When "Hot" Isn't Fun

A week or so ago, I wrote a blog entry titled "Hot Fun in the Summertime." However, "hot" is not always fun. Recently, temperatures have been in the triple digits over in the Pacific Northwest which is extremely untypical. Yesterday, it reached 106 degrees in Portland. Crazy! I feel so bad for my many friends and family members who live over there. They are not accustomed to that kind of heat, and in many cases, they are not prepared for it. For example, most people don't have central air conditioning in their homes because they don't think they need it, and in reality, they usually don't. This is ridiculously unusual.

Ironically, we've had a cooling trend here in Billings. We had our share of triple digits this summer, but for the past few days, the temperature hasn't even reached 80. It's been lovely. In fact, on my walk last night, it even sprinkled a bit, just enough for me to get slightly wet. Sweet. The thing is when we do get those high temperatures, we are still comfortable for the most part. Virtually everyone has central air. We go from air conditioned homes to air conditioned cars to air conditioned stores, restaurants, places of employment, etc.

So yeah, I'm sympathizing with all the people I know in Washington and Oregon and hoping they are somehow managing to stay cool. I hope they are drinking lots of water and taking good care of themselves. And I hope when winter arrives, they don't have to experience Montana weather then too. I wouldn't wish -18 on anyone! If we live here two more years or 20 (and it won't be 20), I'll never fully adjust to that kind of cold.

So to all my beloved Washingtonians and Oregonians, you have my sympathy. I send my love and good wishes for cooler temperatures to come because "hot" isn't always fun.

Farewell Cow Pajamas

Today is a sad day. I threw away my cow pajamas. To fully understand the significance of this, you need a little history.

I bought my cow pajamas about ten years ago. Shulamith and I found them on clearance at Maurice's, a store in the Cascade Mall in Burlington, Washington. I bought a pair for both her and me. Hers did not have cows, though; I don't remember what design was on hers (green clovers maybe?) because she has long since discarded them.

Mine had cows. They were a lovely light blue, soft cotton-knit fabric with white clouds and black & white cows. So beautiful!

I loved them. I still love them. My family, however, hates them. My husband hates them. My children hate them. Everyone hates them. It's sad.

They started out soft, but with time and hundreds of washings, they are now even softer. They started out fairly thin, but with time and hundreds of washings, they are now even thinner, threadbare you might say. The cows have faded, yes. The waist band is no longer elastic (it was completely stretched out when I was pregnant with Seth), so I have to use a safety pin to keep them on. That's okay. I don't mind.

They are oh so comfortable. You don't even know. When I'm feeling extra tired, sad, discouraged, the best thing I can imagine is putting on my wonderful cow pajamas.

I no longer have that option. I caved. I succumbed to peer (family) pressure and threw those beautiful pajamas away. I recently purchased a couple pairs of new pajamas at the half yearly sale at Victoria's Secret. I wish I could say they are equal to my cow pajamas, but sadly, they are not even close.

Alas, I will live without them. I will be okay. Don't worry. Farewell cow pajamas!

But wait! The garbage collector doesn't come until tomorrow. That means my lovely cow pajamas are still here, outside in a plastic bag in our garbage can. I could still get them back.

Hmmm...

Diplomacy

Diplomacy. Tactfulness. Discretion.

All lovely words. Words, though, that are a complete mystery to most nine-year-old boys, including Seth. One thing you can be sure of with Seth is that you will receive the honest truth, however brutal, in all situations. But diplomacy, tactfulness, and discretion.....not so much.

Two recent incidents illustrate this.

A week or so ago, Lindsey was coming over, so we could purchase airline tickets. We are going to San Antonio next month to once again visit our best friend Celeste who moved there nearly a year ago. I had told Lindsey to come over anytime because our day was totally laid back. When she arrived at the door, we were just finishing dinner. Before she could even ascend the stairs, Seth shouted, "She can't play, Lindsey. We're having dinner!"

Then just yesterday, I was doing my P90X daily workout. I must confess that this second time around (I finished the first 90-day sequence a couple weeks ago), I've tended to replace the yoga day with something else. The thing is, I just HATE the yoga. It's so hard. It hurts. It's 90 minutes of agony. I fear if I told myself I had to do yoga once a week, I might not do the program at all. So instead of the yoga day, I do something else like plyometrics. As a side note, the website for P90X is beachbody.com. Seth is obviously keeping track of my progress, and the following conversation resulted:

Seth: Don't you EVER do yoga anymore?

Me: Well, I haven't done it in a while.

Seth: Why not?

Me: Um, because it's really hard for me, and I hate it.

Seth: Too bad, Mom. No beach body for you.

Mama Bear

Here I am, in the woods, right? Well, sort of in the woods. Actually, I'm on a hike in Red Lodge, MT back in May, but you could say it's in the woods. So do I look like a ferocious bear in this picture? Seriously, you can tell me the truth. Because that's how I've been feeling lately, at least on occasion. What is it that can take an otherwise calm, rational, non-violent, pacifist woman and transform her into a ferocious bear, claws extended, ready to attack?

The answer.....Motherhood. It's true. People can say or do what they want to me, but mess with one of my five babies, and my Mama Bear instincts take over, and the result is anything but rational. It's really the most amazing phenomenon. And you should know that it doesn't change just because the kids grow up. Recently one of my older kids was treated unkindly, and here I sat, 400 miles away, poised for attack. :-)

As I've thought about this Mama Bear instinct, I've also thought a lot about the concept of charity. Is it possible to retain a charitable attitude while in the midst of the seemingly involuntary response to protect and defend our children? Hmmm. When people are mean to our kids, what would charity require? Perhaps we should give the offenders the benefit of the doubt? Maybe they were never loved unconditionally as children and thus never learned kindness themselves. Perhaps their own lives are in such turmoil that this is the very best they have to offer. Or more likely...maybe they're just having a really sucky day.

Yes, any one of these options would be more charitable than my natural inclination to claw their eyes out. In reality, it probably doesn't matter much to the offenders how I react because I don't literally claw their eyes out; I just think about doing it. It matters to me, though. I doubt I'll ever get over my innate urge to protect my kids from all harm, hurt, and mean people; I am indeed a Mama Bear. Perhaps, though, with a little charity mixed in, my reaction could be tempered some or at least shorter lived. I'll keep you posted on that.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Those of you older than 40 may remember the 1969 hit single "Hot Fun in the Summer Time" by Sly and the Family Stone. I remember it mostly because, as a little girl, it was the music for one of my jazz dance routines, a routine most of which I remember still today. I loved the lyrics back then because I rejoiced in summer vacation and its relative calm compared to the hustle of the school year.

I still rejoice in summer vacation! Having spent the past 24 years as either a full-time, at-home mom or a full-time mom and part-time college instructor, I've never had to leave the academic world or the bliss of summer vacation. Someone once said that the three best reasons for being a teacher are June, July, and August. I wouldn't go that far, but I clearly understand that perspective, nevertheless. I'm pretty much a wimp. I'm not sure what I'd do if I didn't have at least three (now four) months off during summer or nearly a month at Christmastime.

I remember an old Crystal Lite commercial whose slogan was, "Take Summer Slowly, One Sip at a Time." I couldn't agree more! This summer has been different from those in the past because I'm used to having Shulamith home. This year, she stayed in Salt Lake City. Granted, I spent a week with her in both May and June, and she came to Billings in July. And we'll go to Salt Lake for nearly a week in August when we take Isaiah to college. Still, it's not the same as having her here every day, all summer long. So yes, I miss her. I'm not complaining, though. Really, I'm not. She is enjoying a delightful summer break, which she richly deserves, after a most difficult first year teaching kindergarten. I'm happy for her. I'm happy she's happy. It's all good.

My goal then is to enjoy each moment of summer even though she's not here, taking it "slowly" as the slogan admonishes, "one sip at a time." So today on my way home from the other side of town where I had to go to find Baked Tostitos (long story), I drove through McDonald's and got a $1 large Diet Coke, my "sip" of choice. Earlier in the day, my friend Lindsey and I and took our kids to "free lunch in park," where we visited with a family we know. Yesterday, we took the kids to the lovely pool at Rose Park. Seth is becoming quite the swimmer, and Lindsey's baby Hanna was a happy girl the whole time. Hooray! Next week, I believe pedicures are on the list of "to do" activities before Lindsey and I head to Texas in mid-August.

Hot fun in the summertime. Enjoying each moment of each day. Takin' it slowly.

DRUGS!

Okay, those of you who have some experience with nine-year-olds will understand their extremely legalistic view of the world. The nine-year-old's world is black and white. There is no gray. There are no exceptions. Rules are rules. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Fair is fair. And heaven forbid if everything is not perfectly fair.

Seth is a delightfully typical nine-year-old. He does not like teasing (lying, he calls it) or joking or any such thing. He wants the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in all situations.

Recently at church, he had a primary lesson that he wanted to share with our family in Family Home Evening. However, he wanted to wait for Shulamith to get home, so we could all be present. Unfortunately, once she was here, we couldn't find one single time block when all seven of us were home, other than in the middle of the night. We had to settle for six out of seven on Sunday afternoon when Isaiah was at work.

So seriously and so methodically, Seth began his lesson:

I have two points to share today.

#1 You know how some people in our family like to stay up late and sleep all morning? Well that is NOT good. We are supposed to go to bed early and get up early. That way our minds will be clear.

And he continued....

#2 You know how some people in our family, like Luke and Isaiah and Eli, drink energy drinks? Well, those are DRUGS! And drugs are bad for our bodies.

And with that, he ended his lesson, "In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

We were all bursting at the seams trying so hard not to laugh. For the record, everyone in our family except Dad likes to stay up late and sleep all morning. Isn't that what summer is all about? As for the energy drinks, it's true...Isaiah and Eli drink them occasionally, and Luke as well, especially when he works an overnight shift and needs to stay awake. I, myself, have never tried one, and now that I know they are DRUGS, I certainly won't!

The following evening, Luke brought home a six-pack of Monsters, you know, for those overnight shifts at the ranch. Before putting it in the fridge, he made a big sign and taped it to the box: "DRUGS!"

To Cry or Not to Cry

Today I decided to make a pact with Seth. We are the two who tend to cry whenever Shulamith leaves. Well, let's face it....we don't "tend" to cry; we bawl our eyes out, both of us. No one else cries, just Seth and I. So today, I decided to attempt a "no crying" pact with Seth.

Me: Sweetie, Shulamith has to leave today.

Seth (with sadness in his eyes): Why does she always have to leave? She didn't even stay a week this time.

Me: I know, but didn't we have so much fun with her?

Seth: But I like it when she stays at least a week.

Me: Well, we will see her again in just a few weeks when we take Isaiah to college. So I was thinking maybe you and I should make a deal that we won't cry today when we say goodbye to her. What do you think?

Seth: I WILL CRY!

Me: So you don't want to make this deal with me and try not to cry.

Seth: No. I will definitely cry.

In the end, though, he didn't. We left at around 1:00 to drive her back to Cody to meet Matt and his parents. Seth had two friends over at the time and was so totally preoccupied with them that he barely noticed we were leaving. He said a quick, "Bye, Shulamith. I love you," and that was it.

I didn't do as well. I held up pretty well visiting with Matt and greeting his parents briefly, but when it was time to hug her goodbye, it was all over. I cried most of the way home from Cody.

Good thing we didn't make a pact.

Togetherness

I remember hearing parents talk about how difficult it was to get all their children together in the same place at the same time. Back then, when it seemed that I constantly had four little kids under my feet, none of this talk made much sense. The days were long and the nights were short, and I wondered if I'd have the energy to do all that was required of me. A few years later, I was alone with the kids at church, sitting in front of an older sister. Seth was newborn, and I was tending to his needs while trying to keep Isaiah and Eli from killing each other. Shulamith was seated on the stand because she was giving a talk (which I desperately wanted to hear), and Luke was up front passing the Sacrament. I was pulling my hair out, okay not literally, but almost! The older sister seated behind me tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Honey, be sure to enjoy every moment because it truly doesn't get any better than this." Seriously???

Years later, I am beginning to understand those parents who lamented the difficulty of pulling all their children together. These past three days, Shulamith has been here in Billings, so we actually have all seven of us under the same roof. Just not at the same time. Since Shulamith arrived Friday evening, there has not been one moment between the hours of 5:30 a.m. and 12:00 midnight that we all have been at home. This is mostly due to random work schedules. Isaiah begins work at 6:00 a.m. Eli begins work at noon. Luke begins work at 3:00 p.m. Help! I just want all seven of us here for one meal. Just one meal. Is that really too much to ask? Perhaps this time it is.

Instead, we are enjoying each other's company in small groups, sort of like in shifts. And that's good too. Very good. And there's always Thanksgiving when, heaven willing, we'll all be together for dinner.

As for the sweet sister who lovingly told me the chaos of two teenagers, two young children, and a newborn baby is as good as life gets, well I hope she was mistaken. I hope instead that each stage of life is the best. I know this is true of raising children. It seems like every stage of their lives is the best stage. Today, I thoroughly enjoy my two adult children, their insights, their personalities, their opinions (even when they differ slightly from mine). And my two teenagers are more fun than you can even imagine. And Seth? What could be better than experiencing the world through the curious eyes of a nine-year-old, as he struggles to make sense of life and all its complications? Ironically, I just asked him if he could possibly be quiet for five minutes so I could finish this blog entry. He couldn't. I'm pretty sure it is physiologically impossible for him to be quiet that long unless he's asleep.

Togetherness. Family. Love. A bit of Heaven here on Earth.

P.S. As a disclaimer, I should point out that as Isaiah read this entry over my shoulder, he was adamant that I have THREE, not two, adult children. He is 18. Okay, Isaiah, technically three.

Trailers for Sale or Rent

Trailers for sale or rent
Rooms to let, fifty cents
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah, but two hours of pushin' broom
Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road

Last evening at the Harvest Church Fourth of July "Celebrate Freedom" event, we sat on the bottom row of some partially-wet bleachers, huddled together for warmth, and listened to an up-and-coming country band sing, among other tunes, Roger Miller's "King of the Road." And suddenly, I was four years old again. I was in the backseat of my parents' smoke-filled car, huddled together with my little brother for warmth, listening to "King of the Road" on the radio as my mom drove my dad to work early in the winter morning. They had only one vehicle, so if she needed transportation during the day, driving Daddy to work was the only option. Funny how just one song can bring back the sights, sounds, and smells of a time so very long ago.

This caused me to reflect on the memories we have made for our children over the years and those we continue to make today. I was reminded of some Independence Days gone by. I remember the year Isaiah was only 2-1/2 months old. My mother had taken our two older kids along with their cousins to Seaside, OR for the holiday, so we took Isaiah to a fireworks display in Portland. It felt like a war zone! People were setting off firecrackers all around us. I sat on the ground cradling Isaiah in my arms to protect him from the noise and the smoke. Not the most pleasant memory, but a memory nonetheless. A few years later, my mother again took the older kids (this time, including Isaiah) to the beach, but she wouldn't take 3-year-old Eli (sad) because he was not yet out of diapers. We felt bad for him, so we wanted to make the day special. Living in Mt. Vernon, WA by then, we took Eli to Seattle to a Fourth of July carnival and celebration on the waterfront. I remember a lovely day. In the afternoon, I lay on a blanket and read a book while Eli and his dad played on the playground. The weather was just about perfect. We ate delicious food and eventually watched the fireworks, much to Eli's amazement.

Yesterday, we created yet another memory. We were small in number. Luke had to work. Shulamith was celebrating the holiday with friends on the Oregon coast. Isaiah and Eli were both hangin' out with their respective friends. THANK GOODNESS FOR SETH! As the three of us lay on our backs on our blanket and experienced in sight and sound the outstanding display of fireworks, I thanked Heavenly Father for family, for memories, for the future, for life.

At the climax of the fireworks display, Seth, with all the passion he could muster, exclaimed, "Mom, it's so beautiful! I just love the Fourth of July."

I think he will remember yesterday. If not the glorious fireworks display, surely he will remember sitting arm in arm with Mom, swaying back and forth, singing along with the band: "Trailers for sale or rent. Rooms to let, fifty cents..." as she returned to her childhood.