"I have to be fine. We have a fake holiday to celebrate!"

Yesterday, while shopping at Costco, I stopped by the pharmacy to get the second dose of my Shingrix vaccine, so I don't get sick from shingles when I'm old. Two months ago, when I got the first shot, I literally felt nothing. I didn't even feel the needle going in, let alone any side effects afterward, so I was confident it would be the same way this time. 

Not exactly.

Immediately after receiving the shot, I told Shulamith, "That really hurt, and now my arm is super sore. But no worries. I'll be just fine. I have to be fine. We have a fake holiday to celebrate tomorrow!"

To clarify, we are non-natives to Utah and also to the LDS Church. I joined the Church as a young adult shortly before I got married, and Gerald joined about 13 years later. Until 10 years ago, we had never lived in Utah.

Can we just agree that the culture here can be a bit baffling to us non-natives? I didn't say "bad;" I said "baffling." One tradition in particular that I find hilarious is the giant celebration on July 24th. Please don't be mad at me, my dear Utah-native friends, but in the outside world, this is just not a thing. In July, most wards do something to honor pioneers. Oftentimes, they sing pioneer songs in sacrament meeting as we did today. The youth go on Pioneer Trek, and people remember their pioneer ancestors who paved the way for our church to exist today. But no. Outside of Utah, they do not rinse and repeat the 4th of July, just 20 days after it already happened! I have zero memories of fireworks or parades or barbecues on July 24th until I moved to Utah. 

Charitable person that I am, I have on occasion referred to July 24th as a "fake holiday." You see, in my family, I am the pioneer! Not one of my ancestors as far back as I've been able to trace was ever a member of the LDS Church. No one in my family braved cold and snow or illness and angry mobs to walk the trail to Zion. I am a first generation church member and the only member in my original family. That doesn't mean the pioneers and their heritage aren't important to me. They are. I'm proud to be one of them.

But a second 4th of July celebration is not my idea of fun. I don't love the actual one, truth be told. Fireworks scare me, and I'm not a fan of sitting out in the blistering heat to watch parades. So once that day is over, I'm done. No more fireworks. "The 24th is not a real holiday, and we don't celebrate fake ones," I tell my kids. 

Of course that statement couldn't be further from the truth.

In reality, we celebrate the coolest fake holiday ever! But really. At one point today, I asked aloud, "Don't you feel so sad for all the families that don't celebrate Halfway Christmas?" Everyone nodded and voiced agreement. It's a glorious holiday (albeit a fake one). It's our tiny bit of Christmas joy in June. It's the magic of holiday season, minus the stress. It's practically perfect!

We usually choose the Sunday nearest to June 25th, so today was the day. As we gathered, some of us wearing last year's Christmas jammies, Christmas music played in the background. We feasted on sausage gravy and biscuits, hash browns, and our fave green onion cheese ball with crackers. Everything was so delicious, probably because I didn't cook any of it, myself. 

Next we opened presents, one gift each, chosen so thoughtfully by the person who drew our name. We had planned to watch a Christmas movie, something we've done in past years on Halfway Christmas, but after many rounds of "Game of Things," it was already late, so we forfeited the movie and ate dessert: fresh strawberry shortcake with whipped topping. 

Happy Halfway Christmas to you, my dear readers and friends. 

My Big Fat Utah Ward

Ten years ago next month, we left Billings, Montana and moved to Utah. Eli had just graduated from high school, and Seth had recently turned 11, so the timing was right for a big move. We lived in Montana only seven years; still, I'm so grateful for that little pause between Washington and Utah. I made some cherished and forever friends.

During our seven years in Billings, we were part of two wards. The Metra Ward was truly like no other. What it lacked in numbers it made up for in spirit, in friendship, and in love. We were welcomed in with wide open arms and began to serve almost immediately. I was in the relief society presidency within three weeks of our arrival, and Gerald started teaching gospel doctrine a few months after that. You hear the term "ward family," often in our church. This. This Metra Ward was the definition of a ward family. 

That said, we struggled for sure with membership and activity; many people had two or even three callings just to keep the ward functioning. I wonder if that struggle is what made us all so close? What do you think, former Metra Ward members? We never missed a ward activity; even if we were tired, we'd think to ourselves, "What if no one else comes? That would suck for the people who planned this. We need to go!" Eventually, a major stake reorganization obliterated our little Metra Ward. We were all sad. Some were scattered to and fro to different wards in the stake, and then a few of us joined some others to create a new ward, the Skyview Ward. This change was hard for me, because I had to leave my super fun calling as Relief Society President and become the Primary Chorister. Yikes, that one stretched my abilities to the max, but in the end, I mostly enjoyed it.

In 2011, as we prepared to move to Utah, I remember telling Seth how big our new ward would surely be. "You will have so many kids in your primary class!" I assured him. I couldn't have been more wrong. We moved to Sandy/Midvale and into the Union Park 6th Ward. Yes, it was stronger in terms of membership than the Metra Ward in Billings, but not by that much. Seth's primary class included three little girls and just one other boy.

Again, we felt so welcome and needed. Gerald  began teaching gospel doctrine, and I taught gospel essentials, until I was called into Young Women's, my most favorite organization. I was so happy to be there, but then (just like in Montana), massive stake reorganization cancelled out the 6th Ward. This time the change was even harder, because almost everyone from the former 6th ward moved to the 4th ward; just a small handful of families, including ours, were placed in the 3rd ward. I remember Emily texting me before we even left the stake center that day: "I think you and I are still together!" Of course she and Trent proceeded to move out of the stake almost immediately. Blah! Soon, though, Gerald and I were called to teach gospel doctrine, and that was way fun for a little over a year until COVID hit and everything shut down. But one very cool thing happened in the short time we were in the 3rd ward; a few fun girls invited Emily and me to join their book group, and that was awesome. I shall remain in that group with those lovely ladies; Sandy isn't that far away.

In November, we moved here, and suddenly, I understood what everyone was talking about. I now know what it's like to be in a "big fat Utah ward." Haha! It's so different. You can easily get lost among the people. It feels like stake conference every week! I'm not sure exactly how many members are in our ward, but I've heard the number 900 float around! That isn't surprising because every week, they read in 20 - 30 new names, it seems like. And everywhere around us and far into the wilderness, new homes are sprouting up from the dirt. We've been in the ward seven months, and I still feel like a visitor. We haven't gotten to speak yet (guys, you know how sad this makes me, when I'm used to speaking 4 or 5 times a year), and we don't have callings. 

This is no one's fault. Our kind bishop is doing everything humanly possible to make people feel welcome, but let's face it; the guy has to be overwhelmed! Same with our sweet relief society president. When I was RS president, I could barely keep up with all the sisters in our tiny Metra Ward; this lady has at least five times as many. And then there's the primary president, herding like 5,000 kids (only slight hyperbole) into the right classes and finding teachers to teach them. Oh my! I did do one fun thing here about a month ago. The first Sunday we got to return to in-person, 2nd-hour classes, the gospel doctrine teacher posted on Facebook that he needed a sub. Say what??? I waited one hour, giving time for people already established in the ward to volunteer, but no one did. "I can sub!" I posted. And they let me! Woo, it was so, so much fun. It was a giant class, and the people were wonderful. I hadn't realized how much I missed teaching gospel doctrine.

While it's kinda cool to experience a "big fat Utah ward," firsthand, after a while it's not so fun anymore. This time, when they reorganize the stake and split up our ward, I won't be sad. I've heard rumors that's gonna happen here pretty soon, and I hope those rumors are true. Excited to see how that all shakes out and what opportunities lie head.

Every day a lovely day (and show up at the barricade)!

Two weeks ago, when I checked the calendar and realized that three of the five weeks between spring and summer semesters were already behind me, I made a decision: I will enjoy every second of every day of the remaining two weeks. 

I will make every day a lovely day! 

I will sleep lots and not rush anywhere. I will hang out with the people I love, read good books, binge Netflix, and drink lots of Diet Coke. I will walk first thing in the morning to beat the heat, then again in coolness of evening to get my final daily steps. I will lounge by the pool and relax in my backyard roasting marshmallows for S'mores. I will play pickleball, even though I SUCK at it, and I will blog! Many of these things I already do on the regular, but during these two final weeks of break, I promised myself to slow down and find all the joy in them. 

And I have. Every day a lovely day.

A couple other opportunities came along to add to the loveliness. Eli and Amanda and I went to see Les Miserables at Hale Centre Theatre. Les Mis is my favorite musical of all time, which says a lot because I love musical theater. I've seen the show many times, from high school productions all the way to Broadway. The messages of hope, grace, and redemption touch my soul every time. Show up at the barricade (whatever your personal barricade looks like)!  

This time was no different. You'd think I'd be able to get through a production of Les Mis without crying; I know exactly what is going to happen, and I know the words to every last song. But no. When Jean Valjean looked to God and prayed for the safety of Marius, whom he sees as the "son" he never had, well, I kinda lost it. 

"Bring him peace

Bring him joy

He is young

He is only a boy."

I think my strong reaction is the product of being the mom to so many young adults. I'm sure there's an exhausted, sleep deprived mother of littles reading this who would murder me for this comment, but parenting young adults is by far the most challenging gig I've ever experienced. Their problems are no longer ones I can solve with a kiss and a band-aid; theirs are adult-sized problems, and I feel each one so deeply as though it were my own. I so desperately want to fix the world for them, make it fair, make it kind. I can't always do that, and it hurts so bad when I can't, but I can promise them this: I will always show up. I will always show up at the barricade for them.

Yesterday, it was all about food. I may have invited all of us to Eli and Amanda's cute little house, haha, because they have a nice grill and I need a new one. It was pure delight to sit outside and feast on burgers, corn on the cob, potato salad, chips, and Drumstick ice cream cones. Everything was so good, but Eli's grilled burgers are the best. Mmmm. Then we played a rousing game of Forbidden Words, which Eli and Amanda won, but I think Amanda might have cheated. Very possible. Bahahaha!

We are down to just under a week until summer classes begin, five days to be exact. It's fine. Five whole days of sleep, food, sun, long walks, books, TV, family, S'mores, plus a movie in a theater with popcorn and a giant DC, equals perfection.

Every day a lovely day (and show up at the barricade)!