A Hedonist at Heart

We've settled into summer nicely.

Every day we sleep a little later, our bodies slowly adjusting, I guess.  It takes a while to catch up.  Eventually we'll even out. 

Yesterday Rachel tried to talk me into going running with her, for social reasons.  She needs someone to distract her from the pain.  I was momentarily tempted (I like socializing with her) but then she used the words "pain" and "misery" and I got ahold of myself.  Instead, I told her what time I got up that day and tried to tempt her into a life of hedonism.

It's a pretty good life, actually.

The girls and I are slowly moving through the musical section of our local video store.  Earlier this week it was Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, bless your beautiful hide.  (Which I would watch just for the quilts--even in the skirts!--not to mention the fist-fighting and stubborn men in multi-colored shirts falling in love against their better judgement.)  On tap next, The Sound of Music.  I like the delusions musicals teach about love and marriage.  (I was a June bride myself, you know, and I've been a bride for the rest of my life.)  It's time to start indoctrinating my girls, I say.  Past time.

I spent an afternoon making fairies with Olivia and her friend out of nylons and crepon, and then we spent another whole afternoon buying doll hair and gluing it on.  Life cannot get any better when the only thing on my to-do list for an entire day is:  Buy doll hair.

We have started our third 1000-piece puzzle.  And here is something really great:  When David comes home from work and asks what I did that day and I have to really think about it and then remember, well, we finished the puzzle.  I cannot stop smiling at that.

Ethan and I are making our way through A Dog Called Kitty one chapter at a time, with me reading and him pressed up against me and making gasps and sighs at all the right places.  Best job in the world.

Most days when David comes home dinner has not been started and the table is full of puzzle pieces or game boards.  We kiss for a bit and then I go to the store for corn-on-the-cob and fruit.  It's already dark when we start eating.  We eat and talk for a long time, until Ethan curls up on my lap and asks for a bath and tucking in.  David does the dishes while I start the bath and turn on the reading lights.  And neither of us hurry.

Then there's the reading and the swimming--the sunscreen alone is enough to make me take up a life of riot permanently.  I've decided I'm going to start wearing sunscreen in the winter just for the smell.

I like life as a hedonist.  And weddings for twelve in the spring. 

So far our summer has plenty of both.  Come and join us.

Political Protest and Fervent Prayer

 

Caleb as the wax version of Cesar Chavez.  My own little leader for social change.  His earnestness was my undoing.

Last night Ethan asked, "Mom, why don't we believe in grapes?"  And then he chanted "Grapes are bad, grapes are bad, down with grapes" all the way out of the school.  Cesar lent him his protest sign and he took up the cause.  With vigor.

I love a good political protest.

And you can rest easy knowing Ethan has been properly brainwashed.

But this morning I found him sneaking grapes into his pockets.  When I discovered his treachery, he said, tragically, "Don't tell Caleb, but I like grapes."  I told him his secret was safe with me.

There is very little difference between make-believe and reality at our house.

Take my budget, for example.

Or my to-do list.

Or my judgement of how long something will take.  Now there's a fantasy.

I had a meeting this morning with Ethan's Pre-K teachers.  They said he's ready for first grade.  He's passed off all the skills of kindergarten before kindergarten has even started.  They wanted to know where to put him next year.

Now I'm a big believer in being the oldest in your class.  In starting late and finishing first.  Or something like that.  I waited an extra year with every one of my other kids.  But just for a moment I hesitated.  Because the teacher said, "The decision is yours.  You can decide what is best for Ethan."

What?

How did I get put in charge of that?

I can't even decide what color to wear to a Spring Tea.  (Though I've ruled out black.  For the most part.)

But this is his whole life we're talking about.

And I'm afraid I will do what's best for me instead.  Accidentally.

The same reason I'm afraid of heights.  I might just jump.  Accidentally forget I can't fly.

And that's the feeling I have when I look at my five-year-old raising awareness (and eyebrows) about the unknown evils of grapes.  I look down and see his whole life yawning before me and my stomach drops, because I realize with one false move I could accidentally bump him and he will be hurtling through space without a net or a parachute or a soft landing.  (Don't look down.)

I swallow my tears and my fears and a bit of my breakfast again.

I need to pray about it I say.

His teachers smile.  They think I'm joking.

But clearly I am not.  Because even though I like to pretend I know what I'm doing, that's really just a fantasy.  I am a wax museum mother. 

And maybe I will ask about dress color while I'm there. 

Heaven knows it couldn't hurt.

Word of the First Three Months: Harbinger

These "word of the week" posts used to come weekly.  (Was I ever that together?)  Actually, if you'll remember, I did do a harbinger post here, but just never got around to making it official and posting it on my sidebar.  So there.  And anyway, it turns out that the universe had a reason for me not getting it together earlier.  You can read about that here.

I'll bet you had no idea I was that important in the universe.

You stand corrected.

Anyway, here is a quick post about one of my favorite words.

harbinger  /n./  a person or thing that comes before to announce or give an indication of what follows.  herald.  anything regarded as a token of what is to follow.  a foretaste of what is to come.  augury.  precursor.  forerunner.  omen.  portent.

harbinger /n./  1.  Last night Olivia had her first softball game ever.  David has been pushing me to sign her up for years.  He finally wore me down and I reluctantly signed her up.  We all sat on the bench last night and cheered her on and watched her get two base hits, an RBI, and make an inning-ending play with a nice throw from second base.  As I watched her glowing from the infield, I had the thought that this night was only a harbinger of hundreds of others I will likely spend under the lights, sitting on an aluminum bench, cheering her on.  David just grinned at me all night.  It must be taxing to always be right.

And now, for her, and her grandparents, here is her first hit during her first at-bat: 

Another harbinger, I suspect.

harbinger /n./  2.  As I was cheering for Olivia, I was working on some applique for a quilt we are auctioning off at the Spring Tea hospital benefit in May. 

The lady behind me asked me what I was working on.  When I explained it was the beginning of a tree and that I still need to add leaves and flowers, she shook her head and said, "Wow.  That's going to take a while."

I smiled and agreed.

And then my smile promptly faded as I remembered that it's supposed to be done in two weeks and that I'm running out of time.  And fast.  About the same time I remembered the invitations for the event (that I was supposed to seal and stamp and send) were still sitting in the back of my car (unsealed, unstamped, and unsent).  I prayed desperately that neither of these were harbingers for the success (or failure) of the actual event itself. 

harbinger  /n./  3.  Next week my kids all have standardized testing.  And the harbingers of stress and anxiety have already started in earnest.  The AIMS tests have made their way into the children's prayers, and every day I get another note home saying how important it is that my children get plenty of rest, have a good breakfast, are well-groomed (what?), and are propped up with positive encouragement.  A couple of days ago I told the kids that I would be gone for part of the week for quilt retreat.  They nearly came undone, certain that this disruption in their schedule was a harbinger for disaster on their tests.  And I am wondering how keeping our teachers and schools "accountable" has resulted in creating inordinate amounts of stress for my children.  Good grief.

harbinger /n./  4.  We spent part of our spring break in Santa Barbara last week visiting some very good friends.  I keep meaning to post all about our hours of freedom together, and maybe even make a movie, but haven't found the time amidst the demands of regular life.  Perhaps this is the real harbinger that our break is really and truly over.

Consolation Pie Comes in Lemon Flavor Too

We ate more consolation pie last night.

For those of you keeping track, we've eaten more than our share of it the last year or so.  It's starting to feel like a habit.

Don't worry.  We're still not eating humble pie.  (Never that.)

Turns out lemon pie is still good mixed with tears.  Maybe even better.

I went with Caleb to the state science fair last night and watched him walk away empty-handed and swallowing back tears, experiencing equal parts sorrow and bafflement.  He practically ran ahead of me towards the car, trying to avoid eye contact because then the real tears would start.  As I trailed along drowning in his wake and my own possessive, protective feelings, I felt like one of those little league parents who yells at volunteer umpires when their boy gets strike three.  Turns out I'm this close to being a "stage mom."  The pageant circuit is just one false step away.  I had no idea.

David is much more logical.  Trying to talk me down from my (irrational) frustration.  Or up from my (self-destructive) discouragement.

Maybe he's right.  Just once, I wish he wasn't.

That somehow I could be the one who was reasonable and logical and calm.

I stood poised with my camera all night.  At the ready to capture Caleb's inevitable moment of elation.  Is it pride?  Is it ignorance?  Is it blind, motherly adoration?  Is it the fact that these little human beings were once housed inside of me?  Can I really be expected to act like a normal, rational, unbiased human being after that?

I think it's clear that whatever it is, I could use another piece of consolation pie. 

With plenty of whipped cream.  Motherhood is a blood sport.  And I need provisions. 

I just hope I can hold it together tonight at Olivia's softball game.  It's the season opener.  And David will die of shame if I have to be escorted from the field.

Lucky Me

You think you're lucky?

I'm headed on an adventure with these four, which will include:

a trip on the light rail,

food,

sun,

ice cream,

a frisbee,

the mitts and a baseball,

and a blanket on the grass.

And I'm not even Irish.

Grammy-Award Winning Wheezing

My mind has been on Reuben Land this morning.

My boys and my husband are spending most of their energy just breathing in and out.

David is down to having enough breath for one-word answers: "Yes."  "No."  "Bad."

The only good part of that is that he doesn't have enough breath to pick out a tie, so he's home for the day.  When I muttered something about it being about time, he just winked at me and said, "We can play."  But this proved to be too many words at once and he started into a fantastic coughing, wheezing fit.  Careful there, cowboy.  In his condition, even Scrabble might be too taxing.

This morning at scripture study, Caleb had to stop and catch his breath every four words or so.  It was so pathetic I made him stop after a couple of verses.  I told him to put his backpack away.  He wasn't going anywhere.  Luckily, he didn't have enough breath to put up any kind of resistance.  He just closed his eyes and said, "Thank you."

In other news, Coldplay won the Grammy last night for "Song of the Year" for Viva la Vida.  Which was obvious.  Gosh, I love that song.  Reminds me of the magical days I spent with my children in the upper peninsula this summer.  And Adele won the Grammy for "Best New Artist."  David clapped.  Which was easier than using his lungs to say, "Hey, I like Adele too."  He's a fan.  Chasing Pavements accompanies his shower and shave most mornings.  What is it about musicians from across the pond?

And before I go pick up Caleb's four prescriptions and do another round of nursing, here's a little proof from David's blackberry that my Arizona boys can Klondike with the best of them.

When they got home, David took to his bed for the rest of the day and I took Caleb to a youth orchestra audition.  He got word Saturday night that he made it.

Then I took Caleb and Olivia and Ethan to the Chinese Cultural Center to celebrate the Chinese New Year for a school assignment.  My favorite part was sharing a dozen potstickers while we sat on the lawn and enjoyed a perfect February gloaming.

We had the most gorgeous thunderstorm Sunday morning.  The kids were out picking oranges for our brunch when it started pouring.  They came in soaked and giggling as the lightning started cracking.  It was cloudy again this morning, prompting Olivia to close her eyes and fervently wish for rain again today.  And even though we ran the heater (mostly out of sentiment) on the way to the pediatrician this morning, there is just no stopping that Arizona sunshine.  It is already shining again.  I understand how she feels though...there is something quite romantic about an overcast sky.

And speaking of romance, the other day I overheard Olivia wistfully talking to her friend,

"We used to have a chicken named Lily.  I hope she's happy."

Long sigh.

"I hope she met a rooster to make out with so she can have lots of baby chicks."

What in the world? 

I laid on the grass and laughed my head off. 

Tales of a Prop Manager

I have a confession.

I've been grumpy for days.  Re-entry is always difficult for me.

I told several people this week, (David included), that I feel like a "prop manager."  Everybody else I live with has a big, full life that they are the stars of and I manage the props.  And when my darlings need clothes for a new scene, I wash.  Or when it's time for the dinner scene I make the dinner and set the table and we eat.  New scene, new props.  You get the idea.  This week, prop managing was especially trying with all the Christmas props and travel props and new toy props to put away.

This morning Olivia called from the school and told me she had forgotten her viola again.  The second time this week.  Could I please bring it to stage 6...she has a scene coming up later in the day that she needs it for.

And I thought, "I can't do this for another year.  We're only 9 days in and I'm done."

And then, there was a tender mercy.  Just in the nick of time.

And I do mean just.

I talked to a friend who told me about a talk she recently heard about love.  She said the returning missionary said that service without love is just servitude.

Oh.

And I could suddenly see why my job felt like servitude.  Like all I was was a prop manager.  And underpaid at that.  I wasted my week in servitude, because I forgot about why I was doing it in the first place.  Oh, love.

A week wasted.

But I'm good at rallying.

And delivering violas with a smile.

Passing Notes in Bed and Other Nonsense

My whole house was slow getting up this morning.  Except for David, who kissed me goodbye at 6:40 and I said, "Oh, it's late."

The girls were especially slow, and bleary-eyed on top of that.

I guess they had a late night. 

Last night, I finally said, "Girls.  Stop talking.  (In my firmest voice.)  If I hear one more sound from this room, I'm going to have your dolls come sleep in my room."  (That does it every time.)

But they found a way around me.

I found this in under Savannah's bed this morning.

 

And then I discovered this in the corner.

 

Apparently there was a late-night party in the southwest bedroom last night.  I'm not sure at what point in the night they had two ginormous bowls of popcorn.  But there you go: evidence of my expert parenting skills.

For the record, I didn't hear one more sound from their room.

In other news,

look what Ethan and I found today:  the raw materials of a space station.  We've been looking for the perfect tubing for weeks and so we were pretty triumphant at our find.

We were giggling pretty hard in Ace Hardware using this tubing as a telephone.  No one else thought we were funny.  Apparently hardware is serious business.

A Quiet Lull

We are at a lull between conference sessions.  Priesthood session starts in an hour, and David's gone running.  After wearing their jackets (it was cloudy today, never mind that it was 90 degrees or so) and playing outside, the girls are bathed and playing in their room.  Caleb went to a friends' house, and Ethan has crashed in a late nap.  I have half a mind to join him. 

But first just a few thoughts I want to remember from conference today.  (Doesn't it always come just in the nick of time?)

1.  I liked (very much) the idea of a simplified life.  (Could I recreate Walden pond here at home, minus the water?)

2.  Have more hope.  Have more faith.  Be believing.  (Why can't I remember this?)

3.  Expect help from heaven and Be more angelic.  (If I could only change one thing, it would be this.)

4.  Becoming like Christ is different than anything else we try to accomplish because He is the one making it possible.  (Turns out I don't have to pick just one...I could change everything.)

5.  He always grants forgiveness.  (Ask already.)

6.  While my challenges are real, my faith and trust can be stronger.  (And I need to laugh more.)

This afternoon David pointed out that next year at this time, Caleb will be going with him to priesthood session.  This came as such a surprise, that I realized that I never had any real expectation that my boy would actually grow up.  Well.  There you go.  It is past time to start putting some of these ideas into real practice, my time is short.  Anytime now would be a good time to start being angelic.