Once upon a time, a couple lived in the daylight basement apartment of the wife's parents' home. It was a lovely arrangement in every way. The husband was a full time student and also worked hard at a restaurant, so his life was extremely busy. One day, his wife was feeding their 9-month-old baby, preparing to go "mall walking" with her mom because the February snow prevented them from walking outside. The husband, who had lots of homework, said, "I'm going to wait to do my homework until you and Baby leave, so it will be quiet and I won't be distracted." The wife thought this was an excellent idea.
When it came time for her to leave, the wife said, "Okay, we're leaving. You're going to do your homework, right?"
"Right!" said the husband.
Her mom, upstairs also preparing to leave, questioned her 12-year-old son (the wife's little brother): "You're going to practice the piano while I'm gone, right?"
"Right!" said the son.
As the wife, her baby, and her mom loaded into the car, the wife remembered that she left her phone in the house. "I'd better go get it," she said, "just in case my husband needs me for something."
She ran back into the house and quickly went downstairs to find her phone. "I'm just here getting my phone," she explained, thinking her husband would be there studying. He wasn't. "Is he in the bathroom?" she wondered. Nope. Not there either. Hmmm.
Baffled, she headed back upstairs, where she found her little brother lying on the couch, attempting to act all nonchalant but not really succeeding and certainly not practicing the piano. Still confused, she looked around. It took a beat or two, but finally saw it---a still, human form hidden under a blanket in the rocking chair, covered head to toe.
"Really?" she said. "Really???"
Busted, the husband poked his head out from under the blanket with a sheepish smile.
And the husband, along with the little brother, lived happily ever after playing video-games and avoiding homework and the piano.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Montana Memories
This evening, as I was unloading the dishwasher, I picked up a tall red mug with white circles. On the bottom of the mug, in black, were four numbers: "2007." I cradled the mug in my hands for just a second.
Montana memories.
When we left Billings 18 months ago, we left many friends behind, but with us we took endless memories. We never intended to stay there indefinitely; always, we knew one day we would leave, move on, continue our lives in a different and (hopefully) larger city. Always we knew this. So it wasn't sad when we left; it was the opposite really. It was exactly what we wanted. My heart was in Utah long before we actually moved here, like a good two years before. Moreover, it took a good two years of plotting and planning to make a relocation of this magnitude a reality. After a year and a half here in the Salt Lake Valley, I'm certain it was the right decision. We are happy here. Very.
Still, there are times, like this past week, when the memories of Montana are right close. The red mug was an enrichment project from way back in 2007, when I served as president of the Metra Ward Relief Society. Celeste would come up with these ridiculous craft ideas, in this case ceramics. Seriously, can you visualize me trying to do ceramics?! It was a disaster waiting to happen. As always, though, either she or Lisa jumped in to rescue me by doing the project for me. And now I have this lovely mug as a forever keepsake. Who else still has her mug? Celeste? Lindsey? Lisa? Teresa? Kim? Mandy, were you even in the ward yet? I'm thinking maybe not. For a long time I kept the mug on the very top shelf of my kitchen cupboard, so it would remain safe [read: unused.] Why is it down and in use today? Probably because our dog, Kitty, has chewed up every single cup we used to own, so now we're forced to drink out of coffee mugs. I might need to take this particular one out of circulation, however. I'd be so sad if anything happened to it.
Montana memories.
Just yesterday on Facebook, someone posted a report of the 100 best places to raise children. Portland, where I was raised, was 74th. Seattle was 54th. Salt Lake City didn't make the list. Guest what city came in third? Billings, Montana! Isaiah and Eli basically grew up in Billings; they were 13 and 11, respectively, when we moved there. It was a good place.
I suppose another event that evoked this sappy display of nostalgia was that Gerald and I were asked to substitute teach our ward's Gospel Doctrine class last Sunday. Isn't it weird how such a simple thing can take us right back to an earlier time? We had only one night's notice, but as we discussed the lesson that night and the following morning before church, I might as well have been right back in Billings. As we taught the lesson, all those crazy good feelings from the time we shared that calling washed over me with vengeance. I was so there. Over a year has passed. We have different callings in our ward here; Gerald is a Ward Missionary, and I am part of the Relief Society Presidency. But for those 40 minutes last Sunday, we were Gospel Doctrine teachers once again, and oooh baby was it ever fun!
Montana memories.
Montana memories.
When we left Billings 18 months ago, we left many friends behind, but with us we took endless memories. We never intended to stay there indefinitely; always, we knew one day we would leave, move on, continue our lives in a different and (hopefully) larger city. Always we knew this. So it wasn't sad when we left; it was the opposite really. It was exactly what we wanted. My heart was in Utah long before we actually moved here, like a good two years before. Moreover, it took a good two years of plotting and planning to make a relocation of this magnitude a reality. After a year and a half here in the Salt Lake Valley, I'm certain it was the right decision. We are happy here. Very.
Still, there are times, like this past week, when the memories of Montana are right close. The red mug was an enrichment project from way back in 2007, when I served as president of the Metra Ward Relief Society. Celeste would come up with these ridiculous craft ideas, in this case ceramics. Seriously, can you visualize me trying to do ceramics?! It was a disaster waiting to happen. As always, though, either she or Lisa jumped in to rescue me by doing the project for me. And now I have this lovely mug as a forever keepsake. Who else still has her mug? Celeste? Lindsey? Lisa? Teresa? Kim? Mandy, were you even in the ward yet? I'm thinking maybe not. For a long time I kept the mug on the very top shelf of my kitchen cupboard, so it would remain safe [read: unused.] Why is it down and in use today? Probably because our dog, Kitty, has chewed up every single cup we used to own, so now we're forced to drink out of coffee mugs. I might need to take this particular one out of circulation, however. I'd be so sad if anything happened to it.
Montana memories.
Just yesterday on Facebook, someone posted a report of the 100 best places to raise children. Portland, where I was raised, was 74th. Seattle was 54th. Salt Lake City didn't make the list. Guest what city came in third? Billings, Montana! Isaiah and Eli basically grew up in Billings; they were 13 and 11, respectively, when we moved there. It was a good place.
I suppose another event that evoked this sappy display of nostalgia was that Gerald and I were asked to substitute teach our ward's Gospel Doctrine class last Sunday. Isn't it weird how such a simple thing can take us right back to an earlier time? We had only one night's notice, but as we discussed the lesson that night and the following morning before church, I might as well have been right back in Billings. As we taught the lesson, all those crazy good feelings from the time we shared that calling washed over me with vengeance. I was so there. Over a year has passed. We have different callings in our ward here; Gerald is a Ward Missionary, and I am part of the Relief Society Presidency. But for those 40 minutes last Sunday, we were Gospel Doctrine teachers once again, and oooh baby was it ever fun!
Montana memories.
Monday, February 11, 2013
10,000 Page Views - Woo hoo!
My last post brought my total page views up over the 10,000 mark. Now I know that really isn't very many, especially since it's taken me nearly four years to get there. Gerald most likely gets that many views or more every single day for his About.com website. Still, for me and my little blog, 10,000 seems like a lot, and I was excited to see that number. Not that it's accurate necessarily; it isn't. How do I know? Because the statistics change all the time, and sometimes they decrease! For example, I'll check one day, and my page views for a particular post will be, say, 68. Then I'll check the following day, and the views for that very same post will be 62. How can they go down? It makes no sense. So no, this number is not accurate; however, I'm gonna take it. I'm gonna celebrate my 10,000 views regardless.
How will I celebrate? Hmmm. Maybe by musing over what this blog has meant to me since its inception way back on April 4th of 2009. I started the blog for a couple of reasons. First, I've always struggled to follow the age-old counsel from our church leaders to record a journal and write our personal histories. I'm simply not a journal writer. I can't imagine writing each day if I have nothing to say. I am more what you could call an essayist. I like to write around themes. Second, writing is therapy for me, and it's way cheaper than either a psychiatrist or a trip to the mall. It's also way more fun than a psychiatrist and, no, not as fun as a shopping trip, but as I said, considerably cheaper. Writing does, indeed, reduce my crappy anxiety. Sometimes, if I'm feeling super stressed, just opening a new window for a blog post helps calm my fears. As I write, I can feel the tension escaping, little by little, as I put the sentences and paragraphs together. By the time I finish, sometimes I can even relax enough to sleep!
I had no idea, though, all the other ways this blog would benefit and improve my life. That is mostly because I had no idea how many people would read it. I thought my immediate family might read it, some of them anyway. I knew Gerald and Shulamith would read it; I didn't know whether my sons would. I thought maybe my brother would check it out. And maybe Lindsey and Celeste. Possibly Mandy. Perhaps, at the very outside, Patty and Lorrie. I really didn't think it would go any further than that. Instead, though, the blog has attracted a much larger audience. Some who read it are folks I know well; others are people I know only as casual acquaintances; still others are those I honestly do not know at all. It's crazy. Most do not comment, either onto the blog itself or on Facebook, so I'm continually surprised when someone says, "Hey, I loved that post about __________." Really? You read it? Thanks!
No, I had no idea back in April of 2009 that I'd ever, in my entire lifetime, reach 10,000 page views. Not in my wildest dreams. More importantly, though, the blog has for sure fulfilled its original purposes. Each year, I assemble all the posts for that year into a hardcover book to keep for posterity. Maybe it's not exactly what the brethren intended when they asked us to keep a written record of our lives, but I think it works. And the blog has absolutely saved me from some pretty severe anxiety attacks or at least served to lessen the symptoms.
So let me take this opportunity to say "thank you" to everyone who reads it. Thank you for allowing me to share a little bit of my world with you, crazy and unorthodox as it may be: The things that make me happy, the things that make me sad, the things that make me passionate, the things that make me laugh, the things that make me mad, the things that make me nostalgic, the things that make me jubilant, the things that make me grateful, and all the other things that simply make me, me. Thank you.
10,000 page views - Woo hoo!
How will I celebrate? Hmmm. Maybe by musing over what this blog has meant to me since its inception way back on April 4th of 2009. I started the blog for a couple of reasons. First, I've always struggled to follow the age-old counsel from our church leaders to record a journal and write our personal histories. I'm simply not a journal writer. I can't imagine writing each day if I have nothing to say. I am more what you could call an essayist. I like to write around themes. Second, writing is therapy for me, and it's way cheaper than either a psychiatrist or a trip to the mall. It's also way more fun than a psychiatrist and, no, not as fun as a shopping trip, but as I said, considerably cheaper. Writing does, indeed, reduce my crappy anxiety. Sometimes, if I'm feeling super stressed, just opening a new window for a blog post helps calm my fears. As I write, I can feel the tension escaping, little by little, as I put the sentences and paragraphs together. By the time I finish, sometimes I can even relax enough to sleep!
I had no idea, though, all the other ways this blog would benefit and improve my life. That is mostly because I had no idea how many people would read it. I thought my immediate family might read it, some of them anyway. I knew Gerald and Shulamith would read it; I didn't know whether my sons would. I thought maybe my brother would check it out. And maybe Lindsey and Celeste. Possibly Mandy. Perhaps, at the very outside, Patty and Lorrie. I really didn't think it would go any further than that. Instead, though, the blog has attracted a much larger audience. Some who read it are folks I know well; others are people I know only as casual acquaintances; still others are those I honestly do not know at all. It's crazy. Most do not comment, either onto the blog itself or on Facebook, so I'm continually surprised when someone says, "Hey, I loved that post about __________." Really? You read it? Thanks!
No, I had no idea back in April of 2009 that I'd ever, in my entire lifetime, reach 10,000 page views. Not in my wildest dreams. More importantly, though, the blog has for sure fulfilled its original purposes. Each year, I assemble all the posts for that year into a hardcover book to keep for posterity. Maybe it's not exactly what the brethren intended when they asked us to keep a written record of our lives, but I think it works. And the blog has absolutely saved me from some pretty severe anxiety attacks or at least served to lessen the symptoms.
So let me take this opportunity to say "thank you" to everyone who reads it. Thank you for allowing me to share a little bit of my world with you, crazy and unorthodox as it may be: The things that make me happy, the things that make me sad, the things that make me passionate, the things that make me laugh, the things that make me mad, the things that make me nostalgic, the things that make me jubilant, the things that make me grateful, and all the other things that simply make me, me. Thank you.
10,000 page views - Woo hoo!
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Irony
Several years ago (like maybe 12?), Isaiah was playing on a kids' soccer team. Let's be clear. For the most part, in our family, we don't raise athletes. Eli loved sports and played on many different teams through the years. He was pretty average in ability, and he had fun. But a star athlete he would never be. Shulamith played softball, soccer, and basketball as a kid, and was very much like Eli. The other three boys fared less well. They are gifted in so many areas, primarily academic, but oh how they struggle with physical activities.
Which brings us back to Isaiah. By the time he was 8 or 9, the "everyone gets to play equally" rule was long in the past. Winning was now the single goal, and Isaiah spent nearly all his time sitting on the bench. I hated watching that. On the other hand, I also trembled inside on those rare occasions that he was put in the game, knowing he wouldn't play well, and people would be unkind. Motherhood is not for wimps. Eventually, the time would come when he would decide soccer was not for him, but sometime before then, he made perhaps his most ironic and hilarious comment, one I will never forget. In his childhood attempt to make a sense of a world in which certain things (all sports) were so terribly difficult while other things (reading, writing, math, computers, everything related to school) were so easy, he declared:
"I'm actually a pretty good soccer player. I'm just not good at scoring goals."
And why did I think of this recently? Because of other ironic statements that have circulated our home, ones that make me laugh out loud. Yes, today I can laugh at Isaiah's statement. Today I can laugh because he has grown into an amazing, confident, caring, and extremely intelligent young man. And the fact that he wasn't good at sports as a kid and probably never will be makes no difference whatsoever. Back then, I didn't laugh. Back then, I'd have given anything to make him the star soccer player. Just once. Back then, the mom in me, who so desperately yearned for his success because he wanted it so badly, couldn't laugh.
So the other day, Gerald pronounced with the determination the only he can muster:
"I'm really good at looking for things. I'm just not good at finding them."
Irony. Isn't it great? Gerald spends copious amounts of time searching for things and sometimes actually finds them, but not usually, and it takes a really long time.
At that, Shulamith chimed in with this brilliant piece of information:
"Mom is really good at dieting. She's just not good at losing weight."
True that. I've been fighting the same final five pounds, the absence of which would give me the body of my dreams (at least I'm pretty sure it would), for as long as I can remember. I will not give up. I will master this. These five stupid pounds will not defeat me.
So that is my contribution to the world today, three statements of irony from my wonderful family. I hope they give you reason to smile.
Which brings us back to Isaiah. By the time he was 8 or 9, the "everyone gets to play equally" rule was long in the past. Winning was now the single goal, and Isaiah spent nearly all his time sitting on the bench. I hated watching that. On the other hand, I also trembled inside on those rare occasions that he was put in the game, knowing he wouldn't play well, and people would be unkind. Motherhood is not for wimps. Eventually, the time would come when he would decide soccer was not for him, but sometime before then, he made perhaps his most ironic and hilarious comment, one I will never forget. In his childhood attempt to make a sense of a world in which certain things (all sports) were so terribly difficult while other things (reading, writing, math, computers, everything related to school) were so easy, he declared:
"I'm actually a pretty good soccer player. I'm just not good at scoring goals."
And why did I think of this recently? Because of other ironic statements that have circulated our home, ones that make me laugh out loud. Yes, today I can laugh at Isaiah's statement. Today I can laugh because he has grown into an amazing, confident, caring, and extremely intelligent young man. And the fact that he wasn't good at sports as a kid and probably never will be makes no difference whatsoever. Back then, I didn't laugh. Back then, I'd have given anything to make him the star soccer player. Just once. Back then, the mom in me, who so desperately yearned for his success because he wanted it so badly, couldn't laugh.
So the other day, Gerald pronounced with the determination the only he can muster:
"I'm really good at looking for things. I'm just not good at finding them."
Irony. Isn't it great? Gerald spends copious amounts of time searching for things and sometimes actually finds them, but not usually, and it takes a really long time.
At that, Shulamith chimed in with this brilliant piece of information:
"Mom is really good at dieting. She's just not good at losing weight."
True that. I've been fighting the same final five pounds, the absence of which would give me the body of my dreams (at least I'm pretty sure it would), for as long as I can remember. I will not give up. I will master this. These five stupid pounds will not defeat me.
So that is my contribution to the world today, three statements of irony from my wonderful family. I hope they give you reason to smile.
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