Spring Break

We tried something new.

Star took off work for the week of Spring Break, but instead of heading to Lisbon or Lafayette, we hit Lindon. We had a family council, made a plan for each day of the week to include some fun, some inside work, or some outdoor work. The big item on the agenda was the barn. Star has schemed and dreamed for many years about fixing it up to be a playhouse/hangout for our growing children.

The barn beginnings --in bitter weather

As we cleared things out and cleaned things up, a fire was needed to reduce old sticks and leaves that escaped the rakes before the winter snows had invaded.

The faithful fire-tenders

The crew (plus Darth Vader)

We had big lunches mid-day, and movie parties (and a bowling party) at night.

Sweeping out the loft

Sam surprised us all by making scrambled eggs for breakfast. Millie set the table. It appears Abbie's dealing with tween fatigue.

A formidable task (thank goodness Darth's got such a serious work ethic)

I had dealt with a mild case of anticipation anxiety over the event, but it turned out to be one of the happiest vacations we've ever taken as a family.

And there was still time for puzzles, puppet shows, and the Piano.

A Hissy Fit

These snakes are just some of the MANY that like to sun bathe in my hollyhock patch directly out my back door. On other years I have been able to avoid them better, but this Spring, Schuyler has taken on the full-time job of keeping J. (the dog) company. I've begun just leaving the back door opened some, the screen door propped half-way. Schuyler will be contented until he wants me to get more Scooby snacks or until he wants me to be in their band of brotherhood. Then I get terribly startled when a snake darts in front of me.

Now to be perfectly clear, snakes give me the willies. So one Saturday I required that all snakes be removed from sight. This kept Sam, Abbie and Millie busy for several hours. In the end they caught 13 and placed them in a large metal tub on the porch.
The next week Sam carefully placed 3 in a shoebox and took them to school for show-and-tell.

Much later that day, I was driving on the freeway when Sam exclaimed, "Hey Mom, there's only one snake left in the box back here." With a bit of concern I asked, "You didn't take them out of the car after school?"
S: " I forgot."
M: "Sam, that is very bad news. Do you know how I feel about snakes?
S: "Yeah --they give you the willies."
M :"Are you sure you had all 3 after show and tell?" (not that I'd wish that for the school halls but...)
S: "I'm sure. Somebody must have made the air holes too big while it was out in my cubby."
M: "Sam --if those snakes are slithering around this car and one comes by me, I could have a heart-attack, and then Dad would have to re-marry, and then you'd be stuck with a wicked step-mother. You'd better start looking around the car right now." Sam was searching diligently, but having no luck. I headed towards Mom's since they were closer than home. Ahead of me were construction workers holding a stop sign. I began to slow. Just then my peripheral vision caught something move. I looked at the dash and began screaming repeatedly. I pulled over and sort of parked the car diagonally, then flew out. A snake was coiled near the steering wheel, it's mouth open and tongue hissing back and forth at me.

Sam was crying --my sudden volume had frightened him, and he was too upset to deal with the reptile. Abbie reached across my side, grabbed the snake, and deposited it in the yard of a little girl whose lovely skipping had been interrupted by my car lunging toward her fence. She ran yelling into her house (the look on her face...)

I felt like I needed something--proof --anything. I grabbed the only weapon I had: the video camera in my purse and began recording (Star was not going to believe all of this). On film I asked Sam to free the snake still in the box, and find the one unaccounted for. He sadly sent it into the poor skipper's yard, but we couldn't find the third one.

I drove slowly toward my parents house. I was shaky and had a definite case of the willies. Dad would save me. After laughing 'til he was red in the face, Dad assured me that he'd take care of it.

Later he returned and reported they'd searched high and low but the snake was either no longer in the vehicle or up in the engine where we'd not need to worry about it.

I traded Star for the van. He drove the GMC for another 7 days before he called one afternoon to report he'd found the 3rd snake suntanning on the driver's seat when he came back from a meeting. He left it in AF.

"No one will believe me," I had said to Mom while waiting for Dad to search the car that day. "They'll believe you --things like this happen to you."

(Is this another reason nobody wants to trade?)



heading under the back patio where we're sure they must have a nest

The Power

Three weeks ago I was preparing for FHE, making dinner, and listening to Elder Packer on my iPod. It was the week after General Conference and I had plans to plug in the thing to download the latest sessions. I'd also finished all the "This American Life" episodes, and was eager to try some new ones. But the next morning I could not find the little device. Over the last 21 days I have looked under beds, in drawers, closets, cars, and pockets. It's absence has weighed on my mind and heart. Alas--I have become dependent on the ease of tuning into Conference and Copland, Sedaris and Chopin whenever I needed a boost.

I had faith that I would be inspired to look in the right place one of these days, and that this longing would end. My good bishop asked if I'd prayed. I told him yes, but I knew, that like I do with so many areas in my life, I'd not really wanted to impose on the Lord for such a triviality. Sunday night, after pulling a new pair of Sam's dirty socks and underwear from under my bed --in yet another vain attempt to find my iPod, I folded my arms (I was already on my knees anyway) and pleaded humbly (and a bit timidly) for help. I told my Heavenly Father how much I appreciated the time spent with his disciples talking directly in my ears, and could use that extra time right now. I finished and went to put on my Jammie's. I made one last effort at feeling around the closet floor. I checked my sweatshirt pocket for the millionth time, then felt the pocket of the sweater hanging beside it. I have no recollection of having worn that sweater for a very long time, but my iPod was there, it's earphones wrapped neatly around it's slim frame. I called to the good bishop. I said nothing, just held out my treasure. He smiled, "You prayed didn't you?" I prayed again (I was on my knees anyway). Why do I make things so hard?

The truth is--there is power in prayer. Even seemingly silly ones.

And my humility was deepened once more.

To Do List

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

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.

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.

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.