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.

O'Dell Feeds Berni's Martyr Complex

Quilt Retreat is only nine days away.  (Can I get a hallelujah?)  Not that I'm counting.  Or crossing days off on the calendar.  Or gleefully removing links from my paper chain.

And that means that O'Dell and Bernina have been spending lots of time together again.  The gossip has been flying over egg salad sandwiches and fresh lemonade.  Between sewing seams and proofing invitations for the hospital benefit, they're busy swapping plans for new curtains in the family room and recipes for chicken pot pie and figuring out the Easter dinner menu.

This morning O'Dell told Berni that she looked tired.

"I was up late last night.  It's like this every year.  A mad dash of sewing before quilt retreat."

O'Dell harrumphs loudly.  "Well girl, don't wear yourself out.  You've got quilt retreat next week.  You've got to get some rest before then."

Berni just shakes her head and sighs dramatically,  "I just have to survive the next couple of weeks and then she'll ignore me for the rest of the year."  Berni loves to play the martyr.  Overworked or ignored, it's impossible to make her happy.

We all survived our first day back to life.  Last night we ate dinner out on the porch and listed our grievances:  Fractions and decimals and the upcoming standardized testing were all vociferously maligned.  This morning I planned out our day like we were going into battle, coordinating troop movements and checking supply lines.  It turns out that today is the busiest day of the year (I had no idea), but we all have plans to meet back here around eight and share O'Dell's fried chicken and dumplings together.  I may even whip up a lemon pie just to celebrate our getting through the day.

Spring break already feels like a very long time ago.

Get Your Violins Out, This is Going to Be Good

Last night as we gathered in a circle for prayer, the fussing started.

And the fussing quickly turned into weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth as everyone expressed their own personal concerns about the end of spring break and the start of another school week.

I was determined to stay positive.

"It's only nine more weeks!  We're almost there!"  I said with forced cheerfulness.

They weren't buying it.

"It'll be here before you know it,"  I said less confidently, and shooed them to bed.

And then did a bit of weeping and wailing of my own.

Yesterday in Relief Society we were talking about hope.  The teacher asked if we could think of a time in our lives when we felt great despair and an absence of hope.  I'm embarrassed to say that the first thing that came to mind was our imminent return to school and the thought of my upcoming week.  The calendar days filled to almost blackout with "to-go-to's."

There was a bit of crying this morning too.  (It wasn't me.  Hide your shock.)  But we are more or less off and trudging.  The dishwasher is humming and the kids have climbed on the bus.  Even if it was done with a a few heavy sighs.  (Okay, that might have been me.)

The one bright spot of hope for me this morning was the sand all over the floor of my laundry room.  Lovely surprise.  I was filled by the thought of more sandy days ahead.  Just nine weeks away.  I have no intention of sweeping it up.  How about that?  Entropy finally comes through for me.

The Problem with Sexual Reproduction

Our orange trees are having a veritable orgy right now.

And it's a mess.

These blossoms, the leftover advertisements for bees all over the city (the little tramps), are falling everywhere.  I told Caleb after school he needs to shovel the walks. 

Not to mention the overpowering fragrance they give off night and day, shamelessly bragging about how they're getting some and you're not.

David thinks this post is inappropriate.

I told him it was just biology and reminded him about the parts of a flower, which he vaguely remembered from 9th grade biology.  I laughed my head off when he called the "stamens" the "staminas."  (Hysterical.)  He said, "I think you're trying to be funny but I don't get it."

I said, "Isn't it enough just to know I'm hilarious?"

He said no.

It is very difficult to be a biologist with a quick wit.  No one gets the jokes.

(And p.s. David would like me to point out that I am getting some.  And it is good.  How's that for inappropriate?)

A Must-Read

David and I spent our date night at the bookstore looking for travel guides of Victoria, British Columbia.  We have a roadtrip in mind, and the only thing David enjoys reading more than the atlas, is a really good travel guide.  He is already typing our trip itinerary, and the trip is at least four months away.  He can't help himself. 

But while David was debating the merits of Fodor's versus Frommer's, I overheard a father reading a lovely book to his daughters.  I could hear him reading: "Compassionate means..."  "Envy means..."  "Patient means..."  When they left, I sifted through their pile and found this charming picture book all about words and cookies.  Two of my favorite things. 

Since then Ethan have read and reread and reread it again and again.

Ethan's favorite part is the page on "Content."   It is so lovely.  The pictures, the words.  One of them is even "Regret," which I've always been partial to.  (The pages on "trustworthy" and "compassionate" will steal your heart.)

I recommend you read it with someone you love and find out what "Content" really feels like. 

If You Think That's Bad

Some of you have been waiting for a new post

(imagine my chagrin)

but I have been too busy sitting impatiently at urgent care and peeing in cups and feeling absolutely miserable 

(imagine my consternation)

to want to write anything

(imagine David's surprise).

But if you think you've been put out, imagine the people around here waiting for clean underwear or something besides cold cereal for breakfast.

Yesterday I had the thought that I am too busy.  This occurred to me when I was supposed to be in four places at once and only wanted to be in bed.  Not even a super-apron can fix that.

And then I had it again this morning when I was madly and simultaneously trying to give out lunch money and sign permission forms and comb Olivia's hair, and nearly took out Ethan's left eye.  I said, "Let's do something fun this afternoon."  (Everyone is out early today.)  But Caleb said, "What about MYPO?" and Savannah said, "I have achievement days" and I sighed and wondered how far away our summer vacation is.  Too far, apparently. 

I wish there was an antibiotic for zerrissenheit.

(imagine if I just said "no.")

Dawn with Adele

I'm going to pretend I didn't notice that most of you were more interested in seeing the apron I bought than the wedding cake I was making.  I'm not going to say that didn't hurt.  

But whatever.

For the record, the cakes were beautiful. 

Don't act so surprised.  (Is what I told David.)

My feet still hurt this morning and so I lay in bed in the blue dawn listening to Adele sing "Make You Feel My Love" rather than getting up.  Everyone visited me in turns. 

Olivia sighed and told me that she was on her last chapter in Green Gables, "A Bend in the Road," and we shed a few tears together at Matthew's passing.   

Caleb was already wearing his backpack when he came in and told me that he didn't sleep very well.  (Stress.)  He said he finally just got up and studied how to graph a line from an equation for a while. 

Ethan climbed in next to me and said that today they are reading The Sneetches and he doesn't know what a Sneetch is.  "What's a Sneetch, Mom?"

Savannah came in and recited her spelling words and told me this morning she could do her own hair.

David kissed me goodbye and told me that he would be fine getting his gallbladder lit up by radioactive isotopes on his own today.  He'd call me when it was over.

By now Adele was singing "Hometown Glory" and the house was quiet except for her.  If I had enough money I would have her come follow me around and sing the soundtrack of my life for a day.  I rethink my apron purchase again.

RIM cleared her throat.

Better get up, I said to myself.

RIM quietly reminded me of my dirty floors and the load of laundry wrinkling in the dryer.

But I lay there watching the room turn yellow and thought about Sneetches and how to spell "pursuit" and how long it's been since I've solved any kind of equation and where radioactive isotopes go once the doctors are done looking at them and bends in the road.

The wonders of my world.