Unsung Heroes

All I did was comment on her pretty black hat... her story came flowing out. She had just made the heart wrenching decision to put her husband of thirty plus years into a care center for Alzheimer's patients . Her granddaughter had been in a car accident and died. She and her Sister were traveling across the country to attend the funeral. I wondered at her poise. In her pretty black, She looked so normal. She didn't look broken or weighed down-- but she was barely standing (figuratively speaking) the weight she had been carrying and the weight of her decision were heavy.

I looked around at the people in my world, both near and far, both intimate friends and aquaintances, both past and present... and was simple amazed at the number of people that are the primary care giver:

handicapped children-- autistic, downs, spinal bifida, ADHD, and many more. Children taking care of ill relatives: the horror of Alzhemiers disease, amputations, PIQ lines... I wondered how many other people look normal, on the outside they look "put together", and in their hearts they are carrying such burdens. Their burdens to them are like putting on your shoes just part of the day.

I find there to be a nobility of character that is often unheralded for people that day in and day out care for people that can not care for themselves in all the varying degrees of disability.

As I listened to the Women in the Black Hat, I wondered what I could possibly do to help her. Nothing. And then suddenly, I found myself hugging this small Jewish Woman in the black hat, a stranger. And telling her that angels would surround her and help her through this difficult time.

Do you remember those bracelets with,"What Would Jesus Do?" printed on them. I think of that saying as I watch people lift up their burden, of care giver. What could I possibly do that could ease their day. Or help them to feel cared for because lets be honest, they are endlessly neglected. Flowers, a meal unsolicited, a card in the mail just to let them know that I was thinking of them. I wrote this little bit of non-sense, because I wanted them to know I was thinking of them. I am moved by their love. I may not know what Jesus would do in this exact situation but I know for sure that He doesn't feel that way about the care-givers, their actions speak volumes. Caregivers may be closer to perfectly loving than they could possibly imagine.

Cloudy Thoughts

I flew into the Dallas/ Fort Worth Airport. It was July, in the middle of one of the worst heat waves of the season. And it was unusually dry... The beautiful rolling hills were parched yellow. The trees all appeared tailored with no stragglers at the base. As we were driving out of town,... I mentally wondered what part of this foreign landscape would seem familiar to me. I wanted the rolling hills to be like those of Watsonville, Steinbeck Mountains-- I always thought they looked like sleeping dragons. But, they weren't those kind. I looked up into the sky. Same blue sky. Thank heaven, that the world round, the sky has been the same to me. The cloud's shape has always been familiar, even though, thanks to my aviation weather training, I know the names of them and why they are formed; my thinking about them doesn't hold the same magic as hearing Lindsey talk about clouds in his technical dream voice. I was looking at the sky flipping through thoughts of different kinds of clouds and what they mean to different people.

The Lord was in the Cloud

"an house shall be built unto the Lord, and a cloud shall rest upon it, which cloud shall be glory of the Lord, which shall fill the house." (Doctrine and Covenants 84:5)

The clouds: a symbol of God

"[Moses] the cloudy pillar descended , and stood at the door... and the Lord talked with Moses.(Exodus 33:9)

The soft fluffy clouds that go unnoticed as we go about our daily duty.

"Then the cloud covered the tent... and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle." 40:34)

The threatening dark clouds that thunder and lightning.

"... for they have heard that thou Lord art among this people, that thou art seen face to face, and that thy cloud standeth over them, and that thou goest before them, by day time in a pillar of a cloud..."(Numbers 14:14)

The clouds that linger on the horizon. The clouds that bring rain.

"And it came to pass that when Jesus had toughed them all, there came a cloud and overshadowed the multitude that they could not see Jesus." (3 Nephi 18:38- Book of Mormon: when Jesus came to the American continent).

The sunset that paints all the clouds brilliant shades of the rainbow.

Clouds that bring rain, literally living water.

I am sure that as I have been in life's turmoil and shacking my fists at the Heavens, "Why me? Why this? Why not my way?" That I have not stopped to contemplate what kind of clouds are hovering over head. I am sure that the words to the song, "Sometimes He let's it Rain" have not softened how I feel about the situation. I am sure that as anxious of a parent as I am, that God knows what "chores" what turmoil, what classes in Character that are best for me. I am grateful for gentle showers, for foggy days, for summer thunder and lightening shows and even for the wispy clouds that fan the sky scape and make ripples like waves. I very much like the thought that God is in the clouds. It makes me feel more found and less lost.

What Are You Wearing?

"The Cloth of righteous societies has ever been woven from golden threads of charity-- the spirit of loving and caring for our 'neighbors'.

We yearn for a peaceful world and for prosperous communities. We pray for kind and virtuous societies where wickedness is forsaken and goodness and right prevail.

Should we fail in this great core commandment to "succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knee" (Matt 22: 36- 40) or turn our hearts from those who suffer and mourn... the jubilant hope of our hearts will ever be distant." [H. David Burton]

So, my thought today, is what are you wearing? When I was dressing to day, I had no thought of clothing myself in 'Charity'.

Me personally, my standard: jeans, I bought them five years ago with Laura Bailey on my birthday when I need to find a good pair of jeans, they were $49.99, at the time I used all my money to buy them-- forgoing all the other things I needed. If I had know I'd love them to death, I probably would have bought them in a darker wash. A t-shirt, its nothing special, I grabbed it at Target because it's red, soft, and wrinkle free. I bought it to replace a shirt I ruined. I bought it because everyone should have a go- to polo shirt. I bought it because at the time I only had two shirts that fit me (just after Lucy was born) and it still fits so I still wear it:) My very favorite shoes-- orange and red Merrill's, that I bought two summers ago with my swim lesson money; they were a splurge for me. They are my most expensive purchase-- EVER. And I have worn them everywhere, and I love them. It's silly, they are not stylish and yet they are. They don't go with everything and yet they do. I bought them because sometimes you need something sensible to walk in that has a sense of fun too! I knew that I was going to be walking a lot today so, these are my go- to- shoes. How to do my hair-- we'll probably take pictures because we're celebrating Emily's Birthday, so, I curled my hair and tied it back with a handsome silk scarf from my grandmother, because sometimes just wearing something of her's makes me feel more classy. How much make-up I put on just to look alive and not ill or exhausted. And the true wonder of something as simple as mascara or the eye brow pencil. When I first read that this small little pencil was some woman's makeup miracle-- I laughed out loud, and now I wish I could send her a thank you note.

My golden threads: the little things that I do that collectively make up the fabric of my life. Is it interwoven with brilliant gold that emphasizes my faith? Is Charity as standard as my jeans and t-shirt.

Standing Ovation

Some Mornings after getting all the kids out the door to their various school day things. I enter the quiet house-- wondering if there will be standing ovation for my performance. Then I notice, a child's breakfast dish still on the counter.
Today, I thought, "Maybe someday she'll actually eat breakfast, brush her teeth-- put her dish away, ALL by herself... and then I will miss her, today, it's a warped kind of 'hello mommy'."
Morning routines have always had their challenges but this one little piece of helpful advice has changed my AM completely.
With my boys the morning routine consists of constant reminders to wear clean clothes-- not the ones that they throw on the floor yesterday or any other day before. Clean socks with their shoes, which I have logged away in the recesses of my brain supplanting Anatomy and Physiology knowledge with shoes in the front room under the babies blanket knowledge. Jeans and T-shirts: practically everything matches (even as I am writing this I have images of a sweet ten year old who insists that his favorite camo pants match his favorite green striped shirt: two favorites obviously match and their both green-- I have heard this logic a number of times in favor of the same out fit.) The hardest part of the morning is getting the boys to brush their teeth.
With my girls .... I had no idea so many things didn't match jeans. It has been Drama I, Drama II and then a High Drama at our house all over what to wear or "What Not to Wear?" Then a friend of mine, Laura (an expert on fashion and reasonable teenage girls) gave me the idea of having all the outfits for the week on hangers. Now, its part of our Saturday jobs-- we sit down after bringing the laundry from the laundry room to put away-- and with the lovely hangers, Grandma Bebe bought, with clips on them, we pick out pants or skirt, shirts and or undershirts, belts, and socks, tights or leggings. We talk about which shoes are the best pick, [its winter so luckily most everything go with pink pock-a-dot and cheetah print rain boots] With a weekly reminder that Wednesday is P.E.
Jessica (my niece at college) was here this weekend and helped the girls pick out their outfits. She even convinced one of them if the pants, which are favorites, weren't too dirty and she hung them up after she took them off that she could wear them twice in the same week and NObody would know-- and she wouldn't have to wait for them to come through the laundry. Since it was coming from Jessica, who is the coolest person on the planet, this advice was taken as a magic remedy, instead of how to decrease the amount of laundry that has to be done, her Mother, every day.
But this morning, it was like heaven as the girls happily put on their Wednesday outfit. And showed them to me. No screaming that this isn't going to work for day, or nothing matches, or where are my favorites. Just "How does this look" and I got to "Oh" and "Ah" over the brilliant color palette. The way that shirt shows off her personality. The socks that match the days of the week. And a pat on the back for the hair tie that sets off the outfit perfectly.
Standing ovation, Please!

Band Geeks

Every Morning- Monday thru Friday. In the dark of the morning before the sun comes up, I watch in amazement as twelve, thirteen, and fourteen year olds pile out of parents cars, walk huddled up in thier jackets into the back of the Junior High building some with instruments in hand others unpacking thiers from the band lockers. Voluntarily they come. To do what-- make music. They don't get graded for it. They don't get credit for it... and yet they come. As part of an elete group. They are dedicated to playing; nobody even takes roll. They play Jazz. Some people wonder at the thought of teenagers learning and playing Jazz, but they are hungry for it. It pushes them to new levels, It invited creativity. They laugh at themselves a bit, in the morning before most people their age are even stirring from their beds. And they play: insink out of sink, funk, disharmonies, and then which is the magic of music it becomes beautiful. And so, they lug thier cases home, to practice more, so they can come back again tomorrow and be a part of this wonder of the ages. Twelve, thirteen and fourteen year olds with rumpled hair and unbrushed teeth and smiles.
My own son said, "Thank you for taking me to band every morning. "
"Thanks mom." As he pushes me in the shoulder and gets out of the car into the cold dismal winter morning. He smiles as he cross infront of the car. I am abit tempted to honk the horn and make him jump... but its 6:59 in the morning and even I can't stand the thought of interrupting someones sleep. And so, I wave and tell him to "Take Luck" He responds as if prompted "If you have any care for it." Then his is gone into the world of Junior High with the one bright spot being that he is surrounded by good music and people just like him for a brief moment, Band Geeks.

Summer Rules

1. Tuesday- Thursday- Saturday

Mandatory Complete BODY Wash

With Soap and Shampoo, conditioner optional

Question: Does Shampoo count as a soap if you slather your head then your body in it?
Answer: It does smell like coconut, which is better then you were before. Ok for every day but Sunday (which includes Saturday Night).

Addendum: If you are younger than your mother, your mother can add "SHOWER" as a personal responsibiltiy for any day (in addition to the above suggestions).
* manditory for completion before firends come over.

2. Clothes

You may wear your same shirt and pants all day long and yes, even to bed, if you so desire (although you all own pajamas) But come morning mandatory change of clothing which includes new pants and shirt, underwear etc.

Amendment-- if by chance you own two of the same shirt/ pants your may not wear them in consecutive days, so that it appears as though you are wearing the same outfit you wore yesterday and to bed.

Question: If we run through the sprinklers (Added by a Brother) or go swimming, in our clothes could we wear them again-- Theoritically they got washed, they got dried, and you didn't even have to fold them.

Answer: Do they still smell like... you after playing all day, sleeping in them and then swimming in them? Then the answer is NO! you may not count that as another wearing opportunity.

Addendum: On good principle, you may not take off your clothes that have been worn all day and night, but them in the dirty clothes basket, skip a day and then wear them again-- That is Cheating!

3. Homeless

At least one other day besides Sunday you must NOT appear to be Homeless. The day is at your general discretion.

Persons with a home would have all these things done on the same day at least for a moment at the same time:

Hair combed, teeth brushed, face washed and clean clothes on.

Addendum: At breakfast Mom may announce that today is not a Homeless Looking day. Complaints will cost you a minimum of 25 cents or an extra job (if you are out of money).

Summer is About...(dot, dot, dot-- it's important)

Summer is about,
Otter Pop Wrappers
on the floor--
And discovering that no matter how many times you sweep in a day,
There will still be wet little pigs that walk across the floor
and drop off their grass clipping hitch-hikers
And even though the floor was just mopped
those are dirty toe smudges
tip- toeing across the floor.
If that child had wings they would have flown through the house,
with their Muddy feet never leaving a trace
But as conscientious as a child
raised up on Ballerina point to keep the impact at a minimum

Summer is about,
Otter Pop Wrappers
In the bed,
where a cross child lift the chamotion of friends, foe, and family
to snuggle into mom's side of the bed
to take a break, slurping on the end of a plastic wrapper
with festive colored sugar water
which some how rights wrongs and heals ouwies.
There are only a few bright drops on the coverlet
yes, a bit leftover on the pillow.

Summer is about,
Otter Pop Wrappers,
A whole collection of them
Lined up expertly in the hidden recesses of the couch
It might be the only thing holding the couch together
Three friends play rock band,
Four girls make a princess castle
that looks a lot like a bandits hide out,
subsequently, being attacked by a rival band
with many screams of delight and horror
from all sides
Two girls riding side saddle,
no, wild west style-- with a somersault dismount
with otter pops dangling from their lips
as the arms of the couch whine with effort.
Giddy Up!
One Dad watching the channels buzz by,
No, those were the Snickers wrappers not the Otter Pops

Summer Is About,
Otter Pop Wrappers
A green smile from lack of oral hygiene
A purple smile because there were only six left
A red smile because it's a favorite
A Blue smile in the family photo OP
A pink smile, in answer from the brilliant child who know how to hide the signs of an Otter Pop addiction
Sticky, Sweet that is impossible to wipe off your hands
It's the smell of supper delight, covered in Otter Pop
It's a kiss, Thanks Mom, with a side of Otter Pop
It's the Hug that leaves a little behind, on your shirt that No One told you
It's bright eyes and smiles in all the colors of the (Otter Pop) Rainbow.

Achew

Lindsey came home, amazed that he hadn't sneezed the entire six day trip in the mountains with the scouts, and he walked through the door. And Achew. "Bless You"
"My Dad's allergic to Giraffes."
Which ironically is true-- Giraffes of all things.
How does one find out they're allergic to wild animals?
We were at the zoo, and we were all thrilled to see the baby giraffe only days old, it was so cute, except for the incessent sneezing that was kind of upsetting the baby and us. We looked around and there to our astonishment was Lindsey: He could hardly breath for sneezing, his nose was running, his eyes were swollen. He was a total wreck! And was in a hazard of killing him self by excessive sneezing.
My own thoughts at her comment were-- And do you usually house a giraffe, not usually with our limited ceilings, but the sneezing could be cause by the carpet.
He is also violantly allergic to cats which is another reason to avoid the zoo. There is a tiger house; which although the tigers are hundreds of pounds not cute little fluffy, they still have exactly the same kind of 'cat dander'. So a very smartallic Doctor advised against becoming a lion tamer. That is exactly what we need to be when we grow up. Large Cat veternarians, Performers, or Zoo Keepers.
But the icing on the comments-- days later-- at a friends house, this same wide eyed beauty, held a book in her hand and stated, "I'm not even allergic to dinasaurs."
And Aren't we Glad!

Birthday Dream

In signiture jeans and t-shirt, her jacket came off the moment we walked in to the store with the painos lined up like chairs for giants. I felt small-- Kelly's stature grew. She held my hand and walked confidently past the monster instruments and their gleaming black and white keys.
In the back of the music store there is a desk, and a man smiling as we walked towards him.
"Can I help you?" he directed his question to Kelly.
She looked up at me with her big green eyes, then in a smaller than usual voice she replied, "It's my birthday, and Id like to get a violin."
"Have you ever played before?"
"No, but I'm going to learn."
He smiled a very knowing smile. "Wait right here, I'll bring some out to see how they fit."
He brought back a very delicate violin, and placed it in the crook of her neck and wrapped her hand around the scroll. He took it out of her hands and tried another. Her long thin arms stretched out and a giggle escaped her lips. "This feels better."
"Yes, there isn't too much bend in your elbow and its not too much to big either, yes, I think this is the one."
Then he handed her a tighted bow.
A slight moment of hesitation. Then gingerly she placed it soundlessly against the string.
A look at the man. "Go a head," he almost whispered as though on sacred ground.
She ran the bow across the string.
A single note, no scretched, no wobbles.
confident and focused
"A melody (of one note) pure and sweet like heralding angels sing."
And then the most beautiful sight:
She glowed.
Her eyes sparkled and a smile radiated from her whole body.
It was the Man's turn to chuckle.
I walked out of the store, hold desperately to the hand of a girl that was simply floating next to me with her large instrument case banging unnoticed against her leg.

Early Morning Conversation

Mom, I miss Daddy.
Honey, Dad is at work, we all miss him when he's at work.
pause--
but my heart is broken-- and it really hurts.
Let me hold you and tell you how much Daddy and Mommy love you.
Jesus mends hearts. He fixes them with love. I'm going to pray.

It is privilledge to be the mother of someone so noble and full of faith.

Orange Belt

White Gui pants-- Check
White Gui tops-- Check,
"Mom, did you get the black shirts that we HAVE to HAVE for the promotion ceremony? "
"NO-- but you can wear what ever black shirts you can find."
The hunt for the black shirts took less time then brushing teeth in the morning.
Ceremonially, the white belts were place around little pop bellies.
Identical faces scan the almost identical bodies for any mistakes in uniform.
one last tug on the tunic to right its errant ways.
A roll of the sleeves for extra coolness.
A nod of the head, a silent agreement that yes, indeed, they were ready.
And the very confident boys walked out the kitchen doors to collect the reward of only eight weeks of training. Because they are SO AWESOME, they passed the first belt test in only two months not the required three.
As the first of the identical ninjas in training passes, he has on a very serious expression, He will collect his belt with the up most decorum, his concentration will not be broken. He climbs into the car, only barely pinching his sister when he gets into the back seat of the car.
The other ninja raises an eyebrow and a mischievous smile hides in the corner of his mouth. Then back to business. He punches his sister with all the restraint he can muster in his over excited state. Then sits next to his brother, and smooths his hair back into place.
There is something simply exzillerating about having your name called, and you only you rise from your seat and show the rest of your class your best kick and blood curtaling kui, Ahya, ending in your most formal bow. And then your master instructor places your new belt around your neck, and you pump his hand a bit too hard. Then trot with a wave to your mom back to your seat. There is something brilliant in the smile of a boy.

Where is Home?

Why do we long for home?
"Where is the place? Some place beautiful and safe? Someplace where answers for the heart are found-- Where is the place my heart can call home? The place my heart longs for."
When I was younger, home was my mother's face, and the smell emanating from the kitchen. Home was the walls alive with pictures of my thoughts. I had a poster that my sister created when she went to college of beautiful men, perfect looking men-- and yet in my heart the look was not significant to the content of the man. They were empty.
When I was in high school, home was the familiar grip of the steering wheel in my hands and my gym bag with 'day old sock smell'. Home was my own four walls with me as their center. Home was my own thoughts as familiar as friend's faces.
I went far away from home, And made someone else's home my own for a year. But, not quiet. And when I came back there was a longing for the familiar that I had never experienced before. I wanted home. And when I got there I didn't belong, It wasn't the same, it was the same but I was different.
And one night I realized, that my parents house wasn't my home. The longing in my heart and strangling of my mind was-- for my own home.
Years later,in a long moment of sickness, I again had that intense longing for home. And in the middle of a fantastic Pity Party-- this thought of home again hit me. I want home. "Where is the place, the place my heart longs for?"
These thoughts of home brought me to an understanding of homesickness. I desired to see and feel my home but, I was at my own house and not feeling home. Maybe my own home was not my final home of which my heart longed for.
"There must be more than this provincial life?" go head singing it like Belle from Beauty and the Beast.
Where is home? It is often said that we are spiritual being living a mortal life. Does that make us aliens ?. This is not our home, we are simply living here. Doing our best to make it feel right.
We went to our old home town. We drove by the Cheese Factory, past our old house, and to our friends new homes. This wasn't our town any more. But there was a sweetness there of all those moments came rushing to us. We embrace our good friends, held them in our arms and they grounded us in the present by crying and laughing about the past.
Home is more a feeling then a place.
I am so grateful that I have so many places, and people that are "Home" to me.

I Would Never Forward This, But, I Find It Delicious

Emerson writes that friendships are gifts and expressions of God; they form when the divine spirit in one individual finds the divine spirit in another, and "both deride and cancel the thick walls of individual character, relation, age, sex and circumstance." (Forward by William J. Bennett, The Book of Virtues)

I do not wish to treat friendship daintily, but with roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frosting work, but the solidest thing we know. For now, after so many ages of experience, what do we know of nature, or of ourselves? not one step has man taken toward the solution of the problem of his destiny. In one condemnation of folly stand the whole universe of men. But the sweet sincerity of joy and peace, which I draw from this alliance with my brother's soul, is the nut itself whereof all nature and all thought is but the husk and shell. Happy is the house that shelters a friend! Happier, if he know the solemnity of that relation, and honor its law!... A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him, I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissolution, courtesy, and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with the simplicity and wholeness with which one chemical atom meets another. Sincerity is the luxury allowed, like diadems and authority, only to the highest rank, that being permitted to speak truth as having none above it to court or conform unto. Every man alone is sincere. At the entrance of a second person hypocrisy begins. We parry and fend the approach of our fellow man by compliments, by gossip, by amusements, by affairs. We cover up our thought from him under a hundred folds. I knew a man who, under a certain religious frenzy, cast off this drapery, and, omitting all compliments and commonplace, spoke to the conscience of every person he encountered, and that with great insight and beauty. At first he was resisted, and all men agreed he was mad. By course, he attained to the advantage of bringing every man of his acquaintance into true relations with him. No man would think of speaking falsely with him, or of putting him off with any chat of markets or reading rooms. But every man was constrained by so much sincerity to the like plain dealing, and what love of nature, what poetry, what symbol of truth he had, he did certainly show him. But to most of us society show not its face and eye, but its side and its back. To Stand in true relations with men in a false age is worth a fit of insanity, is it not?...But a friend is a sane man who exercises not my ingenuity, but me. My friend gives me entrainment without requiring any stipulation on my part. A friend, therefore, is a sort of paradox in nature. I who alone am, I who see nothing in nature whose existence I can affirm with equal evidence to my own, behold, now the semblance of my being in all its height, variety, and curiosity reiterated in a foreign form; so that a friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.
Emerson 1841

After a Long Rain

Have you ever had a heart break so deep, just thinking about it made it bleed. There are no words for a heart break like this. And every time you thought, finally, I'm not thinking about it, I'm good- I can move on , your heart is once more beating. A single shard of thought enters your mind, and before you can catch yourself, your bleeding. For months you think perhaps,... your dying--one thought at a time, but you're still here, alive. There is an awful dread that prevails with this darkness.

There are some people in our lives that are so important that when they are taken from us it like not being able to breath. There are some people in our lives that are so much a part of who we are and what we think that when they are gone... we are lost. We are un- Named. We are un-done. Beautifully said by my friend, "[People] are too much a part of the pattern and texture of my life to try and pick out [individual] threads." The color and texture and pattern of who we are and the light that we see ourselves should be based on Jesus Christ, but sometimes it is so much closer to see ourselves through the eyes of our friends.

That poet/ quote (whatever) Who said, "Some people come into our lives and leave quickly, and other people come into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never quiet the same." I don't think he/ she understood what Emerson was talking about in his essay on friendship. Yes, we are lucky to have some people come and some people go. And yes, there are encounters with people that leave us for ever marked by them for good and for ill. But the more powerful are people who are genuine and no matter if it were but a day, or years they are ours. They are for keeps because they have had their souls woven souls together. And they are still one of the same heart. How glorious the friendship that weather storm, drought, distance, and death.

After a long rain there comes a moment when darkness still prevails in the sky except for that single beam of sunlight. Catching every particle of air between earth and heaven. The Light has come. To me this has always been hope, its what it feels like, its what it tastes like,.. and like Sense and Sensibility,..Let us chase after a bit of sunshine. with reckless abandon... let us catch it in our hearts the hope of sunshine after a long, long rain.

The Real Reason for Science Projects

There is a triumph about a well carried out science projects. A personal satisfaction that you can really not achieve any other way. You meticulously research a subject that would provide you a means of transporting army men from one side of you diorama to the other, and wow, you realize that all this research is exactly what your teacher was pestering you about for the Science Fair.
Tooth Picks pains takingly placed into gum drops in a structurally sound triangular pattern. and then... (do you hear music playing, it is, if I knew how to add that to my blog, of course it would be the theme from Star Wars) Suddenly, there is a competition between parent and offspring. The Bridge competition.
Whose bridge will hold the greatest amount of weight before meeting its failure point. There is fierce concentration. Dirty Looks, Side way glances. A bit of smack talk. And then... Science Project in the making, they video it. There is great disappointment on the child's face as he realizes that his bridge lost. Then, in a moment of mathematical genius, he calculated the capacity of the bridge (how much the bridge weighs to the amount the bridge can hold)-- Sure delight spreads over his whole body. There is a happy dance as mathematics proves the The Child actually roasted his Dad (5.5:1 over 4.73: 1) There was whooping, there was good times-- right there in a small calculation... I think we might have just proven why Science Fair Projects are of vital import to the maturation of our children.

Distractions

I think that sometimes my life is like living in a carnival. There are monkeys, and tigers doing tricks. A girl riding backwards on a horse in a ring of fire, people waving scarves here and there, clowns in scary makeup, Gypsies, and the man with the pooper- scooper. A constant bombardment of lights, and sounds, and movement, and smells, and bustling bodies.
I get distracted.
I lose sight of what I thought I was looking at in the first place, and then suddenly before I even realize it; I'm the little girl that is lost, and frightened and alone.
How can you possibly feel so alone when there are so many people around you, and yet, it is alone that you find your self. How can I possibly be the little girl, when I am the mother?
The carnival is full of people that are fighting for your attention. Look at me, Look at me, Look at me know,.. you can have fun if you only know how. (Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat)
And then I'm the one screaming-- I can't look at you there is too much to do. Maybe that is me not knowing how to enough the carnival. I really do preferre a quiet book. The sight and sounds and smells of the carnival are mesmerizing, sometimes you just walk around not focused on anything and try to take in everything, but end up just staring at the people walking by without actually seeing the featured attractions at the carnival--
I lose sight of what I thought I was looking at in the first place.
I get distracted.

The Silence After the Shouting

We had a Winter Family Christmas-- it has not happened, I think since, Lindsey's brother went on his mission-- which is close to Ten years ago. We were living in California, Debbie and Ron were in Texas, Lindsey's parents lived in the Log house. Lindsey's Dad was alive. Lindsey's mom bought a bright play set that could be set up in the house for the little kids to play on, becuase it was cold and rainy that winter. We still have the play set in our backyard.
Grant flew in. Debbie, Ron and three Girls drove over-- they all spent the Christmas Eve at our house. We all opened pajama, which is not a regular tradition of our but which was a smashing success in the pictures for Christmas. We at our barbaqued tri-tip with mashed potatoes and mushroom gravey and lapped it up with Grandma Barabara's butter rolls. We read our When Mary Went to Bethlehm book. And snuggled the kids into bed.
We opened presents-- which was amazing to see all the gifts that fit under the tree. I know for myself that I was feeling over Feed with presents. We ate Crepe with cinnamon and sugar, a Winter family tradition. And promptly went back to bed, Emily complaining of tiredness and her mother obliging her with a snuggle that lasted for 2 1/2 fabulous hours. I believe that tradition of napping on Christmas day will continue for years to come.
Vickie and three kids came that afternoon for some "Cousin Time" and it was wonderful for my kids to reconnect. Then the phone call came from Aunt Pat "Do not leave that house, there are white out conditions in the City" And so, with a laugh we pulled out a few more sleeping bags and wondered if anyone had brushed there teeth since before Christmas; put the tired lot to bed while the mom's watched a movie on my new Gorgeous Bed! We were snug, but the giggles and more giggles was worth any minor inconvience in the use of the bathrooms. Or waiting for your turn to sit at the table.
Before Christmas-- We were feeling like our house was fitting tightly with all the snow that we've had the last couple of weeks, making the kids come inside from the cold. Then we experience the Russian FolkTale for our selves-- the one about bringing all the farm yard animals into the house, Bring the cow inthe wise woman says, then days later the wise woman recommends bringing the chickens in, and the goat-- the house gets more cramped, and more cramped and then the very wise woman tells them to take all the animals out of the house and the house felt HUGE. The noise that just days earlier was driving me to insanity was bliss. The mess that was left in the bedroom, sure joy-- and the part in the tale that isn't told is after having company how there is an emptiness when they leave.
This Christmas was about making Lindsey's mom smile during the Holiday instead of hiding her tears.
This Christmas was about putting smiles on faces who have had a hard time of things. Friends who laughed at our short and sweet (and slightly out of tune, but very loud) We wish you and Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! The song seemed to lite a bit of hope in some peoples eyes, and break the spell of frosty, snow, packed silence in our neighborhood. We walked the slippery street, and climbed in and out of the car-- laughing and crying... but leaving a bit of love to all those people who have loved us this year.
Christmas this year was a yearning for my children not to see the gifts but feel of the sacrifice and the love that went into the gift.
Christmas this year was about talking about Jesus, because he's not a baby, but if he hadn't been a baby then he'd never have been the man. And the Man is the one who made all the difference in the World. And although his story is in movies, pop- up books and songs -- its because He's real: He is Christmas-- More Christ, the reason for the season! Because really in the dead of winter there is not much to celebrate. And the twinkling lights, and the singing, and the gifts remind us to Look up and find the Star that leads to Heaven and maybe a bit of Heaven on Earth at home.

Birthday BuZz!

There are times in your life that everything comes together in a harmonious chime. This rarely, if ever, happens on My Birthday. I usually have unrealistic expectations of what should happen and when. I usually am too _______ (fill in your favorite exhasperation) from the beginning of the hussel and bussel of December and to top it off I want to be celebrated too: I want Amazing. I want new shoes, a pretty shirt and my hair to behave-- its an attitude of put together that isn't with me the rest of the year but I desperately aspire to, on the one day of the year that I think mostly about me and what I want-- my Birthday!
The paradox of the day is that it becomes painfully obvious to me all the things that I am not. I guess the beauty of this Birthday is that it was full of ALL the things that I am, and the melody was not in disharmony with my new image of myself. Let me give you a quick run down:
I love bright color on my toes-- they are fiesta purple
I love good food with friends-- a few of my friends suprised me with lunch at Macaroni Grill.
I love conversations that have you holding your sides and face from laughing: the conversation was so lively, it had me giggling for days.
my own dear family: we went ice skating at Seven Peaks with my Brother's work party, it was so much fun and for only my second time I did pretty good. (I didn't fall once)
I wore a new purple shirt, that is totally me
I had my hair cut the day before which made me feel great.
And although this is wierd it is part of a fantastic day-- earlier that week I had me teeth cleaned. I know this about myself now. I like freshly polished teeth.
Lastly, really its nice to be validated as a person, why it needs to be on my Birthday another chat with the psychiatrist. I am so grateful for the people in my life who like me, and are my friends. I am so grateful for my husband who is more talented and geniunine, and calls me Beautiful. Which at first grated my nerves and now is like the purr of a content kitten.

Christmas smells

I just read my first Christmas Story of the season to my children. I tripped into the attic to extract the overly heavy box. It was dusty. It smelled weird like sweaty, heated paper, with a hint of stale nail polish. But, the familiarity of the books themselves remind me of the smell of cinnamon which will forever be remind me of my mother. And the pictures on the covers reminded me of, the laughing of my seven siblings as we sang goofy (total hacks on the classic) Christmas carols. And the smell of heated bodies ripe for the shower mingled with pull apart bread my mother baked.
There is something about Christmas that makes my heart a bit tight. Not in the Grinch sort of way, I don't consider my heart two sizes to small. No there is a longing so dear, and a need too great-- a soft melancholy catches me off guard every year, while I try to recreate the perfect Christmas of my memory, which is more imagination then reality. The Spirit of Christmas is exacerbated by my desire to do more than is humanly possible. This desire to do more be more is at its best and worst.
My children all said:
Christmas smells like bacon cooking in the morning, or sausage added by Dallin. (Carter)
Sugar and Cinnamon, with licking your buttered fingers after a batch of pull aparts. (Kelly)
Funny, it feels like it smells like pine trees, but I know we have a fake tree! (Jonathan)
I think Christmas smells musty like a closed container, then comes to life when it hears the sounds of children's delighted squeals, and drums, horns, strings from the glorious Christmas music, and more to life when we say things like, "remember when" and "I remember that".
I think it smells too sweet till you look at the pictures from last year and then know that not a single moment was too much, and there were several that just weren't enough.
the smell of Christmas is more a feeling then an actual olfactory sensation-- its like a memory you start in your mouth.

Thanksgiving-- So much more than the food!

The day started with the humming of our new heater, and the sun peeking through our window. And the soft breathing of my husband, trying unsuccessfully to be asleep. There are so many things to be thankful for-- Family close and far, we have been so lucky to see our family all around the country this year. Friends, really our 'everyday' family as my dear sister calls those ones close to her; what would we do with out the sweet people that watch our kids in emergencies, car pool, wipe our tears, and make us laugh in the drudgery of the day. We are grateful for a Job, in a time when many of our friends are looking for work, we may not have much of it but we still have one, and that is some thing to smile about. We are grateful for the gospel of Jesue Christ, people always say I don't know where I'd be without the gospel. For me, maybe its the over active imagination. I know exactly where I'd be, coffee drinking, travel junky. But with the gospel, I just don't know how high I'll go, and that is much more of a journey then anyone that I could invent on my own.