Maybe One Day It Won't Matter

Your friends say to keep in touch, but you know you won't.
Your teachers say come back and see them, but you know you won't.
Maybe one day it won't matter,
But right now, it hurts a little.

I've thought a lot about what I could write to commemorate Eli's high school graduation which took place this past Sunday afternoon. I could say that the funny tricks time plays have obviously been at it again, because it simply cannot be seven years since we moved to Billings with our 11-year-old little boy. I could say that there's no way I could possibly be old enough to have four children graduated from high school because my role in life, the only one that makes any sense, is "young mom of little kids." I could say lots of things like that, but this isn't about me; this is about Eli.

Perhaps the most significant thing I can say about Eli as he achieves this milestone and embarks on a whole new chapter in life is how his love for others creates joy wherever he goes. He won the senior award "Everyone's Friend." No surprise there. Eli is beloved by many. Pictured above with Dan, one of the many friends he will leave behind when he heads off to BYU-Idaho in the fall, Eli will say goodbye to several others who were juniors this year including Camille and Skyelar. Then there are those like Jake and Elle and Danny and Courtney who graduated along with Eli and who will make their own paths forward in life, some to college, others to full-time employment, still others to missionary service.

With the opportunities the Internet provides (Facebook, email, Skype), they will certainly have it easier than I did trying to stay in touch with friends from home. Still, there's something very basic that changes when kids graduate from high school, and it's never really the same again. While they don't want to admit it, they sense it at some level. They feel nostalgic. They feel emotional. Graduation on Sunday was exciting and joyous, but it was also bittersweet. There were a few tears, but more often, there were faces of kids both overjoyed and saddened all at the same time. It's like they were fighting back the tears through their genuine and beautiful smiles. High school is all they know. It's all they've known for the past four years. And while they're thrilled to be finished, they feel their worlds crash down around them with all the uncertainty ahead.

We parents try to reassure them. We don't want them ever to hurt. We tell them it will all be okay. We even suggest that much of the "stuff" of high school will not matter even the slightest bit after one short week of college. That, however, is beyond their comprehension, and so should it be. For this period of transition is important, important enough to be embraced in and of itself. It is okay to feel sad. It is okay to feel scared. It is okay to feel.

Maybe one day it won't matter,
But right now, it hurts a little.

Just Like a Horror Movie!

Imagine a woman walking along her favorite bike trail, face turned toward the sun. She's using the hour before her 10-year-old son gets out of school to get some much-needed exercise and hopefully burn off a fraction of the calories she's ingested eating fast food every day for the past week. All seems perfectly fine, but ominous music in the background informs the audience that the unsuspecting woman is about to meet her doom.

Not noticing until it is almost too late, she finds herself nearly stepping on a black, squirmy, garter snake! (You should know that this particular woman is deathly phobic of snakes, beyond anything even remotely rational.) Frightened beyond reason, she screams a blood-curdling scream and attempts to run away. Unfortunately, she's not wearing her good walking shoes; they are out in Shepherd where she is living temporarily. Instead, she has on some loose canvas slip-ons, and when she attempts to run for her life, one of those slip-ons falls off and she trips, falling right down onto the pavement. Knees skinned but mostly terrified the snake is going to catch her, she jumps up, grabs the shoe, and runs as fast as she can away from the danger. Music calms, and the audience can once again breathe.

But then.

Wait.

Oh no!

She notices that her car keys are no longer in her jacket pocket. They must have slipped out when she fell. She will be forced to walk right back to the place where that nasty snake was hiding, just waiting to attack, and try to find her keys. She begins to walk back slowly, telling herself to look straight down, not right or left, until she spots the keys. Intense music plays in the background, heightening the audience's suspense. She tip-toes quietly back to the spot, looking neither right nor left, and spots the keys glistening in the sunlight. Without hesitation, she grabs them and quickly darts away.

Seriously. It was just like a horror movie!

Letter to the Rain

Dear Rain,

I have always loved you. You know that. I grew up well-acquainted with you, and I have only the fondest memories of our time together. As a child living the Pacific Northwest, you were in my life practically every day. You provided the cool, moist air that kept my skin soft and my spirit happy. There is truly no better weather than you. So fond I am of you that I even wrote an entire blog post in your honor a couple years ago.

When I moved from Washington to Montana seven years ago, we began our long-distance relationship. Those are never satisfying, are they? I missed you terribly. On the rare occasions that you would visit Montana, I would run outside immediately to feel your presence. My trips to the Northwest were to see my family, yes, but they were also motivated by my desire to be with you. My devotion to you is unwavering.

For the past couple of weeks, you have made a surprisingly-extended visit here to Billings. Sadly, I missed you during your first week here because I was out of town; friends texted me to tell me you were here, so I hurried back last week in time to be with you. Our time together has been delightful. I didn't realize how much I missed you until we were together again.

Now I need to ask you a small favor. It's not personal. Please don't be offended. I need just a small break from you today. I need you to leave town long enough for me to get my possessions moved from the house we just sold into our storage unit. I am not breaking up with you; this is not a "Dear Rain" letter. I'm just asking for some space between us for a short period of time. I will be so appreciative; I will love you even more if you can do me this one favor. I'm getting a bit desperate.

Please believe me when I tell you that you will always be #1. No other weather could ever replace you in my heart.

Forever yours,

Terrianne

LSD or LDS?

Walk through the halls of any American high school, and you will notice a handful of zombie-like students with glazed-over eyes. You can be pretty sure these particular kids come from one of two groups: the druggies or the Mormons. Now it's obvious why the druggie kids would have those tired, glazed eyes, buy why the LDS kids, you might wonder? The answer: Early-morning seminary class.

Okay, so I'm mostly kidding. Don't be offended, anyone. But seriously, early-morning seminary is tough. No matter how you look at it, it's tough to attend a class at 6:00 or 6:30 a.m., five days a week for four years. Who does that? Let me tell you who: LDS high school students. These kids get up in the wee hours of the morning, shower and prepare for the day, and arrive at church buildings all over the country by 6:00 or 6:30 a.m. for a 45-minute church education class before they go to school. If you are now saying, "Really? They actually do that?" indeed they do.

Last night we had the honor of attending Eli's seminary graduation ceremony, where we watched Eli and 16 other kids from our stake receive their diplomas, indicating four full years of early-morning seminary study. Next weekend is Eli's high school graduation. We will be proud of him that day for sure. But not as proud as we were last evening. Practically every kid graduates from high school, but only a very few make it through the four years of seminary with the 80% attendance required for graduation. And Eli is one of those kids.

Beyond that, I should point out that he did it all on his own. You see, I am what they call a deadbeat seminary mom. It's true. I love my kids dearly, and I'd do practically anything for them, except get up at 5:30 a.m. to prepare a hot, healthy breakfast before they go to seminary. Yes, there are moms who do this. These moms set their own alarms, wake their seminary kids, and then spend the next half hour cooking pancakes or eggs or oatmeal. I wish I could say I was one of those moms, but alas, I am not. My kids had to get up themselves and grab a pop tart on their way out the door. The most I did was drag myself out of bed and drive them to the church the first two years before they had drivers' licenses. Once they could drive, they were entirely on their own. I guess I have one last chance to be a "good seminary mom" for Seth. Oh wait! I won't have to be. By the time he's in high school, we'll be living in Utah where they have release-time seminary class during the school day. Darn!

Last night's ceremony was lovely in every way. The kids who spoke reminisced about the fun they had during their four years: the game days, the Scripture memory challenges, the inside jokes that none of the rest of us understood. They expressed appreciation to their teachers (who, as volunteers, also get up at that same ghastly hour and come to church with lessons prepared, to face a group of often very sleepy teenagers). My hat is off to you dedicated seminary teachers. My heart is grateful for the time, effort, and sleep you sacrificed for my son's welfare. Thank you Sister Walker, Brother Jones, Sister Tall, and Brother Wellard. Each kid who spoke last night expressed his or her gratitude for the opportunity to begin the day studying the Scriptures and feeling the Spirit before heading out to face the many challenges of high school. Eli has told us attending high school sometimes feels like living in an R-rated movie. He loves school, yes, but he was always thankful for his seminary class, which provided a strong foundation for the journey.

In one talk last night, a student told us what their freshman year teacher, Sister Walker, used to say when they asked, "Why should we attend seminary?" She would tell them, "For the love!" For the love of the Scriptures, for the love of the Gospel, and for the love of the Savior.

LSD or LDS? In Eli's case, thank goodness it was the latter.

All Things Work Together for Good

Boxes are everywhere. They line the walls of my house, one on top of the other, in every room. In exactly five days, the new owner will do her final walk-through. Before then, we will need to have absolutely everything out of here and the whole house clean and ready for closing the following morning. Can I just say that feels more than a little overwhelming? I packed nearly everything before my trip to Utah last week, but still there is much to do. Little things like renting a post office box and getting our mail forwarded there beginning next week. Disposing of the old red car (a 1987 Mercury Sable, so I do mean old!) that currently resides in our garage. Figuring out exactly what goes into the storage unit (almost everything) and what absolute essentials will go with us to our temporary housing.

Add to this the fact that this is Eli's final week of high school. He is crazy busy! His seminary graduation is this Sunday, his last choir concert is Tuesday, and his commencement is the following weekend. We will need to find some way to celebrate that, albeit obviously not in this house. Meanwhile, we are also in the process of finding a new house to buy in Utah, with all the issues that go along with house-buying. It's trickier to get financing figured out when your primary income is still in a different state. Oh yeah, along that line, Gerald needs a job in Utah (like yesterday!), so he's busy with applications, along with trying to get us moved and, of course, still working both his current jobs.

The reassurance that keeps coming to my mind is from a verse in Romans:

"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."

This is so true. Let me tell you about a few of things that have already worked together for good:

1. In an economy where houses are on the market an average of 90 days, our home sold in less than 30.

2. With only a couple small glitches along the way, we have progressed smoothly toward a successful closing next week.

3. A helpful realtor in Salt Lake City showed me many lovely and reasonably-priced homes, and I'm confident we will settle on just the right one when the time comes.

4. A kind and generous friend offered us her basement apartment to live in this summer until we can get moved.

The next five days will not be easy ones. And summer? It will have its challenges as well. I may need to repeat the above verse to myself a thousand times before we cross the last bridge in this long-awaited transition.

"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose."

I believe that. I do indeed!

A Year Come and Gone?

Here I sit in Shulamith's kindergarten classroom, listening to her test a sweet (and very smart) little girl named Kaitlyn. I've been here at school with her several times since last May, but it's been a full year since the kindergarten testing week. In this particular week, kindergarten is cancelled, so the teachers can test each child one-on-one to determine his or her level in math and reading and overall readiness for first grade.

As I sit here, I can't help but ask, "How can a whole year have passed?" Really, it seems like just a bit ago, I sat here at this same computer and listened to her test each of her kids, one by one. By about the third child, I'm quite sure I could administer the test myself. Just like last year, I've been doing various things to get Shulamith's classroom cleaned up and ready for summer. I've pulled down many creative art projects from the walls. I've sprayed and wiped down all the shelves. I've organized books. And now, since I can't think of one more thing to do, I find myself here at my blog. This is in sharp contrast to when all the kids are here. There is absolutely no down time then. They are adorable but seriously high maintenance. Keep in mind...I'm used to students who are just a tad older.

Friday, I got to do two activities with her class. First, we made acrostic poems using the letters of their first names. They did an awesome job! I am beyond impressed by how smart these five and six-year-olds are and by how much they've learned over the course of the year. Each time I'm here they can do more. In the afternoon, we did readers' theatre productions. Shulamith took her lower readers and worked on "The Gingerbread Boy," while I worked with her higher kids on "The Three Little Pigs." We made hand puppets for each of the characters and then went to all the other kindergarten classes to perform our plays. So fun!

And now it is testing week. With only one child here at a time, it is so quiet. I will need to bring something to do tomorrow; Shulamith will have a full day of testing, and this classroom is about as clean and organized as I'm going to make it. After school tomorrow we get to look at more real estate. We looked at nine houses on Saturday, and we're scheduled to see a few more tomorrow. That process deserves a blog post of its own, so stay tuned. At this point, I'll say only this: It feels strangely surreal. After wanting this for so long---planning, hoping, wishing, waiting---it's now happening. We are actually in the process of moving to Utah. Wow.

Ah, Kaitlyn is finished with her test, Shulamith's last test of the day. We're off to pick up Isaiah for a birthday dinner celebration. Isaiah's birthday was April 15th, Shulamith's was the 30th, and Matt's is coming up on the 19th of May. It's a 3-birthday celebration!

A year come and gone so fast I hardly noticed. Do you think time could slow down just a little? Please!

Charity Never Faileth

You know how some people seem to have a natural gift for charity. They don't just wait for opportunities for service to come their way; they seek out those opportunities. They seem to have an intuitive ability to know others' needs and how to meet them. One such person in my life is named Jessica. Seven years ago when we first moved to Billings, we were living in a college dorm room. Our two oldest kids were away at college, but Isaiah, Eli, Seth, Gerald, and I were crammed together in a college dorm as we waited for our house in Washington to sell. This situation began in late August and ultimately lasted until just before Christmas.

As November approached, I lamented the possibility of celebrating Thanksgiving in that dorm room. Luke and Shulamith would be coming home, and more than anything, I wanted to provide a lovely holiday for the seven of us. But how could I do that under the circumstances? I had met Jessica at church. She was one of the first people I met when we moved into our ward here. And though I never expressed my concerns over the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, she somehow knew my dilemma. She and her family were going out of town for the holiday, and she offered her entire home to us. Crazy, I know, but she really did this. Luke and Shulamith flew to Billings, and the seven of us moved into Jessica's house for the 4-day weekend. We were able to prepare a lovely Thanksgiving dinner, spread out a bit, and relax in a way we had not done in weeks. I have never forgotten Jessica's incredible hospitality.

Since then, she and her family moved out to Shepherd, so I don't see her often. But as we all know, life sometimes comes full circle. As we prepare to leave Billings, we find ourselves once again in need of shelter. When we put our house on the market, we had no idea it would sell in just 30 days. That is an amazing blessing for sure; it's a huge hurdle behind us in our plan to relocate to Salt Lake City, but is also leaves us with nowhere to live as of this coming May 26th when we close. So far, every rental property I've called requires a minimum 6-month lease. We can't do that obviously. In six months, we had all better be living happily ever after in Utah. Jessica to the rescue once again!

Last night, we were both on Facebook, and she sent me a chat: "If you need a place to stay for awhile, we have a basement apartment that you are welcome to use." Again, I am in awe of her unyielding willingness to serve, even when it means sacrifice (like sharing one's home with another family). I hope we won't need to accept her generous offer; it would be a transportation nightmare to live in Shepherd, with Gerald, Isaiah, and Eli working in Billings at all different times and on all different days. However, it has calmed my over-anxious nerves tremendously to know we have this as a back-up plan if nothing else works out. Those of us with anxiety, sprinkled with a bit of OCD, worry about all sorts of irrational things; imagine how we handle real issues such as needing to move out of a home in just 17 days with nowhere to go? I was barely sleeping at all. Jessica's kind offer gives me a Plan B as I try to figure out Plan A, and I slept beautifully last night as a result.

She helped us when we first came to Billings seven years ago, and she is helping once again as we prepare to leave. Charity never faileth. Thank you, Jessica!

We Stand on the Shoulders

It has often been said that we "stand on the shoulders of those who came before us." Fortunately, most of the people who have been the strongest and most positive influences in my life are still here on Earth; however, three of them are not. My dad, along with my grandma and grandpa, have already passed through the veil, leaving precious memories forever in my heart. Let me identify the photos above: The top one is my grandma holding baby Shulamith. The second is my grandpa and me at a Rainbow Girls' installation. The third is my dad and my grandpa together back in the day (When Seth saw that one, he said "They were missionaries??"). And finally, the bottom photo is my dad holding me. Does he look like a proud new daddy or what?

I already wrote about my dad here, and about my grandpa here and here, so let me take this opportunity to tell you a bit about my lovely grandma. The photo above is just about three years before she died. And though I don't remember the exact day it was taken, I can tell you with all certainty what was going on. Shulamith was screaming. How do I know this? Because that's essentially all Shulamith did the first six months of her life. And Grandma? She was trying to soothe her beloved great-granddaughter by singing the song "Ba, Ba, Ba, Means I Love You." Her troubled expression indicates that she wasn't succeeding, but she was trying nonetheless. This sweet song is one she made up when I was born. I am proud to be the first child ever to be rocked to sleep to the comforting words

Ba, ba, ba means I love you.
Ba, ba, ba, you love me too.
Ba, ba
Ba, ba

She sang it to me, and two years later when Tom was born, she sang it to him. Our parents then learned the song and sang it to us as well. Tom, Gerald, and I sang it to all our children, and one day I'm sure our children will sing it to their own babes. I even translated it and sang the German version to my kids:

Ba, ba, ba, Ich liebe dich.
Ba, ba, ba, und du liebst mich.
Ba, ba
Ba, ba

It is more than just a song in our family; it is a tradition. It has even transformed into both a verb and an adjective. I remember one of my little guys, after falling down, looking up at me and, through his tears, pleading, "Mommy, I need you to rockie ba ba me in the rockie ba ba chair." I wish you could hear the song, so you could know the tune. I wish my grandma could sing it for you because she sang beautifully.

Although I can't sing well, I am like her in so many other ways. My mom once said "Oh vanity, thy name is Terrianne." However, I'd like to point out that my grandma was every bit as vain as I am. Before the heart attack that ultimately took her life, she had several others from which she recovered. I remember rushing to the hospital to find her in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. The conversation went like this:

Me: "Grandma! How are you feeling?"

Grandma (not even mentioning her health condition): "Tannie! You need to go home to my apartment and bring me my cosmetics bag. It's the middle of the night, and I don't have any make-up on. Tannie...there are doctors and nurses coming in and out of here!"

Dutifully, I went right over to her apartment and fetched her cosmetics bag, and as they rolled her out of the CICU and into a regular room, she applied her make-up. And you know what? I understood. This made perfect sense to me. I've never been hospitalized other than to deliver my babies, but if I'm ever sick enough to be in the hospital, Shulamith had darn well better remember to bring my make-up. Oh, and by the way, I don't think any of us ever knew for sure how old my grandma was. She lied about her age for so many years, I'm not sure she knew herself. Go Grandma!

She loved to be in her bedroom, to sit up in her bed and carry on life from there. She would read her "lesson," a set of scripture references that Christian Scientists read daily. She would watch late-night TV, particularly "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson." She loved to stay up late at night and then sleep late in the morning, and when she awoke, my grandpa would bring her breakfast in bed. I have a family and a few more responsibilities than she did by that point in her life, but let's just say that I, too, love to lie in bed, watch "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno," and play on my computer. Oh, Grandma... if you'd only had a computer! And yes, Gerald has been known to bring me breakfast (and even lunch and dinner) in bed. Not because I'm sick, but just because I like to eat in bed.

Today is May 5th, the anniversary of the day my dad passed away. It's always a difficult time. But it's good to think about him, so good, and about my grandparents too. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us. For me, these three provided some incredible shoulders on which to stand.

Just Say No To Wedding China

Back when we got married, it was traditional for brides to select a pattern of wedding china. They would register for this particular pattern, and then people would buy them individual place settings as wedding gifts. In our case, Gerald wanted to be involved in every aspect of the wedding plans, so he wanted to go with me to pick out a china pattern. Great, I thought! This would be such a fun thing for us to do together. Ha! We quickly learned that we have totally different aesthetic tastes, like totally. I picked out this beautifully ornate pattern, royal blue and gold, so lovely. It looked like it belonged in a palace. Gerald thought it looked pretentious. (He felt the same way about wearing black tie and tails at the wedding, but that's a different post for sure.) Back to the china. What did he want? This ugly stoneware. I'm not kidding. They were the ugliest dishes you've ever seen.

We compromised with an ultra simple pattern, plain white china with a small silver ring. Boring for sure, but at least it wasn't stoneware! We registered, and at our wedding, we received all eight place settings along with soup bowls and dessert plates. And for the last 20+ years, I have been packing and unpacking this china. Seriously, that's the only time I ever deal with it. We have moved seven times since we got married, and each time I have to carefully wrap and pack each individual piece of this china---a pattern that I DON'T EVEN LIKE---and then unwrap each piece, wash it, and place it in the china closet at our new house.

We never actually use the china. I mean why would we? For years we had little kids. Fine china and little kids do not mix. Why on earth would we deal with that kind of stress? Now that our youngest child is ten, I guess we could use it. But we don't. It seems like such a hassle to get it all out just to eat a meal, then have to wash it and put it all away again. Plus, with the two weddings last year, our family now has ten people, so when they're all home, eight place settings isn't even enough. In addition, Shulamith and I decided a long time ago that on the big holidays, it's all about paper plates and plastic cups. We certainly don't want to spend any part of Christmas washing fine china.

I have wondered over the years (as I've wrapped, packed, unwrapped, and washed plate after cup after saucer) what wonderful wedding gifts we missed out on because we wasted so many of them on this stupid china. So if there's anyone reading who's planning a wedding, I have this advice: register for all sorts of wonderful items, both wants and needs.

But just say NO to wedding china!