2021 Faves

A few days ago, Gerald posted on FB his favorites of 2021 in several categories. I decided that was a decent way to blog the conclusion of the year. I'll begin now, as I sit in our Airbnb in St. George this New Year's Eve. 

Favorite vacation: Cartagena, Colombia, where Gerald, Isaiah, and I spent a week in August. I was apprehensive as my prior travels in Latin America have been challenging, but Colombia was wonderful. Here's the link if you'd like to know more.

Favorite book: This is a hard choice because I read many lovely books this year, but I think Anxious People gets the nod. It's hilariously quirky and filled with delightful, relatable characters and a crazy plot that weaves itself perfectly through their lives. The unexpected twist near the end adds the proverbial icing on the cake.

Favorite movie: This is easier because I didn't see many movies. Not to focus on this stupid virus, but yeah, it seriously damaged both movie-making and movie-viewing this year. I did enjoy Dear Evan Hansen, a musical drama about a teenage boy with social anxiety, who suddenly finds himself the center of attention at his high school because of a letter that falls into the wrong hands. 

Favorite live theatre production: Les Miserables at Hale Center Theatre. Grateful to Eli and Amanda for accompanying me to see my favorite musical of all time performed so beautifully. Hale does not disappoint.

Favorite meal: I wish I could remember the name of the restaurant, but it was our fanciest meal in Cartagena. On a warm evening just after sunset, we sat at an outside table with white linens and dined by candlelight. I don't remember what Gerald and Isaiah ate, but I feasted on delicious codfish smothered in rich crab sauce, with coconut rice, a staple in Colombia and so, so good.

Favorite luxury: A professional massage, a birthday gift from my family. I don't get massages nearly often enough, which is probably what makes them so enjoyable when I do.

Favorite day: October 29th, attending the birth of Eli and Amanda's firstborn child. Probably enough said, but if you'd like to read more about this, here's the link. 

Favorite podcast: "In the Dark, Season 2," which investigates the case of Curtis Flowers, a Black man from Winona, Mississippi, who was tried six times for the same crime. I was shocked by the egregious behavior of the District Attorney and saddened by the blatant racism that defined this case. Highly recommend.

Favorite TV show: This is the only category on which I'll concur with Gerald's choice. Other than the grammatical error in its title, This is Us remains strong as the best TV drama around. I wonder if that's why the upcoming season will be the finale; they want to quit while they're ahead. Rumors are we'll get to witness Rebecca and Jack's wedding. I hope so!

Favorite blog post: No, it's not the post that got the most page views, but I think my favorite post of 2021 is "What is Labor Day," my personal take on this often undervalued holiday. Check it out if you missed it the first time.

Favorite Crumbl cookie: Pecan pie: shortbread crust, ooey gooey filling, covered in pecans!

Favorite new product: Jojoba oil. Truly the best stuff I've ever put on my face. Mmmmmm, you should probably stop what you're doing right now (even if it's reading my blog) and order this stuff.

Favorite medical moment: As most of you know, I avoid doctors like the plague. My dumb anxiety disorder triggers the worst response whenever I'm forced to deal with anything medical. But what if there's an actual plague? Yep, that changes everything. My favorite medical moment of 2021 was standing in line in a large high school gymnasium with hundreds of other teachers, all waiting to receive the first dose of the COVID vaccine. We felt such hope. Thank you, science! Thank you, scientists! 

Favorite party: My annual Christmas cookie exchange. After zooming it in 2020, we were all so grateful to be together again. Some friendships come and go; others last. These dear ones are forever, and they are the coolest. I love them.

Happy New Year, everyone. Wishing you a year of favorites! 

--Terrianne

Christmas 2021: The Good, the Bad, and the Beautiful

It's 8:44 a.m., Tuesday, December 28 2021. I sit in my bed, sipping Diet Coke from my brand new Stanley Cup (thanks, Shulamith and Seth), eating apple pie, cream puffs, and a gingerbread cookie, while watching an episode of 911. This is only a slight shift from my normal morning routine, which includes a walk first thing and no food until noon (intermittent fasting). 

It's the day after Christmas, and every mom deserves a break the day after Christmas; am I right? So rather than restoring order to my post-Christmas disaster house, I'll happily continue my self-indulgence by telling you the story of Christmas 2021: the Good, the Bad, and the Beautiful:

The Good.

1. A finished basement, allowing us all enough room to sleep downstairs overnight on Christmas Eve. (Last year, we had to cram all of us into our bedroom upstairs, lined up wall to wall on air mattresses in sleeping bags.) This was a definite improvement. 

2. Matching Christmas pajamas. Years ago when this tradition began, only Shulamith and I participated. We'd buy each other matching pajamas for Christmas Eve, and they weren't even Christmas themed. In recent years, the tradition has grown into a family affair, with everyone participating except Isaiah and Shulamith's husband, Matt. Isaiah hates matching Christmas pajamas. No, really. The words "creepy" and "cultish" may have been spoken, but this item still belongs on the "good" list, because Isaiah is outvoted! Only because he loves me, did he agree to put on a black shirt and stand in the back for the picture. Mathew doesn't enjoy much of anything about Christmas, so no surprise he would opt out of pajamas. That said, he was kind enough to set up the timer on his phone to take the photo.

3. Spending December 25th with Eli and Amanda. On the years we need to move our Christmas to a different day in order to accommodate everyone's schedule, I usually stay home on the 25th and try to convince myself that it's not really Christmas and I can be perfectly happy relaxing alone, reading, and watching shows. However, there is always a tinge of melancholy, just a tinge, even though I know our joyous celebration is still to come... just not today. But this year, I was blessed to spend the 25the with Eli and Amanda, as they celebrated their first Christmas with their new baby. It was the loveliest! I spent most of the day snuggling a "Jane-in-a-gown," so Eli and Amanda could open their gifts to each other, along with ones they received from Amanda's relatives. Babies in gowns are my absolute favorite. My five wore them pretty much every day of their lives until they no longer fit in them. Thank you, Eli and Amanda, for inviting me; this could for real be my Dec. 25th tradition forever. 

4. Simple food. Years ago, after preparing a giant Christmas feast, Shulamith and I remarked to each other that "we are the only ones doing all the work, and we are exhausted, and it's not the way we want to spend Christmas." From that point on, we simplified. We eat yummy Chinese food from Fortune Cookie Christmas Eve. We have our trusted prep-the-day-before egg casserole for Christmas breakfast, then snack on copious amounts of cookies, candy, cream puffs, Hickory Farms treats (sent from my mom in Portland) throughout the day, followed by chicken pot pie and apple pie, both courtesy of Costco. This year we added some chocolate fondue at the very end, and all was perfection.

5. The blessings of a large family. In the early days, when I was crazy busy with five bickering children, debilitating anxiety, sleepless nights, so much to do and so little time for myself, I questioned my sanity. I still sometimes question my sanity, as we all do, but I am profoundly grateful we had our five incredible kids. It was worth any sacrifice we might have made to experience the love we felt yesterday. Only our oldest son and his daughter, who live in Maryland, were missing.

The Bad.

1. Waffles, trapped in his kennel all day. He actually loves his kennel, but he's usually only in it at night. I bought him a brand new bone to keep him happy and occupied and away from the Christmas chaos. 

2. Ruined surprises. There are 12 of us, and Shulamith and I handle all the details of selecting, ordering, purchasing, wrapping, and organizing gifts. We make lists. We check off items as we wrap them. We do all the things. And still, I always make at least one mistake. Sometimes it involves putting the wrong code on someone's gift. "Wait! No! That's not for you; that's for ___________." Gratefully, that didn't happen this year. Instead, I messed up and gave Mathew the tool for his Ooni backyard pizza oven before I gave him the actual oven. Oooops! I told him this was intended to build the suspense. I'm sure he believed me.

The Beautiful. 

1. This present. I know, I know, it's not about the presents. But you guys: just look at this glorious picture that will soon hang in the entryway of our home! It's called "Peace in Christ," and it's even more beautiful in person. Thank you Gerald, Shulamith, Eli, and Amanda, for this surprise. I am overwhelmed.

2. Eli, in animation. Our gift opening is a bit of a marathon. There are 12 of us, and we open presents one at a time, slowly, in order of age, youngest to oldest. It takes a minute. At one point, Shulamith was holding Jane, so Eli took over her picture-taking duty. He was taking tons of pics of Shulamith's kids, so I politely inquired, "Are you taking any pictures of MY kids, you know, for MY blog post?" So he took 14. They all look like this:

Beautiful for sure, but I wonder if he thinks he's an only child?

3. More pictures from our celebration yesterday:

Merry Christmas, everyone! Our love to all.

Violet and Jeannie for the win!

When I mentioned in this post that I sure wish someone had saved my past Christmas letters, I had zero expectation that anyone actually did. I mean why would others save my letters when I didn't even save them? That said, I am the least sentimental person alive. I hate clutter! Barely anything is more satisfying to me than filling a big bag with crap to get rid of. That's why these biannual curbside pickups were so gratifying, another thing I miss about living in Sandy. So far no curbside pickups here in the Bluffdale wilderness. 

I save almost nothing. I have one small, square file box, and in it, each of my kids has a single file folder. If they make something or give me something that fits in that file, awesome! If not, it can't be that important. The upside to this is my house is always neat and organized. The downside? Many times I throw stuff away that I actually need later. Important stuff. It might have looked like clutter a week ago, but now? Ugh! So yeah, as I lamented in the earlier post, I desperately wish I'd saved our Christmas letters through the years. 

So you can imagine my joy when I received not one, but two manilla envelopes in the mail this past week, one from Gerald's mom and one from my friend Jeannie. Each contained several of our past letters. I now have our letters from 1994, 2005, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021. I can't even believe it! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Vi And Jeannie. Now, of course, I have this glimmer of hope that maybe someone has some of the earlier letters, but even if that's not the case, I'm grateful to have at least these.

Wrap. Unwrap. Rewrap. Rinse and Repeat.

"Why does Theodore have an extra present? Wait...no. Theodore has one, two, three, four, five, six. But Kennedy only has one, two, three, four, five. Let me check my list. Did I not write down his Paw Patrol pajamas? Oh yeah, I did. But why does he have two squishy packages that seem like clothes? WHAT IS THIS ONE? Ugh! I think I'm gonna have to unwrap it. Wait, why is Kennedy's name on this present? I feel like this was supposed to be for Swen? Or Theodore? Oh, I don't know. I'm just gonna have to unwrap both of them to make sure."

Laughing hysterically, I watched Shulamith go through this turmoil yesterday. The mental gymnastics a mom navigates at Christmastime is no joke. I go through it every year, and I have five kids, so two more than Shulamith. We want our kids to have the same number of gifts to open. We make lists. We check off each item when we wrap it. We double check. We do all the things.

And yet...

In our brave attempt to be perfectly organized, sometimes it all still crashes. 

I'm happy to report that she figured it out. She had to unwrap four gifts to do it, but it's all good now. 

She unwrapped.  I rewrapped. 

Now I need to cowboy up and count my own presents, check my lists, double check, and (hopefully) not need to unwrap and rewrap anything.

Regrets, I've had a few...

 ...but then again, too few to mention.

Except this one.

Saturday evening, Shulamith's 7-year-old daughter helped me assemble my 2021 Christmas cards. I addressed them and stuffed the envelopes with our photo card and letter. Kennedy added the Christmas sticker seal and the stamp. (She is also the artist for the manger scene on the card.) It took us nearly two hours, working side by side, but we finished all 50 cards! 

Kennedy: Her, why do you send out so many cards? 

Me: Well, I'm blessed to have many friends.

Kennedy: Do they all live around here?

Me: No, I've lived in five states: Oregon, California, Washington, Montana, and Utah, and I have friends from all of them. That's the best thing about moving to different places.

At that point, Kennedy wanted to know something about each person or family on every envelope. That way she could choose the best sticker for everyone. Describing my friends to her, their spouses and kids, their careers, their personalities, their likes and dislikes, was far more meaningful to me than it was to Kennedy, whose only goal was to select the right sticker. Pausing to reflect on each person who would receive our family's Christmas card filled me with gratitude and joy; Thank you, Kennedy, for asking!

Kennedy: Do you write one of these long letters every year?

Me: I do. 

And that's when it hit me. Immediate regret. 

Yes, I write some sort of letter every year to include with our Christmas card, and I've done this since the first year Gerald and I were married. The earlier ones are more typical, with reports on each family member; in recent years, I've tried to find creative ways to tell our stories; several ideas I've stolen from my friend Trudy. My all-time favorite is from 2014, when I revised the poem "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" to reflect the events of our year.

Why the regret, though? Because I was too stupid to save these letters. You heard right. I don't have them, other than the one from 1996, which I happened to find last year as we were packing to move. Imagine the family history recorded in those letters, and now lost. Imagine how fun it would be for all of us to go back and read them. But no. Prior to 2009, when this blog originated, I have nothing.

Of course this is not the end of the world. It's not a tragedy. But I would dearly love to have those letters, and I feel so silly for not saving them. I mean, how hard would it have been to throw one in a file folder each year? Blah.

Regrets, I've had a few.

Turkey/Black

As child, I woke before dawn on Thanksgiving morning to the sound and smell of onions and celery sizzling in butter on the stove. My mom always bought a giant turkey, so it needed to cook all day in order to be done by mid-late afternoon. She'd get up at 5:30 a.m. to begin the process of getting the thing in the oven, and a process it was! First she made stuffing, starting with the sizzling onion and celery, to which she added seasoned bread cubes and french onion soup. Then she stuffed both the neck and breast cavities, then sewed them closed with skewers and string. Next, she tied a big piece of string around the whole turkey to keep the wings tucked in tight, placed the bird breast down on the roasting rack, and poured three cubes of melted butter over the top. In the oven it would go, and she would baste it hourly throughout the day.

Now I'm the mom, and I make the Thanksgiving dinner, and I have dumbed down her process significantly. I do not get up at 5:30 a.m. I do make her stuffing recipe (there is none better), but I don't actually stuff it inside the turkey. It's so much easier not to. Still, those early memories of waking to sizzling onions and celery, announcing to the whole house that it was Thanksgiving, are forever etched in my mind. Another Thanksgiving memory is from when I was in college. Tom was dating a girl, who invited all of us to Thanksgiving dinner with her family. That would have been fine except my grandma didn't want to go. She had zero desire to spend Thanksgiving with a bunch of people she didn't know, and honestly, I felt pretty much the same. So while my mom and Tom accepted that kind invitation, Grandma and I went to a lovely restaurant at a hotel in downtown Portland for Thanksgiving dinner, again, one of those delightful memories to be cherished.

Thanksgiving 2021 is now a new memory, hopefully cherish-worthy. Our four kids who live here in the valley, along with their spouses and kids (the two who have those), gathered at our home for the traditional dinner, followed by games, and ending with multiple desserts. We ate lots, played hard, ate more, and it was all good.

But honestly, my friends, Thanksgiving doesn't compare to the following day: BLACK FRIDAY!!! After last year, when COVID kept us inside, Shulamith and I were beyond ready to hit the stores and spend our hard-earned cash, which we saved in envelopes in my hidden filing cabinet throughout the year. We left at 7:00 a.m., so not as early as some people, but good for us because we left well-rested and ready to shop. 'Til we dropped. Almost literally. We were out for a full 11 hours, and I'm still shocked by how much we accomplished. I have five kids, and Shulamith has three, and by the end of Black Friday, other than the gifts we will buy for each other, we were nearly done. Wow! Finished shopping a whole month before Christmas, including stockings? That is a record, even for Black Friday veterans like us.

We hit Target, where we drank our traditional Black Friday Starbuck's hot chocolate; then Walmart; followed by Costco and Best Buy; then lunch break at Spaghetti Factory, where we ordered all our online gifts; and finally South Towne Mall. Then we came home, slept, and spent most of Saturday afternoon in wrapping heaven. I love to wrap presents way more than Shulamith does, and (shhhh!) she's not that good at it, but she helped me anyway, and she's definitely improving.

I am now in full-on Christmas mode; all I need is the semester to be over. 

Turkey/Black: What a wonderful weekend!

We need a little Christmas, now!

Shulamith loves to prove me wrong. I think if you asked her to name her top 10 favorite things to do, proving me wrong would be near the top of that list. So a week ago we began to discuss when we would decorate our houses for Christmas. I mentioned that, although I start listening to Christmas music on November 1st, I never decorate until after Thanksgiving. She was certain that was not case, that at least once, I had decorated for Christmas prior to Thanksgiving. I didn't believe her.

That night she was up at midnight giving Swen either sugar or insulin, depending on whether he was low or high, then waiting for his numbers to correct before going back to sleep. So what did she do while she waited? Search my blog to find evidence to prove me wrong. And of course she found it: right here! I can't even imagine her joy, in the wee hours of the morning, knowing she had proved me wrong yet again. Eli and Amanda and I all awoke the next day to a link to this post.

What prompted this discussion originally were the many decorated homes we see throughout our neighborhood on our multiple daily walks: Trees in windows, lights on houses, spotlights creating shining snowflakes on garage doors. It's all quite beautiful, so it didn't take much to persuade me to decorate last weekend, rather than waiting 'til after Thanksgiving. Because really...

We need a little Christmas, now!

Shulamith's daughter Kennedy helped me with both nativity scenes. She is so talented artistically! She even drew the manger scene that will appear on the front of my Christmas card this year; you can be excited for that. She also likes to make silly faces in pictures.

Eli loved showing his baby daughter, Jane, her first Christmas tree. She was dang impressed too!

Shulamith's son Swen helped hang ornaments, both upstairs and down, not to mention cleaning my house from top to bottom before we decorated.

My history with Christmas trees is long and troublesome. There was this one that was seriously possessed! I ultimately donated it to Amanda and Eli; they can deal with a Christmas tree that hates Christmas. I'm done! Then there was last year's tree. This one wasn't willfully belligerent, but it was covered in glitter, which meant my house was also covered in glitter. Ugh! It's sort of like with Waffles. It's not his fault he sheds all over the place, but he still sheds all over the place. As we decorated last year and I tirelessly vacuumed and swept, vacuumed and swept a million specks of glitter, Mathew mentioned that I would "never get it all." Challenge accepted! It took a while, but the glitter is gone. And it's not coming back. Because you see, this year, I'm donating this lovely glitter-covered tree to the Webster-Monson Family. Bahahaha, Matt is gonna be so grateful. 

As for me, I bought two new trees this year, one for upstairs and one for the basement. I'm thrilled with both of them and delighted with how all the decorating efforts turned out. As for Shulamith, good thing she's the best friend a girl could ever have (even though she loves to prove me wrong). Just look at her here twisting and tying ribbon on my tree, something she learned to do from an instagram influencer. 

Okay, here are the finished products. You ready???

I've grown a little leaner,

Grown a little colder, 

Grown a little sadder,

(This next line: Not a chance!)

We need a little Christmas, right this very minute.

We need a little Christmas, now!

The seeds we plant...

A week ago, Eli rose early and logged into a Zoom call, where he witnessed a baptism in Louisville, Kentucky. He was able to participate, though virtually, in the joy of that day, as his friend Tom entered the waters of baptism.

This story began eight years ago, when Eli (Elder Webster) was serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, which includes parts of Missouri, Mississippi, and Tennessee. One day a ward member called Elders Webster and Hadlock and asked them to come help his childhood friend, who had just relocated to Memphis, move into his new house. I should point out that this wasn't just any ward member; this was the amazing Brother Floyd, who worked tirelessly alongside the missionaries serving in the Memphis area and kept tabs on all the others in the mission as well. If a P-day rolled around and we moms hadn't heard from our kids by mid-afternoon, our go-to guy was Brother Floyd. All we had to do was shoot him a message, and within a few hours, he would track down our missionaries and find out why they hadn't emailed. Every six weeks on transfer days, Brother Floyd always had all the deets on who was transferring where. With his help, we moms knew where our kids were headed almost as soon as they did.

The missionaries love Brother Floyd and they love to serve, so they cheerfully agreed to help his friend move. They put on their work clothes and headed right over. They liked Tom immediately; he was a kind and generous guy with a fun sense of humor. As they finished helping him move in and were about to leave, Elder Webster discreetly (or perhaps non-discreetly) placed a copy of The Book of Mormon on his dining room table.

And that was that.

For awhile.

At some point, Tom agreed to take the missionary discussions, and Elders Webster and Hadlock were excited to teach him. As they studied together, their friendship with Tom grew although he did not choose to be baptized at that time. In March of 2014, when Eli finished his two years and was headed home, Tom posted a message on my Facebook page, "Eli's comin', hide your heart, girl." Eli was way too young to have even heard of Three Dog Night, let alone this song, but I was well familiar with both, and this message made me so happy!

And that was that.

For awhile.

For eight years, actually.

Then just over a week ago, Elder Hadlock called Eli with the best news: Tom was getting baptized! He and his wife had left Memphis and relocated to Kentucky, and thanks to modern technology, both these former missionary companions, the ones who helped Tom move into his house in Memphis eight years ago, were able to zoom into the baptism. 

The seeds we plant.

All three of my missionary sons had challenging times on their missions, times when they felt like they weren't making a difference, like they weren't accomplishing anything. But that was never the case. They may never fully know the fruits of their labor, but the seeds they planted were good seeds, and the Savior will handle the rest.

Congrats, Tom.

A moment when time stood still!

It is now 4:14 a.m. the morning of October 29th. I sit in a dimly lit hospital room at the end of a cot on which Eli is sound asleep. Five feet away is Amanda in the hospital bed, also asleep, as we all await the arrival of their baby girl. It should be soon now. 

In the background, the monitors beep, tracking the baby's heart rate and Amanda's blood pressure. On the bright screen is the dotted line, with hills and valleys that mark her contractions. 

I arrived early yesterday morning. The two of them had been here overnight, so Amanda could receive some pre-induction medicine. That was enough to fuel early contractions that grew in intensity minute by minute. At 10:50 a.m., the nurse started a Pitocin drip, and labor was underway.

I have never witnessed childbirth, other than the five times I had the starring role. It was an honor to be asked to accompany Amanda and Eli through the process of bringing their little girl into the world; I am forever grateful to them for choosing to share this intimate experience with me.

Amanda handled labor like a boss. We held each other tight as she breathed through those contractions, one after the other, Eli by her side. A few times she told me "I can't," and I told her "Yes, you can!" and she did. She wanted to wait as long as she could before requesting an epidural, but at some point, we all knew it was time. The skilled anesthesiologist arrived and carefully placed the epidural, which left Amanda pain free. Thank you, modern medicine.

I've heard people say "It was the moment when time stood still." I get that now. The rest of the day somehow went by, but we barely noticed. Eli and I took turns running upstairs to the cafeteria for food, but otherwise, just sat with Amanda, watching the monitors and waiting. Then it was 11:00 p.m. And then 2:30 a.m. And now 5:00 a.m. Where did all those hours go? 

A few minutes ago, Amanda put on her makeup and then let me use it as well, so we'll both look decent for pictures when Baby arrives. It reminded me of when my grandma was in the cardiac ICU following a heart attack. The second I walked through the doors, she declared: "Tannie! Go home and get my makeup. Gracious, there are doctors and nurses walking around here. I need to fix my face!" Yes, Grandma. We girls need our makeup.

It's now 5:10 a.m. and (hopefully) very close to delivery time. Baby girl's head is turned face up. While I delivered all five of my babies "sunny side up," it's harder for sure. Pushing takes longer. The nurse just helped Amanda switch positions, hoping it will motivate Baby to turn her little head down. Come on, Baby, you got this.

She should be here soon. Stay tuned...

Jane Eliza Webster was born at 10:23 a.m., Friday, October 29th. Witnessing a birth is one of those rare life experiences that mark you, change you, help define who you are. I am a writer right down to my bones, yet I struggle to find language to describe it. When they say childbirth is a miracle, they are not kidding, and they definitely call it "labor" for a reason. It's hard work. So hard. Amanda was incredible. It's like she went into the zone, and she was beyond determined. It took a long time, so long, and she had to be so tired, but nothing could dissuade her.

At one point, Baby didn't like all the action, and her little heart rate dropped too low. The nurse called an "OB Stat code," and suddenly a dozen people were in the room, all dressed in scrubs, ready to help with whatever was needed. It was so scary! I was terrified. Thankfully, Baby's heart rate stabilized and remained good from that point on, but the team stayed with us anyway all the way through the delivery. When it was all over, I just felt gratefully reassured that there was a plan in place, one that included all those dedicated professionals ready to deal with any circumstance.

We spent the remainder of the day just chilling and getting acquainted with Baby Jane. Current COVID restrictions prevented anyone else from visiting, so it was just the four of us. Amanda and Jane are quickly becoming pros at nursing, and when Jane's sad, she calms right down to the sound of her daddy's voice as he sings Bo Burnham's "All Eyes on Me" to her. It kinda melts my heart. 

We had hoped to go home first thing this morning (Sunday), but a slight jaundice hiccup kept us there a few hours longer. Jane handled the bilirubin light therapy like a champ, and I am happy to report that everyone is now home. 

Eli and Amanda are crushing parenthood already. Congrats to both of them, and welcome to the world, Jane Eliza!

 

Update:

It's now Tuesday afternoon, and Jane Eliza is a whole four days old. I'm waiting to make this post public until her parents get a chance to post about her birth on social media. They're both pretty busy these days falling more head-over-heels in love with her by the second. Meanwhile, Jane has been slowly meeting a few others in our family. Shulamith was the most excited; it about killed her that she wasn't allowed to visit Jane in the hospital, but she was waiting with open arms the night we all came home. She loves babies as much as I do. 

Yesterday, Jane met Shulamith's four-year-old son Theodore for the first time. Shulamith was changing Jane's diaper, and Theodore was just a bit confused: "Where is her penis?" he wanted to know. 

So I'll just leave y'all with that right there.

All the (birthday) things!

 

It was a birthday week to be sure. It began last Sunday, when (wait for it.....), I got to both speak in Sacrament Meeting AND teach a Sunday School class. It was not the very best Sunday I've ever had, but close. Once a few years ago, in the Union Park 6th Ward, I had the most glorious Sunday in the history of ever; I got to speak in Sacrament Meeting, teach Gospel Doctrine (the absolute best calling in the ward), and teach Relief Society. I realize that for some, a Sunday like this wouldn't be appealing, but for me, well, it doesn't get any better. A week ago in the brand new Bluffdale 16th ward, I didn't get to teach Gospel Doctrine, but I did get to lead a Temple Prep class for a nice couple preparing to enter the temple and be sealed as a family. It was fun and made Sunday the perfect start to my celebration week.

It was fall break for Shulamith's kids, so we tried to do something special with them each day. Monday we went swimming. Tuesday we visited the witches at Gardner Village. Wednesday, my actual birthday, we went to KidsTopia. Okay, not my idea of a fabulous birthday destination; however, it offers nice tables and chairs, Diet Coke, and internet. I happen to be buried in essays at the moment, so I worked there for a solid two hours while Shulamith read, and her kids played. Besides, we couldn't celebrate with the family that day anyway for two reasons:

1. COVID. Have I mentioned how much I hate this stupid virus? Poor Eli and Amanda, who are fully vaccinated, had breakthrough cases. Should I mention that she is 39 weeks pregnant? I felt so bad for them. And helpless! All I could do was drop by food and supplies on their doorstep each day, and pray. They were nervous, of course, with the baby so near to earth, so Eli set up a mini-hospital. They had a Pulse O2 oxygen monitor, a blood pressure cuff, a fever thermometer, and a Doppler heartbeat monitor to track the little baby's heart rate. Unable to visit their doctor because they were COVID positive, these tools at least gave them some peace of mind. And as much as I hate this virus, I am equally thankful for science and a miracle vaccine that kept them from getting far sicker than they were. 

2. Isaiah was out of town. After a long COVID hiatus, he is once again traveling for Cvent, handling onsite events. He was in Chicago last week over my birthday and heads to Dallas/Ft. Worth in a few days. He's delighted to be back "on the road (in the air?) again."

Thursday Shulamith scheduled medical/dental appointments all day for her kids, so Friday we took them to a pumpkin patch for their final day of Fall Break. And we postponed my family birthday celebration to the weekend, when Eli and Amanda were officially out of quarantine, and Isaiah was back home between trips. Only Gerald missed out, because he still doesn't eat inside restaurants.

We went to Olive Garden in Provo, the only way to include Seth, who works there several nights a week while he's going to school. He is absolutely the cutest server, and I'm not even biased; he really is! You should definitely go there and see him. We ate way too much alfredo, breadsticks, salad, chicken parmesan, and fried calamari (Swen's new favorite)! Then we shared a dessert of fried Italian doughnuts with raspberry, chocolate, and caramel dipping sauces. Eli made me a cake and everyone sang, and it was all just delightful.

I've always said birthday celebrations should be at least a week long, and it's true. I'm so grateful for my sweet little family. I love them beyond words.

Forget the rest.

Shulamith's nine-year-old son Swen is in 4th grade. His teacher has a sign on the door to their classroom that reads: "Do your best, and forget the rest." They even sing a song at the end of each day about doing their best and forgetting the rest.

This is all most annoying to Swen, who is quick to point out that Ms. Despain doesn't even follow her own sign. "I do my best," he explains, "but she never lets me forget the rest. She makes me take home all the work I don't get done in class and do it at home. I already did my best, and I'm ready to forget the rest, but no, she won't let me." 

Hilarious as this sounds, it's even funnier to hear Swen tell it, with so much logic and obvious frustration with this teacher, who doesn't even believe her own dumb sign.

As I write this post, I am full on exhausted, so much so that I won't post it publicly until one of my prized proofreaders checks it out. Jay? Eli? Let me be clear here that I am not a person who takes any pride in being busy. Not at all. I cherish my precious down time; Shulamith and I often remark that we love our boring lives. They're awesome.

These past couple weeks have been far from boring and way too busy. Unlike Swen, an anxious perfectionist like me would never forget the rest. Never. I actually never forget anything. My crazy good memory is both a blessing and a curse. Given the choice, I wouldn't trade it, but it does have its challenges.

Recently, though, I've had to put some things on hold in order to do the urgent things right in front of me. I don't like that feeling at all; it challenges every fiber of my being not to be 100% on top of all things at all times. Forget the rest? Makes me anxious just saying the words.

Several unrelated circumstances have caused this unwelcome degree of busyness. First, I'm teaching six (!) classes this semester. Why would I do such a thing, you may be wondering. It was never my plan, but you see, the music to the adjunct dance is always guesswork. Enrollment always drives class offerings, which makes perfect sense; they're not going to pay teachers to teach classes that have few or no students. And because students like to wait until the last possible second to register for classes, administrators can never be sure how many sections of classes they will need.

It's frustrating for everyone. All administrators can do is their best to predict how many classes to schedule; then they offer those classes to us adjuncts and hope it all works out. Then they forget the rest. When offers come, we have to decide what to accept, knowing full well that in the end, some of our classes may not make. Shulamith has had classes canceled due to low enrollment only days before the start of the semester. Again, the music of the adjunct dance.

When you add the struggle of dealing with two schools, for me, each new semester feels like the proverbial perfect storm. This fall I was offered three classes at UVU and three at SLCC. I never imagined they all would make. One at UVU is at 7:00 a.m. and had only three students registered when I received my offer. "No way students are gonna come to English class at 7:00 a.m." I thought. "Not a chance." One SLCC class is online, and I didn't think that one would make either because students are super tired of online delivery. They want a class in a classroom with a teacher they can see and talk to in person. 

Desiring to teach four classes, I accepted all six. And yep, all six made. "Are you freakin' kidding me? All six!" How am I gonna teach six writing classes?" At this moment, I'm still not sure how I'm gonna do that. We're finishing up Week #7, and ever since the first set of essays came in from both schools the same weekend, and I made the mistake of counting them (84!), I've felt buried. Buried in papers. Buried in emails. Buried in life.

In addition, I decided this would be a great semester to sign up for the institute class I've been wanting to take, devoted to seminary teaching in the Church Educational System. The class meets weekly at the institute building up at the U., a 45-minute drive from my wilderness house in Bluffdale. This week, our assignments include creating and teaching two 90-minute lessons to seminary students around the valley. Okay, this is SO much fun, but also so much prep work! Section 111 of the D&C, which is part of "Come Follow Me" this week and also the focus of the seminary lesson, mentions how much the Lord loves us despite our follies, and how he will bless us right through them. Let's hope! Because choosing to teach six writing classes AND take this labor-intensive institute class would most certainly be classified as a "folly."

One lovely reprieve this past week was a quick visit from my brother Tom and his friend Yvonne. They were on a road trip to a 3-day music festival in Memphis in Tom's self-refurbished travel van named Leo. It was pure delight to eat lunch with them and visit for a few hours. I even tried a bite of Yvonne's sushi roll, my first ever! I hadn't seen anyone from my family since well before COVID; I am so grateful they made time to stop.

Anyway, I'm on overwhelm. At this moment I'm lying in bed eating See's candy and sipping Diet Coke, after returning from my 7:00 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. classes in Orem. I stayed up way too late last night reading, because I desperately needed some "me" time. Definitely paying for it today. And (obviously), I'm blogging! Those of you who pay attention to such things might notice that I generally write a minimum of four posts per month (or one per week). This past September I wrote only two. That makes me sad. 

After this tiny rest, I'll need to put on my big girl panties and tackle the remaining 31 essays of the original 84, because another set just came in Sunday night. Then Eli is coming over to prep both our seminary lessons for tomorrow. 

Do your best, and forget the rest. I'm trying, Swen. Really I am.