This post is a little of both.
Disparate and desperate, I mean. The online dictionary points out that these two words can be easily confused. Never more so. But it's all I've got today. Prepare yourself.
Caleb is preparing for a solo competition this Saturday. He has been practicing Praeludium and Allegro for nearly two months. [I'm including this edited version of part of his practice with the accompanist for the record, for his grandparents, and for Goo. The rest of you can keep reading, though his vibrato might be the best part of this whole post. Easily.] We have been praying for him because, really, he needs another couple of weeks rather than another couple of days. When I was fretting over this one night, David asked, "And what happens if he messes up?"
I thought about it. "Nothing."
"Exactly."
Sometimes it occurs to me that I may be making things too hard. Amen, David says.
Last night I got a mass email from my mom to everyone in the family. Apparently my youngest brother nearly lost his left index finger in a table saw accident. Four days ago. The only reason we even heard about it was that he was going in for surgery today and the email was asking for our prayers. I like to blow things out of proportion. Boy, do I! My mom, on the other hand, likes to minimize things. Last year I only found out she had breast cancer because she had to have a double mastectomy and she thought we might notice. Even then she said she thought about not telling us.
But sometimes I don't even try to make things harder. They just turn out that way all on their own. Remember a few weeks ago, I mentioned how it was time to overseed the lawn? Well, we went to overseed the lawn, and realized that the sprinklers which have been doing a passable job keeping the drought-tolerant Bermuda grass alive, were not going to be up to the job of keeping the ground sufficiently wet so that the Rye grass could sprout and grow.
This is already too much horticulture for this blog. But wait, there's more!
Long story short, we had the sprinklers fixed. Unfortunately, entropy is neither a short story nor an inexpensive one. Three valves and fifteen new sprinkler heads later and we're finally ready to plant the grass. Three weeks late. The worst part is, winter grass is optional. (Like flossing or retirement planning. I'm kidding. A little.) But my head always tells me that the year we don't plant winter grass is the year that someone will want to have a reception in our backyard and we'll have a yard full of prickly, yellow, dormant straw everywhere. Of course, if you plant winter grass, no one will ask to do a reception in your back yard. It's like insurance. Against receptions. What? Your head doesn't work like this?
On Sunday, David gave his high council talk in our ward. It was the first time we've heard him give a talk since he was put on the high council and he's talked about little else ever since, asking for feedback, reenacting his favorite parts. But on Sunday, the reviews were not as favorable. Savannah was upset. She asked, "Why don't you ever tell us anything?" because she hadn't heard most of the stories he shared in his talk. And then came the real indictment, "And do you ever think about what you're going to say before you say it, and what effect it might have on our reputations?" She was appalled that he had said the words "naked" and "loincloth" in his talk. Plus there might have been mention of her standing in a loincloth at the bus stop. Now, aren't you sad you missed it? Don't worry, David will be happy to give you the highlights.
Finally, on Sunday night we watched Addams Family Values as part of our month-long Halloween movie marathon, which was both hilarious and delightful. Afterwards, I was nearly desperate to have another baby so that we could dress him up in a trim little moustache and a Marie Antoinette dress for Halloween. The kids could even train him to say "Guilty!" as his first word.
Unbelievably, David did not think this was nearly as good of an idea as I did.
