Ad Nauseum

I get nauseated when I get too tired.  

It's like a built-in early warning system to alert me that my body is being overtaxed and is slowly starting to shut down from exhaustion.

"This is a test of the exhaustion broadcast system.  This is only a test.  If you had actually been tired, you would be throwing up now.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled life."

It's awesome. 

I started feeling green around the edges late Wednesday night, "Danger, Will Robinson!", but there was no help for it.  Despite the flashing lights and warning beeps and waves of sickness rolling in, there was no way or place to stop.  And so by the time I woke up this morning the fog of nausea was so thick and heavy, I briefly considered taking a pregnancy test.  Danger!  Danger!

Then I remembered. 

It has just been a very long week. 

And I wanted to lay right back down, but I am chaperoning Caleb at his regional music festival today. It will be a day full of Copeland (oh, Copeland!) and Berlioz and Rimsky-Korsakov (oh, the Russians!). Sick and tired but accompanied by a gorgeous soundtrack.  

When I finally reunited with David last night at 10:30, I pointed out that we haven't sat down across the dinner table together even once this week, trying to emphasize the calamity and grief I was feeling.  I know there are greater tragedies, but in the haze of war, drained and battle-weary, it was hard to think of one. 

Last night before I took Ethan to his baseball practice that started at 8:30 and went well past ten, Olivia reminded me that she had to turn in her NHS application today.   I nearly started bawling as we tried to recreate a record of her service hours from the last two years, which felt especially impossible since I can't even remember what happened last week.

"Let's just bag it, Livy." 

"But I need to do it for my college applications." 

I wavered.

Savannah had me sign her report card earlier this week.  There were plenty of B's and C's, with a couple of D+'s sprinkled in to remind me that I am not spending anywhere near enough time helping her with Algebra and Physics.  

Apparently college may be a long shot for several of us.  "Danger, Will Robinson!"  We're going to need a plan B.  

For his part, David has spent the week bailing water out of his own boat, and when he wasn't in late meetings or staying late to finish projects, he was running to the stake center to go to other meetings or hang lights for a youth dance.  (There happens to be a youth speed-dating activity that he is helping to put on this Saturday.  I am thinking of going just so that I can have 2.5 uninterrupted minutes with him.)

I tell myself that there's got to be an easier way, there's got to be a way to do less. Only I'm not sure what to eliminate: church or school or work?

This is the true dilemma of modern family life.  How do I help everybody fill the measure of their creation, be successful and accomplish all the things they were sent to earth to do, and then still find time for us to eat and talk and connect with each other.  Oh, Anne Morrow!  Tell me what to do!

I have severe rope burns from the constant tug-of-war: Pull!  We must "work while the sun shines," "put our shoulder to the wheel," make the most of the talents God gave us, set goals and make a difference!  Pull! But also, somehow, someway, simplify, be still, and find a place for the peace and joy of simply being together!  Pull!  Pull!  Most days it feels like I'm not pulling hard enough, but maybe it's because I'm pulling in two different directions. 

Worst of all, I have some notion that it's my own choices (Danger! Danger!) that have brought us down this overcommitted path, but when I look around for a better way, it feels like I have no other choice.    Whatever happened to the quiet life in the middle of the woods?  When did that stop being a viable option?  Oh, Thoreau!  Take me with you!  

It is always the same old wrestle and I'm not too proud to admit that the schedule pinned me to the mat this week.  But it's my doubts that really fight dirty. 

Uncle!  Oh, Uncle!

Wednesday, 4:17 p.m.

I have two loaves of French bread rising on the counter and a pound of shrimp defrosting in the sink.

I have an eleven-year-old boy, feverish and teary, working his way through a heavy load of homework on my couch.

I have two girls who took the keys and the car, and drove themselves up the road to the temple to spend a couple of peaceful hours.

I have another boy rigorously practicing his Bach partita, providing the daily afternoon soundtrack to my life.

I have a dog sniffing the yard apart and protecting us from all manner of treacherous and cunning birds that might happen to land.  You can't be too careful.

In the whirlwind that is my life, this is an afternoon to be savored.

Sweet Nothings

The skies were overcast this morning.  Quiet and muted.  Just like I like them.

There is so little expectation from a cloudy sky, like the whole universe is telling you that all the work you should do today is internal work, that you should take some time to nurture a few dreams, quiet your mind, be a little slower and also a little more generous.

It was pouring by the time I left yoga.  I put my hood up, even though I was already soaked through.  It seemed like the right gesture for winter.

But it is already starting to clear.  The sun is relentless here.  My sweater just feels silly.  It was winter for a good part of one day. 

I finished the first season of the Serial podcast while I ate my lunch of homemade toast and Noosa.  The rain and the butter dripping, the nutty crunch of the toast, Sarah Koenig's voice winding it's way around a difficult conclusion...believe me, it was delightful on every level.  While I loved the podcast, and while I could listen to Koenig talk about absolutely nothing at all for hours at a time, I have to admit it left me feeling a little dissatisfied at the end.  And a little lonely at its ending at all.  I ate another piece of toast as consolation.  And thought about throwing a Serial-themed dinner party to hash it all out.  Wanna come?  I'm planning a delicious menu, on my good dishes, and poster-sized blowups of exhibits A-L.  Be prepared to make your case.

We had a lovely weekend.  Caleb and Olivia each got roles in their school plays, Caleb the lead and Olivia in the ensemble.  They are thrilled and there was the requisite shrieking and squealing and humming through the entire weekend.  David and I went to the temple Friday night and then had a terrific fight.  The shock of leaving the Garden, I suppose.  Spent Saturday under cloudy skies, culling through closets and drawers dejunking and reorganizing and making up.  We took a trip to Mesa on Sunday and went to church with old friends and had brunch with my parents.  It was like a dry run of resurrection morning, hugs and laughing and remembering when, with the warmest wishes you could ever receive.  I've been feeling the sweet afterglow ever since, like that warm, buoyant pause after a good, hard laugh.

It was a good reminder for me that coming home should always feel like that.  Welcome home.  You've been sincerely and deeply missed.  Even if it was only for the school day or the work day.  Plenty long enough to be missed. 

Plenty. 

Two days removed from a glorious weekend together, I know this for sure.

Pain Management

Fair warning.  I'm feeling a little cheeky this morning.

I just used a swear word on Instagram, so there you go.  Now I'll probably be banned from Instagram.  Reported as inappropriate.  Don't worry.  It was completely appropriate. 

Did you hear?  It's Friday. 

Just when you thought you couldn't take it any more.  Relief and reprieve.  And not a minute too soon. 

Last night, after a long day of mothering and maiding and parent teacher conferencing and cello lessons and homework and burning up a quarter tank of gas and giving a fireside and not eating dinner til ten o'clock, I was moaning in bed. 

And not the good kind. 

Sometimes I get so tired and frustrated that I can no longer form words.  Swear words or otherwise.  And so I just groan and squall and make primal animal noises.   

It helps. 

My mom used to tell me that it wouldn't help.  That I should just say "hippopotamus" over and over and it would make the pain go away.  But I prefer caterwauling.   

After a few minutes of this, I managed a few words.  "I need some positive feedback," I said. 

"You're doing good," David said with no enthusiasm or conviction.  Like the way he says "We need milk" or "I'm going to mow the lawn." 

Pathetic. 

I protested.  "You didn't even try."   Pause.  "Come on, I need Boss's Day.  I'm the boss of everything and I need a day."

David caught the thread then.  "Ya, isn't that dumb?" he asked, and went on a long discussion about how ridiculous Boss's Day is, my problems forgotten and left on the side of the conversation. 

Ethan has been limping around the last few days.  He scraped his knee at a volleyball game in P.E. and has been using my grandmother's cane around the house.  Yesterday he and Olivia played wall ball on the garage door and he used the cane the entire game.  Not to mention the quart of Neosporin that has been slathered on the wound.  You can't be too careful.

The other kids just roll their eyes.  Ethan's low pain tolerance is legendary.  You should hear him when he has a canker.  On more than one occasion I have considered taking him to the emergency room.  For a canker.  I tell David, "Maybe something's really wrong."  Abscess?  TMJ?  Throat cancer?  David just shakes his head.  But I can only remember the time that Savannah cried for four days after she fell down hard on the sidewalk and I kept telling her to "be happy and put a smile on."  Turns out her arm was broken. 

It's possible that Ethan has shattered his knee cap and I keep making him soldier on--go to school, walk home from the bus stop, play wall ball, take a shower--all with a scraped knee.  Oh, the wails that ensue during the shower scene.  You'd think he was being murdered. 

Every night we listen to his homicide through the walls.  "Maybe something's really wrong," I say.  We're probably going to have to amputate.  David just shakes his head.   He's had lots of experience.  He's married to me after all.  After years of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, he knows when something's really wrong.  And it rarely is.

In the meantime, I say, do what you need to. 

Scream.  Yell.  Bellow.   Use a cane.

It hurts. 

Don't I know it? 

Are They Made From Real Girl Scouts?

You know I hate being right, but let me just take a moment to say "I told you so."

October has already delivered in a big way, and we're just getting started.   Oh, the gifts of October.

Let me give you the highlights.

The donuts.  I'm telling you, I felt like an all-powerful wizard pulling these babies out of the oil, all fluffy and golden and perfect.  David was in charge of the glazing.  The kids were in charge of the eating.  We thought about taking some to the neighbors, but we were on day two-and-a-half of life in our pajamas, and so we ended up just eating them ourselves.  It was easier than getting dressed.

The netflix.  We have a brilliant October queue going and are already six titles in.  I love it when my goals include watching a movie every day.  What can I say?  I like to push myself. 

The bangs.  Yesterday I sat in the chair at the salon and told the girl to cover up the gray and then shave my head.  She gave me bangs instead, and...oh baby.  Who knew the answer to troublesome bangs was more bangs?  All the kids took notice,  "Wo!  Did you get a haircut?" but David just smiled and made out with me to show his approval.  Nicely done.

The quilting.  On Monday morning I got a surprise package in the mail.  Any surprise is nice on a Monday, but this box was especially good.  It had a quilt my cousin, Maika, just finished quilting for me.  The quilt pattern is called "Storm at Sea" but  because we made it at quilt retreat this year, it reminds me of nothing but safe harbors.

The rest.  Savannah and Caleb have been home this week and I could not be happier.  They have slept late, caught up on Curious George and Arthur and finally watched the Top Chef Masters finale.  We went to the gym, to the bookstore, to lunch, and to the thrift store to scout out Halloween costume parts.  There has been time to read and nap and talk.  It has been delightful in every way.  Yesterday after Ethan finished his school day, he and Savannah made a game of "Ultimate Hopscotch" and came in and reported that it was finally cool enough to play outside.  I'm telling you, October, your gifts are endless. 

The word.  I am most grateful after Conference for the reminders of God's love, of his ever-watchful concern over me and mine, and for the evidence that it is always so, even when I am blinded by the veil and the mists and the tears of earth life.  I found the answers I needed, a way to keep going, and solid footing in a sea of doubts. 

A Day in the Good Life

My Basis kids, Caleb and Savannah, have the whole week off.  Believe me, they've earned it.  They've done the work of an entire year in just nine weeks.  And then some.

My other two, trudged reluctantly back to school today, as I pumped them full of promises of a couple more days off at the end of the week.

Minus David, we all spent the day yesterday playing round after round of Bang! and eating the weekend leftovers.  This morning Caleb and Savannah slept blessedly late and then we played a few more hands and an opening match of Caleb's new game, Power Grid.  Then we went for a late lunch and a lazy trip through Barnes and Noble, mostly just to browse.  It was a near perfect way to spend the day, and I feel nothing but lucky to have them to myself for the week.  Believe me, I've earned it too.  As amazing as I am, chauffeuring and cheerleading and championing has worn me thin.  It is not to much to say that for the past month, the thought of this glorious week in my future has been the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.

Tonight my three oldest have gone to the temple.  It's Savannah's first time inside.  When I was ironing Caleb's shirt, I overheard Olivia reassuring Savannah not to worry, that she would show her what to do.  And she will. David is on his way home from surgery committee.  He had a terrible day, but I will cheer him up because I could not have had a better day.  I even managed to wash and fold the laundry in between my turns on the game board.  I was fun and efficient.  A near impossible combination.

This morning as I was sorting laundry and doing dishes and picking up pens and highlighters and General Conference notes, I found a treasure: Ethan's careful summary of each talk.  Succinct little sentences of what he heard.  They were a revelation, sweet and tender and unaffected.  Then under the notes from President Eyring's talk, Ethan had written:

President Henry B. Eyring talked about the temple and how you can't see Jesus Christ inside the temple.

Which probably wasn't quite the message President Eyring wanted to convey.

I smiled.  And wondered if there were any talks that I had misinterpreted as well.  What a job those men have!

Speaking of difficult jobs, mine was a very good one to have on a day like today.

Rude Awakening

Well, we're seven days in (who's counting? Me! Me! Me!) and it's been a rough go.

Check that clock. Brutal. Especially after two and half months (who's counting? Me! Me! Me!) of eleven o'clock bedtimes and sleeping til eight. We are certainly paying the price of our hedonistic lifestyle. You can keep you're "I-told-you-so's" to yourself.

But it's not only early morning seminary cleaning our clocks (pun totally intended), it's the loss of freedom altogether that hurts the worst. Our afternoon movie marathons have been replaced by a strict routine of homework and practicing and getting dinner on the table on time so that we can have prayers and scriptures on time so that the kids can get to bed on time so that we can wake up on time and do the whole thing over again, on time. I am at the mercy of a cruel, coldhearted tyrant...the blasted clock. And in case I wasn't clear, he has no mercy.

David is fairing no better. The most stressful week of his year happened to fall on this same exact week. There are no coincidences. Our whole boat is drowning. And it's shark week.

As for me, I vascillate between giving myself encouraging pep talks and giving in to my sorrowful, angry, pity-party. This morning I was on the treadmill at the gym, when the Killers single, "Boots", shuffled its way into my headphones. (You should know this is a Christmas single.) I nearly started sobbing right there amid all those motivated, masochistic people at the tender thought of our Christmas holiday so many months away. I have no shame.

Because as I count it, my losses are great. Summer is gone and only the heat has remained. My lovelies are gone, leaving only my brain and the Kardashians to keep me company. Poor company indeed.

I hate to even mention the few perks of this new situation, given the glorious rant I've been having. But, grudgingly, there are a few:

1. The Fashion. There is no end to the entertainment daily dressing provides, particularly if Olivia lives at your house. She's only been in school three days and we've already seen woollen berets, slouchy cowboy boots, and what she calls the "must-have-jacket." Regardless of the weather. Regardless of the heat. Regardless of the real reason I send her out the door each day. Plus, as a bonus, each morning there is an indepth discussion about what hairdo goes with whatever she's wearing. Straighten, curl, wear it up, wear it down? Today it was a side-pony because she admitted she was wearing something "a bit more casual."

2. The Gossip. There is no better place to be than around my dinner table at the end of the school day. There will be stories. There will be intrigue. There will be romance. (Oh, yes, most certainly.) There will be tears. (Oh, the sorrows a new school schedule with the wrong lunch hour can cause.) There will be laughter. (Who knew junior high could be so funny?) Forget about the Olympics. The greatest human drama out there unfolds at my little round table every night. I should sell tickets.

3. The Car Ride Home. The car door shuts and the words can't come out fast enough. Did you know this, Mom? Did you know this? And all the way home, my car fills up with chemistry labs and latin conjugations and discussions about Homer and his Odyssey and Mozart and his gift and Columbus and his new continent; everything they learned that day about annotating and multiplying and oxidizing and mapping and classifying and analyzing. It's more than a little thrilling to be an eye-witness to all that wonder. One day after school I had to take Savannah to the ENT. The waiting room was full of senior citizens filling out their paperwork. Savannah was telling me about her day, going a million words a minute--loud and in careful detail--and still talking when they called us back twenty minutes later. Every one in the room was smiling at me. She had entertained the whole place. And they all just grinned as we walked past. Because that was delightful, their eyes said. Because these are good years even if they are busy, their eyes said. Because you are so lucky, their eyes also said.

4. The Prayers. Desperation breeds fervency. I am nothing but humbled and amazed by the things that come out of my childrens' mouths as they send their petitions heavenward. I was nearly undone by the one this morning as Caleb bowed his head over his breakfast. I would get up early just for the prayers.

5. The Weekend. Yesterday I told my mom that the days go so fast (never enough time) and the weeks are so long (will Friday every come?). I've never been so appreciative of the hours between Friday night and Monday morning. For a little calm, a little quiet, a little slow. On Saturday morning we will go out for our annual back-to-school brunch, were we will celebrate the highs and lows. I have mine ready. My low: This is only the beginning. My high: It is Saturday morning and we have nowhere else to be.

Manna, Again

I noticed today that I've written so few posts this year, that my Christmas letter is still at the bottom of the page.  

Pathetic.

I keep thinking that at some point I will have something good to share, something exciting to share, something different to share.

But the limbo continues.

Every week at church people come up to me to ask for an update.  And they are always disappointed.

Imagine how I feel, I think.

And so, fundamentally, things are still the same.  David is still looking, I am still praying, the kids are still hoping that at some point their parents will wake up and return to the present.  But life also goes on in its dependable, inexorable way.

Caleb's science fair came and went.  The snails were examined under his microscope and then met their ignominious end in my large soup pot.  His conclusion?  Plastics are very bad news, especially if you're a mudsnail.  Not so great for humans either as it turns out, and so we've started a slow, steady purge.

My painful root canal came and went, thanks in part to a friend who intervened at just the right moment.  I was nearly out of my mind with pain and had lost all ability to reason well.  By the time the endodontist saw it, I had a very nice abscess coming along.  I begged for death.  Instead he prescribed two hours in his chair and a round of antibiotics.  Delightful, with more dental work coming next week.

David's surgery came and went.  Without complication.  Thank heavens.  He has been happily eating whatever he wants for two weeks now with no problems whatsoever. 

David and I came and went back east for second interviews and a "get-the-wife's-approval" trip.  We found a charming community, six inches of snow, a job that David was made for, as well as a terrible longing to be settled and employed.

Other job opportunities came and went, a few of them more painful to see go than others, but we move forward believing we are being led to "the right place."

I had a few speaking assignments that also came and went.  One day I went to the temple with such a long list of things I needed help and inspiration on, I thought the Lord would turn me away at the doorstep. 

I'll be honest.  Most days I vacillate between terror and calm, fear and faith, abject discouragement and happy optimism, and all that before I've even had my shower. 

But it's the limbo, the monotony, the waiting, the every-minute slow crawl of the clock towards the unknown future that is the hardest.  It's given me new appreciation for the children of Israel who complained that yeah, the Lord was providing for them, but couldn't he please provide something different.  And this makes me humble and repentant. 

And also, acutely aware of the miracles.

A couple of days ago I was standing on the banks of the Susquehanna, a river I never imagined I would have the opportunity to see in person.  A couple of nights ago I was eating dinner at a tavern in Delaware with some of our dearest friends in all the world, stunned to be sitting across a scarred wooden table from them.   A couple of mornings ago sat on a 727 next to my husband and as I watched him preparing for his upcoming interviews I thought I had never loved him more, that maybe I was just beginning to understand marriage for the first time in my life.  It was a revelation.  And a couple of evenings ago, as I knelt next to David in a strange hotel in a strange town on the other side of the continent and begged for blessings, I remembered Nephi's words that the Lord is mightier than all the earth, then why not this, and I felt the sure witness of those words as strong as I ever had before.

None of which would ever have happened without leaving the fleshpots of Egypt in the first place.

I see that now.

There is no other way, afterall.

All You Need Is Love...and Pie

I wrote posts all week in my head.  (Rest assured, they were as funny and delightful as usual.  I am sincerely sorry you  missed them.)

Monday's post was about drowning my Monday and my Monday sorrows in peach pie.  As I write, that gorgeous pie is still on the counter...untouched.  We've been too busy to eat it.  And every time I offer it up, the kids just ask for peaches-and-cream instead.  Who needs crust?  Just go straight for the good stuff.

Tuesday's post was about how I spent all the grocery money on wigs, and how it was totally worth it.  Don't worry, I've got cupboards full of beans.  Who needs food when there is lip syncing to be done?  Or we could always eat that pie that's sitting on the counter.

Wednesday's post was about how I ignored all the boa feathers scattered around my house and in my bed (ooo la la) and went to lunch with two of my favorite people in the world and how nice it was to pick up the conversation exactly where we left off, nearly nine months earlier. 

Today's post is about how I am so low on my sleep quotient that I went out today to buy a wedding present for my very good friend's son. 

Last night I told David, "Tomorrow is the Wilkins' wedding reception.  And we're going.  It's non-negotiable."  (David hates wedding receptions.  But non-negotiable means that if he wants to stay married to me he is going with me.  I could see him weighing his options.) 

I read the invitation four times this morning, because something kept going off in my head.  As I was leaving Target today, gift in hand, I realized what it was. 

It says: OCTOBER 16th. 

And today it is only September, although I am so tired it feels about twelve years past that.   

I actually stood stock-still in the parking lot as my brain finally figured it out and said, "Ooooh."  After that, I got back in the car and went to the grocery store to buy nine tubs of cool-whip because I am going to have a nap and then drown myself in that pie no matter what.

Did I tell you we are putting on the ward talent show on Saturday night?  Below is our entry.  It is not the Black-Eyed Peas, but it has its merits, especially if having your own set of Beatles makes you completely gaga like me.  If you don't have ten minutes to waste (we really can't help ourselves), skip to minute 8 to see David making love to a blonde bombshell.  It is as delightful as pie.