what we still had to learn about opposable thumbs

Dear man in the fancy suit who walked in to the orthodontist's waiting room and sat down across from me,

You look very important in that fancy suit.  And very busy.  Your half-crazed eyes are fixed on that little phone in your hand, thumbs flying, and you're giggling like a pre-adolesent who just peeked at his first Playboy magazine.

You look a little demented, but'ya still got it. You're still charming.

Excuse me for bothering you, but did you notice that person sitting next to you?  No younger than eight, no older than ten?  Big soulful eyes and long brown ponytails, head turned away, arms wrapped around her long, thin legs, knees tucked under her chin, rocking back and forth?

Could that be your daughter?

Some people call that the fetal position.  Do you think she might need something?

(Oh wait, he's going to speak to the young girl....)

Now we all know that your pressing matter has a name...."Georgia."

This information doesn't seem to be quite as fascinating...or comforting to the young girl as it is to you,  but you insist upon elbowing her, because Georgia sent a picture, and your daughter must be eager to see it.

That's why she's pretending  to smile.  Head's turning away again.  Rocking again.  Now her thumb is moving too, right up to her mouth. But you don't seem to notice that.

She is young to be at the orthodontist-- and old to be sucking her thumb.

A little extra attention won't straighten teeth, or change a habit, but it would seem to be in order here.

Maybe you'll make the connection when the office woman comes to talk about the payments.  Maybe you will turn to her and hold her in your arms, and give her what she needs, or maybe you'll go back to your phone, and put braces on her teeth.

(Wait he's making physical contact...)

You lean your head against hers. Cheesy smile at the phone.

"Selfie at the orthodontist!"

(I can't believe that just happened.)

Georgia must have been impressed because she replies with a video.

Now you explain that she has a British accent....

because she is from England...

Oh. That's why.

We are all relieved.

Do you ever worry, man in the suit, where will she be when she finally gets your attention? What will your daughter need to do to fascinate you?

You let one hand leave the phone so you can reach up to the top of your head, and rub that yes-it-is- thinning spot, a gesture that is often endearing, but not really today.  Because you seem worried about losing something.

But other things, not so much.

love-loss-festivity-and ordinary days

And just when I think I might have opened a chapter called moving forward--I arrive again at Christmastime. The children's intense anticipation, the familiar music, the lights--blue and white against deep, dark, snowy nights, are at one moment a completely wonderful source of joy, and the next an almost unbearable source of melancholy. Here I am balancing and managing the magic with the to-do's as a single parent for the third year, hoping that I can keep that childlike love for this time of year alive in them, in spite of my inadequacies and exhaustion. 

Have you ever prayed so earnestly just to ask God, "If I can't have what I want now, could you please just let me know what You want."  

"And if that is too much to ask could you just please let me know that You are there?"

 Friday December 14, I took the little ones to preschool and started my Christmas shopping. By noon I had picked them up, returned home, and heard the first of the tragic news from Connecticut.  Prayer is long distance compassion, charity in thought and deed, opening up your heart in an attempt to share the burden of another person's pain that would be otherwise unbearable.  I saw the flags in mourning around town by evening, and they reminded me to pray.

 Saturday morning the children and I walked over to the church for the ward Christmas breakfast.

Little pumpkin.

 The primary children performed a few Christmas carols. Not hard to pick out Bethany.

Saturday was a busy day, so I was grateful that our friends from the ward brought over a mountainous pan of pancakes, and filled our kitchen counter with trays of leftover fruit and ham--which kept the kids fed all day as I shuttled the girls back and forth, through the snow--which I was grateful was atmospheric but light, to their dance dress rehearsals.  

In the evening...the long awaited performance. The girls were in several numbers. Bethany's ballet class danced to Ave Maria.

Saturday I went to bed with a great sense of accomplishment, having survived the dance recital super Saturday.  I am sure the girls did as well. I don't know why that mood has to be so fleeting...might have had something to do with the Sunday morning rush to church, for which I was no match that day. William and I arrived after my Sunday school class was due to start and the kids had already been separated in to other classes, and I remembered that prayer.

"Are You there?"

"Are You watching this?"

"Could You please give me a little insight into just where this is headed?"

Sunday evening I was playing Christmas carols on the piano and the bishop stopped by with an envelope. Said someone had given it to him to pass to me.  I remembered that prayer again.

"Just let me know that You are there."

We have been blessed every Christmas of our life as parents by huge generosity from others. One year, when we were just students with two little boys, a whole clan adopted us and filled our home with decorations, and food, and gifts. I was pregnant that Christmas, but in January I miscarried.  I was devastated, but one thing stayed in the back of my mind. It was the love that I knew God had for us, because he had sent that family to us in December. I knew that He was there.  Sunday I was overwhelmed again. And humbled that I had wondered to begin with.

 It snowed again last week. 

 Grant was proud of his work, as he should be. I was too weather wimpy to go out and help.

Wednesday was the last day of school for the week, a half day.  I went to the elementary school in the morning to help out with the Christmas festivities in Caitlin's class.  Ava's mom brought Rudolph Sandwiches. I passed out pretzels, and wiped up peanut butter, and snitched M&Ms. As I walked through the halls I could hear the buzz of excitement from the classrooms, and felt humbled by a huge sense of gratitude for peace and safety in our school that morning.  For some reason, it brought to mind my this clip of concentration camp survivor Gerda Weissmann Klein...and her words 

"I am no better... than those who never lived to know the magic of a boring evening at home," 

and I thought what a blessing it is to have another day to celebrate... holidays and ordinary days. 

monday and snow

The snow we anticipated Saturday afternoon really didn't arrive until Sunday, December 9th. It was an odd snow. I noticed as soon as I opened the windows in the morning that it had accumulated on the roads but not the grass.  Little John John remarked about it during Sunday school class, and said he thought it was due to recent "strange weather patterns." Far be it for me to be discussing something as controversial as climate change with the nine year-olds at church. It just kind of came up.

Monday morning I had to wake up the unwilling.  Sam didn't make it to the bus and Bethany was late enough to give up the effort.  I decided it would be more convenient for me to drive her and my eleventh dependent--her cello, in one trip. I pulled up to the elementary school to let Bethany out, and couldn't resist nudging Sam, whose legs were sprawled out across the dash to the point of sure discomfort, in attempt at feigned sleep, and protest against the cruelty of high school related sleep deprivation torture.

  I was pleased that, in spite of Sam's suffering, he was able to enjoy watching Bethany walk up to the front door, confidently carrying her cello, more than half her size, dressed in a mini skirt, bright colored leggings, a green Alpaca coat from Ecuador, and the enormous Grinch hat that Ben wore in the middle school musical.

"She's taking the Wes Anderson thing to an extreme." He said. 

I do worry at times that she connected with Moon Rise Kingdom disturbing well for a ten year-old.  But where is my Bruce Willis?

Monday morning the snow came in earnest.  The roads were slippery, but I felt more confident than I have in years past.  I drove the boys to preschool next, then Sophie to Grandma's, then went back to Lindon Nursery,  for irises, in honor of my Bethany...who at one point insisted she would change her name to Iris, as soon as legally possible.  She will always remember the beautiful field of irises that we used to wait to see in full bloom every spring in Beijing.  

I bought a couple of cups of hot chocolate for the boys at the 7/11 after preschool.  As they sipped, and I drove towards Grandma's slowly through the snow, the classical station played a gorgeous choral rendition of  Good King Wenceslas, and Granty said,

 "This is a wonderful day!"

 I do love Mondays.  It usually means lunch at Grandma Martha's house then I get to go to Caitlin's classroom to help out the teacher for an hour.  This often means I get to cut and staple, even use crayons and gluestick if I am lucky, and help the kids with their writing and math.  It is highly therapeutic, and no psychoanalysis is involved. 

Monday afternoons I pick up the girls from school, and we stop for a treat on the way to dance.  There is the hat again.  In the evenings Jessica comes to our house for music lessons.  Having her come to us has been a huge blessing. 

It has been a busy two weeks, filled with concerts and recitals and not without emotion.  This was the Wednesday morning sky.  I was back at the school for the Christmas orchestra, band, and choral concert that we had tried to go to the week before, but had arrived ten minutes late and missed the orchestra all together.  It was a classic moment of parental failure.  Wednesday Grandma Martha and I went to great lengths to arrive at the daytime performance an hour early. It's all about redemption.

involving hope

One morning in November, I heard a man on the van radio say, "Planting anything always involves hope." I was impressed by the simplicity of that thought, and how I felt that he had been speaking directly to me, and I started to cry. I thought about it Saturday, and felt sorry that I didn't remember who had said it.

Saturday was the coldest day of last week, the second week in December. We had enjoyed several perfect days of light jackets. Lindon Nursery was selling flower bulbs at forty percent off Wednesday. I used some of my birthday cash from Grandma Martha to buy Spring...daffodils, tullips, and irises.  Saturday snow was predicted by noon, so I went out first thing to get the bulbs in the ground before it arrived.
I let the rabbits help me. They were upset about my pulling out the old annuals and dead heading the perennials, which I don't think I did a very good job of.  They probably won't be back.
Here are Wes and I together. I think there is a bit of resemblance. It is true that Sam named one of our rabbits after the director of Moon Rise Kingdom.  

 I am not sure that there is anything more inspiring than a bulb, with its amazing potential to produce, divide, withstand, repeat. 

 Just as I was sweeping up the pulled out weeds and scattered soil and crunchy old leaves the wind started to blow in and what looked like the predicted storm started to arrive.  I can't remember the last time I was outside when snow started to fall, little gentle flakes.  It was lovely to look up at the heavy clouds covering the mountains and imagine what drama was going on up there as I stood below, in the valley, looking at my garden and thinking about Spring.  In summer I looked toward winter with dread, knowing my yard would be bleak again.  But this, year, because I have planted so many bulbs, it will not feel abandoned, but rather, cultivated. It will know I am waiting.  The rabbits are waiting too, but they aren't going to play here once my flowers come up. They can poop there all winter long, however. 

 I am like this: wherever I am I miss the rest of the world.  It is my challenge in life to be patient with the present, because I always miss it intensely when it is gone.  This was my Saturday evening. Looks like rubble. I am buried underneath the figuring out of many things, but this one happens to be what to do with too many girls in one room. 

One day this will not be the present, and I suppose I will feel an intense longing for this view from the mess upward. And for everything that surrounds me... blankets, dirty socks, pencil stubs and candy wrappers, gloriously rescued misplaced shoes, and maybe I will even miss the figuring out, which some days feels like it will crush me, like rubble would, or maybe even like soil, but my hope is that it won't.

pumpkin lights 2012

William was very gracious with big October born brother Grant all through the month. Whenever he saw carved pumpkins, dangling skeletons, or plastic, inflatable, life-sized front yard ghosts, he said to Grant, "Everyone is decorating for your birthday!" 

Monday the kids were excited to go back to Grandma Martha's house after preschool. Grandma planned a Halloween celebration for the kids. I think Grant was trying to do crossed eyes. He is in to that lately.

Grandma Martha had been in California visiting my dear, spunky, sarcastic, sincere, flirtatious, never a burnt bridge, always a door open Aunt Lois who was in the hospital. We are all grateful that Aunt Lois's health is improving now.  Auntie Lois is the world's expert on Los Angeles culture, and gives a remarkable tour of homes of the famous--many of which she and her family sandblasted during the eighties and nineties. I miss the days when we drove down to her house on Easter Sunday and we helped her make grape leaves and clam dip that she always served with Honey Baked Ham and Marie Calendar pies.  I remember watching her front door with admiration as guests streamed in and out--people of all ages, and of various connections...so-and-so's ex, that guy's cousin, what's-her-name's new boyfriend. Everyone was welcomed.  Her home was always a lively, loving place.

Monday evening we had music lessons going on inside, while the kids ran in and out of the house and carved pumpkins on the front porch.



 Nice, Sam.Ben helped Grant.

 Tuesday is one of my favorite days. I love driving down to Miss Jenny's house to pick up Caitlin and her friend Ava from sewing lessons.  Miss Jenny lives in Maeser, a small, historic section of  South Provo. The orange and brown leaves falling from the heavy branches of overgrown trees, and old pioneer era homes were in the perfect mood to celebrate Halloween.   My favorite yard is filled with gravestones.  We tried that last year with some gravestones made of Styrofoam, but the younger boys kept pulling them out of our little decorative cemetery and using them as shields and weapons and flying saucers--so disrespectful really.

I am a huge fan of Miss Jenny's sewing school Thimbles and Threads.  I have mentioned that before, but it is worth writing again. She is wonderful. 

Tuesday night we lit the pumpkins. That is noteworthy because some years I actually forget to do that.  When they were all lit and we stepped back to admire their work. I felt so happy.  Peaceful. I think we are growing up, a little.

under rested

So you wouldn't guess from all my talk of the ten, the transitions, and my general neuroses that I lose sleep from time to time.  Sophie slept through the night at least twice last week.  I was grateful for that. But Thursday night I went to bed with the house so messy that I couldn't sleep.  I woke up about three a.m. thinking about the disaster downstairs and just questioning if I had anything in my life in order.  I thought about my parenting and how I do a lot of blogging about my myriad of weaknesses, but could I do something about them? Could I make our house more functional, calm, predictable?  Well you just have to start where you can start, so I went downstairs and started with the dishes, and moved throughout the house until the sun came up and it was time to wake up the kids. That was Friday morning.

But back to Monday morning, November 15.  We had kind of a late start.  Sunday night had been filled with our kind of regular irregularities.  It started to snow in the evening so the kids went out to play in it.  Then around scripture time Bethany opened the front door to check on the progress of the precipitation.  Just like out of Jan Brett, there was an unpredicted, four legged, guest at our door.  Roxie was her name and she looked cold and confused and insisted on coming inside.

Here's what she looked like to William.

And what we looked like to Roxie.

So bedtime was predictably delayed with all the excitement of a new dog friend, who by the way, found her way home Monday morning.

So Monday I was driving Sam and Ben to school, imagining to myself that I was right on time for a change, when Sam started to panic...only five minutes to the bell. I started to smell stressed out teenager. How to diffuse? No Nacho Libre lines came to mind so I just said "Come on Sam, You gotta look at the half-glass full."

"Half-glass full? Okay, fine, but how's that supposed to apply to this situation, Mom?" he responded.

And I said, not wanting to be dismissive, just defusing, "It doesn't apply at all Sam."

Because now and then, when I'm trying to be a parent, things just come to mind randomly, and in this case it was Jon Stewart's Daily Show segment about Dick Cheney. Check it out...

 http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/wed-january-31-2007/half-glass-full

I said," You know Sam, Some people say the glass is half empty and some say it's half full, but George Bush say that its a  "half-glass-full."

So then a miraculous thing happened... my van-full of stressed out middle school-ers started to laugh at my random interjection. That's when I thought that it was a moment so beautiful, so triumphant that I had to write about it.

Laughter is everything you know. I think everything is falling apart, and then two of my kids get together and laugh together, and it's all worth it again.

So I dropped the boys off at middle school and it was Caitlin's turn to get on my case. "Now we're late for my school," she said. "But don't drive too fast or we'll get under rested."

Just one more incidence of under rested. As part of my commitment to helpful blogging, and part of my desperate attempt to make up for some (ahem) overspending.  I am going to personally investigate the topic "Can you earn money taking surveys at home?"  So the other day I came across a new blog via blogfrog.  Here it is http://www.wahm-solution.com/  and from there I linked on to what seemed like a fairly credible review of work-at-home Internet options.  Did some reading.  Did some buying-into. Stayed up past two am Saturday night (fortunately we're on the eleven o'clock church schedule) Grossed one dollar.  Won't admit what I invested in case Rob is reading.  But I haven't given up...so more on this later.  I will let you know when and if I find something more remunerative...because I think we're all wondering.

That's all for now, since it's late again and I start to admit to things that  shouldn't.  Next post...the Deathly Hallows...

bus love

I never see a school bus pass by the park, my door, pass under the leaves green, or brown, or red, or bare branches covered in white snow, that I don't stop and appreciate its yellow-orange... and think about my childhood,and how quickly childhood passes by.  Then I look for my children, and I think how grateful I am for them and how happy I am that they are walking home together, talking about their day. I remember taking the bus with my sister, walking up our long street together. We passed red bud, dogwood, and sycamore trees.

They realize I'm watching them....

Tuesday, August 24, the big kids went back to school. Grant thought he was going to go too.

Diaper, backpack, anything more is just details.

Ben's first day of seventh grade.

Thanks to Grandma Martha, Olivia had a week's worth of new clothing.

Friday evening I took the kids to the school carnival. The middle schoolers were pretty surly about the whole thing. I sent them off to buy snow cones.

This was Grant's favorite thing.

 William enjoyed waving at the "car car" but wouldn't get near it.  I think he was still traumatized from Lagoon.

This was the most lively turtle I have ever seen.  Sam and I both agreed he seemed like he was animatronic.

We tried to get behavior management mileage out of this boa constrictor...but Grant is getting too smart for that type of " the snake is going to get you" child psychology.  Too bad. 

We were standing under the snake's canopy when it started to rain pretty heavily. Soon the forecasted micro bursts of wind started to blow in along with some lightening and everyone made a dash for the building. I was sorry that we had to evacuate the carnival early, but it did add a kind of 2012, disaster movie fun to an otherwise low-key event.

Saturday we had a fun time at the Dollar movie.  Sunday Ben spoke in sacrament meeting, did a wonderful job. Kyle also spoke in Primary.  Some new friends from the ward invited us to dinner.  That doesn't happen very often...brave souls...

Monday was Caitlin's first day of preschool.  Poor Grant walked in and made himself comfortable too.  He was quite offended when I had to drag him away from morning circle.

Caitlin had a great time.