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.

Me as Daredevil

Today I cleaned my tub,

and erased every last bit of evidence of this:

(After David took this picture on Saturday night he dared me to post it on my blog. 

I raised my eyebrows to say "Are you sure you want to make that dare?" 

But he just smiled and said, "I double dare you." 

I reminded him that we go to church with people who read my blog and this particular moment was clearly more hedonist than god-fearing. 

He just shrugged and doubled the dare again. 

I'm not sure what I get for completing the dare, but I'm sure it's going to be good.)

I sent Olivia into my bathroom on Sunday morning for the curling iron, forgetting the aftermath.  She came out with her hands on her hips and asked, dismayed, "What went on in there last night?"

I played dumb. 

She narrowed her eyes accusingly, "I saw Martinelli's and chocolate-covered strawberries." 

"Um...," I said, wondering how much to share.

And then, just before I said too much, she huffed, "I know you ate them without us."

Guilty as charged. 

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. 

Christmas Stories from My Digital Elph

In an attempt to dump my brain, I am dumping my camera instead. Bear with me. It's about all I can manage in the middle of the holiday season. 

Here are our gifts to deliver around the neighborhood. Gorgeous, no? All ready to deliver. Then just as we were eating that chicken pot pie in the bottom of the frame, two separate families came around and delivered the exact same gift. Really. So we had to start over. For the record I wanted to make Lelly's "House Sparkle" in the first place.  David scrunched up his nose at the idea. When our friends delivered the second bottle I told David that this never would have happened with "House Sparkle." He said there was a reason for that. I ignored that. We ended up making a Christmas CD which was a far superior idea anyway and only took us another three or four days (heaven help me) to make the mix, copy the CD's, figure out how to print CD covers and then finally deliver them.    

Olivia had her Christmas viola recital last weekend. She was beaming at her chance to wow the world with "the Can Can" and "Ode to Joy."  We were all sufficiently wowed.

David and I finished up most of our Christmas shopping last weekend.  I snapped this picture of David in a store that we have never shopped in and are unlikely to ever visit again.  I've said it before, there are a million little universes out there.  How we ended up in this one is a mystery of the season. 

Amy and Kelly and I went to dinner on Wednesday night.  And then Kel and I did some (mostly window) shopping.  Here she is expressing her outrage at the sight of this anatomically correct cologne bottle.  Whatever happened to public decency standards?

My nephew, Luke, had his first birthday party on Saturday, and we played at the park with him and all his other fans.  My kids were good enough to open all his presents for him, and, bless his heart, he didn't seem to mind a bit.  (I think Ethan has secret designs on his Christmas presents as well.)  We had a great time and I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard.

This one is by far my favorite.  I snapped it as the girls and I were leaving the Nutcracker on Friday night.  After a night of gorgeous dance and costumes and music, they are whispering about the magnificence of the Sugar Plum Fairy and picking the parts they want to play next year.  They oohed and ahhed through the whole thing, gasping at just the right moments.  They even raved about our "great seats" up in the balcony.  And here they are reviewing all the best moments:  "Olivia, weren't those gingersnaps soooo cute?"  "Oh, Savannah I think next year you could definitely do the Russian dance."  We hummed and pirouetted all the way to the car.

The stories that my Canon Elph could not tell this week (either because they were too sacred or too sad) include a multitude of car problems (for both cars), the worst of which is that David's car needs a whole new engine, and will have to be replaced.  So I am shuttling him to and from work and making due until we can do that.  And meanwhile, I am secretly enjoying this extra time with David every day.  

After grudgingly (yes, even petulantly) making my way through the first couple weeks of the holiday season, I have finally caught the spirit of it.  On Saturday night we watched "It's a Wonderful Life" and I started bawling at the drugstore scene with Mr. Gower and never really stopped.  And then last night we had dinner with some friends and went to a Christmas concert at our church.  (Caleb and Olivia both sang in it too, Olivia with significant feeling all over her face.)  The music was gorgeous, and suddenly I caught the Christmas spirit, and I belted out "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" at the end as loud as I could.  Today is cold (a first this year) and overcast (rare), and it finally feels like Christmas.  David said we could light a fire tonight after Caleb's violin concert.  I think if we open the doors we really can.  There will be hot chocolate.  And marshmellows.  And more Hark-the-Herald-Angels-belting with "significant feeling."  And Dicken's "Stave One" in which we shall meet Marley's ghost.  It's finally Christmas at our house. 

December, Four Days In

So here's the thing.  The longer I go without blogging, the less I have to say.

It's true.

And now I just wrote a whole post, ready to publish and everything, and it disappeared into cyberspace.  Which is vexing.  Austen never had this problem.  All that cleverness gone, me the only witness.  Like I said, vexing. 

Anyway, we've had a bit of a rocky start into December, but the end of November was quite nice, so I will start there.

We had a lovely Thanksgiving, thank you very much.  I think my favorite part was the little place cards the girls created for everyone at the table.  The big dilemma was whether the person in question was more of a "pilgrim" or more of a "Native American."  My place card was a Native American, "even though I like church" (their words).

  

We played hours and hours of games over the holiday, much to Caleb's delight.  We even finally read the directions to "Dutch Blitz" and were soundly beaten by David.  Caleb ruefully pointed out that he got the game for his birthday (in June!) and this was the first time we had played it.  The height of tragedy.

We had a little party on Saturday night with my brothers and their families.  We had dinner and played a new game called "Say Anything" which turned out to be a lot of fun.  A couple of them even commented, with surprise in their voices, how fun it was and how we ought to do it more often.  Amen to that.

And now for a few snapshots of December, four days in:

1.  Caleb had his big aerospace challenge all day on Tuesday.  He competed against 100 teams and did not win.  Not even an honorable mention.  We were sad, and me doubly so to see his palpable disappointment.  He really did do great though.  His team was visited by 10 teams of judges, all looking at different elements of the project.  My favorite moment happened when one of the judges asked Caleb about how big the space station was.  Caleb immediately replied, "The area of the torus is 42,223 meters squared."  The judge could not help grinning and neither could I.  We had a little bit of downtime between judging groups and once one of Caleb's friends asked where he was.  I said, "Pacing," and pointed to Caleb walking the hall talking to himself, going over figures in his mind.  I spent the whole day nearly bursting, alternating between pride and anxiety to see all his earnestness.

2.  The first of our Christmas string concerts is tonight and Olivia is delirious with anticipation and giddiness at the thought of "performing on stage" (which she says with dramatic emphasis).  She asked me what I thought performing would be like.  I said seriously, "Amazing."  And she said dreamily, "I thought so."

3.  Ethan came home from school yesterday with a note from the principal that he had been fist-fighting on the playground and she wrote specifically that, "he had to be pulled off the other student."  I know.  We found out later that it was a student who was three grades above him.  Heaven help me.  I told David that we're going to have to ban "A Christmas Story" from our holiday movie library. 

4.  I cleaned out my sewing room yesterday.  Found a home for my new disco ball motor and 16 wooden dowels with various-sized holes drilled through them.  (Apparently their story will never be told.  This is probably for the best.)  David is still smarting a bit from the jamba juice incident (as I like to refer to it), and shaking his head at how stubborn a person has to be to let perfectly good jamba juice melt into mush.  And I have no good answers for that.  I can only say that for me somehow "stress" is always connected inevitably with "distress."  Which is unfortunate.   

5.  Olivia left for school today clutching Caleb's copy of Fablehaven.  When I questioned her about the book choice she told me that her friends had told her that it was good and she was "desperate" (her word).  Fablehaven is about the exact opposite of Laura Ingalls Wilder, but she has been increasingly forlorn without something to read and I'm waiting for Christmas to introduce her to Anne with an "E".  She looked down at the book skeptically and then up at me and said, "Mom, I don't think I'm going to make it to Christmas.  And I mean it."

As an aside:   The kids were playing a game in which Olivia had to pick her favorite place to go on vacation...she chose Wisconsin (Laura's childhood home) over Hawaii and Disneyland and even Michigan.  David was flabbergasted.  I, however, completely understand this romantic non-logic.   

6.  We had our first gifts of the season on Tuesday night.  (It was supposed to be Monday, but we're not going to talk about Monday night.  Ever.)  This led to a sweet, spontaneous moment around our tree, which included singing a couple of Christmas hymns, all of us off-key but Olivia.  I'll admit I shed a few tears and finally felt a bit of Christmas spirit.  I always get a late start on holiday cheer, but I make up for it in the end.

 

Word of the Week: Sanguinely

sanguinely /adv./  cheerfully optimistically.  assuredly.  buoyantly.  confidently and enthusiastically. expectantly.  lively.  hopefully.  also with reddish or ruddy color, floridly.

sanguinely  /adv./  1.  I think perhaps I had a hard time with this word this week, because the word itself doesn't sound sanguine to me at all.  The middle syllable in particular sounds like you opened a box of something distasteful and reminds me of dissecting frogs in 7th grade.  And so the week did not go sanguinely, at least for me.  There were moments spent in the exact opposite way in fact.  But we woke to rain this morning, sanguinely pattering on the roof and skylights, dark clouds covering everything, and so I am sanguinely publishing this post and hoping for days and days of rain and turkey and games around our kitchen table.

sanguinely  /adv./  2.  Olivia was delighted at her viola lesson this week to be invited to play at the big Christmas recital.  Her teacher has been astounded at her progress and believes she's ready to perform.  Olivia, of course, sanguinely accepted the invitation, beamed all the way home, and has been madly practicing the can-can ever since.

sanguinely  /adv./  3.  Savannah had her second grade "Johnny Appleseed" play this last week.  She wanted to memorize her part and spent a good part of the week pacing the house reciting lines about John Chapman's life.  She narrated beautifully and did her own share of sanguinely beaming.  The highlight of the play, though, came when David cancelled a meeting and surprised her by showing up.  He said when he walked up he had never seen such a grin on her face.  I am including a video of her part for her grandparents whom, I'm sure, will sanguinely applaud me for doing so.  Please notice the scenery that I helped create.  David was duly impressed of course. 

sanguinely  /adv./  4. Caleb and I spent more hours than I care to think about working on his aerospace project this week.  He and his team are sanguinely predicting a big win at the competition next week, but I am nervously worrying about all the "black holes" in our research and plans.  But there is little we can do now.  We have built and rebuilt and typed and retyped and thought and rethought, plus glued and sawed, and drilled, and mod-podged, and watercolored, and scale drawinged, and made a gazillion trips to Home Depot.  All that's left is the bibliography (which is substantial) and securing the solar panels (which are sadly skewampus).  Truth be told, I would find an "honorable mention" downright miraculous.  I keep telling the boys that this is just a learning experience, but their enthusiasm will not be dampened.

This was the state of my feet on Monday night after a day of helping 11-year-old boys spray paint.  They came clean, but my garage floor will never be the same.

sanguinely  /adv./  5.  On Saturday we drove down to Tucson to visit Daniel (my cousin) and Carol (his wife) and their lovely girls.  We went to watch the BYU vs. Utah game (we don't have any kind of cable) on their large theatre screen and have dinner.  The girls disappeared shortly after our arrival, emerged for dinner, and shed a few tears at our leaving.  When I announced that it was time to go, they said, "What?!" with utter shock and consternation.  BYU lost horribly to their big rivals, but David took it okay.  In fact, when we left to drive down he rather un-sanguinely said, "I have a bad feeling about this." (Meaning the game, not the car ride.)  They live in near some gorgeous mountains covered in saguaros, and this gorgeous specimen is right in front of their house.

sanguinely  /adv./  6.  On Sunday night, David and I attended "Priesthood Preview" with Caleb who will turn 12 this year and receive the Aaronic priesthood.  This was, of course, one of those moments that kind of stops in your tracks and you wonder "What just happened here?"  In the middle of the meeting they asked the boys to stand together and sing "Called to Serve."  Caleb sanguinely belted out his part, regardless of the other quiet, tentative, 11-year-old voices around him.  When the other boys looked at the floor or blushed shamefully at each other, Caleb stood up tall, looked straight at us and sang out his testimony.  I was busting.  I love that he knows who he is.   

"Cross Your Fingers for Rain"

That's what Olivia hollered as she went out the door this morning.

It's cloudy this morning, which I don't think has happened since like last February or so. 

And in honor of that and in case of rain, Olivia wore an extra scarf today in addition to the one she usually wears.  You can't be too careful.

In other news, I'm still half-dressed.  (You're never fully dressed without at smile, you know.) And the word of the week has failed me, as I have not done anything sanguinely the past week or so.  (Just ask David: yesterday he brought me a jamba juice and I growled at him.  In my defense though, I asked for 2 inch 6/32" screws., and he brought jamba juice.  Jamba juice, though fruity and delicious, cannot hold a leaning space station upright.

But later, if I can get my kitchen floor mopped, and the laundry off the floor and out of the doorway and possibly even folded, and get organized for our space station work meeting this afternoon, then I will publish a sanguine post.  Even if it's only about all the darlings in my life who continue to be sanguine even in the face of my frustrated grumpiness.  Pray for peace, people everywhere.  I had big plans to be ready to do my Thanksgiving grocery run today as well, but I'm not sure I'm quite up to that, emotionally or otherwise.  Perhaps that will leave groceries and pie making all for tomorrow, an unprecedented occurrence, but that's about the state of things. 

And now for your enjoyment, a diagram of my life:

 

 1.  my neglected sewing machine...I see you over there and I miss you.

2.  the quilt that used to hang on that bare yellow wall...it was the victim of a sad watercolor incident and so had to be taken down for cleaning and drying.  It still has not been rehung.

3.  the leaning tower of space stations...it rotates, but it lists to the left.  I spent four hours yesterday trying to reinforce and shore it up, to no avail.  I'm just going with it now.

4.  the worst drill in the entire history of drills...what I wouldn't give for a seriously powerful drill that you could PLUG IN. 

5.  my missing drill bit...I spent a good thirty minutes looking for it yesterday.

6.  the jamba juice David bought me instead of 6/32" screws...I was so ticked off I just let it melt without drinking a bit of it.  I'm crazy like that.

7.  the dreaded floam...this stuff was supposed to be the regolith in the bottom of the space station but it was just a disaster.  Curse the makers of floam and while I'm at it, I also curse Martha's double sided tape.  Heaven help me.

8.  mod podge...can't have a project without it.  David went to the store on Saturday to procure this bottle.  He was like, "Mod Podge?  What's mod podge?"  I said, "Just ask someone."  It is a testament to his graciousness that he ran the errand at all.

9.  the detritus of the space station project...the inside of my brain looks about the same.

10.  a pile of dowels...they are the witnesses and victims of several failed attempts.  Someday perhaps they will have a chance to tell their story.

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.

I Know Exactly How She Feels

Last night David and I went to a movie instead of putting the kids to bed.  (But that's a post for another day.)

So this morning Olivia quietly said, "I finished my book last night, Mom."

"Oh, Livy."  (I knew it was the last one in the Laura Ingalls series.)

The tears ran down her cheeks.

"Are you a little bit heartbroken?"

She nodded and we sniffed a little together.

This is the sweetest kind of sorrow...the hot, tender heart in your chest as you read the last page in a book that has become your friend.

Bereft and grateful, at the same time.

In love and full of grief.

There is really nothing like a good book.  And nothing quite like the vulnerable, lonely, poignant feelings of it being over.  I told her that all my favorite books make me cry when they're over.