They are already celebrating in New Zealand, but for us, the big moment won't come for another five hours. The question is, will I be awake to "Ring Out, Wild Bells...Ring In The New"? Not likely. Just this morning, Gerald was describing to Seth my typical New Year's routine:
Said he, "This is Mom's New Year's Eve. She stays awake long enough to watch the ball drop in New York (at 10:00 here), she says 'Happy New Year,' and she goes to sleep. That's since we've lived in this time zone. When we lived in the Pacific Time Zone, she would watch it drop at 9:00, and then go to sleep."
Yep, that pretty much describes it. Even 10:00 is pushing it for me. I need a ton of sleep in order to function. If I stay up until midnight, my whole next day will suffer. Can it be worth it? After all, when I wake in the morning, refreshed and rested, it will still be 2013, right? What did I really miss?
As I look toward a new year, I do so with good expectations. I'm excited to welcome President Obama for a second term (sorry, conservative friends) and look forward to his inauguration in three weeks. I'm praying congress will figure something out in the next five hours to avoid going over the "fiscal cliff," without raising taxes on the middle class, eliminating unemployment benefits for those out of work, or giving tax breaks to the wealthiest of wealthy. I hope they can do it.
As for resolutions, I should probably look back to a year ago, but it's a little embarrassing. I believe I set two main goals, (1) to walk 1,200 miles in 2012 and (2) to cook more meals at home. Hmmm. Well you see, it's like this. As of May 26th, I was right on track with the walking; I was actually ahead of schedule, having walked nearly 600 miles in five months. Then Shulamith had her baby and everything changed. He was so tiny, and she was so sick, and both of them needed much help. My regular walking routine just didn't fit in. Before Swen was born, she and I had dreamed of the summer walking we would do, baby in stroller, weather warm, calories burning fast and furious. Dreams are sometimes just that. Swen hated his stroller almost as much as he hated his car seat. He pretty much hated everything other than human arms. Consistent walking this past summer was not to be.
So that resolution didn't quite pan out. As for the cooking, I sort of tried, but the problem is I just don't like the food here. If I don't like the food in a particular restaurant, I don't go there. It's kinda the same. Only worse. At a restaurant where I don't like the food, at least I don't have to prepare it or clean up the mess. So I won't comment further on this resolution because it was pretty much a wash.
Onward to 2013. I have a few goals, hopefully more attainable than last year's. First, I found a chart on Pinterest (where else?) that divides the Book of Mormon into 365 equal parts. Seth and I are going to read it together! One time several years ago, Isaiah and Eli and I read the book together, and I have sweet memories of that time. I don't know if they do, but I definitely do. When Shulamith is around, she will read with us. Same with Gerald. But we're not waiting for them. Seth and I have a mission! Second, we must get back to the gym. We have been off the wagon for over a month, ever since the holiday rush began, and we've indulged in far too much "figgy pudding" and other delectable treats. It's time to get back on the plan.
Third, I hope to read more. I love to read, but when I have hundreds of pages of essays to read (arrugh!), sometimes I don't make time to read anything else. This is not good. I forget that people are capable of writing without comma splices, dangling modifiers, pronoun-antecedent agreement errors, and sentence fragments. So today, I downloaded three books to my Kindle. They are all very different from one another, and I'm excited to check them out. First, I downloaded Racing in the Rain: My Life as a Dog, because my mom loved it and suggested it to me. Second, I downloaded Safe Haven, the latest Nicholas Sparks novel that will soon be released as a movie. I want to read it before I see it. Third, I downloaded "Wonderstruck," on the recommendation of my friend Elisa. I don't know much about it, but it has to do with living a "wonderstruck" life, rather than passing by the many wonders. Sounds good!
So welcome, 2013! I have high hopes for you.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
When the Two Webster Women Cook...
...let's just say the outcome is not usually good. Not at all. No two people have ruined more recipes, wasted more ingredients, or created more culinary disasters than Shulamith and I. Yeah, it's that bad. I was shocked that after a week in our home prior to their engagement, Mathew was even brave enough to propose. So why on earth would we attempt to bake Christmas treats? I have no idea. None. But something possessed us to do so, and last week we decided we would bake a different dessert each day. We mapped out a plan and bought all the ingredients, both of us hesitant but certain we'd be positively delighted if even one of these recipes turned out.
But Christmas is all about miracles, even the tiniest. You are not going to believe this, but ALL FIVE RECIPES turned out great. Even as I write this, I'm still stunned. Most of the goodies are already gone. That never happens. People actually wanted to eat what we made. Not to boast or anything, but I can't help myself. I'm going to show you just a little of what we did:
On Monday, we made Chex mix, two kinds (!), sweet and traditional savory.
But Christmas is all about miracles, even the tiniest. You are not going to believe this, but ALL FIVE RECIPES turned out great. Even as I write this, I'm still stunned. Most of the goodies are already gone. That never happens. People actually wanted to eat what we made. Not to boast or anything, but I can't help myself. I'm going to show you just a little of what we did:
On Monday, we made Chex mix, two kinds (!), sweet and traditional savory.
Savory!
Sweet!
On Tuesday, we made fudge. Okay, it was just microwave fudge, but give two girls a break. We were afraid to try anything that involved cooking candy on the stove. But hey...we made two kinds: chocolate and peanut butter. Both were good, but the chocolate was especially tempting, so much so that Kitty, our year-old Boxer pup, decided to eat just about all of it. We had left the room for only a few minutes. I returned first to find the entire container of fudge gone, and Kitty looking up at me, sheepishly. Ack!! We all know chocolate is not good for dogs. Gerald got online to get information, and Shulamith called a 24-hour vet. Both confirmed that Kitty is big enough that the amount of chocolate she consumed would not be toxic; however, she would likely get sick. Oh yes indeed. She spent much of Christmas day throwing up in various places. Okay..no further details needed.
On Wednesday, we made sugar cookies and even enlisted Seth's help.
On Thursday, we made gingerbread people. This was the scariest day of all. The dough had to refrigerate overnight, and it didn't look very good. It smelled very strong, not sweet like cookies are supposed to. We were pretty scared. But with Diet Cokes in hand, we faced our fears...
And voila!
We're feeling pretty awesome about all this; yes we are! A little like those food bloggers you see on Pinterest with pictures of delicious food, with step-by-step instructions. Okay, not really. But it was another tiny Christmas miracle.
(Christmas, 2012 - Part 3 of 3)
No Pink Eye for Christmas, and Other Tiny Miracles
Christmas is without question my favorite day of the year. All season is really my favorite. I can't get enough of the sights and sounds. I'm in awe each year of the transforming power of this holiday in the hearts of all of us; everywhere I look, I see demonstrations of unselfish kindness and increased tolerance and grace, the result of what can only be the pure love of Christ, manifested in mere mortals. Even in the midst of the tremendous pain and suffering, fear and doubt, hurt and anguish that is life, we are each transformed at Christmas. This year a friend of mine decided to help two families who are struggling to make ends meet. She single-handedly collected enough donations to provide each family with groceries for Christmas dinner, some presents, and cash to pay utility bills and prevent shut-offs. I am honored to have been one of many, many who was able to assist her in this effort.
For six weeks, Christmas music plays almost constantly on my car radio and also in our home, which we decorate with love just after Thanksgiving. As the carol goes, "Christmas is my favorite time of the year." So you can only imagine my dismay when on December 23rd, I developed an allergic reaction (to who knows what?), resulting in a horrible case of conjunctivitis, aka pink eye. It began during Relief Society that morning and continued to worsen through the day. Christmas Eve, I awoke to a swollen, red eye, oozing and sore. I spent most of the day like this:
It was quiet here. Gerald and Isaiah had to work all afternoon and evening. Shulamith spent part of the day visiting Mathew's family, and by the time she got home at 3:30, she was stuck doing all the last-minute running around that I should have done that day. There was no way I could have driven, especially in the bright snow that blanketed the city. So Shulamith handed me Swen (my eye condition was an allergic reaction, so not contagious), who promptly fell asleep, and I lay in this chair and continued to ice my very sore eye while he napped across my chest. She ran all the Christmas errands by herself, including picking up Chinese dinner for everyone. Gerald and Isaiah were home by 6:00, and Matt was off work a couple hours later. Everyone was in full celebratory mood; I was just as you see above. In pain. It was so sad.
I took an antihistamine and some ibuprofen and went to bed, my bag of frozen corn on my nightstand. And sometime in the night, I awoke to a tiny Christmas miracle. My eye wasn't throbbing. For a second, I didn't believe it. I could touch my eyelid without pain. It was still goopy and red, but it didn't hurt. I got up just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. Gratitude enveloped me. I was so thankful I would not be in pain all Christmas day. And so I wasn't. My eye was still not normal; even today it isn't quite back to normal. But it was way, way better.
We gathered around 9:00, ate breakfast, and began opening gifts, knowing we would be gloriously interrupted at 10:30 to Skype with Eli from Memphis, where he is currently serving. I could barely contain my excitement.
For six weeks, Christmas music plays almost constantly on my car radio and also in our home, which we decorate with love just after Thanksgiving. As the carol goes, "Christmas is my favorite time of the year." So you can only imagine my dismay when on December 23rd, I developed an allergic reaction (to who knows what?), resulting in a horrible case of conjunctivitis, aka pink eye. It began during Relief Society that morning and continued to worsen through the day. Christmas Eve, I awoke to a swollen, red eye, oozing and sore. I spent most of the day like this:
I took an antihistamine and some ibuprofen and went to bed, my bag of frozen corn on my nightstand. And sometime in the night, I awoke to a tiny Christmas miracle. My eye wasn't throbbing. For a second, I didn't believe it. I could touch my eyelid without pain. It was still goopy and red, but it didn't hurt. I got up just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. Gratitude enveloped me. I was so thankful I would not be in pain all Christmas day. And so I wasn't. My eye was still not normal; even today it isn't quite back to normal. But it was way, way better.
We gathered around 9:00, ate breakfast, and began opening gifts, knowing we would be gloriously interrupted at 10:30 to Skype with Eli from Memphis, where he is currently serving. I could barely contain my excitement.
Coming down the stairs for presents!
The Webster-Monson Family on Swen's 1st Christmas
The highlight of our day: Skype with Elder Webster!
Mom and Seth
We spent the rest of the day eating good food (well, not healthy-good, but delicious), listening to Christmas music, enjoying family time together. Okay, I'm lying. A little. That's what some of us did. There are those in the family who promptly escaped to Seth's room to engage in intense video-game playing. What can I say? It's a disease. Before we knew it, it was 6:30 and time to leave for the movie.
No pink eye for Christmas. My tiny, but perfect, Christmas miracle!
(Christmas, 2012 - Part 2 of 3)
Take My Hand, and Lead Me to Salvation...
...Take my love, for love is everlasting.
And remember, the truth that once was spoken:
"To love another person is to see the face of God."
And so, I sing. I've been singing all day. I've been singing ever since last night; indeed, I'm pretty sure I was even singing in my dreams. For nearly three hours last evening, I sat captivated by the music and the heart and the grace and the pain and the redemption of the marvelous musical that is Les Miserables. It was epic.
It's tradition in our family to go to a movie on Christmas night. We go every year. I remember seeing The Polar Express on Christmas, 2003 with all five kids, Seth just 3-1/2. It was difficult in those days to find a movie that fit everyone's tastes; we have a wide range of ages and interests. It's still difficult. Last year, we saw Mission Impossible, a bit of a concession for me although I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. This year there was no decision to make; I would see Les Mis. Shulamith could not go because Baby Swen is definitely not movie worthy. This was the first year in many that she wasn't with me at a movie on Christmas night. But there were still Gerald and Isaiah, both of whom would have gladly seen Les Mis. Seth, however, was not so accommodating. He's 12, remember. And a boy. So Gerald kindly volunteered to take him to The Hobbit while Isaiah and I went to Les Mis at the same time in the same theatre.
I don't know much about The Hobbit. I remember trying to read it once but only making it through maybe 10 pages. I used to be able to claim that was because I don't like fantasy. This worked as my excuse for not reading Harry Potter too, that and the fact that a main character in the series is a long, disgusting creature with no arms or legs. Nope, I don't like fantasy. I like books about real people and real things that can really happen. Of course I lost all credibility when Twilight was written, but that's another story. So no, I don't know about The Hobbit, but I cannot imagine a more perfect Christmas movie than Les Miserables, the story of one Jean Valjean and his quest for the courage to love and to forgive and to partake of the gift of redemptive grace.
And so, I sing. I'm sure my family is very tired by now of my singing. Sucks for them.
I don't know much about The Hobbit. I remember trying to read it once but only making it through maybe 10 pages. I used to be able to claim that was because I don't like fantasy. This worked as my excuse for not reading Harry Potter too, that and the fact that a main character in the series is a long, disgusting creature with no arms or legs. Nope, I don't like fantasy. I like books about real people and real things that can really happen. Of course I lost all credibility when Twilight was written, but that's another story. So no, I don't know about The Hobbit, but I cannot imagine a more perfect Christmas movie than Les Miserables, the story of one Jean Valjean and his quest for the courage to love and to forgive and to partake of the gift of redemptive grace.
And so, I sing. I'm sure my family is very tired by now of my singing. Sucks for them.
Do you hear the people sing?
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!
Singing a song of angry men?
It is the music of a people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!
(Christmas, 2012 - Part 1 of 3)
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Good + Good + Good = Exponentially Great!
Have you ever noticed that when you take several really good things and put them together, the result is more than just good; it's exponentially great? I recently wrote about such a combination: a warm fleece blanket, my rocking chair, and "Vampire Diaries." But there are so many other examples:
So popular are these concerts that if you want a seat, you have to arrive an hour early. Here are Shulamith and Swen saving seats, while I go fetch Diet Cokes:
Swen was a little trooper for the most part; often times, we were able to get him to sleep before the performance began. Other times, he was wide awake and jammin' to the music. Today was the final concert in the series. It was a little sad, I must admit. These concerts have become such a lovely part of my week. We never won the $100 Christmas cash given out at the end of each concert, but we never gave up hope. Every time the announcer seemed stumped over a name, we were sure it had to be Shulamith. It wasn't. Nevertheless, it was a glorious experience every time because honestly, when you combine three such fabulous things as the mall, Christmas music, and anything free, how could it not be?
- a BFF, McDonald's fries, and Diet Cokes
- heated seats in the car, Starbuck's hot chocolate, and a fresh snowy morning
- a walk in the rain, Kitty on a leash, and my favorite Pandora station playing
So popular are these concerts that if you want a seat, you have to arrive an hour early. Here are Shulamith and Swen saving seats, while I go fetch Diet Cokes:
Monday, December 17, 2012
Will Pants Make Me Equal?
After hearing all the hype over the group "All Enlisted" and its "Wear Pants to Church" event scheduled for this past Sunday, I wondered if I would be able to refrain from commenting. Before I decided, though, the tragedy in Connecticut occurred. At that point, nothing seemed very important other than those beautiful children and their heroic teachers, not to mention their devastated, grieving parents. I think I felt even more empathy for them than I might have otherwise, had it not been only two days since I received the terrifying phone call to tell me my Seth had been hit by a car. The outcomes were very different. My son, though frightened and sore, was released from the hospital emergency room that day, virtually unscathed. The victims at Sandy Hook Elementary School will not come home at all. I am so very sorry. My heart aches for their parents, and I can only pray that the healing power of the atonement will surround them and that the love of our Father in Heaven will be sufficient to provide strength at this horrible time.
Sunday came and went. I don't know much about what happened regarding the "Wear Pants" business, but today I decided to make a few comments rather than skirting (pun intended) around the issue. First, I'm baffled as to how a pair of pants could make someone feel equal, if she doesn't already. Maybe I'm missing something? I guess I've always felt privileged to have so many clothing options (and seriously, no one loves clothes more than I do). I can wear dresses, skirts, pants, capris, leggings with long shirts, etc. Men have only one choice: pants. We ladies most certainly have the better deal.
As for church, my church does not have a dress code for Sunday meetings. End of story. People are welcome at my church always, and they are not told what they may and may not wear. If I wanted to wear pants to church, I would, and I wouldn't need a special Sunday to do it. In my ward in Washington, two of the sisters wore pants every week. If anyone cared, I never heard about it. They were welcomed and accepted just like everyone else. I personally, choose to wear a dress or skirt. I like to dress in my "Sunday best"; for me, it demonstrates a sense of respect for the Lord, especially when I partake of the Sacrament. And my best clothes happen to be skirts or dresses. I'm not a "dress pants" kind of girl, so my pant wardrobe consists mostly of jeans. For me, jeans would not show the kind of respect I desire. But that's just me. It's not a rule. If I wanted to wear jeans to church, I could.
The question is, if I did wear jeans to church, would people judge me? I don't know. My guess is that some probably would? Because here's the thing. In my church, we are a group of very imperfect humans, and like all imperfect humans, we tend to judge one another. It's not right. It's not what we're taught. But it happens. I suspect I've been judged by various people in my church over a number of my choices, choices that appear unorthodox or strange, choices people sometimes don't understand. At one time or another, I've likely been judged for my choice to use my own last name, the one I was born with, rather than someone else's. I've probably been judged a time or two because of my openly liberal political beliefs, most recently my unyielding support for President Obama. I've probably even been judged here and there because I am not willing to assume the role of "grandmother" in any context.
But even if I'm sometimes the target of human judgment, and even if some of that judgment comes from those in my church, I try hard not to be too offended. I keep in mind two important things: (1) These choices are part of who I am, and I am fully comfortable with them, and (2) I'm quite human myself, and though I hate to admit it, I've done my fair share of judging. Guilty I am! As for the pants business, I can't imagine how pants could have anything to do with equality. I just can't. But please don't tell me I'm not equal in my own church. Believe me, I would not associate myself with a church in which I was not considered 100% equal with every other human being, whether male or female. And I don't need a pair of pants to prove it.
Sunday came and went. I don't know much about what happened regarding the "Wear Pants" business, but today I decided to make a few comments rather than skirting (pun intended) around the issue. First, I'm baffled as to how a pair of pants could make someone feel equal, if she doesn't already. Maybe I'm missing something? I guess I've always felt privileged to have so many clothing options (and seriously, no one loves clothes more than I do). I can wear dresses, skirts, pants, capris, leggings with long shirts, etc. Men have only one choice: pants. We ladies most certainly have the better deal.
As for church, my church does not have a dress code for Sunday meetings. End of story. People are welcome at my church always, and they are not told what they may and may not wear. If I wanted to wear pants to church, I would, and I wouldn't need a special Sunday to do it. In my ward in Washington, two of the sisters wore pants every week. If anyone cared, I never heard about it. They were welcomed and accepted just like everyone else. I personally, choose to wear a dress or skirt. I like to dress in my "Sunday best"; for me, it demonstrates a sense of respect for the Lord, especially when I partake of the Sacrament. And my best clothes happen to be skirts or dresses. I'm not a "dress pants" kind of girl, so my pant wardrobe consists mostly of jeans. For me, jeans would not show the kind of respect I desire. But that's just me. It's not a rule. If I wanted to wear jeans to church, I could.
The question is, if I did wear jeans to church, would people judge me? I don't know. My guess is that some probably would? Because here's the thing. In my church, we are a group of very imperfect humans, and like all imperfect humans, we tend to judge one another. It's not right. It's not what we're taught. But it happens. I suspect I've been judged by various people in my church over a number of my choices, choices that appear unorthodox or strange, choices people sometimes don't understand. At one time or another, I've likely been judged for my choice to use my own last name, the one I was born with, rather than someone else's. I've probably been judged a time or two because of my openly liberal political beliefs, most recently my unyielding support for President Obama. I've probably even been judged here and there because I am not willing to assume the role of "grandmother" in any context.
But even if I'm sometimes the target of human judgment, and even if some of that judgment comes from those in my church, I try hard not to be too offended. I keep in mind two important things: (1) These choices are part of who I am, and I am fully comfortable with them, and (2) I'm quite human myself, and though I hate to admit it, I've done my fair share of judging. Guilty I am! As for the pants business, I can't imagine how pants could have anything to do with equality. I just can't. But please don't tell me I'm not equal in my own church. Believe me, I would not associate myself with a church in which I was not considered 100% equal with every other human being, whether male or female. And I don't need a pair of pants to prove it.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Fight or Flight: Love, Fear, Anger, and Profound Gratitude
As I sit here this evening, my body is still in fight or flight mode. Though exhausted, I have yet to decompress, after a day filled with a myriad of emotions. Just a couple days ago, I wrote this post about our 12-year-old son, Seth. It never occurred to me I'd be writing about him again so soon.
At 7:50 this morning, I sent him off to school with the typical "Did you brush your teeth?" and "I love you; have a good day!" I slipped back into bed to relax a bit and must have unintentionally drifted to sleep when I was awakened suddenly by my phone. "Is this Seth Erichsen's mom?" Yes. "Seth was hit by a car on his way to school. He is breathing, but that is all I know." Still in pajamas, I grabbed my big Montana winter coat that goes clear to the ground and raced out the door. Seth's school is very near our house; it would take longer to get the car out of the garage than to simply run. So run I did! I remember the cold air forced into my lungs as I ran and ran, and then the dream-like feeling as I approached the school and saw the fire trucks and ambulance, the paramedics, and the people gathered all around. How many times have I driven by such a situation? So many times. But this time it was my child. It was terrifying.
I ran straight through the crowd to Seth and was overcome by the flood of instant relief as I found him conscious, crying, but able to talk to me. A prayer of thanks in my heart, I held his hand and reassured him that all would be well, that the paramedics were taking good care of him, and that Heavenly Father was watching over him. They told me I could ride in the ambulance next to him. As I buckled myself in, I flashed back to my only other ambulance ride with Shulamith nearly 25 years ago. How grateful I am to these amazing professionals. Not only did they do exceptional work caring for Seth's physical needs, but they were so kind to both of us. The hospital is not far, but the trip seemed endless. All the way there, one medic continuously reassured me as he took Seth's vitals and watched for any signs of concussion. The other one talked to Seth about all sorts of things to keep his mind off what was happening: Christmas, video games, school.
At the hospital, we received the same wonderful care from the ER nurses as they examined Seth. The physician was equally caring as she used ultrasonography to check his internal organs. Can I just say that ultrasounds are not nearly as fun when you don't see a baby in there, but we were happy enough to hear her say everything looked perfectly normal. She showed Seth his kidneys, his bladder, and I can't remember what else. All was well on the inside. He also suffered no broken bones or any other injuries, beyond some nasty road rash on his elbow and hip. I've seen worse, though, when Eli falls off his long board.
He was discharged within an hour, but not before we had a visit from the police officer who was covering the accident. After receiving such gracious and loving care from absolutely everyone we encountered up to that point, I was shocked by the behavior of this officer. He walked into the room and did not so much as ask Seth how he was feeling or if he was okay. Yes, it was obvious Seth was not in any imminent danger, but still, he's a child and he was just hit by a car! The man didn't even say hello to Seth. Instead, he informed us that he had interviewed a witness, and then looking at Seth for the first time, he announced, "You are at fault in this accident. Even though you were in the crosswalk, a truck was blocking the view of the person who hit you, so she couldn't see you. You need to be more careful when you cross the street."
Seth, who was just starting to feel calm after this ordeal, crumbled to tears and asked us if we were mad at him. No! No! Of course we were not mad at him. But I was mad. Let me tell you that. I have had precious few interactions with police officers, but every one I've had has been negative, and this one was the worst. This man walked into my little boy's hospital room and told him it was his fault he was hit by a car while in the crosswalk in front of his school. This mama bear was seething inside, and big sister was no happier. It's a good thing the guy left when he did or he might have had TWO angry mamas after him. And he may not have lived to tell about it.
I'm trying not to dwell on that. Because it's not worth it. More importantly is the gratitude I feel that my baby is alive and well. It could have been so different. He played video games most of the day (thank you, Matt!) and then insisted on going to his Young Men's activity tonight. It was hard to let him out of my sight. He might be feeling fine, but Mom is still in hyper-protective mode. Fight or flight, remember? "Flight" gave me the ability to run fast and unceasingly from home to school this morning. "Fight" made me nearly attack a police officer in a hospital. Motherhood is certainly not for wimps.
He is asleep now. I just went in for the third or fourth time to check on him. How many more times will I do that before the night is over? I don't know. But I think I'll go again now...
At 7:50 this morning, I sent him off to school with the typical "Did you brush your teeth?" and "I love you; have a good day!" I slipped back into bed to relax a bit and must have unintentionally drifted to sleep when I was awakened suddenly by my phone. "Is this Seth Erichsen's mom?" Yes. "Seth was hit by a car on his way to school. He is breathing, but that is all I know." Still in pajamas, I grabbed my big Montana winter coat that goes clear to the ground and raced out the door. Seth's school is very near our house; it would take longer to get the car out of the garage than to simply run. So run I did! I remember the cold air forced into my lungs as I ran and ran, and then the dream-like feeling as I approached the school and saw the fire trucks and ambulance, the paramedics, and the people gathered all around. How many times have I driven by such a situation? So many times. But this time it was my child. It was terrifying.
I ran straight through the crowd to Seth and was overcome by the flood of instant relief as I found him conscious, crying, but able to talk to me. A prayer of thanks in my heart, I held his hand and reassured him that all would be well, that the paramedics were taking good care of him, and that Heavenly Father was watching over him. They told me I could ride in the ambulance next to him. As I buckled myself in, I flashed back to my only other ambulance ride with Shulamith nearly 25 years ago. How grateful I am to these amazing professionals. Not only did they do exceptional work caring for Seth's physical needs, but they were so kind to both of us. The hospital is not far, but the trip seemed endless. All the way there, one medic continuously reassured me as he took Seth's vitals and watched for any signs of concussion. The other one talked to Seth about all sorts of things to keep his mind off what was happening: Christmas, video games, school.
At the hospital, we received the same wonderful care from the ER nurses as they examined Seth. The physician was equally caring as she used ultrasonography to check his internal organs. Can I just say that ultrasounds are not nearly as fun when you don't see a baby in there, but we were happy enough to hear her say everything looked perfectly normal. She showed Seth his kidneys, his bladder, and I can't remember what else. All was well on the inside. He also suffered no broken bones or any other injuries, beyond some nasty road rash on his elbow and hip. I've seen worse, though, when Eli falls off his long board.
He was discharged within an hour, but not before we had a visit from the police officer who was covering the accident. After receiving such gracious and loving care from absolutely everyone we encountered up to that point, I was shocked by the behavior of this officer. He walked into the room and did not so much as ask Seth how he was feeling or if he was okay. Yes, it was obvious Seth was not in any imminent danger, but still, he's a child and he was just hit by a car! The man didn't even say hello to Seth. Instead, he informed us that he had interviewed a witness, and then looking at Seth for the first time, he announced, "You are at fault in this accident. Even though you were in the crosswalk, a truck was blocking the view of the person who hit you, so she couldn't see you. You need to be more careful when you cross the street."
Seth, who was just starting to feel calm after this ordeal, crumbled to tears and asked us if we were mad at him. No! No! Of course we were not mad at him. But I was mad. Let me tell you that. I have had precious few interactions with police officers, but every one I've had has been negative, and this one was the worst. This man walked into my little boy's hospital room and told him it was his fault he was hit by a car while in the crosswalk in front of his school. This mama bear was seething inside, and big sister was no happier. It's a good thing the guy left when he did or he might have had TWO angry mamas after him. And he may not have lived to tell about it.
I'm trying not to dwell on that. Because it's not worth it. More importantly is the gratitude I feel that my baby is alive and well. It could have been so different. He played video games most of the day (thank you, Matt!) and then insisted on going to his Young Men's activity tonight. It was hard to let him out of my sight. He might be feeling fine, but Mom is still in hyper-protective mode. Fight or flight, remember? "Flight" gave me the ability to run fast and unceasingly from home to school this morning. "Fight" made me nearly attack a police officer in a hospital. Motherhood is certainly not for wimps.
He is asleep now. I just went in for the third or fourth time to check on him. How many more times will I do that before the night is over? I don't know. But I think I'll go again now...
Monday, December 10, 2012
Planners Are a Waste of Time and Space
...and other gems of knowledge courtesy of one 12-year-old boy.
Sometimes I forget he is only 12, a child, in every sense of the word. He was born into a world of teenagers. His two oldest siblings were 15 and 14 when he was born. Just about the time they left the teen world, the next two were 15 and 13. He always thought that he, too, should be a teenager. Their lives looked so glamorous and free. They could have jobs and driver's licenses. They could go wherever they wanted and buy fast food all the time. They always had cool friends around and cool stuff to do. He felt it was an unfortunate quirk of nature that he was sent to earth so much later than all of them.
Now he has just six months to wait before he, too, can finally join the teen world. Ironically, just three months before his birthday, his last sibling will turn 20. He will be a teenager, yes, but he will be the only one. At 12, he is perfectly delightful. I love it when he does something to remind me that he is still a kid, such as recently when he brought home his first quarter report card from 7th grade. Excitedly, I looked at his grades: 7 A's and 1 F. Yep, you read that right. He got solid A's, without so much as an A-, in every class but one. Which class was that? Homeroom. Indeed, they give a grade in homeroom (either an A or an F), and he failed it. How does one pass homeroom? By filling out a planner with all one's assignments and due dates.
Mom: Seth, why didn't you fill out your planner, so you could pass homeroom and get all A's?
Seth (With the disdain that only a 12-year-old can muster): Planners are a waste of time and space.
He proceeded to explain that he ALWAYS knows what his assignments are in every class and how long he has to complete them and when they are due. He has never missed an assignment. Therefore, wasting time writing them down in a little booklet is the stupidest idea anyone has ever dreamed up.
Next came the discussion about how sometimes in life we have to do things that seem stupid, even a waste of time, etc. because they are required, and sometimes we have to simply follow procedures so that we can achieve the result we want, and blah, blah, blah. I gave it my best. I really did. But remember all those teenagers he grew up with, the ones he worships, the ones he idolizes, the ones he has wanted to emulate his entire life? Well, one of them is now 21 and lives right here in this house. His initials are "Isaiah Erichsen." He chimed right in and informed my impressionable pre-teen that grades in middle school mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of life, so there is no reason to waste time filling out a worthless planner.
Game over. I lose. Whatever.
Have I mentioned that I love this 12-year-old? He is so much fun. A couple nights ago, Gerald and I convinced him go to with us to Temple Square to see the lights. We conveniently "forgot" to mention that we would be watching some choirs perform Christmas music at the visitors' center. Ha! I'm afraid poor Matt was the recipient of the desperate text messages during these performances, complaining about how he might die of boredom. As we left Temple Square and passed by the Tabernacle, he exclaimed "Oh no! Tell me we're not going in there. That is the hottest place in the universe." He was remembering his last visit to Temple Square. I won't retell that tale, but you can read about it here if you wish.
And with one quick photo amidst the falling snow, we were off...
Blessed we are indeed to have a 12-year-old, so that we may be enlightened with the knowledge that planners are a waste of time and space.
Sometimes I forget he is only 12, a child, in every sense of the word. He was born into a world of teenagers. His two oldest siblings were 15 and 14 when he was born. Just about the time they left the teen world, the next two were 15 and 13. He always thought that he, too, should be a teenager. Their lives looked so glamorous and free. They could have jobs and driver's licenses. They could go wherever they wanted and buy fast food all the time. They always had cool friends around and cool stuff to do. He felt it was an unfortunate quirk of nature that he was sent to earth so much later than all of them.
Now he has just six months to wait before he, too, can finally join the teen world. Ironically, just three months before his birthday, his last sibling will turn 20. He will be a teenager, yes, but he will be the only one. At 12, he is perfectly delightful. I love it when he does something to remind me that he is still a kid, such as recently when he brought home his first quarter report card from 7th grade. Excitedly, I looked at his grades: 7 A's and 1 F. Yep, you read that right. He got solid A's, without so much as an A-, in every class but one. Which class was that? Homeroom. Indeed, they give a grade in homeroom (either an A or an F), and he failed it. How does one pass homeroom? By filling out a planner with all one's assignments and due dates.
Mom: Seth, why didn't you fill out your planner, so you could pass homeroom and get all A's?
Seth (With the disdain that only a 12-year-old can muster): Planners are a waste of time and space.
He proceeded to explain that he ALWAYS knows what his assignments are in every class and how long he has to complete them and when they are due. He has never missed an assignment. Therefore, wasting time writing them down in a little booklet is the stupidest idea anyone has ever dreamed up.
Next came the discussion about how sometimes in life we have to do things that seem stupid, even a waste of time, etc. because they are required, and sometimes we have to simply follow procedures so that we can achieve the result we want, and blah, blah, blah. I gave it my best. I really did. But remember all those teenagers he grew up with, the ones he worships, the ones he idolizes, the ones he has wanted to emulate his entire life? Well, one of them is now 21 and lives right here in this house. His initials are "Isaiah Erichsen." He chimed right in and informed my impressionable pre-teen that grades in middle school mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of life, so there is no reason to waste time filling out a worthless planner.
Game over. I lose. Whatever.
Have I mentioned that I love this 12-year-old? He is so much fun. A couple nights ago, Gerald and I convinced him go to with us to Temple Square to see the lights. We conveniently "forgot" to mention that we would be watching some choirs perform Christmas music at the visitors' center. Ha! I'm afraid poor Matt was the recipient of the desperate text messages during these performances, complaining about how he might die of boredom. As we left Temple Square and passed by the Tabernacle, he exclaimed "Oh no! Tell me we're not going in there. That is the hottest place in the universe." He was remembering his last visit to Temple Square. I won't retell that tale, but you can read about it here if you wish.
And with one quick photo amidst the falling snow, we were off...
Friday, December 7, 2012
Girls' Night In
Do you have to go out in order to have a fun evening? Absolutely not. All you need are some chicken tacos, Diet Cokes, and three fun girls, especially when one of them is a nail artist. Now I know what you're thinking. Nail artist? Nope, that can't possibly be you or Shulamith. You'd be right. However, Isaiah's friend, Naomi, is just that. She creates beautiful works of art, not only with nails, but with make-up as well. She kindly agreed to come spend the evening with us, and she brought her "tool" kit filled with all sorts of fun nail paraphernalia. She has a rainbow of colors from which to choose, glitter, tiny jewels, flowers, butterflies, and more. How would we ever decide? I can't even pick a simple color when I go for a pedicure; Shulamith or Lindsey have to choose for me.
We looked through many pictures online, and with help from Naomi, I finally settled on a lovely, deep purple with a coat of lighter blue over the top, followed by a light pink glitter. Then she put some extra fun on my ring fingers: a flower and three jewels. Pretty! Here we are in the process of creating this masterpiece:
Next it was Shulamith's turn. She chose a zigzag pattern of lime green and gold polish, with jewels on the ring fingers as well. So fun. Here's Naomi working her magic on Shulamith's nails:
And here is the finished product:
We talked. We laughed. We talked some more. We waited for our nails to be completely dry. We don't want to ruin these works of art. We told Naomi stories about Isaiah (ha!) and showed her pictures of when he was little. We ate tacos and drank Diet Coke. It was good.
We looked through many pictures online, and with help from Naomi, I finally settled on a lovely, deep purple with a coat of lighter blue over the top, followed by a light pink glitter. Then she put some extra fun on my ring fingers: a flower and three jewels. Pretty! Here we are in the process of creating this masterpiece:
And here is the finished product:
We talked. We laughed. We talked some more. We waited for our nails to be completely dry. We don't want to ruin these works of art. We told Naomi stories about Isaiah (ha!) and showed her pictures of when he was little. We ate tacos and drank Diet Coke. It was good.
Girls' Night In. Sometimes it's exactly what you need.
Monday, December 3, 2012
A Warm Fleece Blanket, My Rocking Chair, and "Vampire Diaries"
...or NOT.
Yes, when I went to bed last night, all I could think about was waking to three hours of lovely "down time" with a warm fleece blanket, my rocking chair, and "Vampire Diaries." It has been a long and tedious few weeks, with essays flowing in, in groups of 25ish, one group after the other, relentlessly, and never ending. Four composition classes are really too many to tackle in one semester, especially as a part-time instructor. It would be one thing to teach four if a couple of them were less writing intensive, such as a reading class or business communications or technical writing or rhetoric. But four freshman composition classes? Shoot me now! Anyway, I somehow managed to reach a point yesterday where I had nothing more to grade. It was around 4:30, and Shulamith and I were headed out at 6:00 to eat a super delicious free dinner in honor of "Friends & Family Weekend" at Matt's new place of employment, Longhorn Steak House. I knew that when I arrived at school today, I'd be greeted by yet another stack of essays, but in that moment, I hardly knew how to handle myself, with not one single essay hanging over my head.
Dinner was superb. Seriously scrumptious. From the baked macaroni & cheese appetizer; to the fresh garden salad with blue cheese dressing; to the tender fillet Mignon, cooked perfectly to just medium rare; to the loaded baked potato; to the "Chocolate Stampede" dessert (six layers of different kinds of chocolate!), the entire meal was wonderful. They pretty much had to roll us out of there, and I came home and fell lifeless into bed. But lifeless or not, in my mind was the quiet three hours I would have the following morning before my afternoon classes. Visions of fleece blankets, rocking chairs, and "Vampire Diaries" danced through my head all through the night, and I awoke at 8:00 am, ready. I gathered my blanket. I placed myself comfortably in my rocking chair with the foot rest lifted. I picked up the remote control and began to access Netflix,...
And what do you think happened? At that very moment, a text came in from my personal trainer (aka Shulamith Webster) announcing that we we'd be leaving for the gym in 15 minutes. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? Now granted, our gym attendance has been a bit sporadic lately. There are so many variables that need to align just right in order for us to go. Most of them center around Swen, who needs to be well fed and happy before his mommy can leave him. And then we need someone to leave him with. If both of us are going, that leaves his daddy. But Daddy works and goes to school, so yeah, it's difficult to make it happen. We did well during the summer before Matt and I went back to school, and we even had one really great week last month when we went five days (yay, us!). But that quickly fell apart the following week when Matt began this new job, which required five 8-hour days of training.
I guess Shulamith decided we would hop back on the wagon today, but did it have to be first thing in the morning so as to upset my glorious plan? Hmmm. All I can say is I hope it was worth it. We better have burned off every single calorie from that Chocolate Stampede.
A warm fleece blanket, my rocking chair, and "Vampire Diaries." Forever just a dream.
Yes, when I went to bed last night, all I could think about was waking to three hours of lovely "down time" with a warm fleece blanket, my rocking chair, and "Vampire Diaries." It has been a long and tedious few weeks, with essays flowing in, in groups of 25ish, one group after the other, relentlessly, and never ending. Four composition classes are really too many to tackle in one semester, especially as a part-time instructor. It would be one thing to teach four if a couple of them were less writing intensive, such as a reading class or business communications or technical writing or rhetoric. But four freshman composition classes? Shoot me now! Anyway, I somehow managed to reach a point yesterday where I had nothing more to grade. It was around 4:30, and Shulamith and I were headed out at 6:00 to eat a super delicious free dinner in honor of "Friends & Family Weekend" at Matt's new place of employment, Longhorn Steak House. I knew that when I arrived at school today, I'd be greeted by yet another stack of essays, but in that moment, I hardly knew how to handle myself, with not one single essay hanging over my head.
Dinner was superb. Seriously scrumptious. From the baked macaroni & cheese appetizer; to the fresh garden salad with blue cheese dressing; to the tender fillet Mignon, cooked perfectly to just medium rare; to the loaded baked potato; to the "Chocolate Stampede" dessert (six layers of different kinds of chocolate!), the entire meal was wonderful. They pretty much had to roll us out of there, and I came home and fell lifeless into bed. But lifeless or not, in my mind was the quiet three hours I would have the following morning before my afternoon classes. Visions of fleece blankets, rocking chairs, and "Vampire Diaries" danced through my head all through the night, and I awoke at 8:00 am, ready. I gathered my blanket. I placed myself comfortably in my rocking chair with the foot rest lifted. I picked up the remote control and began to access Netflix,...
And what do you think happened? At that very moment, a text came in from my personal trainer (aka Shulamith Webster) announcing that we we'd be leaving for the gym in 15 minutes. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? Now granted, our gym attendance has been a bit sporadic lately. There are so many variables that need to align just right in order for us to go. Most of them center around Swen, who needs to be well fed and happy before his mommy can leave him. And then we need someone to leave him with. If both of us are going, that leaves his daddy. But Daddy works and goes to school, so yeah, it's difficult to make it happen. We did well during the summer before Matt and I went back to school, and we even had one really great week last month when we went five days (yay, us!). But that quickly fell apart the following week when Matt began this new job, which required five 8-hour days of training.
I guess Shulamith decided we would hop back on the wagon today, but did it have to be first thing in the morning so as to upset my glorious plan? Hmmm. All I can say is I hope it was worth it. We better have burned off every single calorie from that Chocolate Stampede.
A warm fleece blanket, my rocking chair, and "Vampire Diaries." Forever just a dream.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Changing Traditions
Does that sound like an oxymoron? Isn't one of the characteristics of a tradition that it doesn't change but is the same year after year? Like most families, we have many memorable traditions connected with the holiday season, too many to list here, but there are a few I was thinking about as we decked the halls and trimmed the tree on Wednesday:
Ahh, the mousie calendar! It's a fabric calendar that counts down the days in December until Christmas. On top is a picture of Santa and his wife sipping cocoa by the fire, and underneath are little pockets, numbered 1 - 25, into which fits a little mouse, to be moved from pocket to pocket each day in December until Christmas. Gerald's mom gave us this calendar when Luke and Shulamith were little. It was an instant hit, but it also triggered some pretty intense fighting between the two kids over who would move the mouse each day. In time, Isaiah and Eli took over the fighting, but while I remember tears and tantrums with them, I don't remember the teeth marks that (literally) were part of Luke and Shulamith's battles over this mouse. For the past several years, as with so many things, Seth has had free reign with the mousie calendar, with no competition whatsoever. Until....
Enter Mathew to the family. Not only does he fight Seth for Halloween candy and Easter eggs, he is right in the middle of the drama of this mousie calendar. He doesn't fight for the right to move the mouse; instead, he steals the mouse and hides it all over the house, leaving Seth frantic to find it. Like so many aspects of Christmas at our house, this calendar is sacred! The mouse must be moved each day. I'm pretty sure Christmas would not come if it wasn't. Desperate to find the mouse last night, Seth exclaimed, "Matt keeps hiding the mouse! What are we going to do about this?" to which Shulamith replied, "Sorry, honey, but I don't think he will ever grow up." Perhaps not, but thanks to Mathew, the tradition of constant fighting over the mousie calendar continues. Not gonna lie; it makes me a happy mom.
Adding to my happiness is the code for this year's gifts. That's right, a code. You see, I take Christmas very seriously. Every gift must be a total surprise; no one may know ahead of time what he or she is getting. That can be challenging in a family with five nosy and resourceful kids, so several years ago, I started coding their presents. Rather than writing their names on the tags, I enter a code that only I know and that I don't reveal until Christmas morning. One year I did continents; each kid had a different one, so their gift tags said such things as "To: Bolivia" or "To: Quebec." Another year I did simple numbers; Luke was 5, Shulamith was 4, Isaiah was 3, Eli was 2, and Seth was 1. If the 4-digit number contained a 5, the gift was Luke's. If it contained a 4, it was Shulamith's. Etc. This year, I found a great idea on Pinterest. I bought different wrapping paper for each kid's gifts. They're all similar, shades of black and white with red accent (so fun!), but slightly different. I won't need to use tags at all, as long as I remember whose wrapping paper is whose. I can't even tell you how excited I get over my coded gifts. It must be just about the best tradition ever.
And tonight began another of my most favorite traditions, watching all the well-loved Christmas shows with Seth. My favorites are the ones that go back to my own childhood: "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Frosty the Snowman," "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." A few more recent ones have also made the list of "must watch," including tonight's "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." Seth and I love these shows, and more than that, we love watching together. It's a special tradition just between the two of us.
Yes, traditions are supposed to stay the same. That's what makes them traditions. However, one tradition that seems to be changing has to do with Black Friday. Shulamith and I have gone every year since she was maybe five? I can't be sure how old she was the first time we went, but it was somewhere around then. We have 20 years of memories wrapped around this day, and all of them include going to bed extra early on Thanksgiving after scouring the ads from the giant newspaper and plotting our strategy, and then waking before dawn; creeping quietly out of the house wearing sweats, boots, and heavy jackets; leaving everyone else home sound asleep. Among other wonders, this morning always includes hot chocolate from Starbuck's and (when we lived in Billings) cinnamon rolls from Cinnabon. This year we had to settle for mini-cinnabons from Burger King.
How could this tradition ever change? How's that possible? Well, here's the problem. In very recent years, stores have decided to open for Black Friday shopping, not at 5:00 am Friday, but the night before at midnight, or even earlier. Black Friday shopping has become an overnight event, rather than an early-morning one. I know you are thinking to yourselves, "NO! TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE." I wish I could. I wish I could. But sadly, I speak the truth. The door buster slashed prices now begin on Thanksgiving Eve, not early the next morning as in the past. This year, we didn't even consider going at night. We could not drag Baby Swen all over town in the middle of the night, and since he is such a lucky baby that his mommy still breastfeeds exclusively, where she goes, he goes.
Therefore, we did our normal, tried and true, routine of early morning shopping. It was still wonderful, yes, but a couple of things felt very different, most significantly, the absolute lack of crowds. Apparently, by the time we were out, most everyone else had already shopped the night away and was home sleeping. Secondly, all the major door buster sales were gone. All that was left were signs indicating what tremendous deals we missed out on. Sad. We actually missed only one item that we really, really wanted, and we got much shopping accomplished, but next year, I'm afraid we might need to switch up our routine and join the crowds of midnight shoppers. Changing traditions. Hmmm.
For the past three years, we have moved our family's Thanksgiving celebration to a different day or time to better accommodate others' schedules. This year we had it on Saturday, the day following Black Friday. I'm just gonna say that this was sort of tough. One of the best things about Black Friday shopping is coming home to a long, warm nap followed by delicious leftovers. Instead, this year, we shopped from 6:00 am to 4:00 pm, and came home to much work to do in preparation for the following day. I made two chocolate chip cookie pies and both bran and blueberry muffins. But when I started to put together the egg casserole for our Thanksgiving breakfast, utter exhaustion began to set in, and I found myself nearly having a meltdown because I bought uncooked rather than cooked sausage by mistake. Shulamith, who is the very best problem solver I know, placed Baby Swen in my arms and told me to sit down and snuggle him. She then took over, cooked the sausage, and assembled the casserole. We could finally go to bed. Next year, I'm calling dibs for our family's dinner and celebration on the actual Thanksgiving day. Just sayin'.
It all turned out great, though. Yes, we totally messed up the gravy, and the no-fail canned whipped cream came out runny and gross, but we had three of our kids here, plus bonus son Mathew, Baby Swen, and Isaiah's friend Naomi. Ruined gravy and gross whipped cream didn't matter at all. There was love all around and laughter and joy. We have much to be thankful for.
Ahh, the mousie calendar! It's a fabric calendar that counts down the days in December until Christmas. On top is a picture of Santa and his wife sipping cocoa by the fire, and underneath are little pockets, numbered 1 - 25, into which fits a little mouse, to be moved from pocket to pocket each day in December until Christmas. Gerald's mom gave us this calendar when Luke and Shulamith were little. It was an instant hit, but it also triggered some pretty intense fighting between the two kids over who would move the mouse each day. In time, Isaiah and Eli took over the fighting, but while I remember tears and tantrums with them, I don't remember the teeth marks that (literally) were part of Luke and Shulamith's battles over this mouse. For the past several years, as with so many things, Seth has had free reign with the mousie calendar, with no competition whatsoever. Until....
Enter Mathew to the family. Not only does he fight Seth for Halloween candy and Easter eggs, he is right in the middle of the drama of this mousie calendar. He doesn't fight for the right to move the mouse; instead, he steals the mouse and hides it all over the house, leaving Seth frantic to find it. Like so many aspects of Christmas at our house, this calendar is sacred! The mouse must be moved each day. I'm pretty sure Christmas would not come if it wasn't. Desperate to find the mouse last night, Seth exclaimed, "Matt keeps hiding the mouse! What are we going to do about this?" to which Shulamith replied, "Sorry, honey, but I don't think he will ever grow up." Perhaps not, but thanks to Mathew, the tradition of constant fighting over the mousie calendar continues. Not gonna lie; it makes me a happy mom.
Adding to my happiness is the code for this year's gifts. That's right, a code. You see, I take Christmas very seriously. Every gift must be a total surprise; no one may know ahead of time what he or she is getting. That can be challenging in a family with five nosy and resourceful kids, so several years ago, I started coding their presents. Rather than writing their names on the tags, I enter a code that only I know and that I don't reveal until Christmas morning. One year I did continents; each kid had a different one, so their gift tags said such things as "To: Bolivia" or "To: Quebec." Another year I did simple numbers; Luke was 5, Shulamith was 4, Isaiah was 3, Eli was 2, and Seth was 1. If the 4-digit number contained a 5, the gift was Luke's. If it contained a 4, it was Shulamith's. Etc. This year, I found a great idea on Pinterest. I bought different wrapping paper for each kid's gifts. They're all similar, shades of black and white with red accent (so fun!), but slightly different. I won't need to use tags at all, as long as I remember whose wrapping paper is whose. I can't even tell you how excited I get over my coded gifts. It must be just about the best tradition ever.
And tonight began another of my most favorite traditions, watching all the well-loved Christmas shows with Seth. My favorites are the ones that go back to my own childhood: "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Frosty the Snowman," "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." A few more recent ones have also made the list of "must watch," including tonight's "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." Seth and I love these shows, and more than that, we love watching together. It's a special tradition just between the two of us.
Yes, traditions are supposed to stay the same. That's what makes them traditions. However, one tradition that seems to be changing has to do with Black Friday. Shulamith and I have gone every year since she was maybe five? I can't be sure how old she was the first time we went, but it was somewhere around then. We have 20 years of memories wrapped around this day, and all of them include going to bed extra early on Thanksgiving after scouring the ads from the giant newspaper and plotting our strategy, and then waking before dawn; creeping quietly out of the house wearing sweats, boots, and heavy jackets; leaving everyone else home sound asleep. Among other wonders, this morning always includes hot chocolate from Starbuck's and (when we lived in Billings) cinnamon rolls from Cinnabon. This year we had to settle for mini-cinnabons from Burger King.
How could this tradition ever change? How's that possible? Well, here's the problem. In very recent years, stores have decided to open for Black Friday shopping, not at 5:00 am Friday, but the night before at midnight, or even earlier. Black Friday shopping has become an overnight event, rather than an early-morning one. I know you are thinking to yourselves, "NO! TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE." I wish I could. I wish I could. But sadly, I speak the truth. The door buster slashed prices now begin on Thanksgiving Eve, not early the next morning as in the past. This year, we didn't even consider going at night. We could not drag Baby Swen all over town in the middle of the night, and since he is such a lucky baby that his mommy still breastfeeds exclusively, where she goes, he goes.
Therefore, we did our normal, tried and true, routine of early morning shopping. It was still wonderful, yes, but a couple of things felt very different, most significantly, the absolute lack of crowds. Apparently, by the time we were out, most everyone else had already shopped the night away and was home sleeping. Secondly, all the major door buster sales were gone. All that was left were signs indicating what tremendous deals we missed out on. Sad. We actually missed only one item that we really, really wanted, and we got much shopping accomplished, but next year, I'm afraid we might need to switch up our routine and join the crowds of midnight shoppers. Changing traditions. Hmmm.
For the past three years, we have moved our family's Thanksgiving celebration to a different day or time to better accommodate others' schedules. This year we had it on Saturday, the day following Black Friday. I'm just gonna say that this was sort of tough. One of the best things about Black Friday shopping is coming home to a long, warm nap followed by delicious leftovers. Instead, this year, we shopped from 6:00 am to 4:00 pm, and came home to much work to do in preparation for the following day. I made two chocolate chip cookie pies and both bran and blueberry muffins. But when I started to put together the egg casserole for our Thanksgiving breakfast, utter exhaustion began to set in, and I found myself nearly having a meltdown because I bought uncooked rather than cooked sausage by mistake. Shulamith, who is the very best problem solver I know, placed Baby Swen in my arms and told me to sit down and snuggle him. She then took over, cooked the sausage, and assembled the casserole. We could finally go to bed. Next year, I'm calling dibs for our family's dinner and celebration on the actual Thanksgiving day. Just sayin'.
It all turned out great, though. Yes, we totally messed up the gravy, and the no-fail canned whipped cream came out runny and gross, but we had three of our kids here, plus bonus son Mathew, Baby Swen, and Isaiah's friend Naomi. Ruined gravy and gross whipped cream didn't matter at all. There was love all around and laughter and joy. We have much to be thankful for.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Decking the Halls and Trimming the Tree
We had planned to decorate this Saturday, which is our usual routine, but this year we are waiting until Saturday to have our Thanksgiving dinner and celebration, so that would have been too much to do in one day. Then yesterday, we saw not one, but two Christmas trees already in windows in our neighborhood, and that finalized our decision. Shulamith said, "I want our Christmas trees up! Let's do it tomorrow." And so we did. We knew it would feel different without Eli; we Websters LOVE Christmas, and he is always right in the center of decorating. But Seth rose to the occasion and spearheaded the way. First, he brought up all the boxes from storage. Then he set up the entire tree for us:
He awoke happy, enough so that he allowed Seth to entertain him just long enough for Shulamith and me to string the lights.
The rest was fairly easy; the lights are always the hardest part. We had fun reminiscing as we unwrapped each ornament, many filled with memories of days passed. Seth was shocked by the earliest ones: "1988?" he gasped, as though it were the dinosaur ages. I guess when you are born in the year 2000, 1988 sounds like a pretty long time ago. Shulamith vented her yearly frustration because her "Baby's First Christmas" ornament doesn't include a photo like Luke's does, and she also reminded me of how I threw away all her school-made ornaments. Yep, I did. Bad mom. Very bad. We listened to Neal Diamond sing "O Holy Night" in the background.We "oohed and ahhed" over the Christmas spirit we were creating piece by piece in our home. We smiled over all the Santa photos from past Christmases as we set them on the coffee table. Seth reached high to put the angel on top of the tree. I arranged my Willow Tree nativity.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
BD2 - The End of an Era
I cried. I laughed. I cheered. I cried again. It was wonderful and sad and tender and joyous, all wrapped up tight in a crowded movie theatre at 10:30 Thursday night. It was the final movie in the Twilight series, "Breaking Dawn 2." It was the end of an era.
It began for me over five years ago at a girls' night at Teresa's house. We did this often back in those days; our ward was small, so we needed each other. For reasons unique to each of us, we needed each other. Together we found a place to connect, a place to be ourselves, a place to laugh, a place to belong, and ultimately a place to discover the world of Edward and Bella. It was Teresa who first read the series. I wonder if she has forgiven us for our initial skepticism. I'm sure she has; she is a gracious person, not quick to hold grudges. Really, though, a book about vampires? Are you kidding? I'm an English major. I have both a bachelor's and master's degree in English literature. A teenage romance novel about vampires? Not likely.
But then, just a short time later, not only was Teresa reading these books, but so was Kim. Admittedly, I was curious, curious but still cautious. It wasn't until Celeste joined the bandwagon that I even considered picking up the first novel. Celeste is one of my closest friends. She knows me well, and I trust her. If she says I'll like it, I'll like it. She pored through Twilight in barely two days and brought it right over.
And that was it. The end. Goodbye housework. Goodbye cooking. Goodbye family. Goodbye normal life. I was completely and willingly consumed by this impossible, but so very genuine, story. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough. Looking back now, I wish I'd had my Kindle; I could have read faster! Once finished, I ran immediately across the street to give it to Lindsey and then around the corner to pick up New Moon from Celeste. And so it went for the first three books. Celeste read first, then me, then Lindsey. At one point, as I was poring through Eclipse, Lindsey texted to tell me she had finished New Moon. "How much longer?" she wanted to know before she could get her hands on Eclipse. Soon. I promise!
We had to wait for the fourth book because it wasn't yet published. We were there that night, all three of us at Barnes & Noble, at midnight for the release of "Breaking Dawn." I remember how I felt when I paid the cashier and she placed the book in my hands, with its shiny, slick chess board cover; the large, white queen in the middle; and the smaller, red pawn behind. Celeste and Lindsey got their copies (yes, we each bought our own this time), and we drove home as fast as we could. We had waited a long time. We were more than ready to surrender our homes and our children to the care of our husbands and to escape into this favorite place. And so we did.
When I first learned the books would become movies, I wondered if it would be possible to do this story justice on the screen. It was. Could they really capture the essence of these characters? They did. When the movie Twilight came out four years ago in November of 2008, a group of us went together, many of the same Metra Ward friends who were at Teresa's house that night so long before. But I had an added bonus. Lindsey's baby daughter Hanna was just a month old, so I had the perfect situation: Hanna in my arms and Edward on the screen. If you're wondering whether life gets any better than that, it doesn't.That was the first of seven times I watched the movie. I know, right?
The following year, when New Moon came out, we once again went in a group, a girls' night out preceded by yummy food at Staggering Ox. We watched Twilight first, and then New Moon at midnight. It was surreal. By the time Eclipse was released in 2010, several of our friends had moved from Billings; others were busy or had plans to see the movie with family members. It was just Lindsey and I that night. She made me forsake my diet and eat popcorn. Twilight is sacred; we don't diet. When I didn't gain any weight that week, despite eating a disgustingly copious amount of buttered deliciousness, we decided it was because the reason was so absolutely justified.
After that, Lindsey moved to Rexburg, and eventually we moved here. Last year, when Breaking Dawn I was released, Mathew managed to get Shulamith and me tickets for an early showing, which meant that Shulamith wouldn't be wiped out the following morning when she had to teach her kindergarten class starting at 8:00. She was pregnant and already exhausted. I missed Lindsey; it felt "off" to be there without her. But it was also fun to go with Shulamith for the first time. Best would be all three of us together, but we don't always get best. Again this year, it was Shulamith and I. We both sat motionless from start to finish of Breaking Dawn 2, completely enchanted by the twist of events, especially those that were different from the book. Bella has matured; vampire-hood suits her. I liked her better than ever before. It was my favorite of all five movies.
We left the theatre with conflicted emotions, glad for the perfect ending, but sad because it was the end, the end of an era. Still, I cannot grieve too long. Instead, I look back with fondness on a time in many ways not so long ago, and in other ways forever, at a little party at Teresa's house with some of my best friends, when Teresa first started talking about vampires. Almost all of us have left Billings now; only a couple remain. A reunion would be difficult if not impossible, and yet, we can unite this month because wherever we are, we can go see Breaking Dawn 2 and remember.
It began for me over five years ago at a girls' night at Teresa's house. We did this often back in those days; our ward was small, so we needed each other. For reasons unique to each of us, we needed each other. Together we found a place to connect, a place to be ourselves, a place to laugh, a place to belong, and ultimately a place to discover the world of Edward and Bella. It was Teresa who first read the series. I wonder if she has forgiven us for our initial skepticism. I'm sure she has; she is a gracious person, not quick to hold grudges. Really, though, a book about vampires? Are you kidding? I'm an English major. I have both a bachelor's and master's degree in English literature. A teenage romance novel about vampires? Not likely.
But then, just a short time later, not only was Teresa reading these books, but so was Kim. Admittedly, I was curious, curious but still cautious. It wasn't until Celeste joined the bandwagon that I even considered picking up the first novel. Celeste is one of my closest friends. She knows me well, and I trust her. If she says I'll like it, I'll like it. She pored through Twilight in barely two days and brought it right over.
And that was it. The end. Goodbye housework. Goodbye cooking. Goodbye family. Goodbye normal life. I was completely and willingly consumed by this impossible, but so very genuine, story. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough. Looking back now, I wish I'd had my Kindle; I could have read faster! Once finished, I ran immediately across the street to give it to Lindsey and then around the corner to pick up New Moon from Celeste. And so it went for the first three books. Celeste read first, then me, then Lindsey. At one point, as I was poring through Eclipse, Lindsey texted to tell me she had finished New Moon. "How much longer?" she wanted to know before she could get her hands on Eclipse. Soon. I promise!
We had to wait for the fourth book because it wasn't yet published. We were there that night, all three of us at Barnes & Noble, at midnight for the release of "Breaking Dawn." I remember how I felt when I paid the cashier and she placed the book in my hands, with its shiny, slick chess board cover; the large, white queen in the middle; and the smaller, red pawn behind. Celeste and Lindsey got their copies (yes, we each bought our own this time), and we drove home as fast as we could. We had waited a long time. We were more than ready to surrender our homes and our children to the care of our husbands and to escape into this favorite place. And so we did.
When I first learned the books would become movies, I wondered if it would be possible to do this story justice on the screen. It was. Could they really capture the essence of these characters? They did. When the movie Twilight came out four years ago in November of 2008, a group of us went together, many of the same Metra Ward friends who were at Teresa's house that night so long before. But I had an added bonus. Lindsey's baby daughter Hanna was just a month old, so I had the perfect situation: Hanna in my arms and Edward on the screen. If you're wondering whether life gets any better than that, it doesn't.That was the first of seven times I watched the movie. I know, right?
The following year, when New Moon came out, we once again went in a group, a girls' night out preceded by yummy food at Staggering Ox. We watched Twilight first, and then New Moon at midnight. It was surreal. By the time Eclipse was released in 2010, several of our friends had moved from Billings; others were busy or had plans to see the movie with family members. It was just Lindsey and I that night. She made me forsake my diet and eat popcorn. Twilight is sacred; we don't diet. When I didn't gain any weight that week, despite eating a disgustingly copious amount of buttered deliciousness, we decided it was because the reason was so absolutely justified.
After that, Lindsey moved to Rexburg, and eventually we moved here. Last year, when Breaking Dawn I was released, Mathew managed to get Shulamith and me tickets for an early showing, which meant that Shulamith wouldn't be wiped out the following morning when she had to teach her kindergarten class starting at 8:00. She was pregnant and already exhausted. I missed Lindsey; it felt "off" to be there without her. But it was also fun to go with Shulamith for the first time. Best would be all three of us together, but we don't always get best. Again this year, it was Shulamith and I. We both sat motionless from start to finish of Breaking Dawn 2, completely enchanted by the twist of events, especially those that were different from the book. Bella has matured; vampire-hood suits her. I liked her better than ever before. It was my favorite of all five movies.
We left the theatre with conflicted emotions, glad for the perfect ending, but sad because it was the end, the end of an era. Still, I cannot grieve too long. Instead, I look back with fondness on a time in many ways not so long ago, and in other ways forever, at a little party at Teresa's house with some of my best friends, when Teresa first started talking about vampires. Almost all of us have left Billings now; only a couple remain. A reunion would be difficult if not impossible, and yet, we can unite this month because wherever we are, we can go see Breaking Dawn 2 and remember.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
But Sometimes I Just Really Miss Michael, Sara, and Lincoln
There are many good shows on TV, but sometimes I just really miss Michael, Sara, and Lincoln. Anyone else?
Throughout my life, my TV habits have varied. I grew up on TV. As a child, I could tell you what day it was and what time it was based solely on what was on TV. There have also been times in my life when I've watched almost no TV at all. I've been so busy with everything else that TV was a low, low priority. I remember during one such "season," the Emmy Awards came around and I literally had no idea about even one show that was nominated. At other times I've watched a fair amount of TV, and now is one of those times. I blame Shulmith's baby. Ha! I'm mostly kidding, of course, but all jokes contain some degree of honesty or they wouldn't be funny, and it's true that since Swen was born six months ago, my TV watching has dramatically increased. This is the case for a couple of reasons.
First, Swen really hates his car seat. Like really hates it. In his defense, I should say that in the past couple of weeks, that hatred has lessened slightly, and we have some hope for him, but up until now, let's just say that car travel with him was pretty much a nightmare. It takes at least twice as long to get anywhere because we have to stop so many times to take him out and reassure him that the world isn't actually ending. You can imagine how much we look forward to car trips. Not! So instead of going out to eat (our regular nightly routine while both our husbands work), sometimes we actually cook. I know, right? But it's true. If not that, one of us runs out and brings home food. Anything to keep Swen out of the car. And what do we do evening after evening at home with Swen? Why watch TV, of course!
Second, Swen likes to nap in our arms in a rocking chair. In fact, he doesn't nap any other way. At night, he sleeps lying down, but not for naps. He likes to cuddle, and we like to cuddle him, so it's totally win/win. And what do we do for the hours and hours we sit in rocking chairs with Swen napping? Well, sometimes I read my Kindle or browse Facebook or attempt to blog with one hand, but the easiest thing to do is watch TV.
And there are some excellent shows on, especially if you have Netflix streaming. Allow me to share a few of my favorites:
Vampire Diaries. If you haven't tried this one, you really must. It's impossible not to be immediately drawn in to the sweet but dangerous romance between Stefan and Elana, and by the end of the second season, you'll even be in love with Daman, Stefan's "evil" brother. And just as a warning--- you also might really want to be a witch. I do.
The Killing. Watch just one episode, and you'll be hooked. You will have to know who the murderer is. Problem is, it will take an entire season to find out, and (spoiler alert!), you won't even know for sure at that point. Those of you who need closure might be frustrated here. I was. But there's another season yet to come, and I can't wait. Because the show is set in Seattle, the rain is relentless, which provides the dark, moody effect the creators desired. How perfect!
Parenthood. The complexity of the several story lines is enticing enough. Add that to an ensemble cast of beautifully-developed characters played by fine actors (the little boy who has Asperger's Syndrome is amazing) and you have the makings of a rich and lovely drama. Parents, especially, will relate to these characters, but I think anyone would enjoy the show.
Breaking Bad. Oh, so good. So sad. So raw. But so good. Have you ever read Jude the Obscure? You know how in that book, just when you think things can't possibly get any worse, you turn the page and they do? It's like that for Walter White. I found myself saying, "Is there not a moral person in this entire show other than Holly?" (She's the infant born in the first season to Walt and Skyler.) I'd be remiss not to point out that this show is definitely not for kids. The life of a methamphetamine cook? Yeah, obviously not a family show, right? Right. But worth watching? Absolutely.
Revenge. This is a new one; I've only watched four episodes, and the premise is a sad one. The lead character begins with a monologue in which she informs us that "This is not a story of forgiveness. This is a story of revenge." Sad for sure, but I'm already sufficiently roped in, desperate for each new tidbit of information explaining why she hates these people so voraciously and what part each of them played in taking her father from her when she was just a child. As she exacts revenge, one person at a time, I find myself in awe of both her conviction and her brutality.
Indeed, there are some really good TV shows available, but none that compare with my favorite show of all time. Dare I say perhaps it is the best series ever broadcast on television. Ever? Okay, yeah, I'm going to say exactly that. Prison Break is the best show of all time. There, I said it. And even though there are lots of good shows to watch, sometimes I just really miss Michael, Sara, and Lincoln.
Anyone else?
Throughout my life, my TV habits have varied. I grew up on TV. As a child, I could tell you what day it was and what time it was based solely on what was on TV. There have also been times in my life when I've watched almost no TV at all. I've been so busy with everything else that TV was a low, low priority. I remember during one such "season," the Emmy Awards came around and I literally had no idea about even one show that was nominated. At other times I've watched a fair amount of TV, and now is one of those times. I blame Shulmith's baby. Ha! I'm mostly kidding, of course, but all jokes contain some degree of honesty or they wouldn't be funny, and it's true that since Swen was born six months ago, my TV watching has dramatically increased. This is the case for a couple of reasons.
First, Swen really hates his car seat. Like really hates it. In his defense, I should say that in the past couple of weeks, that hatred has lessened slightly, and we have some hope for him, but up until now, let's just say that car travel with him was pretty much a nightmare. It takes at least twice as long to get anywhere because we have to stop so many times to take him out and reassure him that the world isn't actually ending. You can imagine how much we look forward to car trips. Not! So instead of going out to eat (our regular nightly routine while both our husbands work), sometimes we actually cook. I know, right? But it's true. If not that, one of us runs out and brings home food. Anything to keep Swen out of the car. And what do we do evening after evening at home with Swen? Why watch TV, of course!
Second, Swen likes to nap in our arms in a rocking chair. In fact, he doesn't nap any other way. At night, he sleeps lying down, but not for naps. He likes to cuddle, and we like to cuddle him, so it's totally win/win. And what do we do for the hours and hours we sit in rocking chairs with Swen napping? Well, sometimes I read my Kindle or browse Facebook or attempt to blog with one hand, but the easiest thing to do is watch TV.
And there are some excellent shows on, especially if you have Netflix streaming. Allow me to share a few of my favorites:
Vampire Diaries. If you haven't tried this one, you really must. It's impossible not to be immediately drawn in to the sweet but dangerous romance between Stefan and Elana, and by the end of the second season, you'll even be in love with Daman, Stefan's "evil" brother. And just as a warning--- you also might really want to be a witch. I do.
The Killing. Watch just one episode, and you'll be hooked. You will have to know who the murderer is. Problem is, it will take an entire season to find out, and (spoiler alert!), you won't even know for sure at that point. Those of you who need closure might be frustrated here. I was. But there's another season yet to come, and I can't wait. Because the show is set in Seattle, the rain is relentless, which provides the dark, moody effect the creators desired. How perfect!
Parenthood. The complexity of the several story lines is enticing enough. Add that to an ensemble cast of beautifully-developed characters played by fine actors (the little boy who has Asperger's Syndrome is amazing) and you have the makings of a rich and lovely drama. Parents, especially, will relate to these characters, but I think anyone would enjoy the show.
Breaking Bad. Oh, so good. So sad. So raw. But so good. Have you ever read Jude the Obscure? You know how in that book, just when you think things can't possibly get any worse, you turn the page and they do? It's like that for Walter White. I found myself saying, "Is there not a moral person in this entire show other than Holly?" (She's the infant born in the first season to Walt and Skyler.) I'd be remiss not to point out that this show is definitely not for kids. The life of a methamphetamine cook? Yeah, obviously not a family show, right? Right. But worth watching? Absolutely.
Revenge. This is a new one; I've only watched four episodes, and the premise is a sad one. The lead character begins with a monologue in which she informs us that "This is not a story of forgiveness. This is a story of revenge." Sad for sure, but I'm already sufficiently roped in, desperate for each new tidbit of information explaining why she hates these people so voraciously and what part each of them played in taking her father from her when she was just a child. As she exacts revenge, one person at a time, I find myself in awe of both her conviction and her brutality.
Indeed, there are some really good TV shows available, but none that compare with my favorite show of all time. Dare I say perhaps it is the best series ever broadcast on television. Ever? Okay, yeah, I'm going to say exactly that. Prison Break is the best show of all time. There, I said it. And even though there are lots of good shows to watch, sometimes I just really miss Michael, Sara, and Lincoln.
Anyone else?
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Scary, Or Not Scary?
Halloween. The scariest night of year, right? Ghosts and goblins, witches and zombies, haunted houses and horror flicks, what more could you ask for? Halloween 2012 at our house had some very scary things, along with some not-so-scary ones:
Scary: Seth in his costume consisting of a pink tutu and fairy wings. Mathew wore this a couple years ago with black tights, and he managed to convince Seth to wear it this year. It turned out to be a good costume; Seth came home with more candy than ever before, a pillow case 2/3 full. Ahh, Seth, and we work so hard to keep your sad teeth from further decay. This won't help.
Not Scary: Swen in his little monster costume. His parents like to call him their "little monster," so this was the perfect costume. Also, "monster" is a great combination of the names Monson and Webster, so even more perfect, huh?
Scary: Me wearing this adorable Halloween apron that my friend Patty made for me. The apron, itself, isn't scary; I think it's possibly the cutest thing ever. The scary part is the idea that I might try to cook something while wearing it. My cooking -- very scary!
Not Scary: Isaiah and Seth playing in fall leaves. I love this picture.
Scary: Isaiah and Seth on this thrill ride at Lagoon Frightmares. Isaiah and his friend Naomi took Seth there last week. Apparently, along with the wonderfully scary rides, during Halloween season, they have zombies with chain saws walking around and other such things. Ahhh!
Not Scary: The Webster-Monson Family together on Swen's first Halloween. Mathew hates all holidays, and Halloween is no exception, so it was a huge demonstration of his love for his son that he took the night off to be with his family.
Scary: Matt and Seth trick-or-treating through South Town Center. Why is this scary? Ha, whenever the two of them are together, it's a bit scary. And watching them trick-or-treating....let's just say you had to be there.
Not Scary: Swen and I at the ward Halloween trunk-or-treat party. He kept the costume on just long enough for a couple of pictures. It was so hot inside the church. There's this problem with LDS chapels; they are either too hot or too cold. All the time. The temperature can never be comfortable. This was one of the hot nights, too hot for Swen's monster costume.
Scary: This very close election and the possibility that Mitt Romney could win on Tuesday. (This one is super scary, but try not to worry. I'm pretty sure it's going to be okay. The President is leading in most of the swing states. As long as Democrats vote, it will be fine.)
Not Scary: Isaiah and his friend Naomi with Seth at Lagoon Frightmares. They don't look very scared.
Very, Very Scary: Speaks for itself.
And there you have it, Halloween 2012 with the Erichsen-Webster family. Scary or not, it was fun.
Scary: Seth in his costume consisting of a pink tutu and fairy wings. Mathew wore this a couple years ago with black tights, and he managed to convince Seth to wear it this year. It turned out to be a good costume; Seth came home with more candy than ever before, a pillow case 2/3 full. Ahh, Seth, and we work so hard to keep your sad teeth from further decay. This won't help.
Not Scary: Swen in his little monster costume. His parents like to call him their "little monster," so this was the perfect costume. Also, "monster" is a great combination of the names Monson and Webster, so even more perfect, huh?
Scary: Me wearing this adorable Halloween apron that my friend Patty made for me. The apron, itself, isn't scary; I think it's possibly the cutest thing ever. The scary part is the idea that I might try to cook something while wearing it. My cooking -- very scary!
Not Scary: Isaiah and Seth playing in fall leaves. I love this picture.
Not Scary: The Webster-Monson Family together on Swen's first Halloween. Mathew hates all holidays, and Halloween is no exception, so it was a huge demonstration of his love for his son that he took the night off to be with his family.
Scary: Matt and Seth trick-or-treating through South Town Center. Why is this scary? Ha, whenever the two of them are together, it's a bit scary. And watching them trick-or-treating....let's just say you had to be there.
Not Scary: Swen and I at the ward Halloween trunk-or-treat party. He kept the costume on just long enough for a couple of pictures. It was so hot inside the church. There's this problem with LDS chapels; they are either too hot or too cold. All the time. The temperature can never be comfortable. This was one of the hot nights, too hot for Swen's monster costume.
Scary: This very close election and the possibility that Mitt Romney could win on Tuesday. (This one is super scary, but try not to worry. I'm pretty sure it's going to be okay. The President is leading in most of the swing states. As long as Democrats vote, it will be fine.)
Not Scary: Isaiah and his friend Naomi with Seth at Lagoon Frightmares. They don't look very scared.
Very, Very Scary: Speaks for itself.
And there you have it, Halloween 2012 with the Erichsen-Webster family. Scary or not, it was fun.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Insomniac
I can always sleep. Always. It's actually one of the few things I'm really, really good at. I was the child who had to do morning kindergarten because even at age 5, I was still taking a 2-hour afternoon nap. I was the child whose parents tried to keep her awake past 6:30 p.m. by saying things like, "Instead of going to bed now, how about you just lie down on the couch and watch T.V. with us." They tell me I never made it past the national news, which ended at 7:00. If they failed to get me dinner by 6:30, I didn't eat. As an adult, I'm happiest and healthiest when I get about 9-1/2 hours of sleep at night, and I almost always do. Yep, I can always sleep.
Except when I can't. Like tonight. It's now 1:30 a.m., and I've been trying to fall asleep since 10:00. Blah! This is such a rare occurrence that it makes me really mad. Occasionally, when I am super, super stressed, my anxiety sky rockets, and nothing I do seems to help. I am wide awake. It sucks. To those of you who experience this often, you have my utmost sympathy. Of course, rare as these occasions are, they always fall on nights when I have a full list of obligations the following day. So I lie in bed and stress over not only what was keeping me awake in the first place, but also about how I'm going to be too exhausted to function tomorrow. Double blah!
So instead of continuing with that utterly unproductive cycle, I decide to get up and blog. Will I be able to put together a clear thought at this hour when I'm this tired? With no proofreader awake this late, should I wait until morning to post this? I don't know. Oh wait...there is someone awake. It's Isaiah. He's been asleep here on the couch until just now. "You're still up?" he asks, baffled. I am never up this late; remember, I need nine hours of sleep. I explain my very occasional plight with anxiety-induced insomnia and send him off to bed. Now I am perfectly alone.
This house is quiet and dark. The only light, other than from my laptop, comes from the Halloween decoration we have in the window, which I forgot to unplug before going to bed 4 hours ago. Yep, it's 2:00 a.m. now. The quiet is disconcerting. This house, with seven of us living here, is never quiet. I wish I could say it's peaceful, but it isn't. My body is so charged with excess energy that nothing is peaceful. I wonder if Shulamith is awake downstairs. I hope not. I hope Baby Swen (and his mommy) are sound asleep. I wish I could be asleep. I really wish that.
My eyes burn. They know they're supposed to be shut at this hour. I struggle to exercise the relaxation techniques I've learned through many years of dealing with anxiety. It's not working. My mind races regardless, from one topic to another, in circles, over and over. I try to sing a peaceful hymn. I'm distracted. I try to count my blessings. I'm distracted. I try to pray. I'm distracted. I tell myself that sleep will come eventually. It always does. I reassure myself that I will get thorough the day tomorrow, even if I never sleep tonight. My mind needs that reassurance.
Time passes slowly, but then it's already 2:00, so how will I ever get the sleep I so desperately need? The night will be over in just a few more hours. Then what? How will I finish grading my papers, the ones I was too tired to finish earlier? How will I teach my classes? No, this is not a good train of thought. Back up to how I will indeed get through the day tomorrow no matter what. Yes, that is better. My eyes burn more severely, but my shoulders are still tense. Try to relax. Try to relax. It's so hard. Why is it so hard?
I can always sleep. Except when I can't.
Insomniac.
Except when I can't. Like tonight. It's now 1:30 a.m., and I've been trying to fall asleep since 10:00. Blah! This is such a rare occurrence that it makes me really mad. Occasionally, when I am super, super stressed, my anxiety sky rockets, and nothing I do seems to help. I am wide awake. It sucks. To those of you who experience this often, you have my utmost sympathy. Of course, rare as these occasions are, they always fall on nights when I have a full list of obligations the following day. So I lie in bed and stress over not only what was keeping me awake in the first place, but also about how I'm going to be too exhausted to function tomorrow. Double blah!
So instead of continuing with that utterly unproductive cycle, I decide to get up and blog. Will I be able to put together a clear thought at this hour when I'm this tired? With no proofreader awake this late, should I wait until morning to post this? I don't know. Oh wait...there is someone awake. It's Isaiah. He's been asleep here on the couch until just now. "You're still up?" he asks, baffled. I am never up this late; remember, I need nine hours of sleep. I explain my very occasional plight with anxiety-induced insomnia and send him off to bed. Now I am perfectly alone.
This house is quiet and dark. The only light, other than from my laptop, comes from the Halloween decoration we have in the window, which I forgot to unplug before going to bed 4 hours ago. Yep, it's 2:00 a.m. now. The quiet is disconcerting. This house, with seven of us living here, is never quiet. I wish I could say it's peaceful, but it isn't. My body is so charged with excess energy that nothing is peaceful. I wonder if Shulamith is awake downstairs. I hope not. I hope Baby Swen (and his mommy) are sound asleep. I wish I could be asleep. I really wish that.
My eyes burn. They know they're supposed to be shut at this hour. I struggle to exercise the relaxation techniques I've learned through many years of dealing with anxiety. It's not working. My mind races regardless, from one topic to another, in circles, over and over. I try to sing a peaceful hymn. I'm distracted. I try to count my blessings. I'm distracted. I try to pray. I'm distracted. I tell myself that sleep will come eventually. It always does. I reassure myself that I will get thorough the day tomorrow, even if I never sleep tonight. My mind needs that reassurance.
Time passes slowly, but then it's already 2:00, so how will I ever get the sleep I so desperately need? The night will be over in just a few more hours. Then what? How will I finish grading my papers, the ones I was too tired to finish earlier? How will I teach my classes? No, this is not a good train of thought. Back up to how I will indeed get through the day tomorrow no matter what. Yes, that is better. My eyes burn more severely, but my shoulders are still tense. Try to relax. Try to relax. It's so hard. Why is it so hard?
I can always sleep. Except when I can't.
Insomniac.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
They Call It Nostalgia, Right?
We are supposed to live in the present. It is the healthiest place to live. We all know this. Too much time spent longing for the past or dreaming of the future is not productive and robs us of the joy of right now.
Okay, fine.
Still, on occasion, isn't it okay to look back just a bit? Isn't it okay to remember past experiences with fondness? They call it nostalgia, right? "A wistful desire to return at least in thought to a former time in one's life; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time" (Dictionary.com). That's how it was the two days Shulamith and I spent in Mt. Vernon this past week. It was pure nostalgia.
Getting there, however, was complicated. I may have mentioned how much little Swen detests his car seat. I have truly never seen a baby who hates it quite as much as he does. He can go from giddy happy to raging furious in a matter of seconds; all we have to do is place him in that seat. Consequently, we wanted to arrange our travel so his car seat time was as minimal as possible. We flew into Portland Friday night and spent a couple days with my family there. Here is Swen riding on my mother's wooden cow:
Sunday evening, we rode Amtrak from Portland to Seattle. Swen was fairly happy with that arrangement, other than a brief period in the middle of the trip when his mom and I took turns carrying him up and down the train as he expressed his dissatisfaction. I was flooded with memories of an airline flight four years ago with my friend Lindsey, whose daughter Hanna was the same age Swen is now. We had gone to visit our friend Celeste in Texas. On the trip home, I carried Hanna up and down the fuselage the entire 2-1/2 hour flight from San Antonio to Denver, to keep her from screaming.
Once in Seattle, we had to get back down to Sea-Tac Airport to rent a car to drive to Mt. Vernon. That was the scariest part of the whole four days because we had all our luggage, a stroller, our carry-on bags, and a highly unpredictable infant. Ha! But no worries. It was smooth all the way. Gerald had given us clear instructions, and we had no trouble finding our way through the rainy Seattle night to the light rail, which would take us to the airport:
Instantly, as we stepped off the light rail, we found a shuttle to the car rental arena. What timing! We were feeling pretty awesome at this point...not gonna lie. We quickly selected our rental car and were on the road to Mt. Vernon. Shulamith discovered the fine art of nursing Swen in the car, without removing herself from her seat belt or Swen from his car seat, and believe me, this new skill proved invaluable! Ironically, would you care to guess which of my five babes was the only one who required me to go to such drastic measures once upon a time? Uh huh. You guessed right. Karma!
We arrived in Mt. Vernon around 9:30 Sunday night, greeted by our friends Jeannie and Larry Henderson, who hosted us in their home. Their amazing hospitality was unbelievable. We felt like we were in a luxury hotel. Each of us had our own room, with the comfort of a lovely queen bed and private bath. We rested peacefully after a very long day and awoke refreshed and ready to reminisce. It was raining hard. I had requested rain for the whole 4 days we were in the Northwest, and I got my wish. I miss it so much. Even if I never live in that part of the country again, I will always love the rain.
After breakfast at Calico Cupboard, Swen did something miraculous and totally out of character; he actually fell asleep in his car seat. And stayed asleep too, for nearly an hour, giving us plenty of time to drive around our home town.
First stop was our house:
The person who bought it from us eight years ago, used it as a rental unit for college kids, and I'm sad to say, it shows. It looked pretty run down. Still, we sat for several minutes and looked at it. So many memories surround that house. The tree we planted for Shulamith, outside her bedroom window, has grown and grown. The poem "Tree at My Window" by Robert Frost was the impetus for this way back in 1996 when we bought the house. And it is still there. So many things have changed, but that little tree is still there, though not so little.
From there we drove by Haggen, my favorite grocery store. Now you may think me strange for my obsession with this store. All I can tell you is that Haggen is the loveliest grocery store I've ever been in, and going back there, I was once again overcome with memories. From Seth in the childcare center (I know, right? What could be more brilliant than a child care center in a grocery store?), to cheer parent meetings in the Market Street Cafe, to hot chocolate with friends at the Starbucks, to the friendly faces at Peoples Bank, this was my store.
Next stop, Mt.
Vernon High School. Obviously, Shulamith had more memories here than I did, but late
Monday night, when the lights shined brightly over the Bulldog football
field, we were both taken back ten years to the days of cheer, which
pretty much consumed both our lives from 2001-2004. Baby Seth attended
more football games, basketball games, and wrestling matches than any
child his age; sadly, he remembers none of that, but we do. Such a sweet
little boy he was. Here is the high school today:
We spent two full
days wrapped in nostalgia, which of course included food. We ate at Round Table Pizza and Mama Riva's.
We roamed Cascade Mall. The food court, which had been our Friday night
ritual, was practically non-existent; only Subway and Orange Julius
remain. We rounded out our eating frenzy with fries, ice-cream, and Diet
Coke at Big Scoop Sundae Palace. How many birthdays have we celebrated
there? I couldn't begin to count. The restaurant has not changed even
one iota, including the menu. I enjoyed my long-time favorite, the
banana royal.
Okay, fine.
Still, on occasion, isn't it okay to look back just a bit? Isn't it okay to remember past experiences with fondness? They call it nostalgia, right? "A wistful desire to return at least in thought to a former time in one's life; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time" (Dictionary.com). That's how it was the two days Shulamith and I spent in Mt. Vernon this past week. It was pure nostalgia.
Getting there, however, was complicated. I may have mentioned how much little Swen detests his car seat. I have truly never seen a baby who hates it quite as much as he does. He can go from giddy happy to raging furious in a matter of seconds; all we have to do is place him in that seat. Consequently, we wanted to arrange our travel so his car seat time was as minimal as possible. We flew into Portland Friday night and spent a couple days with my family there. Here is Swen riding on my mother's wooden cow:
Sunday evening, we rode Amtrak from Portland to Seattle. Swen was fairly happy with that arrangement, other than a brief period in the middle of the trip when his mom and I took turns carrying him up and down the train as he expressed his dissatisfaction. I was flooded with memories of an airline flight four years ago with my friend Lindsey, whose daughter Hanna was the same age Swen is now. We had gone to visit our friend Celeste in Texas. On the trip home, I carried Hanna up and down the fuselage the entire 2-1/2 hour flight from San Antonio to Denver, to keep her from screaming.
Once in Seattle, we had to get back down to Sea-Tac Airport to rent a car to drive to Mt. Vernon. That was the scariest part of the whole four days because we had all our luggage, a stroller, our carry-on bags, and a highly unpredictable infant. Ha! But no worries. It was smooth all the way. Gerald had given us clear instructions, and we had no trouble finding our way through the rainy Seattle night to the light rail, which would take us to the airport:
We arrived in Mt. Vernon around 9:30 Sunday night, greeted by our friends Jeannie and Larry Henderson, who hosted us in their home. Their amazing hospitality was unbelievable. We felt like we were in a luxury hotel. Each of us had our own room, with the comfort of a lovely queen bed and private bath. We rested peacefully after a very long day and awoke refreshed and ready to reminisce. It was raining hard. I had requested rain for the whole 4 days we were in the Northwest, and I got my wish. I miss it so much. Even if I never live in that part of the country again, I will always love the rain.
After breakfast at Calico Cupboard, Swen did something miraculous and totally out of character; he actually fell asleep in his car seat. And stayed asleep too, for nearly an hour, giving us plenty of time to drive around our home town.
First stop was our house:
The person who bought it from us eight years ago, used it as a rental unit for college kids, and I'm sad to say, it shows. It looked pretty run down. Still, we sat for several minutes and looked at it. So many memories surround that house. The tree we planted for Shulamith, outside her bedroom window, has grown and grown. The poem "Tree at My Window" by Robert Frost was the impetus for this way back in 1996 when we bought the house. And it is still there. So many things have changed, but that little tree is still there, though not so little.
From there we drove by Haggen, my favorite grocery store. Now you may think me strange for my obsession with this store. All I can tell you is that Haggen is the loveliest grocery store I've ever been in, and going back there, I was once again overcome with memories. From Seth in the childcare center (I know, right? What could be more brilliant than a child care center in a grocery store?), to cheer parent meetings in the Market Street Cafe, to hot chocolate with friends at the Starbucks, to the friendly faces at Peoples Bank, this was my store.
We left town Tuesday afternoon, satisfied with all we had experienced. It's not that we wish to return to those days. We don't. It's not that we were happier then. We weren't. But in every way that counts, Mt. Vernon will always be our home town. Luke and Shulamith grew up there. Isaiah and Eli were young children there. Seth was born there. We had deep roots for sure. And were it not for the declining economy, we never would have left. But life moves forward. We must live in the present. And so we will. But on occasion, isn't it okay to look back just a bit?
They call it nostalgia, right?
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