Indy

I wish this picture did justice to the incredible scenery I experienced this weekend in Bloomington, Indiana. But seriously, it does not. You can't even begin to imagine the vibrant colors of the changing leaves. I'm sure there's a biological reason for the wide variety of colors in the leaves, but I don't know it. I only know that I've never seen brighter oranges, deeper reds, or richer yellows. It was breathtaking.

Part of me wants to say that I was there at exactly the right time, but in reality, this is not quite true. I actually missed perfection by just one day. Luke informs me that it rained the entire week before we arrived in Bloomington. In fact, he had me all excited, thinking it would be raining when I got there, but no, it was clear and sunny the whole three days. Just now he called to report that it is raining again today. And my friend just mentioned, somewhat apologetically, that it even rained here, in Billings, while I was gone. But is it still raining here today? Of course not. WHAT AM I DOING WRONG??? I can't find rain no matter what I do or where I go. Even without rain, though, Bloomington was lovely; the Indiana University campus is beautiful. Shulamith and I both thought we would love to go to school there.

The other highlight of our weekend, other than visiting with Luke of course, was a concert presented by the institute choir from Luke's young single adult branch. He does not sing with this choir because he has class when they rehearse, but we were privileged to attend the concert anyway. It was outstanding. I was mesmerized for a full 40 minutes. I didn't want it to end. I know one of the choir members is finishing her doctorate in vocal performance, but that can't be true of all of them. It sounded like it, though.

And now we return to reality: essays to grade, a house to clean, Halloween to prepare for (Seth needs a costume, and I am SO not good at costumes), fat grams to count, P90X to resume. If you ever need a break, though, I highly recommend Bloomington, Indiana.

Premeditating Procrastination

A while back, Luke had an interesting Facebook status. It said, "Luke is premeditating procrastination." What exactly does that mean? That he was not procrastinating at the time but was thinking about doing so in the future? He explained it to me, and while I'm not sure I fully understand, it was something like this: He was not procrastinating at the time, but thinking about the possibility of future procrastination made it easier not do it right then. So I'm thinking this sounds like a good strategy because I really don't want to grade this stack of essays sitting here on my desk. If I start grading them, but at the same time think about the possibility of future procrastination, I might get them done? It's definitely worth a try.

So there. I graded a few, six to be exact. And now I'm totally worn out. My eyes are blurred, and my mind is blank. It really wouldn't be fair to the author of the seventh essay for me to even look at it now, right? So we've left procrastination and moved to rationalization. Hooray!

Instead, I will do what I really want to do, report on my birthday which was yesterday. It was a nice day, fairly quiet, but nice. I awoke to Seth standing over me with a card he had made. On the card, he had drawn a picture of him and me hugging. So sweet. I came to school and logged onto Facebook where I found delightful birthday greetings from all sorts of people. These Facebook wishes kept coming in throughout the day and evening. Some came from the people I see all the time: my immediate family, Lindsey, colleagues from school. Others came from friends from the distant past, whom I rarely see but with whom I share treasured memories: Corrie, Becky. Others came from people I barely know: Elizabeth B. or even from those I've never met personally: Nancy. And then there were a bunch of others from all sorts of folks, chiming in to make my day special. How fun that was!

On my way home, I received a text message from Matt, saying "Happy Birthday!" and soon after, Shulamith called with the same greeting. Later in the evening, calls from Luke, Isaiah, and my mom, along with a text conversation with Celeste, rounded out the day. The funniest part of the evening was at dinner. I met Lindsey and her three babes at McDonald's. We do this often enough that it didn't seem different from any other day, but when we were about to leave, five-year-old Emma came and sat on my lap. She does this often, but today she whispered in my ear, "My mom told me something. She said it's your birthday." When I concurred, she asked, "How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?" I replied. Her guess: nineteen! When I neither confirmed nor denied her guess, she insisted on giving me a paper flower that she had received in her Happy Meal. She said, "This one is for people who are nineteen." I love you, Emma.

So that was my day. The real fun comes this weekend when I get to go to Indiana and play with my two oldest children. And it's getting harder and harder to wait for Friday to arrive. So Luke...thanks for the extremely effective strategy. Premeditating Procrastination. You have discovered something great indeed.

Pre-Alzheimer's?

Any of you who know me well are fully aware that I have serious age issues. I spend copious amounts of time, energy, and money trying to figure out ways to look younger. Why is this? I'm not completely sure. Perhaps part of it is that my two closest friends are 28, and I really don't hang around anyone (other than Gerald, of course) who is over 35. That can't be the only reason, though. I think it's also simply a matter of preference. I don't look forward to aging, to being part of the "older" generation. I don't think I'll make a very good "older" person. Grandparenting does not sound fun; it just sounds old. In contrast, I love thinking of myself as a young mom, and because we have Seth, I've been able to pull that off for the past nine years. Hardly anything in the world pleases me more than when someone comments that I don't look nearly old enough to have children the ages of Luke and Shulamith. This person, whoever it is, moves immediately to the top of my best friend list! I keep this list forever in my mind, with the names of all these obviously intelligent and wonderfully observant people.

So it's frightening to me when I have moments of dementia (Alzheimer's?). Like today. I went to the store to get the ingredients for taco salad. No, I don't like to shop on Sundays. Yes, I know we've been asked to prepare ourselves sufficiently, so we don't need to cause others to be unnecessarily employed on the Sabbath. Nevertheless, I struggle to be that organized and hence often find myself in Albertson's on Sunday, picking up those final ingredients for dinner. So there I was today, getting lettuce, cheese, kidney beans, hamburger, dressing. But what is the key ingredient to a delicious taco salad? Chips, of course! And did I get those? No. Gerald prepared everything, and just as we were about to eat, Seth noticed, "We don't have chips." Ack. Are you kidding? Did I really forget the primary ingredient? So off to the store Gerald went, and the rest of us are here waiting for dinner. Blah.

I may be able to cheat age on the outside, but once I start losing my mental capacities, what ever will I do? Give up? Admit to being old? Check into a rest home? Hide under the covers and never come out? I don't know.

Gerald is now back, so for the moment, I'll enjoy some yummy taco salad and a fruit smoothie. And hope tomorrow is a better day. Because I'm seriously not ready to be old.

How Do You Spell "Discouraged"?

You know how some people love to make their homes lovely, inviting, pleasant? And often, those same people also love to invite guests in, to host gatherings of all sorts, to share their homes with friends at all times, but most especially during the holiday season? You know how some people enjoy the extra effort it takes to prepare their homes for the holidays and for those social gatherings because the result is so worth all the effort?

Well, I am one of those people.

So you an only imagine how discouraging it would be to have a pipe break, causing one's basement to partially flood, leaving a section of carpet soaked and the entire downstairs area smelling totally gross. And you can imagine how much more discouraging it would be if this were to happen on October 11th, just a month before Thanksgiving and two months before Christmas, when every possible cent of extra cash is already marked to purchase airline tickets for "away" children who need to fly home for Thanksgiving and again for Christmas and to buy gifts for said children along with the two children still at home.

How do you spell "discouraged"?

Snow Day? Not.

We awoke this morning to snow, both on the ground and falling from the sky. As a child when this occurred, I remember overwhelming feelings of joy and excitement. You see, it didn't snow often in Western Oregon, and when it did, the City of Portland essentially shut down. Everything was cancelled, including and most importantly, school! Snow days were few and far between because of the lovely mild climate, but when the snow did arrive, we kids could pretty much count on a snow day.

This is not the case in Montana.

I remember so clearly five years ago our first fall/winter here in Billings. We were living in a dorm room, waiting not-so-patiently for our house in Washington to sell. The first day we had snow, Isaiah and Eli woke up overjoyed. "No school!" they exclaimed. Their delight was quickly stifled when I explained that here in Montana, kids still go to school when it snows. "What?" they replied simultaneously. They were positively astonished by the fact that they would need to go to school when there was snow on the ground.

That was long enough ago that they no longer expect snow days. Both Isaiah and Eli have learned to drive in the snow. It doesn't bother them. And Seth is neither delighted nor disappointed by snowfall. It's merely another type of weather, nothing special.

I, on the other hand, am a true Western Washingtonian. Five years has done nothing to convert me. I like snow just fine, so long as I don't have to go outside, be cold, or worry about driving on slick roads. Alas, in Montana, I have to do all those things. My first winter here, I called my mother one morning as I was driving (about 10 miles per hour) to school on slick, snow-covered roads, and the temperature in my van read -18 degrees. The following day I received an overnight package: two down-filled heavy winter coats, one in black and one in brown. Yes, I still need to be fashionable even in ridiculously cold weather. I still wear both those coats today; in fact, I wore the black one this very morning.

Am I excited to see the start of the snowy season? No. Am I trying to retain a positive attitude? Yes. Am I succeeding? Not completely. I'm attempting to look for what is good, however. Let's see...It means the holidays are getting closer when I'll have all five kids home. Okay, that's reason enough to celebrate the change in weather.

Still, the child in me yearns for the magic of the past, the ever more elusive but all the more desirable SNOW DAY.

"I Found the Golden Ticket!"

Generally, I subscribe to the adage, "When something seems too good to be true, that's probably because it is." I don't want to say I'm not lucky. I consider myself extremely lucky in so many ways, most especially in regard to my five beautiful, healthy, remarkable children. But I don't tend to be lucky in the conventional sense; I don't win things. I don't win raffles, bingo, the lottery (well, I don't actually play the lottery, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't win even if I did). My children tend to follow suit in this lack of conventional luck. Seth, for example, walks the cake-walk at every carnival, several times even, and has never yet won a cake. He tries and tries, thinking "Maybe this will be the time!" but his number is never called.

I am here today to tell you that our "luck" may be changing. Last evening, as I was doing Core Synergistics, one of the hardest of my P90X workout routines, Seth kept talking about a "Golden Ticket."

"I found the golden ticket" he exclaimed. "I win $50!" He was looking through the latest fundraising packet he got at school. I must say here how much I detest these fundraisers. They tempt kids, showing them all the amazing, expensive prizes they can win if they can only sell 5 million items. Blah! No, I'm not sending my 9-year-old out selling things door-to-door, and I'm not going to burden my friends by asking them to buy stuff they don't need or want. I will buy a few items, but not nearly enough for Seth to win anything significant.

He wouldn't let up. "I found the golden ticket! I win $50!"

I paid little attention. I was dripping in sweat, breathing hard, struggling with all my might to do walking push-ups, steam engine knee lifts, and the infamous "Superman/Banana" series. Gasping for breath, I managed to squeak out, "You did not win $50, Seth." He was crushed. He plopped down on the couch and covered his head with a pillow. Once I recovered from my workout, I tried to explain that the school is not going to just give a kid $50 before he's sold anything. He didn't believe me, but I managed to distract him from the whole subject long enough to eat dinner, and I didn't give it another thought.

Later, when Eli got home from work, Seth apparently showed him the fundraiser packet, along with the golden ticket. Eli came up to my room and said, "I think Seth actually won $50!" What? That couldn't possibly be true. Or could it? So finally (yes, I know I should have done this earlier), I actually looked at the thing myself. Sure enough. It would appear that one child out of the entire school gets a golden ticket in his fundraiser packet, and that ticket is worth $50 cash. And Seth got it. He won!

My skepticism still got the best of me, so I emailed his teacher last night. She replied this morning, confirming that Seth was the lucky child who got the only golden ticket in the entire school and would receive $50 today! He will be one happy boy.

As for me, I'm positively stunned.