "So, I'm worried about you. You don't like this job like you did last year, I can tell." I have learned through trial and error that if I don't like my job I don't tell Darren. I pretend like I do. He will accuse me of never liking any job ever, and I didn't want that. So I told him all was well, that it was just the first week that was really hard, and that things would look up. Then I started praying they would. And they did. Thankfully.

I didn't get any bruises or scratches this week like some of the other teachers in the other classes did. I didn't have any kids throw themselves on the floor and kick and scream and refuse to participate like some other classes. I didn't have anyone run away.

I did chase one wild boy all around in order to get him to sit down, and now I don't need to do any exercise at all this week. Phew! I did get my elbow fondled by another boy, which was the strangest experience ever. He kind of went slack-jawed and all glassy-eyed as he stroked the rough spots. While this was happening, the teacher started laughing and said, "He does that to me all the time!" I was deflated and a bit jealous. I thought my elbows must have been something extraordinary. I guess not.

Other highlights of the first days of school:

* Getting hit in the head--hard--with a basketball and feeling a bit lightheaded.

* Watching Meaghan pick out every single gosh-darned crunch berry out of her crunch berry ceral and getting screamed at because I poured the milk on before they were all off.

*Groveling to the lunch ladies for extra french toast for Toby. I was told he'd have to pay for an entire other breakfast, but that couldn't he have some fruit or yogurt to fill him up? Lunch ladies don't budge, from their hairnets to their toes. That's what I learned. Yessiree.

*Realizing that my brain CAN function in the morning if I coax it a bit. This was a lovely revelation, because for many years, I have truly believed that my morningitis was a degenerative condition. The good news! I can change.

*Everybody, regardless of age or station should have a MANDATORY ten-minute relaxation after lunch where they are forced to be quiet, close their eyes and listen to nice music.

Today I have been married 20 years! For 20 years Darren has put up with me. We promised to always drive each other crazy and we have done exactly what we promised. We have both fulfilled our marriage vows and then some. I got some chocolate covered cinnamon bears from the BYU Bookstore (divine!) and some Burt's Bees Foot Cream. That was a major hint on his part that my feel need a little TLC. Love you sweetie!

Back to School or Baby that was Short

2008-08-09T22:49:00.000-07:00

It has not been a great summer of posting. I seem to have hit a writing slump, and I have slumped down pretty far. But I'm hoping to pull myself out of whatever funk I've slipped into in and start producing again. I know my fans are heartbroken that they haven't heard from me for so long. Tee hee.

SO . . . How's your summer? Mine seems like the shortest on record. Every year I say that but this year . . .phew! Maybe it's because things have chnaged and I'm actually going back to school this year with the kids instead of staying home while they go back. Yes, I must say that my life is about to change in a big way.

No, not the master's degree thing. That's still a big old maybe. The teaching thing. At Foothill Elementary from 8-2 every day. I will be an autism aide for six hours a day!! I don't know if I am up for this, but here goes. I have a senior in high school and college tuition looming for her next fall and several expensive (just look at the weak dollar!) months in Europe next summer. I need to work. Plus Darren says I am much happier and spend less money when I work. If I'm at work, I'm not shopping. Funny how that works. I always said he was brilliant!

Did I just write that my daughter's starting her senior year? This is mind boggling, absolutely terrifying to think that that wailing red little human(Sorry Adrie) will be living next fall in a dorm with friends and not under my roof. I feel like I have been smacked across the face. I am stunned and I feel like crying. Seventeen years has passed way too quickly. When she was baby I was in a time warp. Time never seemed to pass. Then all of the sudden . . . . .she's even more beautiful than I ever thought, and I love her more than I ever thought.

So things are different this year, and there is a lot to do to get ready. We had a fantastic vacation up at the cabin, probably the best ever, and made many lovely memories. Now it's time for reality to hit. Four kids and me have to be ready to go to school on Monday the 18th. That's in a week. Darren has to go to his school, too, but I'm gonna let him get ready himself, thank you.

I am so done with all three girl's birthdays. Three in one month is a killer financially and otherwise. Sammie's was on Aug 7 and we had a big family dinner for her a few days before that. Before we went to the cabin she got a cell phone. This was a big deal! It's lime green and has keyboard for texting. She was thrilled. She wanted to get pastries at Gloria's Little Italy on her birthday and so we went. Chocolate cannoli, anyone?

The day before I took her school shopping. This included a new pair of glasses, two new pairs of shoes, two pairs of levis and assorted shirts. This also included a break at the Nordstrom cafe which kept us going even longer. It's not "shop til you drop." On this particular day it was "shop until you are comatose, and then go home and fix dinner." The next day she got her hair cut and needed various styling "products."

Sheesh. And that day was also junior high registration. Double sheesh. Not cheap in the land of many children per family school district. And that was just one kid!!!!!!

Darren made her make salsa with him and work in the garden because of all these extravagances. How can junior high registration be an extravagance? Hang on, honey, high school registration is next week. They will probably make us pay more for the privilege of being a senior and because the school is being rebuilt. Go Orem High Tigers!

Top ten things to do before next Monday at 8 am.

1. Buy food for lunches. Good food, the kids said, not carrot sticks and yogurt. Good food to them means Zingers and Pringles. I haven't bought Zingers since my senior year in high school. That was the same year my friend Chris Tebben bought a coke and candy bar every day for lunch when her Mom thought she was buying school lunch.

2. Get Nathan's hair cut whether or not he's kicking or screaming.

3. Do all the laundry so that it won't pile up more than three feet that first week of school.

4. Put up my PTA bulletin board at Cascade before back to school night.

5. Lose 10 pounds by Friday night so I can get into my swimming suit for the ward swim party.

6. Find Nathan a guitar teacher. Any suggestions?

7. Sign Leah up for BYU creative dance.

8. Celebrate my 20-year wedding anniversary!I made it 20 years, but I don't know if Darren has or not. I'll let you know on that one . . .

9. Go to back to school night and pretend that my son's teacher isn't the same teacher that drove us all insane with ridiculous homework when Sammie had him.

10. Make everyone lay out their clothes on Sunday night, except for the teenage girls who will try on 20 different shirts Monday morning, leave them ALL on the floor as they leave claiming they have NOTHING TO WEAR! I will find many of these shirts, perfectly clean, but now wrinkled, in the wash a few days later. I know they will do this because it's in their genes (not jeans!)

Wish me luck.

Goin' to the Cabin

2008-07-20T23:02:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I'm going to the cabin in Montanta. I've been going there since I was a wee babe in arms. I've taken my own kids when they were babes in arms. Now they're no longer wailing babies whose nighttime crying echo through the uninsulated cabin at 2 am to keep the relatives awake.

Now they just scream. Usually for joy. They scream because they're at the cabin, because they're playing Pit on the porch, because they caught a fish (keep your fingers crossed) or because they're jumping off the end of the pier into the frigid lake. They're screaming because they're being towed behind a boat on an enormous floaty thing with their cousins.

They might wail a bit when I'm trying to get a palmful of slivers out with my tweezers or, heaven forbid, needle. They might complain when it's their turn to "do the dishes" without a garbage disposal or a dishwasher. Or when it's their turn to set the table for 14 people next weekebd when all the family will arrive for a little reunion. Or when it's time to clean the cabin and go home there will definitely be protests.

But these are the cries of kids living life and having fun. I prefer these cries to inconsolable babies in the middle of the night. You could say my cabin ship has come in. I've been waiting for lots of years for the kids to be manageable and self-sufficient at the cabin. And this year it might be the magical one, the one where I get to do want I want. I might be able to sit at the beach for several hours without having to get up to take care of anybody. I might get to read on the beach--something I haven't done for 15 years.

I will teach my kids that rather than walk all the way up the hill to the cabin to use the bathroom, to do what I used to do--walk out into the lake. If they refuse they can walk up to the cabin by themselves!!! Hooray.

When I want to read on the porch swing in the afternoon, they can join me to read together or they can go do something else for a while. Guess what? Nothing will happen if I ignore them. Yee haw!

I will miss a few things. Snuggling with babies in fuzzy sleepers in the warm cabin beds. Watching their toddler faces consort with fear and excitement when they see the bearskin hanging on the cabin wall. Watching them put sand in their mouths at the beach and then scream when it tastes horrible. Watching them go back and forth in the wooden swing that latches onto the beam on the porch. Seeing them in the high chair that me, my siblings and all my cousins used as babies.

But I'm ready to move on to this exctiing phase. I don't think I'd go back if I could.

Last Weekend's Great Blog Material

2008-07-03T14:21:00.000-07:00

"Oh, Ellen, that's great blog material," my mom told me after I'd described the events of the past few days. Indeed I had to agree, that the only thing good that came out of last Friday and Saturday was the hopefully good story it would make in writing or telling. Oh, and the 70s TV reminiscing around the campfire was a definite plus.

OK, you've all heard of youth conference. It's where youth leaders from church spend weeks organizing food, shelter and bathrooms for 25 teenagers. For one night away they pack 17 coolers full of stuff for dinner, breakfast, snacks and other essential equipment. Actually they didn't have to bring the port o potty. It was delivered for a pretty sum, the bishop told me when I was in the throes of wishing I were dead.

I didn't have to do much for youth conference. Just show up with Adrienne at this cool ranch house in Heber, Utah, for the festivities. I arrived just as they were serving taco salad for dinner. I had a reasonable amount of taco salad, and then the girls and I set up our enormous tent. We argued about whether to put the rain flap on, but decided to leave it be.

The speaker (a former Eastern-Euopean biathalon Olympic gold-medal winner, recently joined the LDS church and moved to Heber Utah) was inspiring and mesmerizing to listen to. She brought her Olympic gold, silver and bronze medals to show us, but those stayed in the box for most of her talk. The things that were most dear to her were church and family. The gold medals were kind of an afterthought. Even the 12-year old boys were quiet for this story.

Around the campfire the over 40 leaders and I had a great time thinking of all the theme songs we remembered--"Beverly Hillbillies," "Genie," and "The Partridge Family." We laughed and laughed and ate s'mores. I ate one, a reasonable amount considering that at one point 16-year old Tyler G. had fourteen marshmallows stuck in his mouth. He didn't spit them all out, either. Probably 10 of them went down all at once. Typical youth group disgusting stuff.

Bedtime came. I settled on an air mattress next to Sammie and Adrie. Managed to fall asleep. About 2 in the morning I awoke suddenly. My stomach was grumbling, and I felt queasy. In the tent next to us 16-year olds Stephanie and Rachel were telling each other their life stories--loudly! We yelled and them to stop and they'd hush for a few minutes, and then gradually put more drama(and volume)into their voices. It was impossible to sleep, and my stomach was not cooperating.

I thought maybe if I used the port 0 potty I'd feel better. It was a reasonable assumption. So I found my flashlight, put on my shoes (but didn't tie the laces--this is important!) and unzipped the tent. I started to make my way across the meadow through all this brush. I wondered why we were were camped so far away from the potty. There was a dry stream bed that you had to jump over, and I did so but not well. That darn shoe lace tripped me and I smacked down hard on my left shoulder on a giant rock.

So now I was lying on a rock at 2 or 3 in the morning feeling like my arm was broken, and really needing to use the bathroom. I pushed myself up with my right arm, and climbed out of the dry creek bed, a bit dizzy and disoriented. My left arm would not move.

I stumbled into the port o potty and managed to do my business. But then couldn't pull my pants up because my left arm was throbbing. I pulled my pants up on the right side and got into the car. I scootched around on the seat until my pants were up. Then I started praying for my throbbing arm and queasy stomach. I knew I needed help.

I woke up Jared and Amy Hess who were sleeping in the back of the truck near my car. They got a chair for me to sit down in. Jared went to get the bishop and his wife. They stumbled onto the scene, and asked me what happened. I said I needed a blessing, that my arm woudln't move. They gave me a blessing and then drove me to Heber Valley Hospital where I threw up for 10 minutes in the bushes after the car stopped.

In the emergency room I was required to lie flat on my back so they could ex-ray my arm. I prayed the whole time that my stomach would settle enough so I could get the ex-rays. At one point the bishop's wife, Cynthia, had to take my bra off because the metal was interfering with the imaging. SO there was poor Cynthia walking around the hopsital with my bra. I took deep breaths as they stretched my arm backwards ever so slowly to get the right picture.

My arm was not broken. It was deeply bruised, the doctor said. I could move it better now. Back in the car. Back to winding roads. Back to upset stomach. A minute before we got back I asked the bishop to pull over so I could throw up. Which I did. It was now 5:30 in the morning, and the bishop and Cynthia went back to bed.

I stayed in the car, wishing I could die. The stomach pain was unbearable. It reminded me of being in labor, except that when you're in labor the contractions stop and you can catch your breath. These pains were like going through transition in labor with no stop.

And it's not like I could go sit on the port 0 potty, either. And there was no where to lie down. It was hellish.

After writhing around in the car for an hour, I finally called Darren. "Come get me!" I begged. "I feel like I want to die."

Forty-five minutes later he pulled in, my knight in shining armour who was less than amused by the whole situation. The first thing he told me was that I wasn't going to girl's camp in two weeks and that I was never going camping again without him. Those of you who know Darren, know that he says things as they are.

We stopped in Heber for some Pepto Bismal which helped me get down the canyon. Darren also bought a bagel sandwich that made me sick to look at. Darren had me down the canyon in about 25 minutes. I collapsed in my bed but not to sleep. I endured about 8 more hours of steady pain. The only time I felt a little better was when I stood in the shower, which I did several times for 45 minutes. Darren called the on-call doctor who said I was probably having a gall bladder attack. He was about to take me to the emergency room again, when all of the sudden the pain let up a bit. Just a bit. Enough for me to collapse in exhaustion for about six hours of fitful sleep.

At 6 pm I emerged from my room, happy that I was alive and that the pain was gone.

Since then I have not had another attack but there is a 70 percent chance that I will. I have given up all fatty foods because that is what triggers an attack.

At my annual physical on Tuesday (just happened to have it scheduled), the blood they drew showed that something wasn't functioning optimally with my liver, and that probably means that I really am having gall bladder problems. Thanks for the stamp of approval, doctor's office. I also had a bladder infection.

So on Monday bright and early I go get an ultrasound so they can look at my gall bladder. Whether it's just irritated or has a string of stones in it remains to be seen. Whatever the result, I am probably headed for surgery if I want to avoid another attack.

So that was my weekend. How was yours?

I Have New Counters and a New Sink!

2008-06-18T07:49:00.001-07:00

No, I will not be scrubbing the white formica into my old age as I predicted. I will not be scrubbing ever again, because my new high definition laminate is so incredibly stain-resistant and non-porous, not to mention fleckled and grantite-looking, that no strawberry juice will ever be able to weasel its way into the surface to cause any sort of stain whatsoever! And my inegrated sink is so incredible lovely, who would have thught a sink could be lovely. But it is. And I love the little spray thing that comes out of the actual faucet.

And no more orange, faded fakey-wood ugly cabiets. They are painted white, and look fresh and brand-new. I am thrilled. I have waited nine years for this moment. I actually enjoy cleaning up after dinner and cooking is fun when one doesn't have to worry about staining the counters.

Thanks to the US Congress for the economic stimulus check that made this home improvement possible. We have done our part to stimulate the economy and then some.

Thanks to Darren for spearheading the cupboard-painting project. It was a big deal! And a huge improvement! He will no longer have to listen to me saying that I want to paint the cupboards and get new counters. He can listen to me say that we should start thinking about the floor . . . so in another nine years . . .

Not Again Nathan

2008-06-07T10:23:00.001-07:00

I had just locked the bathroom door behind me when Adrie screamed up the stairs, "Mom, Nathan's hurt bad--COME QUICK!" I finished as fast as humanly possible and ran up the street to where the neighborhood soccer game was going on.

Darren was at a conference in Washington, D.C. This was all mine.

Nathan was lying on the grass with a bunch of kids hovering over him. My neighbor, Alex, had a towel wrapped around his leg. Adrie whispered, "Mom don't freak out" as Alex moved the towel aside quickly to reveal the most hideous gash I had ever seen. Two of Nathan's buddies stood around with gaping mouths looking from me to Nathan anxiously. Nathan's knee was split six inches across, clear to the bone.

"What did you hit, Nathan?" I asked. Nathan moaned.

"We think the sprinkler head," Alex said. "But we're not sure."

"He must have been going 100 miles an hour," I told Alex.

"I was sliding to get a goal," Nathan choked. Ahhh. The all-important goal. Something to risk life and limb over. Literally. I hated all sports at that moment.

I managed not to react, but mustered up all the serenity I knew I had hiding somewhere. We called the neighbor over, Jeff, and his wife, Debbie, who is a nurse. "He needs to go to the emergency room right now," Debbie said calmly after a small glance underneath the towel. Jeff and his son Mark loaded Nathan onto my lap into Alex's back seat and I cradled his head and told him stories in the back seat as we drove to the ER.

In the ER we were first among all the other patients after the nurse looked at his leg. They made him stand on the scale even though I told the nurse exactly how much he weighed. I couldn't believe how slow it was to get checked in.

The worst part was the multiple shots into the open wound to deaden it. He was amazingly brave and strong during the ordeal. He would squeeze my hand when a shot went in and grab my head. When the pain dissipated for a minute, he would relax and wipe away the tears. I was it at that moment. His only comfort.

Then came irrigation of the wound. The nurse washed out a tons of grass and dirt with warm water that Nathan said felt really good. He managed to let a small smile escape.

Grandpa Greg and Uncle Alan showed up to give comfort and a blessing. Thank you both.

Then came stitches. The doctor thought it would take 20 minutes. It took nearly an hour. He did the under layer first with the self-dissolving kind. Then the top, which took nearly 30 to get the wound closed. When finished it looked like a baseball. Then ex-rays to make sure it wasn't broken. Then a tetanus shot. Then a knee immobilizer so he can't bend his leg.

Speaking of baseball, Nathan's out for the season. Sound familiar? He can't bend his knee for five days or the stitches could pop out. We are trying to find ways to entertain him.

Just Monday he was at the pool with his two soccer buddies, jumping off the diving board and going down the slide.

That's out for a month.

UGGGHHHH! I don't know if I can take it for the third time in nine months.

We clean the wound, change the dressing and slather it with antibiotic ointment three to four times a day. We take Tylenol with codeine for the pain. We are grateful to live in the era of TV, DVDs, game cube, computer games and board games.

We're grateful he didn't sever any tendons and need surgery. He has escaped surgery several times in the past nine months.

I am wondering how to build a bubble around my accident-prone, super-competitive son, to protect him from himself. Or to at least give the neighbors a break.

Jeff, my neighbor, called later to see how Nathan was doing. He said he's had five boys, hundreds of stitches, and too many trips to the ER to count. "It's just boys," he tries to reassure me.

Darren and I are not so sure. We think he needs to chill out when he's playing sports. Especially when it's just on someone's front lawn. He plays everything like it's the finals in a tournament!

"That's one tough kid you've got there," Jeff said. From how the past year has gone, he's going to need to be tough.

Later I remembered my Dad and his multiple scars. He had a smiley-face scar on his knee as well, and when he was entertaining kids, he used to love to pull up his pants and move the scar around and pretend it was talking! I wish I could remember now the story of how he got it. I probably heard it a hundred times.

It was eerily similar to Nathan's!

Baby A and Baby B are Born!

2008-06-05T10:41:00.000-07:00

The miracle of birth has blessed our family. Check out this amazing photo show that will warm your heart.

Monday June 2 was a grueling day for the Kim and Alan Hawkins family and the Grandma Rene and Grandpa Greg Hawkins family. The Ellen and Darren Hawkins family were also worried and a bit stressed toward the end of an unfairly long labor. We kept getting texts all day long that would lead us to believe that Baby A and Baby B were going to make their way into the world soon. Then we wouldn't hear back forever. Of course we imagined the best and the worst off and on all day.

At 9 pm after about 24 hours into Kim's labor we started imagining the worst. While Darren was wondering why his tomato plants seemed sick and was consulting an online website and Nathan was working on his cub scout merit badge, Adrie, Sammie, Leah and I were climbing the walls. At one point I yelled, "How can you care about something so insignificant as tomato plants when those babies haven't come yet?"

"Settle down!" he told me.

"But you've never felt what that feels like physically!"

"Yes, but I was there with you. Will you take these tomato leaves into the nursery tomorrow and ask the guy what's wrong with them?"

It would be my greatest pleasure.

We got a call about 15 minutes later. Both babies were born, 7 minutes apart. Both were OK. But the seven minutes in between their births were minutes that Kim and Alan would like to soon forget.

Cheers erupted.

Baby A came out as planned, looking well and breathing well. But Baby B was coming out legs first, breech! While the doctor pulled on Baby Bs little legs four strong people were pushing on Kim from on top in strategic locations. It was excruciating despite the massive epidural block pumping it's soothing magic into Kim. They were minutes away from a C section if baby B didn't get out soon. The pushing and pulling continued. Right when they were about to do a C section, the doctor felt the tightness dissipate, and they gave a huge heave from on top and Baby B came out blue and not breathing.

They whisked her away and worked on her for several minutes before she sputtered and cried, flooding Kim and Alan with blessed relief.

And then yesterday, these perfect, dark-haired pink bundles came home from the hospital to three sisters and a brother who had long been waiting to meet Baby A--Lauren Elizabeth, and Baby B--Olivia Diane. Olivia's little legs are bruised quite badly from being pulled on, but both babies are amazingly perfect and gorgeous.

Welcome to the world, Lauren and Olivia.

School's Out

2008-06-01T20:52:00.002-07:00

Another school year has whizzed by, except for April when it was never nice weather and I didn't like that and was mostly grumpy. Sorry for all who have to deal with me daily. It's the weather's fault!

Adrie took two AP tests a couple weeks ago, and hopefully passed. I personally think they're overrated. But she's taking three next year. Sheesh! We celebrated by taking her and a couple of friends to this awesome new Italian place in downtown Provo. She's got great friends. I am very happy about that. Now she's onto lifeguarding and teaching swim lessons. She wants to do this 40 hours a week.

Sammie is volunteering helping kids learn art this summer, babysitting, going to girls camp, and attending an acting camp. She might fit group piano in there somewhere.

Nathan is doing soccer camp in June and not much in July. He's playing little league baseball until the end of June. Go Red Sox. His fielding is great, and his batting's improving. I will try to get him into some swim lessons. He hates swimming. My goal is to get him through the summer without hurting his ankle!

Leah had a fantastic clogging recital last week. She shined! She starts swim lessons tomorrow. Later in June she has an art camp (the same one that Sammie's volunteering with) and a cheer camp at BYU. I know cheer camp sounds horrible. But it's mostly tumbling and dancing. And she loves that. She may come attend an occasional clogging class.

My sister's gonna be here in three weeks or less! Yeah.

My sister in law's gonna deliver twins any second now. Exciting.

Two sister in laws will be here later in the month.

My brother Mark and sister in law Ginger started a blog. If you love plants and boating and Seattle and interesting things about home repair and landscaping you'll love what they have to say.

Happy June. One of my most favoritest months of the year.

On Writing

2008-05-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

A member of my family tells me (and she shall remain nameless) that she doesn't like my blogs that air my dirty laundry. "How can you say such personal things for the whole world to read?" she asks. Her definition of dirty laundry and mine are not remotely in the same universe.

In response to this family member, I tell her that there are only about 5 people who read my blog and that doesn't constitute the whole world. Then I tell her that compared to some blogs, I barely scratch the tiniest surface of "personal." So I wrote that I gained tons of weight when pregnant in a previous blog. That's a fact that stares me down on a daily basis. It's obvious. Believe me, I'd change the reflection if I had the dedication.

But today I need to write about writing. Writing is hard. I'm feeling that writing for publication is high near impossible. Reach for the stars, people say. Live your dreams. At the rate I'm going, I'll reach my dream when I'm 70, with not many years left to enjoy it. Published authors will tell aspiring authors that if they don't enjoy the writing process then the end result isn't worth it. But is the process supposed to take most of your life and nearly all your emotional energy? And what if in my aged state I have to read my published novel with a magnifying glass? I guess I wouldn't be the first.

The problem is this: I don't know if I'm willing to dedicate that much energy to maybe realize a goal later in life. On the other hand, something could happen next year and I'd be so glad I held on. Patience has never been one of my virtues. How I wish it were. I think how so many things would have turned out a little bit better. In other words I want the prize without working up too much of a sweat.

Yes, I got a rejection letter today. It was formal and polite, the way rejection letters are. It did mention the name of my novel, so I knew that it wasn't a form letter. It was nice to see someone else write the name of my novel instead of me. That means it exists; it lives. I gave it life. Do I continue to try to keep it alive?

Here is why novel writing may not be a suitable fit for me. Writing is a solitary job. I am not a solitary person. Writing demands the ability to pick yourself up and try again. And again. And again. I tend to want to stay on the ground when I'm down. Writing requires sacrifice of personal life and time with loved ones. I don't know if I could bear to neglect my family as it would fill me with enormous guilt, or if they could bear to be neglected. Even if it meant I was living my dream.

Here's why novel writing is a suitable fit for me. When I am writing I sometimes feel as if I am flying through the sky without a hint of fatigue. When I write something it is permanent. Nothing can take it away from me, short of a major computer catasrophe. I want to do something for others that has brought me such incredible pleasure and happiness in my life--write something that is worthy for someone to read.

So I will blog my little heart out, and feel a surge of satisfaction everytime I click on the publish button.

If only book publishing were so simple.

Throwing a Frisbee in Class

2008-05-19T20:46:00.000-07:00

really by Nathan Hawkins, written for the Hawkins Herald, our family newsletter. Only typed by his mother, Ellen.

Throwing a Frisbee in Class

I always get in trouble in inside recess. I don't mean to, but you have all this energy and ther is nothing to do inside. So one day on inside recess a kid in my class named Jake brought a football into class. And people started playing do I joined in.

I new I shouldn't of but it's so temting. And on my first throw I threw the football and it hit a girl in the head. Right then I knew I was in big trouble. So I went to the bathroom. Our teacher (Ms. Wells) wasn't in the classroom but I knew I would be in big trouble because we have the worst tattletales in our class. So I knew I was dead meat.

I spent along time in the bathroom but I knew once people told our teacher would send out a search party to find me. We always had search parties when someone was out of the classroom. And when we were in trouble you had someone come with you and make sure you don't run away. Any way I decided to go back to class. And sure enough she was arranging a search party. And I had to pull my card.

And Alex the kid who told on me came with me to the first grade to make sure I didn't run away when I got to first grade. I had to right a letter to the girl I hit with the football. It went something like this:I'm sorry I hit you with the football. It was an accident. I hope you feel better. From Nathan.

And the other time I got in trouble I was throwing a frisbee and I had to write a 1 page essary on why throwing a frisbee in class is unexeptable. I think I've learned my lesson.

Why it is Inappropriate to Throw Frisbees in the Classroom

2008-05-13T07:11:00.000-07:00

WHY IT IS INAPPROPRIATE TO THROW FRISBEES IN THE CLASSROOM

by Nathan Hawkins, fourth grader

I am writing this paper (in cursive) because I was throwing Frisbees in the classroom at lunch recess.

You see, it was pouring rain outside and the principal said it was an inside day. I hate inside days because then I have to sit quietly at my desk instead of play basketball, football, soccer, ultimate Frisbee, four square and kick ball outside. Just because it was raining I don 't know why we can't play outside. It's just a little water. And the problem is that I just have all this energy, and it is torture for me to sit still when I could be running around.

I only have to write a one-page essay. Scott, Brandon and Jeremy have to write a two-page essay because they threw it five minutes more than me and I only threw it three times. After I threw the Frisbee three times I sat down at my desk and read The Battle of the Labyrinth because I knew I would get in trouble from our substitute Mrs. Felberg. I am trying to finish this book because all my friends are jealous that I have it and want to read it after me. My Dad bought it for me in hardback because he's trying to get me to read instead of play sports and break my ankle again and not play game cube all the time.

So this is why it is inappropriate to throw Frisbees in the classroom.

1. Cause you could hit somebody and hurt them. I should have learned this lesson. Last December I accidentally hit Jessica in the head with the football on an inside day and Ms. Wells pulled all my cards and I had to do a whole bunch of stuff like go see the principal. I went to see the principal but she wasn't there. Whew!

2. Cause someone might be trying to read and that would disturb them.

3. Cause it is against school rules and we should obey school rules.

This is now almost one page. I am sorry that I didn't obey. And if I tell my Mom about this paper she's gonna blog it across the whole world. But if I don't tell her about it she will find out anyway cause she's the Duty Guard and she walked in the classroom and saw me throwing the Frisbee.

She will think it's great blog material. I think this is totally humiliating.

Full (OF IT) Professor

2008-05-09T18:55:00.001-07:00

I'm going to have a lot of fun with this post today. I hope I can honor my husband's significant achievement without becoming too irreverent.

My dear huband is now a full professor. He isn't half full or partially full or associate full or assistant full, he is a totally FULL PROFESSOR. This means he is full to the brim, fully loaded, full of vast stores of information about human rights and international relations that the average joe will never know. This means he can speak in another language at academic gatherings with other people who are equally FULL, and where I just smile and look cute when his colleagues ask me what I got my Phd in.

"I got my PHd in human reproduction," I'd tell them. "My specialty is conceiving on the first try with a sub specialty in always being overdue during the most sweltering summers and with a sub-sub specialty on gaining enormous amounts of weight with a sub-sub-sub specialty on being incredibly hormonal and irritable during the whole thing."

Before I got smart I used to tell them about my lowly bacehelor's degree, because I wanted them to know I could do something other than get pregnant multiple times. I wanted them to know that my brains worked as well as my ovaries. Or that they were at least in the running.

But then I realized that to these academicians, a bachelor's degree is akin to graduating from kindergarten. So now I just smile and talk about the family, and they pretend to care a little, and then they go back to speaking their unique language with those who can understand them.

They call it "talking shop." I call it "pontificating." At these gatherings, academics are totally FULL of many obnoxious words. When they talk about their specialty, their voices change. They become loud and forceful, and they use words that you can't even find on dictionary.com because they are so specialized to their own specialty within the specialized specialty within the discipline.

"What language is he speaking?" I whispered to Darren at one of these gatherings.

Pedagogcial epistomology," he responded.

"Fascinating," I nodded.

"Shhhhhhhhhh."

"OK, I think I'd like to go back to our hotel room and watch Sesame Street if that's OK with you."

I've learned to tune Darren out when he starts using this academic tone, but I'm good at tuning out his other tones too. I especially like to tune out the tone he uses when he's angry that the kids have left their stuff all over the house. Or the tone he uses when I thinks I should be doing something other than reading the paper and sipping tea. Or the tone he uses when he is reviewing our finances. Actually I can't hear this tone because I'm usually half way to Target by the time he assesses the damage. When I get back, he's usually cooled down.

The official letter he received from the university president said, "Congratulations on this significant accomplishment. We appreciate your devoted service and trust that you will continue to develop not only your capacities as a teacher and scholar but also your contributions to the mission of the university."

But what I really wanted to know was how much of a raise he was going to get. The letter didn't mention that important detail. Did this mean I could get my new countertops, or that things would stay about the same? I flashed forward 30 years or so, and imagined myself with the Comet and a sponge, scrubbing those pesky stains off the white formica countertops. I had totally white hair and the skin on the back of my arm shook as I scrubbed in my granny apron.

"Been scrubbing these countertops since 1998 now, Darren," I'd say. "Now it's 2038."

"It's good for you, dear," he replies. "Good exercise."

"Got burcitis in my shoulder from scrubbing these counters."

"Counterops are a lot of money."

"So's burcitis. Countertops would have been much cheaper in 2008."

"It doesn't matter now. We're nearly dead anyway."

"Guess so." scrub scrub scrub.

OK, that was irreverent. But I just couldn't resist.

In all seriousness, I am so glad I married someone with such an incredible ability to accomplish. I am very proud of him. Congratulations on being making it to FULL.

What's the next hurdle? Spilling over?

A Sweet Shopping Trip

2008-05-05T20:57:00.000-07:00

Most shopping trips aren't sweet, or even fun or enjoyable for that matter. Most include mundane things like food and gas and dry cleaning or buying a diet coke. Today I had a very sweet shopping trip, though, with my youngest daughter, Leah.

When I picked up Leah from school she reminded me that I PROMISED her I'd take her shopping for her best friend's birthday. I really didn't have the time. But you know those promises. I don't want her to think I can't ever be trusted. She already knows that I sometimes can't be trusted to take her places I said I would. So I acquiesed. Leah wanted to go to Target or Shopko or someplace like that to buy a gift for Camryn, her red-headed pal.

My mind raced for a different alternative. I couldn't bear to go into Target one more time this week. You usually have to drag me into Shopko. Then I thought of this darling antique store, very close, very convenient. I knew Leah could find the perfect treasure for Camyrn there.

We headed into the Planted Earth, an old house converted into a charming antique store. Leah was enchanted with the wall to wall stuff. I was enchanted with how enchanted she was. She walked in the door and looked around and smiled. There was so much to look at! There were no aisles, no rattling shopping carts, no loud speakers, no glaring lights. Instead there were displays grouped according to themes that were lovely to look at. Aprons, watches, match boxes, plates, books, watering cans, just to name a few. A tightly manicured poodle (live!) was watching us from the corner.

First we looked at some jewelry, then some plants, then some sea shells. Leah gently turned them over in her hand, trying to find some perfect ones for her friend. She was calm and thoughtful. She was quiet and reflective. She looked so sweet and beautiful sitting there, trying to make a choice. I loved her immensely at that moment.

She got two clam shells, and two spiral shells. We found a purse display that had a hot-pink snap open style purse, the kind my Aunt Hazie used to carry around (except hers were always brown and huge, it seemed). Leah had found her gift. And to top it off, it could be a receptacle for the precious shells!

She was delighted to find that there was an entire floor upstairs that we had not discovered. She took my hand and we trotted upstairs to discover more wall to wall treasure. Her eyes darted from item to item. So much cool stuff.

I was delighted to spend 30 minutes shopping with my daughter who is growing up way too fast. I wished there were more hours to peruse antique stores with her. I was surprised at her maturity when I said I didn't want to go but that we needed to take her sister somewhere. I was grateful I had exposed her to something unique, something that just might stand out among the countless trips to the "regular stores."

She brought the purse home and found a gift bag and tissue. She put some lip gloss and two miniture bottles of nail polish she'd picked out last week next to the shells. She snapped the purse shut, and then opened it up to look at it again.

She remembered the miniature watering can we'd also bought for her own doll, Jessie. "Jessie just loves to water things, Mom," she told me.

"I hope Camryn likes my present, Mom," she said, a bit worried. And I worried a bit, too, since you never know if a seven-year old will appreciate an unconventional gift.

"She's going to love it because you picked it out so carefully for her, Leah, " I told her. How could she not?

Five Flagrant Fouls

2008-05-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

I love the way those words sounds together--five, flagrant fouls. That's what we estimate was committed against Nathan's soccer team at the game on Tuesday night. The ref was a ditzty 15-year old who had actually babysat for many of the kids on the OTHER team, so there was no chance she was going to listen to us when we started yelling because our boys were getting hurt. The more we yelled, the more she ignored the fouls. So we lost, 0-1, the first game in the tournament. We would have won if could have taken those penalty kicks.

At last night's game it was about 20 degrees with the wind chill down in Soccer Siberia. May 1st! Can't believe we're still freezing to death this late in the season. We were bundled up like we were about to embark on an Arctic Expedition, but we still froze. That wind knows no mercy. It looked like we were about to pull this one out, when the other team scored about a minute before the end of the game. So we tied 1-1. Most disappointing since we let Nathan come out of the goalie box and play forward (injured ankle, remember). He actually got the ball down there about three times and tried to score at least two of them. Then they just couldn't keep the ball down there and it was too late. Oh, well, we have another chance tomorrow to redeem ourselves. It better be warmer!

Sorry I am so rough in reporting sports. I don't know all the appropriate, cool terms to use when explaining what happened. Just ask Darren. Once, 20 years ago, when I was editing some sports stories for the Daily Utah Chronicle at the University of Utah, I changed a whole bunch of sports lingo that I thought sounded strange, and thus botched the stories. "But that's how you do it in sports!" the sports editor yelled at me. "Don't you read sports?" No. Never had.

The sports writers wouldn't speak to me for a week, and Darren, as editor in chief, had to DOCK his wife's pay for a day for committing those flagrant fouls upon the sports stories. When you're making $20 a day, that's a huge deal. He had to prove that he wasn't showing FAVORATISM toward his wife. Needless to say, I didn't speak to Darren for a few days either, and I slammed his office door so hard it nearly shattered the glass on the way out. It is a story we laugh about now. Well, not really.

Moral of the story: Never work with your husband. Never edit sports stories if you don't know a thing about sports.

Twenty years down the road: Have never worked with him in a busines setting since. Yeah, I'll work with him in the garden or in the house, but that's about it. Have never applied for any sports editing jobs.

BTW, we, as parents were very positive and supportive and did not yell once at the ref at last night's game. It helps to have a decent ref, though, and he was very polished. Jumping up and down and cheering helped to keep us from getting frostbite. GO RAPTORS! My voice is hoarse. I think I'm liking basketball as a sport option for Nathan. It's never cold. It's one of the only few sports where you'll never be cold watching.

OK, Sammie wants to learn how to play lacrosse. Anyone have any lacrosse sticks out there she could borrow to give it a try? Anyone know of any lacrosse teams or leagues? Wait a minute, isn't this another sport that is played OUTSIDE? Maybe I don't want her to come across a lacrosse stick. Hmmmm.

Have a great day, all.

Michelle Times Seven

2008-04-25T19:12:00.000-07:00

"Hi, Ellen, this is Michelle."

"Oh, hi Michelle." My mind frantically races as I attune my hearing to the individual nuances in each of their voices. Good. I've identified Michelle B.

I have had a day full of Michelles. This is a good thing. My life is ever so much richer with them revoling around me on a daily basis.

My day started at 6:30 am when Michelle B. picked me up to go swimming at the rec center. She's my triathaon training buddy. We keep working out together for our "future triathalon," yet neither one of us has registered or plunked down the money yet. Hmmmmm. We spend a lot of time discussing our inadequecies in all areas athletic.

At school, principal Michelle L. stopped me to ask had I heard about this woman in Salt Lake City who blogs and makes $40,000 a month? I hadn't, but went home and immediately looked her up. Here's her site: Dooce. Wow. Michelle L. is retiring as our principal this year. How many principals do you know that know every kid's name--first and last--and who their siblings and parents are? She does. She will be sorely missed at our school. She is a walking child encyclopedia blended with tons of love and caring for the kids she is responsible for.

At home there was a message from Michelle B., telling me some more information about our futuristic triathalon.

Michelle G. called later that day to remind Adrienne about a young women activity next week that she needed to work on.

Michelle B. the second (I have two Michelle B's) called to change the time that Adrienne was babysitting tonight.

Back at school I met Michelle K. in our sons' 4th grade classroom for a pizza party. I brought the soda and she brought the pizza. I was all innocent enough. I had brought an assortment of pop. They were on sale at Smith's for 63 cents a liter. So I bought several I thought the kids would like. The one that looked like generic Sprite, however, turned out to be a generic Mountain Dew. We did not discover this, however, until a half a dozen kids had already drank a full glass and one shouted, "Hey this tastes like Mountain Dew! Cool!"

Michelle K. looked at the ingredients carefully. Yup, she said, caffeine was one of the first few ingredients. We looked apologetically at poor Mrs. Mendenhall who had do deal with all the chidlren we had caffeinated for the rest of the afternoon. Oops. We put the rest of the bottle away. She's thinking I'm a total loser parent, I whispered to Michelle K.

Ten-year old Alex, who had somehow had two glasses of "Mountain Dew" was rolling around on the carpet, and other chaos was errupting as we cleaned up and left. "She's going to hate us," Michelle K. laughed as we walked out of the school together. I agreed whole-heartedly. After school Nathan said Alex worked harder and better that afternoon than ever before, and that maybe he should drink Mountain Dew every day.

Tonight while I was spraying the vegetable garden, Michelle H. came by to drop off Kyle to play with Nathan and bring presents she bartered for in Mazatlan. Out of all my Michelles, she's been in my life for many years now. I feel like I know her and her family the best. She's takes the cake in the extremely thoughtful and helpful department. How I will miss her when she moves to New York next year. Hey, but another excuse to visit New York again.

Later I got on my blog and saw a comment from Michelle C., who I used to talk with weekly but have not seen for more than a month. How I miss her wit and humor and listening ear. I'm going to figure out a way to see her next week. Michelle C, are you out there. Want to have lunch next week?

An hour later, "Mom, phone's for you!"

"Who is it?"

"I dunno. Sounds like Michelle."

"Which one?"

Back to Reality

2008-04-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

I'm sipping hot cocoa from my cool Statue of Liberty mug (it's still not warm enough here for me, thus the cocoa in the middle of the day) and thinking about our awesome trip to New York City.

Here are the things that surprised me the most about the city:

1. How the grocery stores have aisles and aisles of cheese of every size, variety and ethnicity. How you could try a different kind every day for years and still be enchanted by the flavors and textures.

2. How there is so much fresh produce everywhere that looks interesting and unique. How we are indeed a land of plenty, and then some. I wish we could somehow divide it up better amongst ourselves.

3. How litter-free the streets are.

4. How many varieties of trees and flowers there are everywhere. For a major metropolitan city, there is always some green and color around. Flowering trees smell the same in the city as in other places.

5. How people are friendly, funny and helpful.

6. That seeing a Broadway play really is a dream come true. That seeing two Broadway plays was more than any person should ever ask for.

7. How you could never get bored in a million years. Just walk down the streets and look at the people and activities swirling around you.

8. How riding the subway cost $200 for the week we were there.

9. How exhausting getting around is. How our legs and feet were always tired, but that we really didn't want to stop going and doing.

10. That cupcakes can be absolutely beautiful and banana pudding can rock your world. Check out Magnolia Bakery. That peanut butter can have so many flavors. Check out Peanut Butter & Co. Way, way, way too many things to check out.

I'll make a small dent on my next visit. Until then.

The Big Apple Two

2008-04-20T18:08:00.000-07:00

The best thing about eating in New York is that everything tastes just a little bit better than you expect it will, and you can eat whatever you want, at whatever hour of the day your heart desires. For example, if you get the sudden urge to eat Southern Cantonese on a Saturday nite, you just might be in luck.

Such was Grimaldi's Pizza in Brooklyn. The red checkered tablecloths, the coal-oven roasted flavor, the fresh ingredients all combined for an incredible lunch. My son, Nathan, who thinks Little Ceasar's is the cat's meow, said it was the best pizza ever. That's because it's real pizza, son, made with fresh ingredients. We took the foot path across the Brooklyn Bridge to walk off the pizza and the homemade ice cream we'd picked up after lunch.

The kids were interested in seeing ground zero, and we spent some time looking at the old gravesites in the cemetery of St. Paul's Chapel. St. Paul's was a relief center for 8 months after 9/11, and is now a museum that chronicles those horrific days and months after.

That nite, Darren and the kids (sans Leah) went to the Yankees/Red Sox game. Nathan insisted on wearing his Red Sox hat on the subway after the game. Yankess fans were yelling at him, "Hey, theeeer, get that a kid outta heeeraa, don't ya know this is the wroooong town ta weaaaar that hat in?" They didn't seem to mind riding with the drunken Yankees fans, and thought the whole experience was fabulous. Plus that, the Red Sox won, and so Nate got to see his team win in Yankee Stadium! "Wouldya look at that hat that kid's goooot on-whatdaya think youur doin' theeeer kid?" New Yorkers are great.

Friday we strolled through Central Park and ate a terrible hot dog that was most disappointing. The kids rode the Carousel and then the girls went shopping to H&M. After shopping in the children's department with Leah for 45 minutes, I was reduced to sitting on the floor at the top of the escalator, where the girls would rush by every 20 minutes or so and throw clothes at me, or ask me what I thought. After I had sat there for an hour, eaten a granola bar and cleaned out my purse, Leah had to go to the bathroom. Of course there was no bathroom available there, so Sammie took Leah next door to Victoria's Secret to use the restroom, and a lady accidentially sprayed perfume in her eye. (Plus there was no toilet paper.)

Saturday we got up at he crack of dawn to get in line to see the Statue of Liberty. Now that security is so tight, the lines wind all around Battery Park. So we got there at 8:15 and were some of the first people in line to get on the ferry over to Liberty Island. I must say, coming up on Lady Liberty is an incredible experience, and one can only imagine those thousands of immigrants and how their hearts must have been pounding as they passed her. Leah is fascinated by the Statue--her size, "her bun," the tablet she's carrying, why she's green, etc.

Ellis Island was remarkable as well. The museum that tells the story of many of the immigrants paints a very vivid picture of how America became the melting pot that it is. I loved learning about where all the people came from, what they went through once they got here, and how devastating it must have been to find out you had come all that way only to be sent back because you had some sort of communicable disease. Some immigrants spent months on Ellis Island, recovering from illnesses and going through insurmountable red tape get to Manhattan.

The Big Apple

2008-04-17T14:58:00.001-07:00

New York is fabulous! The pulse, the people--how much there is to do in so little time. How much money I can spent in mere seconds--it's just astonishing! Who would have thought!!

First I must say that my feet are not used to walking so much. They hurt. If I walked this much every day I would be SKINNY! So everyone, just to reiterate, if I lived in a big city I'd be thin, but since I don't, I'm not. I am dependent on my car for everything!

It is sooo nice to see people of color and hear different languages being spoken almost everywhere! I don't want my kids growing up thinking that everyone looks like them in Happy Valley. DIVERSITY! How I've missed you.

Here's what we've been doing the past few days besides wearing out my feet:

Day One: Took the subway to 5th Avenue and all the cool stores. We visited FAO Schwartz where we had the most amazing mint malted milk balls ever. They put Whoppers to shame. Leah had a great time exploring Doll World in all its amazing pinkness. Only $7,000 for a life-sized stuffed Triceratops! No problem.

We walked into fancy stores like Tiffany's and Cartier Jewelers and Bergdorf Goodman where we looked like the Clampets (Jed, Ellie May, Granny and Jethro) compared to all the sleeeeeeek, polished salespeople wearing black. On each corner of Tiffany's there were GIANT vases of forsythia (the bright, yellow spring flowering bush). It looked like they had ripped out entire plants out of the ground for the vases. Adrie was eyeing some $28,000 earrings. No problem, I said. Hang on sweetie, I'll buy those for you just as soon as I get Dad the $500 tie in Bergdorfs!

Then lunch in this cool restaurant called Prime Burger where we got to sit in our own customized booths with individual swinging doors/trays for each person. The burgers were delicious. If you wanted lettuce or tomato or anything other than a plain burger on bun you had to pay $2 more but we didn't know that at the time. It was a great slice of NY life sit and listen to all the regulars eating their burgers and sipping cups of joe.

The Disney store (four floors high) put any mall Disney store to shame. Seriously! It was like being at Disneyland.

More shopping. Mac World was very cool. H and M trapped Adrie and Sammie in its snare for about two hours while Nathan writhed in pain at being in a clothing store. Darren took him into the NBA store where he got to shoot hoops to vent his frustrations in the middle of his sister's clothes trying-on frenzy.

American Girl Place was everything that Leah could have wanted and more. She and her Bitty Baby Jessie got matching outfits! They are adorable I must admit. She got to see in person the doll she wants for her birthday. A lady commented that she looked just like Kit, freckles and all. She was peachy happy for the rest of the day.

Time to go back to Aunt Amy's to take a nap because Darren, Adrie, Sammie and I had to rest up so we could go to Wicked!!
AMAZING, FABULOUS, INSPIRING, OUTSTANDING! It was three hours of unforgettable music and costumes and characters.

Fractured Growth Plate

2008-04-14T17:38:00.001-07:00

I told him to turn off the TV and come upstairs for church. I thought it was a little odd that he ran upstairs and put on his basketball shoes instead of his church shoes, but he's 10, and burning energy every waking moment is of utmost importance to him, especially since he had three hours of church ahead of him.

He would wear his basketball shoes to church if I let him, anyway.

"Put on your church shoes," I said.

"Mom, I'm just gonna shoot a few hoops before church." I didn't feel like arguing.

I had just finished putting makeup on one eye when I heard the screaming followed by his sisters taunting, "Nathan, you're such a faker!."

"Go get Mom!" he screamed.

I was outside in flash in all my one-eyed beauty watching a screaming , writhing child get grass stains all over his church clothes.

"It hurts!" he yelled, red-faced.

"What hurts?" I yelled back.

"My ankle! I went down on it hard!"

"Is it the same one as last time?" He nodded and wheezed, tears streaming down his face.

"He's not faking," I told his sisters. "Go get Dad." Nathan and I hobbled into the house, where he fell down in the doorway and proceded to roll around on the carpet, crying.

"It's his same foot," I told Darren when he came in the room." We looked at each other with worried-married people eyes. I pictured Nathan last fall, on the sidelines, watching his team struggle, a big green cast up to his knee. Then I pictured him last week, defending the goal like no one's business, blocking all but one of the other team's goals. Please, not again.

We got him on the couch and put ice on his very swollen ankle. We sent the girls to church and then talked ahout what we should do. "I think it's just a sprain," my husband said after consulting his online medical encyclopedia.

"I think we should go get it checked out, " I said. "We're going to New York in two days." He consulted his encyclopedia again. We decided to wait until morning. When we ate cake on the patio later that day he was chasing Leah around throwing water-soaked balls. No sign of a limp.Then he came in and sat down for the rest of the night. I breathed a tentative sign of relief, and then said a fervent prayer before bed.

In the morning, I peeked under his covers at his ankle while he slept. It was still big as an apricot. I made him get up and walk. He was limping. I called the orthopedic surgeon, the one who treated him last fall for an almost similar injury.

At 11:30 we were playing hangman in Dr. Mortensen's sports medicine office. We were using words and phrases associated with New York like "Big Apple," "Statue of Liberty," and then "I hope this doesn't take long," and finally "It always does" when Dr. Mortensen came in to look at the exrays. Small tear/fracture in the growth plate, he told us. Four weeks to heal. Be careful walking around New York. Good news, a removable ankle cast will be fine. If he rolls it again, the plate could break and he would need surgery to repair it.

Nathan's shirt came up over his eyes. He tried to not care, but there was just too much to care about--two more games, the tournament after that, the hopes of a fantastic finish, the memories of sitting it out last season. He shuddered a bit. We talked about what might happen. Maybe he could play a tournament game. Maybe. Always a bunch of maybes.

I came home and emailed the coaches. Dear Ryan and Doug, I am so sorry to tell you this . . . "

When I was helping him pack earlier today, I noticed he had hung up his church clothes, the ones with grass stains all over them. It was the first time he had actually got them on the hanger right.

I took them off the hanger and threw them in the dirty clothes to deal with later and then tried to think about what shoes he could get over the ankle cast. I went downstairs to look through his shoes, and tried not to think about next Wednesday's game, the one where he'd be watching and rooting, every muscle in his body aching to play.

Here Comes the Sun

2008-04-12T20:15:00.000-07:00

It's amazing what a little sun can do! It makes me feel like a normal person again, not an eskimo bundled up against the elements grouching around trying to get warm. That's what I've felt like all week. And then today . . . . aaaah, I feel alive, like I actually have blood pumping through my veins.

My sister is going to be moving back to Utah and will be living very close to the old neighborhood where we grew up. In fact, her kids will go to good old Bonneville Jr. High and Cottonwood High School where Lisa and I went. I just can't believe this is happening--that I will actaully live within driving distance of my sister. We can spend holidays together. I can invite them over on a boring Sunday afternoon and we can play some games and chat. We can get into spats and then make up.

Darren and I took Nathan and Sammie biking tonight. We went on a long ride all over. It was great to spend the time with the kids doing something we all enjoy so much. It's nice to have reached this point with the kids. Biking makes me feel alive, just like sun.

I spent a fair amount of time helping Darren dig rocks out of the vegetable garden today. He always wondered why his tomatoes didn't do so great in a certain spot. It's because they were growing over a major rockbed. We filled up half the garbage can with rocks. He will have to take it out to the curb this week; I won't be able to budge the can.

New York City here we come! We are all so excited packing and talking about what to bring and what to do! I will hopefully be doing a daily blog about our goings-on in the Big Apple so check back from time to time.

Sammie and I made the most amazing carrot cake for Darren's birthday today. So moist with tons of cream cheese frosting! My husband will be 42 on Tuesday--also tax day. We are celebrating by seeing Macbeth together one evening on Broadway. I think he is more excited for this than the Yankees/Red Sox game.

I'm just looking forward to getting out of town for a while.

If you can't say somethin' nice . . .

2008-04-07T09:24:00.000-07:00

"If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all." That's what Thumper tells his Mama when he's scolded for saying mean things in Bambi. I don't know if I can say anything nice right now, but I'll try to make Thumper proud.

But today already has a bunch of strikes against it. It's Monday, it's cub scouts, and it's snowing! I miss my Dad who's been gone 12 years, I don't want to stand in the freezing cold at recess, and I think I have hayfever which is making me tired and lazy. I have never had a touch of it before. I am not feeling very charitable thoughts toward anyone, and this makes me feel even worse.

It looked like a blizzard this morning for about an hour and a half. It's April 7 people! Can someone just put me under until it's really spring? When I wake up, I promise I'll be nice. I'm thinking of places I can move to when my kids are older so I don't have to deal with January-March. I think Darren's ready to ship me off a lot sooner. Like maybe any minute.

We're going to NY in a week. The change of scenery will do everyone good. Even if it's cold and rainy in NY, I still won't be cold and miserable here.

Even though I did four loads of laundry on Friday, there are six more today. How is that possible? I had every speck of it done of Friday, and now there are piles again. I guess until people stop wearing clothes this will be my lot in life. Maybe I'll have less in summer because people wear less clothing, and it's lighter. Maybe. Who knows.

I can swim 500 meters in 20 minutes! This is pathetic! My daughter can swim it in 6 minutes, 14 minutes ahead of me. I keep telling myself, she's 25 years younger and she's been swimming competitively for years. I'm just an overweight 41-year old with no training and no endurance who is attempting the impossible. Sorry Thumper. . . .do I have to be positive, too?

I'll write again tomorrow when I'm feeling better.

Friday Night Fog

2008-03-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

Why am I always so exhausted on Fridays? Was it the classroom full of 25 first graders that did me in? Maybe. I just want to curl up and sleep! But I'm not gonna. Here's what's going on in my world:

I actually swam 500 meters today (mostly with my butt up so the lower part of my body was NOT dragging) and so I'm feeling better about this whole mini trialthalon thing. I could feel it when I got into a rhythm and my feet kicked as well and I was actually moving a bit faster than a snail's pace. I do backstroke when I'm too tired to keep doing freestyle. This is a more restful stroke but dangerous! There you are la-la-la-la-la looking at the lovely ceiling acrchitecture and thinking about how you need to file your fingernails, when BONK! you reach the wall. Hello wall. Were those stars on the ceiling before?

Soccer started. I froze to death watching Nathan's game on Wednesday night. Spring soccer weather is always so volatile. You have to dress like you're heading for an Arctic expedition just to get through the game. He scored two goals! Way to play Nate!

Adrie made it to school on time once this week! Congrats Adrie! Way to be! She's slacking off since the term is over. But I must admit, she about killed herself off making up all her unexcused absenses last week. And now she's so tired she's just creating MORE unexcused absences. Such is the life of a high school student who goes to a school where the attendance policy borders on fascism.

Leah was darling in her clogging performance last night, but I kept wondering why did they put her on the back row and the tall girls on the front row? I couldn't see my own kid. Just wondering.

At my writers' meeting I learned all about character development and now feel inspired to use some of the techniques in my book that keeps calling out to me. Thanks, Clint Johnson, for an inspiring evening.

My book club this week was a riot. We read the young adult novel "Life as We Knew it" about a family that must live through the earth's tempestuous climate changes when a meteor crashes into the moon. They live for months on food storage with not heat or electricity. We discussed how we all felt like hoarding food after reading this novel. Nancy pointed out that she had flenty of food storage in her hips, and then that got us all talking about our own personal food storage. I said I had at least six months around my middle! It was a riot. We laughed and laughed.

Now on to more sobering things. Earlier this week I posted a very negative blog about Iraq and President Bush. I decided to delete it, but still would like to say a few things without going on a tirade (I hope this is possible). Four-thousand American soliders are dead as we enter the fifth year of the war. President Bush stands up and speaks about this saying that these heroic soldiers will not die in vain and this makes me incredibly angry and sad and the needless loss of life. I am disgusted at him and his policies and can only hope that some day he'll be humbled enough to realize what he's done. Check out http://nationalpriorities.org/costofwar_home to see the damaging affects of this very reckless decision by a very arrogant man.

I am calmed a bit when I think of going to London next summer. Here is a picture of the London Centre where we will live with students and other faculty families. Start saving up to come and visit us 'cause in case you didn't know, the dollar is not just weak, it's gasping for breath! Isn't this just the coolest?

Smiles

2008-03-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

Adrienne and Samantha are both out of braces now. Both have beautiful smiles that light up their faces and my life. Sammie's big day was last Wednesday when all of the sudden she was amazingly transformed from cute girl to gorgeous girl when those brackets came off.

The refreshing thing is about Sammie is that her appearance was the last thing she cared about. I don't think she hardly looked in the mirror. Instead she was focused on NOT going to school that day and devouring the huge bag of "no-no treats" (sticky candy, etc) that the orthodontist had given her as a a congratulations for getting her braces off. Then she came to the elementary school with me where she played kick ball with the sixth graders and swung on the swings. She did make me take her to Hogi Yogi after recess, but she was mostly happy as a clam hanging out at home.

So we have some light up my life (think Debby Boone--I sang that song until there were tears streaming down my face in the 70s) smiles going on around here. I'm sure my other two kids will have their own turn to get straight teeth in a few years or so. Having braces seems so much of the norm right now for kids. I know it is because all my friends who didn't get them or did get them and they didn't work are NOW getting them in their 30s and 40s. I think my aunt in her early 50s is a metal mouth tinsel teeth.

I doubt if anyone calls anyone metal mouth or tinsel teeth or brace face (thanks Mark) anymore since a good majority of kids and some adults too, have braces on. If some kid was so bold as to shout out "Hey tinsel teeth" in the hallway at the junior high, perhaps 40 kids might turn and glare at the bare-toothed kid and he'd feel like a total outcast.

My babish friend Alison--check out the link to her blog--just got hers off. Wow! My equally babish sister-in-law Cathy got hers off a while ago--Yowza! It's amazing that these two women could get any more beautiful, but they did!

All I can say is getting braces on and off these days is sweet compared to what I "went through" in the early 80s. Here are the top ten reasons why it's totally better today:

1. If you brush well, you get to put your name in a drawing to win ipods and mall gift certificates or a flat screen TV (well maybe not that last one).
2. Your orthodontist wears gloves so you can't feel his freezing cold hands and smell their metally smell from working on the previous kid.
3. You can watch TV or any DVD of your choice while you're getting worked on. I would have killed for Brady Bunch or Gilligan's Island or anything while I was sitting there with Dr. Ammott.
4. Orthodontists stand behind you instead of next to you now so you don't have to hear their growling stomachs at a lunchtime appointment.
5. Your Mom has to check you out of school to go to the ortho because there's not way you can walk a few blocks by yourself in this day and age.
6. You get to choose which color you want laced through your brackets and change them every month! For example, you can be green in March for St. Paddy's Day and orange for Halloween, pink for Valentine's Day. All I had was silver. And those bands went all the way around my teeth. Today they're called brackets and they're only adhered to the front somehow.
7. They don't pull teeth anymore, they make space for them. Having four teeth pulled was awful!
8. Who's ever heard of a head gear anymore--the implement that said "extreme loser" if you dared wear it to school.
9. If you want to pay more, your braces can be invisible.
10. Orthodontists are in it for the business. You're going to go to the one who tells you you're absolutely beautiful, and with that smile we're going to create, you can stop traffic. You won't choose your orthodontist just because your next door neighbor is his assistant/secretary!

Kids are spoiled rotten these days!

I Should Have Known

2008-03-11T08:20:00.000-07:00

I should have known better about a couple of things before I did them. Have you ever had those thoughts that you shouldn't do something--right as you're doing it? And you keep doing it anyway? Full steam ahead, despite the consequences. Some turn out OK, others stay with you, no matter how hard you try to shed their memories.

I should have known that taking Nathan and his best friend Kyle into a restaurant on his birthday would only end in chaos and embarassment. They are incapable of eating together without turning in to a pair of hiccuping hyenas. Add Sammie to the mix--who eggs them on mercilessly--and Adrie to the the mix-who sullenly glares at me for putting her through such anguish--and you've got an "I should have known" situation. When we drove home, Nathan was still hiccuping, Sammie was still laughing hysterically, and Adrie was texting every friend in her address book to report on how she's being subjected to the horror that is her family.

I should have known that if Adrie got a Facebook account that she would get to chat with MY friend more than me and that they would talk about things and not tell me about them. And that if I happened to look over her shoulder to see what was going on with MY friend, that I would be given a nasty teenager look and told to respect her privacy.

I should have known that when I took the test to find out which Jane Austen character I most likely resemble that I would be Maryanne Dashwood. I should have known that I didn't need to take the test, that I am like her her every way shape and form, even if I wish it were otherwise. And that even if I wish I was more like Elinor Dashwood--level headed, calm and rational--I can't turn myself into someone I'm not.

I should have known that if I got onto the Coldwater Creek website where 400 items are $14.99 or less that I would end up buying several of those items. I should know that I have a weakness for this website, and to avoid it like a classroom of coughing, sneezing, nose-blowing first graders.

I should known that if I bought Darren some clothes that he really needs--not from Coldwater Creek, of course--that he would not want them until he decides that all his other clothes are threadbare and unsuitable for someone in his position. He may not decide this until the summer, when he doesn't really need work clothes anyway.

I should have known that the day Nathan starts soccer practice is not the day to have him try on his soccer cleats to determine that they are so tight he can barely move. I should have known that suggesting he just play with squished toes for one practice would not be acceptable since don't I know that he's been waiting for this day since last October?

I should have known that trying to play that hymn in Relief Society on Sunday after I told the conductor I couldn't play it would result in humiliation and anger. From now on I will only consent to play songs that I know when I am asked to play them with two minutes' notice. I will not pretned that I can just play anything like I used to.

I knew better.

For Some Odd Reason

2008-03-03T12:15:00.000-08:00

For some odd reason the kids are off school today, and so I'm off work today. Nathan wants to flood the sandbox with the hose (a July activity) and I told him it was only two degrees above freezing and that the hose wasn't even hooked up. "But Mom, it's burning!" he replied. I don't get how kids' temperatures are completely out of whack with reality.

We celebrated Nathan's 10th birthday this past week. He is such a cute boy. His party was inviting a bunch of boys to the church to play indoor sports games. The highlight was midnight football, where you try to scrimmage the football across the floor on your hands and knees, and in the dark. For some odd reason, the boys took to this game like a bee to honey. They loved it so much, in fact, they wanted to play it again on Saturday. They were having so much fun that I had to bribe them into opening presents and eating cake. Who would have thought.

For some odd reason, I have loved being an aide in the autism class. People think it sounds incredibly hard, and sometimes it is, but mostly it's just great. I had no idea I would enjoy it so much. It was sad this week when the normal teacher came back from her maternity leave and I didn't have to get up and go to work at 8. But it was OK, too. There are a million things I need to do around the house. Not that I want to do them . . .

For some odd reason, my family has stumbled upon an amazing opportunity. We found out last week that Darren will be directing the London study abroad program for BYU in summer 2009, and that our entire family will get to live in London for two months playing and doing touristy things. And since it is in the summer, there is no school to worry about for the kids, just play. We will live in a flat in downtown London and there is a cook who makes meals for the families and students. I cannnot believe our good fortune. My friend Gina told me she didn't want to hear one complaint about anything come out of my mouth for the next five years! I don't know how to express how excited we all are.

For some odd reason, I'm learning to swim for my mini triathalon. I think I will be able to do the swimming part. I don't know about the jogging part, but I'm pretty sure I can swim and bike. Thanks to Adrienne who is training us old fogies not to drown while keeping our butts up in the air and our feet kicking straight. We could not do it without her. We owe her.

Spring is thinking about coming. It decides to comes for a few days, then changes its mind. While it was here on Saturday, Darren and I cleaned out all the flower beds, raked the yard, and got ready to plant peas. On Sunday morning we awoke to a dusting of snow, a sign, perhaps that winter was tired of dumping inches on us and was tapering off a bit. It has been a cold, snowy winter.

For some odd reason and a strike of good luck for me, my sister is moving back to Utah. I can't wait to have her here, close enough to see on Sunday afternoons, close enough to share holidays together. We will all spend some insane days together at the cabin this summer, where cousins will get to be cousins and aunts and uncles can be aunts and uncles. Grandma can be Grandma, and turn off her hearing aid when she can't stand the chaos anymore. We will take walks, play in the lake, pick wildflowers and maybe huckleberries. We will play games, get sunburned, skip rocks, and take the canoe out. Maybe we will see a moose near the cabin when we're sitting on the porch sipping hot cocoa. Uncle Mike will take us fishing, Uncle Darren will take us hiking, and Uncle Mark will take us out in the boat.

For some odd reason, I get to be a part of all of this.

A Foray into Politics

2008-02-21T21:38:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I've been blogging a year now and have never talked politics. Well, let's face it, up until a month or two ago, there were way more candidates than you could ever get to know (or want to know). Now it's getting down to the wire. Of course in elections, the wire happens to be nine months away. But we've narrowed the playing field considerably.

My husband thinks my opinions on politics are WAY to vocal and strong. Are they too vocal if they're written in words? Tee hee. Since he never reads this blog, I'll move right along with my political agenda.

I am one of five registered Democrats in Utah County. But if I didn't live in Utah where my political party is even less than the minority, AND where I am desperately trying NOT to be like everyone else, I would still like Barack Obama way more than Hillary, McCain and Huckabee. Face it, the guy is infinitely likeable.

Darren always laughs at me because I am so superficial when it comes to picking a president. Somehow I know immediately if I like them. Instinctively I can look at them and know if I can stand to look and listen to them for four years or, heaven forbid, eight years. In 1992, I couldn't stand the thought of listening to the George Bush senior's nasal tone for four more years. I immediately took to Clinton. There was something about him. Yes, admittedly he has/had many faults, but you've got to admit he was bright, empathetic, and enjoyable to watch. And I liked his hands, of all juvenille reasons to like someone.

In the 2000 presidential election, I faced a big problem. I didn't like Gore the know it all or Bush the know nothing, but I voted for Gore--one of the five votes he got in this county. Neither one of these candidates did anything for me. I couldn't throw my heart into either one. The same thing happened in 2004. There was our incumbant president who was still so painful to listen to, and John Kerry, who always made me feel like crying when I looked at his face. He looked like he was perpetually in a grumpy mood. Nevertheless, I and four other people in this county voted for him. He lost. I was not too upset. George W. hadn't done TOO much damage . . . yet.

Now comes Hillary. She's like a rerun in a bad nightmare despite her obvious intelligence and expertise on many topics. McCain is so unpleasant to watch and listen to, I just can't vote for him, no matter his experience in foreign policy and other things. Huckabee should not even be in the race as far as a lot of people are concerened. I hope he becomes a non-issue soon.

Then there's Obama. Woudln't he be be so pleasant to look at and listen to for the next four years? I don't want to get to the point with our new president that I was with George W. after about a year. I would cringe every time he said something. I was embarassed for him, embarassed for our country that he seemed to have such a lack of understanding of the most basic issues. I began to turn him off when he was on the radio or TV. I didn't want to do this. He was the president and I wanted to listen to him. Now I'm worried that it's going to be the same thing with McCain and not for his lack of intelligence. For his lack of appeal.

I like Obama. I like that he's black. I like that his voice is deep and rich and melodic, not choppy nasal-sounding like our current president. I like that his smile really lights up his face. I get the impression that he smiles a lot, and not just for the cameras. I know he's young and inexperienced. That worries me a bit. The whole not putting his hand over his heart thing was a bit troubling. But he is optimistic, energetic and exciting to listen to.

Having a smiling black man be president of this country would be send a powerful message of reconcilation to those countries that we have alienated and offended over the past eight years.

I will vote for him.

Mahem in February

2008-02-12T15:00:00.000-08:00

Sammie and Nathan are rolling around on the floor acting like drunk gorillas. They're making more noise that an entire ape family being attacked. I'm ready to rip out their vocal chords and strangle them. Why choose to write now? If not now, when? I see that it has been a couple of weeks, and I'm long overdue, no matter the noise level in the house. You'd think they could at least go to another room. But they find great joy is seeing me writhe and squirm in frustration.

Life is good. Valentine's week at school is fun. There are lots of treats and love notes and fun activities. I'm helping with my own class party, and helping with Leah's class party. And I just got a desperate call from one of the moms in Nathan's class saying that she can't get a hold of any of the moms who were supposed to help her. Could I please help her? So it looks like I will be going to three Valentine class parties on Thursday. Life couldn't get any sweeter, in my opinion.

Kids say the darndest things. I was doing reading with one of the kids and he put his head down on the desk and sighed. I said, "What's wrong, Gavyn?" He answered, pouting, "This school just makes me so tired!" He looked surprised when I started laughing.

After we gave a lecture last week about no fingers in noses and using tissues, the class was very good about running to get tissues instead of wiping their noses across their sleeves. But they also made comments while throwing their tissues away. "Cool! It's all glittery and sparkly!" one of them said as he tossed it into the trash. And "That one's heavy!" 'Tis the season of drippy noses. I'm so grateful I've managed to stay healthy even though I am exposed to legions of germs each day.

Don't ask me how, but one of my friends has talked me into training for a mini triathalon. It's the end of April. Yes, that is rather funny, isn't it? Darren says I can get new counters if I finish it. I don't have to do well, I just have to finish it. I've only been wanting counters for nine years now. I guess I've finally found a way to get them--by swimming, biking and running my way into them.

Only nine weeks until New York! Or maybe eight. The kids are busy earning all kinds of money to take to the Big Apple. They now get one ticket for every thirty minutes they read. Each ticket is worth 50 cents. The pile of tickets is growing daily. Darren and I are going to go broke paying the kids for their tickets. There has been much less TV watching and computer and video game playing this week. I like this a lot.

My sister in law, Kim, is having twins girls in June. Up until two weeks ago she thought she was having only one baby. Now she has 3 1/2 months til they're born and her life is in a whirlwind of trying to prepare for this. How do you ever prepare, though? Her children go from 3 girls and 1 boy to 5 girls and 1boy. Poor Josh. You gotta feel for the guy. That's a lot of hormones in one household.

I just found out that a couple of my earlier blogs got accepted for publication in a new literary journal called The Sigurd Journal. I guess it pays off to ramble on the compter every once in a while.

Happy Valentine's Day friends and family! Love to all!

Midwinter Day's Nightmare

2008-01-28T11:53:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday night Darren and I took Adrienne and Samantha to see BYU's production of "A Midsummer Night 's Dream." We were on the very front row and the stage slanted down toward the audience and at times it seemed as if the actors would slide off the stage and into our laps. I would not have been surprised if a swarthy Athenian ended up at my feet. I may not have been too upset by it either . . .We could see every expression on their faces. I've never sat so close before. Anyway, it was amazing.

Two days later, however, it was a Midwinter Day's Nightmare. I'll just write a few clue clue words and you can piece together the picture: snow, Wyoming, stuck, snow, wind, fight, off the road, broken car, tears, anger, car parts, AAA, paying extra, no sleep. That was my weekend. Oh, yes, there was that 3-minute snowmobile ride and the 20-minute cross country ski. We musn't leave out the hour of highlights that made everything worth it (sarcasm intended).

I was born in Wyoming. In Laramie, to be exact. It was the middle of October and it was a blizzard apparently. Who ever heard of of a blizzard in October except people from Wyoming? In every picture we have of Wyoming, there is snow in it. I am always sitting on huge snowdrifts to get my picture taken. Was it NEVER summer in Wyoming? I will have to ask my Mom. I kept thinking about Wyoming's horrible weather conditions as I was driving along 1-80 last weekend, watching a genuine blizzard descend at alarming speed. I thought of all those toddler pictures of me sitting in the snow as we passed car after car that had spun off the road.

When we got home I told Darren I would never go to Wyoming again unless it was really and truly summer. Last year when we went in August it was wonderful. Everything bad that happened, happened because it was January and we were in Wyoming. OK, enough.

President Gordan B. Hinckley died Sunday. I loved that man because he made me feel like I could do it. When others might have said, "YOU SINNERS--SHAPE UP," he said, "You are wonderful. We should all try a little harder, reach a little higher, do a little better." I can handle admonitions in gentle, loving doses. He was unfailingly positive and good-natured. And he worked like a horse for 97 years.

Home Alone on a Friday Night

2008-01-25T17:27:00.000-08:00

Unbelievable! My house is completely silent tonight. I've found myself all alone on a Friday night. Adrienne and Leah have gone babysitting and Darren has taken Nathan and Sammie and their friends up to my Uncle Ted's ranch in Evanston, WY. We will join them tomorrow for snowshoeing, cross country skiing and sledding.

I survived my first week in the autism class. Not only did I survive, I thrived. I absolutely loved being at school for six hours a day this week. Need a cure for the January blues? Get a job, I tell you. It works wonders. I haven't functioned this well in January since the 80s. I am truly astounded at how much better I feel not being home all day. My little blue light box helps as well. The combination of the job and the light box seems to be working miracles with my mood! I'm so relieved. Only seven more days until January is over.

Let's see, what shall I do with three hours to myself? Watch a movie, GO to a movie, go to the library, go to the bookstore, work on my manuscript (nah)? Take a bath, file my fingernails, exercise (nah)? Read a book, clean the family room, (nah) pack for tomorrow? Drink hot cocoa while curled up in that super soft blanket? Look at the dings in the wall and the spots on the carpet? For sure I will crank the heat up now that Darren's not here to turn it down. It can actually be above 64 degrees tonight.

The possibilities are endless, but I'm leaning toward the library and Borders since I have a coupon burning a hole in my pocket.

What would you do on a Friday night that was all your own?

10 Days Left

2008-01-21T11:34:00.000-08:00

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day everyone! I've been out shoveling show for an hour and it was coming down so hard I had to do it again 45 minutes later. We haven't had this much snow since we moved back to Utah almost 10 years ago. It's definitely a winter wonderland in our neck of the woods.

Tomorrow I'm going to start substituting at the elementary school in the lower grade autism class. The teacher is on maternity leave for 4-6 weeks and I will be the aide while she is gone. This past month I've been helping in the upper grade autism class periodically and my eyes have been opened to the trials and frustrations that these children face. I have been sworn at and yelled at on occasion while I've been in that upper grade class, but I've also seen the light bulb go on in some children's faces, and that made the other stuff worth it believe it or not. I am relieved to be occupied during this dreary, depressing month.

Adrienne went to a girl's preference dance at Orem High Saturday night and had a ball. We actually went out to buy a dress for this event and that was a fun mother/daughter time together. Her girlfriends did her hair, makeup and nails, and she looked gorgeous. Thanks Shelly and Bridgett for saving me tons of money at the beauty salon!

I feel sorry for the server at Macaroni Grill who had to cater to all 22 people in their group. And each couple had separate checks! What a nightmare!

Darren is coaching Nathan's Jr. Jazz team and the team's doing great. It gives him something to do on dreary Saturdays besides watching ESPN and playing Game Cube. He can't wait for soccer season to start again. This time he'll be playing without a broken ankle. I'm excited to see what he can do. I can't imagine ever seeing green grass again after the winter we've had.

Sammie is back at art classes after a two-year hiatus. She's decided that she's had a long enough break and is ready to create her beautiful masterpieces again. Leah is much happier since we started to going to school later and coming home later.

Cub Scouts continues to be an adventure a week for the other leaders and me. This past week a boy slipped on the ice, hit his head and started to black out. His eyes rolled back in his head and he was screaming. Only one leader was outside. The rest of us were inside cleaning up. While she was trying to make him focus on her and get him off the ice, the newest cub scout came up to her and said, "Sister Jackson, I didn't get my treat yet!"

Little boys are oblivious to the world around them. Not that I didn't already know this.

Only 10 days left of the worst month of the year!

Snowy January Day

2008-01-11T08:40:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over and the tree is on the back patio covered in six inches of snow. A piece of silver tinsel has broken free of its white cocoon and is flying around in the wind, a remnant of a our joyous holiday. What a beautiful Christmas it was. I'm grateful for the lovely memories.

This is the time of year when I seem to fall off the face of the earth. I struggle to stay upright in January. If I had my way I'd stay in bed reading all day in my pajamas drinking tea and eating whatever I wanted. But that's bad for me emotionally and physically. Intellectually I know this. But I can't help wanting to swaddle myself in covers and avoid the world.

That's how I felt yesterday. The world was not a happy place. Then I awoke to an email from a long-lost friend in Madison, Wisconsin. She told me she found me through this blog and that she enjoyed reading it. That kept me from wanting to go back to bed for the first time since January 1. Thanks, Pat. It also made me want to write in the blog instead of going back to bed. This is a major victory!!!!

Pat filled me in on Sally, her daughter, who is 16 now. I started babysitting Sally when she was six weeks old. Now she is a brilliant mathematician (yes the 16-year old) and attending college as a sophomore in high school. Blow me away. Does Sally know that I can't do math past the sixth grade if my life depended on it? Please don't tell her, Pat. Tell her I have other virtues.

So January . . .tons of snow and frigid temperatures. I don't remember having this much snow in the past 10 years. How do we make it through to March? This is how I plan to do it:

Thinking about a fun vacation. We're going to NYC (all six of us) in April! My sister and brother in law live in Manhattan and we will stay with them. Darren purchased tickets to Wicked today. The Red Sox are playing the Yankess when we are there as well. Darren is willing to sell his soul to see this game. There is much to look forward too. An entire week in NYC doesn't come around every day.

Substituting at the elementary school for 4-6 weeks while one of the teachers is on maternity leave. Working for six hours a day will definitely drive the doldrums away. It will also pay for our trip to New York. Well, part of it anyway. It will at least pay for Wicked and the Red Sox game!

Feeling so blessed that my sister and her family are moving back to Utah after having lived everywhere but for the past 15 years. Our children can be cousins and have fun getting to know each other. We can spend holidays together--wow Thanksgiving and Christmas with my side of the family, that's a first in many, many years!

Celebrating my 20th wedding anniversary in August. I don't know what we'll do, but it will be fun celebrating such a milestone.

Going to the cabin in Montana with family. We didn't go last year but we're going this year. Now that the kids are older, it will be even more enjoyable. Yes it will, Darren.

Thinking about what I accomplished last year. It wasn't a shabby year, goal-wise. I did (surprisingly) well at many of my goals. For this I am proud.

I am not going back to bed. I am going to go shower and go be duty guard in the frigid cold. It that doesn't keep my mind alert and functioning, nothing will!

Hopeless

2007-12-10T12:46:00.000-08:00

Here are things I'm hopeless at:

Sticking to a Christmas budget. Things change daily, and thus the budget must as well, right?

Staying up late reading anymore. So sad I just fall asleep in the middle of great books.

Tolerating hard rock music. Headache.

Getting exercise done before 10 in the morning.

Turning off Christmas music in December.

Abstaining from caffeine and chocolate.

Planning dinner much before dinner time.

Making Sammie practice the piano.

Keeping Nathan from tearing up socks and jeans.

Putting things back where they go.

Here are things I'm not hopeless at:

Buying Christmas presents.

Wrapping Christmas presents.

Thinking of all the people who would like a Christmas present and finding a nice gift.

Driving all over the place.

Taking naps on Sunday afternoon.

Ignoring family on Sunday afternoon.

Forgetting doctor appointments.

Hugging my son at school--he despises this!

Delegating others to take out the trash and do other chores.

Having people over for dinner.

Just some strange reflections today.

The Season of Lost Gloves

2007-12-03T07:08:00.000-08:00

Baby it's cold outside! And so we begin the yearly ritual of my kids losing gloves and me searching desperately for them so their teachers don't think I'm a negligent mother. Oh yes, also so their hands don't freeze at recess. Here's a typical conversation on a weekday morning at, say, 7:50 am.

ME: Leah, where are your new purple gloves? (Me sorting through a pile of winterwear)
LEAH: I don't know. (Continues reading her book)
ME: When did you have them last?
LEAH: What? (Turns the page)
ME: (Louder) When did you have them last?
LEAH: When I played in the snow on Saturday.
ME: (grumble, grumble, they're probably in a soaking heap somewhere)
LEAH: Or, I may have left them at school. They could be in the lost and found.
ME: (Remembering that the lost and found at school takes up nearly an entire hallway) Well, could you look for them?
LEAH: Where?

UGHHHH!

Then there's this 1st grader at school named Spencer who was sobbing last week at recess over a lost glove.

ME: Spencer, why are you crying?
SPENCER: 'Cause I lost my glove. ( sob, sob)
ME: Have you looked around the playground?
SPENCER: (Choking on his sobs) Yes, I've walked all over twice.
ME: It's OK. I bet it's in your backpack or class.
SPENCER: I bet it's not! My Mom told me I can't ever lose gloves or she'll really be mad at me!
ME: She won't be mad, Spencer. Gloves just get lost.
SPENCER: Yes, she will!!! ( Runs away from me)

If Spencer is any indication, I have failed as a mother to instill the value of gloves into my children. Maybe I need to be angrier about gloves, like Spencer's Mom. On the other hand, I don't want my kids crying and searching the playground all recess long for fear of what their mother will say.

Maybe I should just go out and buy 20 cheap pairs of gloves to replace the ones that get lost. But I can't imagine sorting through a bigger pile of gloves in the morning, searching for ones that match (again so my kid's teachers don't think I'm negligent).

How many more months of gloves are there?

Five Days of Fun

2007-11-25T21:55:00.001-08:00

I can tell it was a good Thanksgiving break because I'm not so anxious for the kids to go back to school tomorrow. In fact, I enjoyed doing so many things with the family over the break that I kind of wish we could keep the good times rolling and not go back to reality. There is too much of a good thing, though. At some point we'd decide we'd had enough of each other and the money would run out (if it hasn't already!) So I guess it's a good thing holidays don't go on indefinitely.

I actually couldn't believe myself this past weekend. I have NEVER gone shopping the day after Thanksgiving and I went all weekend long. The worst line was at Gymboree. But while I waited I met a couple of women and we became fast friends. We saved each other's places when our eyes would catch something else so adorable that we just had to take a little peak. People were nice and friendly. Of course I wasn't in line at 4 am trying to be the first 20 to get some fancy gadget. I was hanging with the civilized shoppers--those who want a good deal but aren't about to lose a night's sleep in order to save $10, $20 or even $50. Plus, Darren and I discovered that you can get almost anything you see in the ads online for the same price. You just don't get the amazing doorbuster stuff. We don't want that stuff anyway.

It was a great weekend. We had a divine Thanksgiving dinner at my sister-in-law's house, Kim, who is just the best pie-maker ever! She made something like 10 pies because she just loves to do it. I talked to my brother who was preparing to tie his turkey carcass to the back of his Chris Craft boat to attract crabs which he would eat with all the other boaters and their turkey-caught crabs. That sounded like a lot of fun to me. I talked to my sister who was cleaning baby toys out of her son's room. How fast the kids are growing up! My kids had tons of fun having sleepovers with their cousins.

Darren and I got to have dinner with his best friend from high school and his wife. We got to have dinner with our good college friends Steve and Danell Murdock. I got to have lunch with my girls while Darren and Nathan watched the BYU-UTAH game. What a bummer that the Utes lost! I feel richly blessed and spoiled for how much fun I had over the holiday. Looking back, there was a lot of food involved in this holiday. I guess it's time to be good again tomorrow.

I have watched Hairspray (the movie) three times since I bought it Tuesday! I just love that movie. I took the girls to see Enchanted--everyone loved it. I am almost done with my Christmas shopping. This is a good feeling. I got Thanksgiving decorations down and will clean (well maybe) tomorrow so I can start putting up Christmas. This weeked we will shop for a tree and have a candy making party as well.

Back on the Blog Wagon

2007-11-19T07:16:00.000-08:00

My friend Alison told me she missed my blog and I see that it has been some time since I last wrote. Those who check (maybe 2 of you--Mom and Alison) know that I've been engrossed in a novel. Writing a novel really takes over your life. I wrote it September, kind of let it sit in October, and got back to editing and rewriting in November. Now I'm busy writing a cover letter and a synopsis to go with it. Writing a synopsis is hard work because it forces you to see that there are many things that make entirely no sense in your novel. So then you go back to the novel and rewrite, then back to the synopisis and write it again. At that point the cover letter needs changing too.

What a beautiful fall it has been. I have loved being at recess every day in 60 degree weather as Mrs. Duty Guard. I am seeing it all every day. Blood, vomit, tears, and bumps the size of oranges. Fights, cliques, pure joy, pure pain and naughty language--all the stuff that makes up life you can see right there on the playground. Kind of like that book "Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten." I am learning it all--again. I am learning which kids my children will NEVER play with and what kids I hope they become friends with. I saw great Halloween costumes and a couple of kids whose parents don't believe in Halloween and didn't dress up.

Four square, hopskotch, jumprope, jacks, girls chasing boys and boys chasing girls---nothing 's changed much since I was out there running with my hair in the wind 35 years ago. Bruises and scrapes, chattering, hurt feelings, imaginary cuts and bruises, imaginary pets, imaginary friends--every child trying to fill some need for 30 minutes on the playground.

There are some very sad kids out there that break my heart. There are very angry kids out there that try my patience and make everyone feel bad. There are some incredible athletes out there who are destined to lives filled with sports. There are quiet kids that sit calmly and watch. There are kids who need major therapy. There are kids who are fun and outgoing, and attract other kids like the Pied Piper. There are those who desperately need friends, and those who have too many friends. There are kids who can't tell truth at all and others who can't tell a lie. There are kids who help the ones who struggle, and they are the ones who will be truly great in life. The ones who can see other children suffering and ease their pain--they make it all worth it.

It is supposed to turn cold this week. I can't complain. I have been spoiled out there on the playground in the gorgeous fall sun. I am thankful for that. I'm thankful to see my kids for a few minutes in the middle of the school day even though they bum money off me for beef jerky. Now that's one thing that's changed. I couldn't buy beef jerky at my elementary school. Now it seems to be a staple of life. How strange. Kids want it like candy--more even.

Only two days of school this week and then we're all home together feasting and playing and deciding weather to put up Christmas or wait another week. Happy Thanksgiving!