When it's too cold to camp...

The plan was camping. Eli and Amanda received lots of nice camping equipment as wedding gifts over a year ago, so they asked us to go camping with them. We were totally down to do just that, when Gerald sent us the weather forecast for the area: overnight low temperature of down near 30 degrees. Yikes! No, thank you. Call me a wimp, but no, I can't stay warm when it's that cold. And when I'm not warm, let's just say I'm not a happy camper.

So when it's too cold to camp, you do other things.

When it's too cold to camp, you go hiking. It's a thing in Utah to put big letters up on mountains to represent colleges and cities. Like in Provo, there's this big "Y" on the mountain to represent BYU. Well, this tradition has evidently made its way up to Idaho, and near Rexburg is "R" Mountain. So yesterday, Gerald and Eli and I decided to hike up to the top. It was a fairly short hike, but steep! Going up wasn't bad, but coming down I was sure I was gonna slip and tumble all the way to my death at the bottom! Fortunately, that didn't happen, but [note to self] I really need better hiking shoes for a trail that steep. It was super pretty at the top, though. Here are some pictures on our way up:

When it's too cold to camp, you become a cat person. To clarify, I am a dog person. Through and through. I have loved dogs ever since I can remember, but cats....ah, not so much. Both my mother and my daughter are highly allergic to the feline species, so I've never had the opportunity to really get to know a cat, until now. Eli and Amanda have this cat named Ramsay, and you have to admit, he's pretty adorable.

That said, he was determined not to allow me to get ready for my day Sunday morning. When I tried to brush my teeth, he jumped into the bathroom sink. Even after I took him out, he stuck his entire head under the running water. And when I tried to take a shower, this:

And finally, when I tried to tie my shoes, he pawed the laces untied over and over.

When it's too cold to camp, you go to Jackson Hole. Just across the border into Wyoming is this quaint little ski town called Jackson, and on a whim, we decided to go there Saturday night. It turned out to be such a good idea, such a relaxing way to spend the evening. It reminded me a little of Red Lodge, Montana, with the little shops and the big candy store. Here we are at the classic arch:

When it's too cold to camp, you once again discover how caring your children are, and you are humbled by their service. One shop at Jackson Hole is a gallery with stunningly beautiful photographs, all by the same photographer, Thomas D. Mangelsen . But here's the thing; almost all of his photos are of wild animals--three floors of gorillas, grizzly bears, moose, birds, and you see where this is heading. The further into the gallery we went, the more uneasy I became that around the next corner would be one of those long animals with no arms or legs. But just as I became nervous enough that I could no longer enjoy the beautiful art, Eli was all over it. He went ahead of me and scoped out the entire gallery in order to reassure me that there was no cause for worry. Anticipating others' needs and caring enough to meet them is an incredible spiritual gift that my sweet Eli was blessed with.

When it's too cold to camp, you eat delicious food. We had a couple excellent meals in Rexburg. Saturday night we ate at a new restaurant called Fresco. It has a stark, modern decor and specializes in flat bread pizza, which was super yummy. Then this morning, we went to Eli's workplace, Winger's, and enjoyed a huge, delicious breakfast.

When it's too cold to camp, you watch movies and eat the best chocolate chip cookies in the universe. I'm not even kidding. Of course, I've never made a good cookie in my life, so this whole cookie-making deal eludes me, but Amanda can make these perfect cookies, light and fluffy, soft and chewy. Mmmmmmm.

Dear Eli and Amanda: We will go camping one day. I promise. It just needs to warm up a little. Meanwhile, thank you for a delightful weekend with two of our favorite people, doing all sorts of fun things that you can do when it's too cold to camp.

Free-range parenting for the win!

Last month I wrote a blog post about non-punitive parenting, which elicited a rather large response. Here it is, if you missed it and would like to read it. Lots of people asked me for more specifics. One reader said, "I'd like to have a picture of how this actually works." I wasn't sure how to proceed (and I'm still not entirely sure) because there are so many different "specifics," so many situations I could discuss. For now, I've decided to write about parenting issues as they come up day to day and others from the past that come to mind.

My parenting style is sometimes referred to as "Free-range parenting." That makes me laugh. It sounds like I'm parenting chickens! Still, when I read the definition of free-range parenting, it fits. Its overriding philosophy to encourage children to function independently with as little parental supervision as possible (guided by ages and capabilities), to understand and celebrate age-appropriate behavior, and to guide rather than punish, is all spot on with what I believe. Of course when we began to raise children three decades ago, this totally wasn't a thing. It didn't have a name. "Free-range parenting." Huh. Who'd have thought?

So here are a couple separate but related recent examples with our 16-year-old son, Seth. He is finishing up his junior year, and like most kids this age, facing the reality and uncertainty of life after high school. Up till now, he could always tell you exactly what he would be doing next. After first grade, he would go to second. After middle school, high school. But now the future looks far less determined. So many options. So many decisions. So much uncertainty.

It's scary. I still remember that time. Everyone asks you what you're doing after you graduate as though you should have some master plan, the entire plot of your life story, the next 70 years all set up. All this when you're only 16 or 17! Seth is still a junior, but I could tell these feelings were beginning to haunt him, both because he told me so and because I could see it in his stress level.

Free-range mom into action. I decided to make him a spreadsheet of sorts, outlining what I see as his principal post-high school options and the pros and cons of each. My goal was complete neutrality. None of these options is bad; all are worthy of consideration. Did I have a personal favorite?  Yes. Of course. I always think I know best what my kids should do. And had he asked for my opinion, I would have gladly offered it. He didn't.

But he was super thankful for the outline I made. "When did you have time to write all this?" he asked. "While I was watching the Jazz lose a playoff game and needed a distraction."

He didn't respond to the list for over a week. I wasn't even really expecting a response; Seth is a quiet kid, introspective. He needed some help organizing his options in a way he could make sense of them. I sensed that need and met it best I could. End of story.

In the middle of all this, he was also signing up for classes to create his schedule for his senior year. Like most kids, by this point, he barely needs any specific classes in order to graduate. I think all he needs to take next year is U.S. Government and English. Once again, this brings lots of uncertainty with so many slots to fill.

He had decided to do concurrent enrollment for both English and math. That means taking those two classes through Salt Lake Community College, though physically at his high school, and earning both high school and college credit simultaneously. This is a similar, though less intensive, program to what Luke did. Luke actually attended Skagit Valley College both his junior and senior years of high school and graduated from Skagit with his associate's (transfer) degree about a week prior to his high school graduation. For Seth, it would be just these two classes.

I was thrilled with this decision; what's not to like about free college credit? However, when he was online selecting classes, teachers, and time slots, he was also messaging his friends, none of whom were taking concurrent enrollment classes. And that was apparently a deal breaker. "Mom, I've decided not to take SLCC classes next year. None of my friends are in those classes, and I want to have a fun senior year."

Free-range mom, free-range mom, free-range mom. Come on, Terrianne, you can do this!

"Really? Okay. Whatever you think is best."

And honestly, that wasn't a lie. Would I prefer that he do the two classes for college credit? Sure. Do I think it's a travesty if he doesn't? Nope. He'll still graduate. He'll still be accepted to the college of his choice. He'll just enter, like most kids, without any prior credit.

Then this happened.

If you read the post I referred to above, you'll remember that one of my favorite lines, ever, from scripture is "And he came to himself" (Luke 15:17). Free-range parenting allows kids the opportunity to come to themselves, independently, without compulsion. And that's exactly what happened here.

Shulamith and I were out somewhere, and it occurred to me that I hadn't heard from Seth, and it was long past when he should be home. I texted him, and he said he stayed late for an appointment with his school counselor to make some schedule changes for next year. It was too much to text, he said, but he would tell me about it when I got home.

We came home to find Seth in a crazy good mood. It was like all his anxiety about classes, etc. was gone. He told me that he had thought more about it, and realized it was a dumb idea to drop his concurrent enrollment classes just because his friends weren't taking them. So he made an appointment with his counselor to see if she could help him revise. It wasn't easy because these college classes fill fast, but she was able to get him back into both English and math. All his other classes are exactly the way he wants them, and yes, many of them do include his friends.

Then, somehow the conversation switched over to post-high school plans. Seth said he hasn't decided for sure about a college, but that he intends to submit his mission papers in order to be available immediately following high school graduation.

[inaudible gasp] Free-range mom, free-range mom. You've totally got this. Ahhhhh!

"Really? Wow, so you've decided not to do any college prior to mission?"

"Nope. I don't want to split up college. I want to go straight through once I start. So I'll get my mission done first."

Now you dear readers may be wondering if this was my first choice of all the options I outlined for Seth. No. It wasn't. In my mind, I had decided that because he is so young (He'll turn 18 two weeks after his high school graduation), it might be best to go up to Rexburg for a semester first. Ease into being on his own with Eli nearby, while he can still text, call, and come home to visit whenever he wants. Get some life experience before submitting mission papers.

Or could it be that I just wasn't ready to let him go? That I couldn't stand the thought of my baby leaving in just over a year? That the idea of an empty nest is positively terrifyingly? Maybe it was all about me, all along, rather than about Seth.

I'm not sure. All I know is that when he told me his plan, my heart was full, full of pride for his decision to serve a mission, and full of anxiety for the proposed timetable, and full of gratitude for the friends who will get me through this if it really comes to pass next year (Hello Shulamith, Lindsey, and Jay). Jay, you might need to consider moving here; Billings is too far away for the amount of therapy I will be needing.

Free-range parenting for the win!

All that Jazz

Just over a week ago marked the final game of the post-season playoffs for the Utah Jazz. How would I know this, you might ask, being the non-sports person that I am? Let me try to explain. Nope, I don't like sports. I've often remarked that I only watch sports when my kids are playing, and then only when they're actually playing. I remember sitting outside at cold, rainy soccer games, trying to grade papers and saying to Gerald, "Tell me when he's in. I don't have time to watch other people's children play sports today." And professional sports where I don't even know the players? No thank you.

Until this year, that is.

This NBA post-season kind of changed everything, and it's all Isaiah's fault. Isaiah has followed the Jazz and has been (Is "obsessed" too strong a word?) with the NBA for years, probably since he first moved to Utah for college in 2009. He knows all the players on all the teams and their histories, their statistics, etc. He knows most of the coaches. He's like a walking NBA encyclopedia.

I've never paid much attention, but something changed this year when the Utah Jazz made it into the playoffs as the 5th seeded team in the West. To say Isaiah was thrilled is an understatement. I began to watch with him when he was home because I'll do just about anything to be with my kids (Ask me why I ever started watching The Bachelor.) The first game they won was on Isaiah's birthday, the only birthday present he wanted. By their second game, he was working in Las Vegas and only got to see the final two minutes. At that time, I wanted the Jazz to win for one reason only, because it would make Isaiah happy. I am happy when my kids are happy.

They lost that game. Then they came home to Utah and lost their first game here. It didn't look good. By this point, I was invested in their success, just for myself,  beyond wanting Isaiah to be happy. How did this happen? No idea. The more I watched, the more I grew interested in the players, the coach, their stories.

During Game 4, Isaiah was still in Vegas, and I was at the airport after meeting Eli and Amanda to give them back their car, which I kept while they were in California. I couldn't watch the game, and my phone was dead. Ugh! A nice guy at the airport offered me use of his iPhone charger, so I quickly plugged in my phone and checked the score. We were ahead, but barely. When Gerald picked me up, we accessed the game on the radio, where we heard the Jazz squeak out a win, tying the series, 2-2. Yahoo!

Games 5 and 6 were both so very close. In the end, the Jazz won #5 and lost #6, leaving the series tied 3-3. Isaiah and Seth attended Game #6 at the Energy Solutions downtown, and Isaiah had to watch his team lose for the first time live. It had already been a crappy day for him, and this was the icing on the proverbial cake. Game 7 would be in Los Angeles, giving the Clippers the home court advantage in the final game. At some point during Game 6, my brother texted me, "I hope they can pull this off. I don't like their chances in L.A."

Lots of people thought it was over, but Coach Quin Snyder said not to worry, that they could win that last game in L.A., and I believed him. He's smart, much smarter than I am. Game 7 fell on Shulamith's birthday, and we all gathered around the T.V. to watch the Jazz win a playoff series for the first time in over a decade. Can you believe this? The Erichsen-Websters that excited over a basketball game (well, Shulamith, Isaiah, Seth and I, that is). Gerald might have been in the bedroom working, but he did come out for the final few minutes to watch them take it.

Isaiah couldn't even sit down for the fourth quarter; he paced around the living room. It was intense. We were so happy to see them win and so proud of them. The second series against Golden State resulted in a clean sweep for the Warriors, which we sort of expected. It was hard to see them lose, but really, they did so well this entire season that we can only say: "Take Note!"

How do you ruin a perfectly good milkshake?

Las Vegas.

You only need to breathe the words, and some sort of response follows. For many, it's negative. Lots of people really don't like Vegas for a number of valid reasons. I often remark that we are the most unlikely Vegas tourists ever; we neither drink nor gamble, so as Amanda asked me yesterday, "What do you guys even do there?"

I think I enjoy Las Vegas for two reasons: (1) nostalgia and (2) variety. I've been there many times through the years, so my memories literally span decades. When I was a kid, I went to Vegas for dance competitions. Then when Shulamith was a kid, she and I went there for her dance competitions. I've been there with Gerald for his work events, and more recently Shulmith and I have done two girls' Vegas weekends. Lots of fun memories! Also, the city offers such a dramatic change from everything that is my regular world. It's sort of like going to another universe, and for whatever reason, I like that.

This past week, Gerald and I added to my Vegas memories. We flew down early Tuesday morning and returned Thursday night. I thought I was booking a reasonable flight time of 8:30, but I didn't figure in the Trax commute to the airport or the recommendation to arrive 90 minutes early. Just to be clear, my body does not enjoy waking up before 7:30 a.m., so it resisted mightily when my alarm sounded at 5:30. Noooooo!

It was a relaxing couple of days, but I came away with some questions:

1. What is the deal with Pepsi products only, almost everywhere?
Seriously. Practically everywhere, including the Monte Carlo Hotel where we stayed, offered only Pepsi. Ugh! What are these people thinking? My only salvation was the beautiful Coca-Cola store located directly across the street. Ask Gerald how many trips he made there over the course of three days.

2. Why is alcohol okay but Diet Coke not? And would you like to sign up for my Business Writing class this semester, Mean Bus Driver?
So Gerald bought us 3-day passes on the Deuce bus line, which was the best purchase ever. These double-decker buses run up and down the strip every 15 minutes, 24 hours a day. We rode them everywhere, and they were extremely convenient. However! On one of our many rides, we were next to this group of six people, who were noticeably intoxicated. It was only about 10:00 a.m., and all of them carried these big, long, tube-style containers filled with their alcoholic beverage of choice. They were loud and annoying, but hey, we were in Vegas, so yeah, this didn't really bother me until later in the day.

We stopped by my favorite Coca-Cola store, and I got a delicious, 32-ounce fountain Diet Coke on ice, and we headed for the bus stop. The bus arrived momentarily, but as we tried to board, the mean driver yelled at me, "No drinks on the bus!" Really? Only a couple hours before, six drunk passengers carried big containers of alcohol, but I can't quietly sip my Diet Coke? Rude. Also, Mean Bus Diver, have you ever heard of you-attitude and positive emphasis? I'm guessing not. May I recommend my ENG 220 Business Writing class this upcoming semester? We have spaces open in both online sections. As a preview, let me show you how to improve your tone for decent you-attitude: "In order to keep the buses clean for all customers, please enjoy your beverage before boarding the bus."

3. Why is so much of life, and death, a lesson in sad irony?
We struggled to decide what show to see. My favorite is always Celine Dion, but I saw her five years ago with Shulamith, and I decided to wait for Shulamith to see her again. We wound up choosing a tribute show called Legends, with performance tributes to now-deceased superstars Marilyn Monroe, Janis Joplin, Michael Jackson, and of course, Elvis. Each performer did an excellent job impersonating his or her "legend," and the show was entertaining from start to finish.

The show was at the Flamingo Hotel, the same venue as the Donny & Marie Show. That got me thinking about two famous families. Both Donny Osmond and Michael Jackson were child stars in the late 60s and early 70s. They were friends even, as they navigated the path of stardom at such young ages. Now, nearly a half century later, someone is pretending to be Michael Jackson on the same stage that, only a few hours later, the real Donny Osmond would perform. All four "legends" in the show we saw left us far too early, the result of issues with drugs and/or alcohol. So much talent gone so prematurely.

4. What makes a perfect crepe?
Well, first, pronouncing it correctly, with a short /e/, not a long /a/. Second, adding fresh raspberries and lemon curd with fluffy whipped cream. It was so delicious that we went to the same little restaurant in the New York, New York Hotel both mornings.

5. Isaiah! Why didn't you tell me about the mostly-naked people here?
Isaiah spends multiple weeks each year in Las Vegas for his job. Every time he goes, he comes home and tells me I need to go to Fremont Street and something called the "Fremont Street Experience." What he failed to mention is that on this particular street, people don't think they need to wear clothes. Or very few. I have to admit, it was a fun place to visit (remember how I like the "other universe"?), but come on, Isaiah, you might have mentioned this one detail.

6. How do you ruin a perfectly good milkshake?
Infuse it with alcohol. Nope, I'm not kidding. Outside our hotel was a little ice cream shop called "The Creamery." Instead of dinner one night, we got giant waffle cones filled with rich ice cream and (in my case) crumbled Heath bar on top. Also on the menu was a whole list of alcohol-infused milkshakes. Not much surprises me, but alcohol in a milkshake? Why?

And finally, here I am on Fremont Street, with no naked people in the background. Fortunately.