Ever since Daylight Savings began we've struggled to get back on top of our morning schedule around here. If I'm looking for excuses, I think Abbie's MDT rehearsals by 7am, and the work for her huge county report have added to the problem. But no matter what time we get up Sam seems to have an entirely different list of essential AM to-dos.
I've taken it upon myself to frequently empty his room of any books after he's finally fallen asleep --because if his path crosses with a book (or magazine, newspaper, or recipe, etc.) he's off track. It's tricky to know exactly what will distract him. Even when I try to anticipate the likely candidates, he finds something else. This morning, for example, he asked if he could help make his lunch. I praised him and talked him through some options. He was very busy for a few minutes --up on stools by various cupboards, climbing shelves in the pantry. Then he asked for help to locate the apple-corer-thingy from Aunt Nan. He worked with that tool for several minutes while I offered to help. As soon as we'd freed the fruit of it's core he disappeared. I was distracted with my teen and tween until I realized it'd been too long since I'd seen Sam. I went looking for him. I found him on the front lawn, with a shovel, making a determined effort to dig a hole big enough to plant his new-found seeds.
I did not anticipate this early-morning imitation of John Chapman. But it did make me smile.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_IrdS-zu48
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Deep Thoughts
A direct quote from Millie:
"Mom, this morning I also looked at a picture of Jesus in my scriptures and it remembered me of Jesus, and I am NOT looking forward to Satan. And if I'm thinking of Satan, I am not choosing the right."
Maybe we should pull those pictures out where we can all see them, all the time.
Maybe then we won't look forward to Satan. Maybe...we could maintain some perspective.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Welcome, Welcome Sabbath Morning
When a family gives up their Daddy to Church meetings for years, Sundays begin to take on a different feel. New traditions are created and some old ones fade away.
Here are some quotes from last Sunday morning:
Zach, from the top of the stairs: "Mom, what should I do about this big hole in my pants?"
Mom: "Just wear your new suit."
Z: "These are my new suit pants, but I lost my suit coat --I've looked everywhere."
M: "How in the world did you get a hole that size?"
Z: "Maybe when I was trying to do the splits at the stake dance."
M: "You did the splits in your new suit pants? That'd probably do it."
He smiles.
Screaming is overheard from the children's bathroom. Abbie comes to the top of the stairs. She is draped in at least five towels (one for her turban, a shawl for her shoulders, one for a strapless top, one for a dashing skirt...)
Abbie: "Mom, can we have a family council today about the difference between being rude and stupid, or just being plain insensitive?"
Five-year old Millie is singing to herself in front of the mirror in my bathroom. She's combing her hair.
M: "Mom, do you have any cover-up?"
Mom: "Did you just ask for cover-up?"
M: "Sam accidentally hit my cheek, and I don't want that red mark there."
Mom: "I think you'll be okay without cover-up. You're such a pretty girl."
She returns a loving gaze to the mirror and twirls for a minute.
M: "Don't you think I look just like a teenager?"
Sam comes into my room to sit by the heater and read. I notice that he has put clothes on without being hounded. I'm ready to turn on the praise.
Mom: "Hey Sam, I'm proud of you for getting ready. Let me see you."
He stands up. He smiles broadly and then casts a spell on me from the Harry Potter books he's been devouring.
Mom: "Sam, I think that might be Zach's suit coat from when he was a deacon. Can you find your blazer? Also, those are great school pants, but not our best for church."
Sam begins to melt into the ground. His face becomes contorted.
Sam:"Mo-o-om, this is the only jacket that has an inside pocket for my wand!"
(Oh boy -- I know where this one's going to go --should I pick the battle? I must)
Schuyler comes running in --full speed. In just 10 minutes church will start.
Mom:" Did anyone find the baby's boots? Can someone please grab the baby bag and make sure there's a diaper in there?"
Max-o: "Go bye-bye? Coat. Woof-woof. Car."
Mom:"Come here, buddy. Let's get your hair combed."
He goes running towards the playroom--full speed. Laughing.
The organ has just stopped as we walk in the door. I hear my husband's calm voice from the pulpit as we hang our coats. Having taken his post as greeter a quarter of an hour earlier, Zach smiles as he hands us a program. He looks nice in his new white shirt, BYU tie, and tan school pants.
I take my toddler by the hand and walk toward our family's pew (on the other side of the room). Abbie has his other little hand, Millie's carrying her special bag with coloring supplies. Her posture shows she enjoys making an entrance. We are getting seated just as Sam comes running in --full speed. He is in navy pants, well-worn at the knee. And although his black blazer is rolled multiple times at the sleeve, it slips off the shoulder. He has "fixed" the job I did on his hair. I look up at the Bishop with a broad smile and a bit of a sigh. Another Sabbath morning down.
I'm feeling pretty pleased until Max takes the tennis ball he's been carrying and chucks it into the center aisle.
Here are some quotes from last Sunday morning:
Zach, from the top of the stairs: "Mom, what should I do about this big hole in my pants?"
Mom: "Just wear your new suit."
Z: "These are my new suit pants, but I lost my suit coat --I've looked everywhere."
M: "How in the world did you get a hole that size?"
Z: "Maybe when I was trying to do the splits at the stake dance."
M: "You did the splits in your new suit pants? That'd probably do it."
He smiles.
Screaming is overheard from the children's bathroom. Abbie comes to the top of the stairs. She is draped in at least five towels (one for her turban, a shawl for her shoulders, one for a strapless top, one for a dashing skirt...)
Abbie: "Mom, can we have a family council today about the difference between being rude and stupid, or just being plain insensitive?"
Five-year old Millie is singing to herself in front of the mirror in my bathroom. She's combing her hair.
M: "Mom, do you have any cover-up?"
Mom: "Did you just ask for cover-up?"
M: "Sam accidentally hit my cheek, and I don't want that red mark there."
Mom: "I think you'll be okay without cover-up. You're such a pretty girl."
She returns a loving gaze to the mirror and twirls for a minute.
M: "Don't you think I look just like a teenager?"
Sam comes into my room to sit by the heater and read. I notice that he has put clothes on without being hounded. I'm ready to turn on the praise.
Mom: "Hey Sam, I'm proud of you for getting ready. Let me see you."
He stands up. He smiles broadly and then casts a spell on me from the Harry Potter books he's been devouring.
Mom: "Sam, I think that might be Zach's suit coat from when he was a deacon. Can you find your blazer? Also, those are great school pants, but not our best for church."
Sam begins to melt into the ground. His face becomes contorted.
Sam:"Mo-o-om, this is the only jacket that has an inside pocket for my wand!"
(Oh boy -- I know where this one's going to go --should I pick the battle? I must)
Schuyler comes running in --full speed. In just 10 minutes church will start.
Mom:" Did anyone find the baby's boots? Can someone please grab the baby bag and make sure there's a diaper in there?"
Max-o: "Go bye-bye? Coat. Woof-woof. Car."
Mom:"Come here, buddy. Let's get your hair combed."
He goes running towards the playroom--full speed. Laughing.
The organ has just stopped as we walk in the door. I hear my husband's calm voice from the pulpit as we hang our coats. Having taken his post as greeter a quarter of an hour earlier, Zach smiles as he hands us a program. He looks nice in his new white shirt, BYU tie, and tan school pants.
I take my toddler by the hand and walk toward our family's pew (on the other side of the room). Abbie has his other little hand, Millie's carrying her special bag with coloring supplies. Her posture shows she enjoys making an entrance. We are getting seated just as Sam comes running in --full speed. He is in navy pants, well-worn at the knee. And although his black blazer is rolled multiple times at the sleeve, it slips off the shoulder. He has "fixed" the job I did on his hair. I look up at the Bishop with a broad smile and a bit of a sigh. Another Sabbath morning down.
I'm feeling pretty pleased until Max takes the tennis ball he's been carrying and chucks it into the center aisle.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Marking the Miles
Wednesday evening Star told me that he was planning to take the afternoon off for my birthday. (He's learned not to spring big surprises on me anymore --I seem to react better that way). Susie had arranged her schedule to keep Schuyler and the others would be in school.
Before we left on Thursday I asked, "should I bring a jacket?" He said we might want something even though it was a pretty morning.
For some reason I placed Grandma Hannah's old green and gold tweed coat over my arm. Then I grabbed my full bag of books, and we headed out. We drove south. We passed Provo, Springville, Covered Bridge canyon, past what remained of Thistle and Birdseye, and toward Fairview. I began reading Richard Peck's new book aloud, but we didn't get very far --too much to talk about --uninterrupted.
"Remember the time we drove to Montana together, and we came up with all kinds things we never knew about each other?" Star responded, "That was really fun. Do you want to play that now?"
Unfortunately I couldn't quite recall how the game was played or even all the things I'd learned about him because of it, but I knew that it had solidified things, marked another milestone in our marriage. On that trip he'd shown me the places he'd served as a missionary; he'd shared dreams that were more humble --deeper.
We were nearing Mt. Pleasant, "When you were very young, what did you want to be?" he asked. "A mother, and a teacher...until I was a teenager, then I wanted to be a lighthouse keeper. Even then though, I hoped for a family with several children ( just in thick wool sweaters and red galoshes). Later, in London, I began to imagine being a museum curator and living in big cities where so much culture was easily accessible, but mostly I'd wanted pretty small town stuff I guess."
It had begun to snow when we reached Manti. The temple stood -- towering over the little farming community. I remembered seeing it before us as we drove on that cold and rainy day in April of 1994. I was coming to receive my endowments. With me were my two older brothers, my parents, and this pale-blond boy whom I was engaged to. When we entered, I was greeted by smiling temple workers. They knew my name. They had been waiting for me.
We pulled up to the historic city hall to ask for a map (we'd missed the turn off to Spring City). Star opened my door for me. It had become quite chilly. He helped me into Grandma's coat. As we neared the door, I caught my reflection in the glass. Something reminded me of her... my profile? My long face? We went in and looked at the photographs of old barns on the wall. A young man came out of his office and welcomed us to Sanpete County; where were we from? He unlocked doors, told us the stories of how they'd come to renovate the building, and invited us to look around upstairs and wherever we'd like. He suggested visiting a little fudge shop further up on main street, and offered us a coupon they normally give out just during pageant season in June.
The candy shop was warm and smelled heavenly. The walls were lined with red painted old apothecary shelves --just like in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Our Town." In preparation for St. Patrick's Day, much of their displays had been dipped in green: green chocolate pretzels, popcorn, Oreos, Nutter-butters. The owner was working in the back and came out to meet us. She seemed delighted to redeem our little gift certificate and offered all kinds of free goodies. The scent of chocolate reminded me of my Aunt Millie. Whenever we'd visit her tiny kitchen, it seemed she'd just finished creating something wonderfully chocolate and pale green. According to Mom's stories, Grandma Aggie (a chocolate dipper like her sister) would have smelled like this shop I mused.
After a tour of her kitchen and stories of how the business had come to be, we stepped out into a real snow storm. I pushed my hands deep into the pockets of Grandma's coat. My right hand felt something small and square wrapped in paper. I brought it out and felt full. It was half a piece of trident gum --the only kind Grandma ever kept. Her car and purse always had the faint odor of trident gum and lightly perfumed powder.
To be honest, I have been reticent about being closer to forty than thirty. I have wondered if I have accomplished anything of real value. But as I held Star's familiar hand while he navigated back slowly through the blizzard, listening to him dream about our future as missionaries and grandparents, my other hand fingering the tightly wrapped piece of gum still in my pocket, I have to acknowledge that most of what I've wished for has come true. I am not a lighthouse keeper --standing sentinel against the storms; I do not give daily tours about the great artists of the past and ride the tube to work at the famous museums of the world.
But I am a teacher and a mother, a wife and a daughter, a sister and a friend --much like my grandmothers before me.
And perhaps recognizing that --on my 36th birthday is a milestone worth marking.
Before we left on Thursday I asked, "should I bring a jacket?" He said we might want something even though it was a pretty morning.
For some reason I placed Grandma Hannah's old green and gold tweed coat over my arm. Then I grabbed my full bag of books, and we headed out. We drove south. We passed Provo, Springville, Covered Bridge canyon, past what remained of Thistle and Birdseye, and toward Fairview. I began reading Richard Peck's new book aloud, but we didn't get very far --too much to talk about --uninterrupted.
"Remember the time we drove to Montana together, and we came up with all kinds things we never knew about each other?" Star responded, "That was really fun. Do you want to play that now?"
Unfortunately I couldn't quite recall how the game was played or even all the things I'd learned about him because of it, but I knew that it had solidified things, marked another milestone in our marriage. On that trip he'd shown me the places he'd served as a missionary; he'd shared dreams that were more humble --deeper.
We were nearing Mt. Pleasant, "When you were very young, what did you want to be?" he asked. "A mother, and a teacher...until I was a teenager, then I wanted to be a lighthouse keeper. Even then though, I hoped for a family with several children ( just in thick wool sweaters and red galoshes). Later, in London, I began to imagine being a museum curator and living in big cities where so much culture was easily accessible, but mostly I'd wanted pretty small town stuff I guess."
It had begun to snow when we reached Manti. The temple stood -- towering over the little farming community. I remembered seeing it before us as we drove on that cold and rainy day in April of 1994. I was coming to receive my endowments. With me were my two older brothers, my parents, and this pale-blond boy whom I was engaged to. When we entered, I was greeted by smiling temple workers. They knew my name. They had been waiting for me.
We pulled up to the historic city hall to ask for a map (we'd missed the turn off to Spring City). Star opened my door for me. It had become quite chilly. He helped me into Grandma's coat. As we neared the door, I caught my reflection in the glass. Something reminded me of her... my profile? My long face? We went in and looked at the photographs of old barns on the wall. A young man came out of his office and welcomed us to Sanpete County; where were we from? He unlocked doors, told us the stories of how they'd come to renovate the building, and invited us to look around upstairs and wherever we'd like. He suggested visiting a little fudge shop further up on main street, and offered us a coupon they normally give out just during pageant season in June.
The candy shop was warm and smelled heavenly. The walls were lined with red painted old apothecary shelves --just like in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Our Town." In preparation for St. Patrick's Day, much of their displays had been dipped in green: green chocolate pretzels, popcorn, Oreos, Nutter-butters. The owner was working in the back and came out to meet us. She seemed delighted to redeem our little gift certificate and offered all kinds of free goodies. The scent of chocolate reminded me of my Aunt Millie. Whenever we'd visit her tiny kitchen, it seemed she'd just finished creating something wonderfully chocolate and pale green. According to Mom's stories, Grandma Aggie (a chocolate dipper like her sister) would have smelled like this shop I mused.
After a tour of her kitchen and stories of how the business had come to be, we stepped out into a real snow storm. I pushed my hands deep into the pockets of Grandma's coat. My right hand felt something small and square wrapped in paper. I brought it out and felt full. It was half a piece of trident gum --the only kind Grandma ever kept. Her car and purse always had the faint odor of trident gum and lightly perfumed powder.
To be honest, I have been reticent about being closer to forty than thirty. I have wondered if I have accomplished anything of real value. But as I held Star's familiar hand while he navigated back slowly through the blizzard, listening to him dream about our future as missionaries and grandparents, my other hand fingering the tightly wrapped piece of gum still in my pocket, I have to acknowledge that most of what I've wished for has come true. I am not a lighthouse keeper --standing sentinel against the storms; I do not give daily tours about the great artists of the past and ride the tube to work at the famous museums of the world.
But I am a teacher and a mother, a wife and a daughter, a sister and a friend --much like my grandmothers before me.
And perhaps recognizing that --on my 36th birthday is a milestone worth marking.
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