We all know that the best gifts are free. Better than any material gift are the things that can't be bought, the things that last eternally: the love of family, the joy of friendship, the warmth of togetherness.
That said, sometimes material gifts are meaningful too, not because they are big or extravagant or expensive, but rather because they are carefully chosen and personal and just exactly right.
I was blessed with a few of these this Christmas.
1. Eli gave me a car window decal with the "BYU-Idaho Mom" logo. I already have decals on my van from Whitman College (Luke), Westminster College (Shulamith and Isaiah), and Indiana University (Luke - grad school). I have wanted one from BYU-Idaho ever since the fall of 2011, when Eli attended there the first time, the semester prior to his mission. I am so excited to add this new decal to my van window and so grateful to Eli for remembering how much I wanted it.
2. Luke and Desiree gave me Jeffrey R. Holland's newest book, To My Friends, Messages of Counsel and Comfort, such a thoughtful gift because they know Elder Holland is one of my favorites of the "Fab 15." This little book is divided into 21, short, independent chapters, making it the perfect bedtime read. I love it already.
3. Isaiah, with guidance from Shulamith, gave me a beautiful silver mother's necklace with charms engraved with the initials of each of my five children. Well, you can just see for yourself how lovely it is:
5. Mathew bought me a soft, salmon-colored, thermal shirt, stretchy and super comfortable. I love the shirt; really I do, but even more, I love that he thought to go get it by himself, without Shulamith even. So nice.
5. Gerald gave me a cozy, warm sweater in my favorite color, red. It is so comfy, especially now that we are experiencing temperatures that remind me of when I lived in Montana.
I don't think any of these gifts was bank-breaking expensive, but each is incredibly meaningful nonetheless. Each represents that someone cared enough to know me, and to know specifically what I would like.
Yes, the best gifts are free. That is true for sure. But these ones are awfully nice too.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, December 26, 2014
It Had Its Quirks For Sure, But It Was All Good: Christmas 2014
I saw a meme yesterday that said
'Twas the Night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except Mom, who was busting butt to make everything perfect for everybody.
I laughed. This has been my life for almost as long as I can remember, and I wouldn't have it any other way, but yes, Christmas prep for us moms is tiring.
This year was typical in that regard: endless and relentless shopping for days and weeks, trying to get every kid the exact right thing while still working within a budget (sort of); attempting to bake copious amounts of special holiday treats, when let's face it...I'm just terrible at baking; drafting the perfect Christmas letter and mailing it out with a collage of carefully selected photos; scurrying from store to store on the afternoon of the 24th because the final count revealed two kids with one fewer gift than the others; grocery shopping late Christmas Eve because, well, there just wasn't any other time to do it; "Santa" prep even later Christmas Eve, filling each stocking to capacity and arranging special unwrapped Santa gifts just so.
By the time I fell into bed at near midnight, I was drop-dead exhausted.
But could I sleep? Of course not! Just thinking about the upcoming excitement made sleep impossible. So I lay awake, anticipating the surprises to come, and wondering if my dream of a white Christmas would really come true.
It did! And yes, I managed to sleep a little, not good, solid, restorative sleep, mind you, but some sleep here and there through the night. I awoke to a dusting of white, with more snow falling. I can't remember the last time we had fresh snow on Christmas Day, and it was every bit as magical as you can imagine, so go ahead and be jealous.
One thing that is very different from the days when we had tiny children is that Christmas morning begins later than it used to. Instead of being awakened at dawn by children climbing all over me shouting "Wake up, Mommy! It's Christmas and Santa Claus came!" I awoke to a quiet, quiet house. I quickly put the makings of hot cocoa into the crock pot, and sat for a bit alone in my living room. I watched the snow fall outside my window. I listened to Christmas music for the last time this year. I gazed at my lovely Christmas tree with its twinkling lights and so many ornaments to remind me of years past. It was a "moment."
About 9:30, Shulamith texted that her little Swen was wanting to come upstairs, so maybe I should consider waking up my boys. I found Eli already awake (!) just chillin' on his computer, and I gently woke up Seth and Isaiah. They all took quick showers, and by 10:00 we were ready to begin the day. We open gifts s-l-o-w-l-y. You see, I am the mom. I have done all the prep work (see above), so I get to decide how things go down on Christmas morning, and I like it to last. A long time. Just ask Matt. Haha, okay maybe don't ask him? Still fairly new to our traditions, he is baffled by how one family can take so incredibly long to open gifts. He has yet to make it through an entire Christmas morning with us; he always manages to break free and slip away at some point. And that is absolutely fine.
It was a wonderful time. Wonderful and quirky. Just like all of us. Just like everyone. The longer I live and the more I experience, the more convinced I am of the utter quirkiness of human beings. God must laugh a lot. But I digress.
The first quirk came early. I decided to give Seth his best present first. In the past, I've done all sorts of things to make sure his main gift is a total surprise, and this year I couldn't think of anything but this. So he unwrapped his laptop first, and in utter disbelief exclaimed, "Is this a computer? Really? Why did you give me this first?" His gifts to follow would go quickly downhill, which didn't bother him at all, but then this happened: Within seconds, it seemed, he managed to install a virus on his new computer. Yep, he sure did. From that point, it was "game on." My two computer gurus, Gerald and Isaiah, were fully distracted, obsessed by their goal to rid the computer of the nasty bug, passing the laptop back and forth, discussing their effort and progress. No longer did they see a single thing anyone opened; it almost felt like an imposition to ask them to open their own gifts when their respective turns came around. But this didn't matter at all because honestly, it's only Shulamith and I (and maybe Eli, a little) who even care what people get, and we saw everything, while Gerald and Isaiah successfully wiped out the virus. It was all good.
But just as this minor glitch ended, there was this. Gerald likes to freeze plastic cups containing ice cubes and all sorts of different varieties of diluted pop. I often can't find a single cup to drink from because so many are in the freezer! So we are all sitting there opening gifts, one by one, when suddenly Gerald starts yelling, "Oh, no, ack, ack, help, help HELP!" But none of us knew what was wrong. No idea. So we just sat there. For seconds. Finally, we saw that his ice cube cup had cracked, and Diet Coke was dripping wildly all over everywhere, but still we just sat there. It was so weird. Like no one moved, as Gerald continued to scream for help. Finally, after way too long, someone grabbed some wrapping paper, and I ran upstairs for a towel. Weird.
Problem solved, and the gift-opening continued. Including Isaiah's gifts. I should point out that for the past five years, Isaiah has lived in the typical poverty of most college students, so he's never had money to buy anything. This year was much different. His sweet job provided him the means to buy gifts, and when he walked in on Christmas Eve with gifts nearly falling out of his arms, it was one of the most adorable things I'd ever seen. Many of his gifts were truly heartfelt. He gave me a mother's necklace with charms engraved with the initials of each of my five kids (love!), and he gave Shulamith's baby Kennedy a $10 bill, her very first cash. But some others? Have you ever heard of men who give their wives tools for Christmas? Yeah, think along those lines. He gave Seth a WiiU controller, so he (Isaiah) could play Smash, and he gave Eli a Dominion card set. Eli sort of plays Dominion? Sometimes? But Isaiah is the Dominion king. So this made us all laugh, and you probably need to actually be an Erichsen-Webster to understand the humor in all this, so I'll leave it at that.
About halfway through the morning, Shulamith texted me that on Matt's next turn she wanted us to go up and bring down his new flat screen HDTV. Up to this point, they had a tiny, dark TV, and Shulamith had saved and saved to get this new one, and I helped her as well. She was so excited, and she so wanted Matt to be excited, and on some level, she actually thought he would be. Now she knows Matt. She knows him well. As well as anyone does. And she loves him so much. But she also knows that he does not care for Christmas at all, and he certainly does not get excited about presents. No way that's gonna happen, and I could have told her that, and I probably should have told her that, because I think she was a little disappointed by his utter lack of emotion when we carried this TV down the stairs. It was dead silent. No one said a word for several minutes. However, I think he liked it because his annual "escape the Erichsen-Webster Christmas marathon" strategy involved him taking the TV downstairs and setting it up. And then he spent the greater part of today mounting it. So yeah. He likes it, even if it was a Christmas gift.
And just like that, it was over. It happens every year. Regardless of how slowly I make them go, the end comes eventually, leaving an empty tree. It's always sad for me; I won't lie. So much preparation, so much shopping and wrapping and shopping and wrapping (I even wrap my own gifts, once Shulamith puts them in boxes so I can't see what they are), and it's all over so fast. I need to remember, as we all do, that the first gift, the real gift, the most important gift, the only gift that matters ultimately, never ends. Indeed, the reason for all the other gifts is the gift from Heaven sent to all.
Quirks and all, He loves us. Quirks and all, He provided the path by which we may find our way back to Him. May we be blessed to remember that as we embark on yet another year of this crazy good life.
'Twas the Night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except Mom, who was busting butt to make everything perfect for everybody.
I laughed. This has been my life for almost as long as I can remember, and I wouldn't have it any other way, but yes, Christmas prep for us moms is tiring.
This year was typical in that regard: endless and relentless shopping for days and weeks, trying to get every kid the exact right thing while still working within a budget (sort of); attempting to bake copious amounts of special holiday treats, when let's face it...I'm just terrible at baking; drafting the perfect Christmas letter and mailing it out with a collage of carefully selected photos; scurrying from store to store on the afternoon of the 24th because the final count revealed two kids with one fewer gift than the others; grocery shopping late Christmas Eve because, well, there just wasn't any other time to do it; "Santa" prep even later Christmas Eve, filling each stocking to capacity and arranging special unwrapped Santa gifts just so.
By the time I fell into bed at near midnight, I was drop-dead exhausted.
But could I sleep? Of course not! Just thinking about the upcoming excitement made sleep impossible. So I lay awake, anticipating the surprises to come, and wondering if my dream of a white Christmas would really come true.
It did! And yes, I managed to sleep a little, not good, solid, restorative sleep, mind you, but some sleep here and there through the night. I awoke to a dusting of white, with more snow falling. I can't remember the last time we had fresh snow on Christmas Day, and it was every bit as magical as you can imagine, so go ahead and be jealous.
One thing that is very different from the days when we had tiny children is that Christmas morning begins later than it used to. Instead of being awakened at dawn by children climbing all over me shouting "Wake up, Mommy! It's Christmas and Santa Claus came!" I awoke to a quiet, quiet house. I quickly put the makings of hot cocoa into the crock pot, and sat for a bit alone in my living room. I watched the snow fall outside my window. I listened to Christmas music for the last time this year. I gazed at my lovely Christmas tree with its twinkling lights and so many ornaments to remind me of years past. It was a "moment."
About 9:30, Shulamith texted that her little Swen was wanting to come upstairs, so maybe I should consider waking up my boys. I found Eli already awake (!) just chillin' on his computer, and I gently woke up Seth and Isaiah. They all took quick showers, and by 10:00 we were ready to begin the day. We open gifts s-l-o-w-l-y. You see, I am the mom. I have done all the prep work (see above), so I get to decide how things go down on Christmas morning, and I like it to last. A long time. Just ask Matt. Haha, okay maybe don't ask him? Still fairly new to our traditions, he is baffled by how one family can take so incredibly long to open gifts. He has yet to make it through an entire Christmas morning with us; he always manages to break free and slip away at some point. And that is absolutely fine.
It was a wonderful time. Wonderful and quirky. Just like all of us. Just like everyone. The longer I live and the more I experience, the more convinced I am of the utter quirkiness of human beings. God must laugh a lot. But I digress.
The first quirk came early. I decided to give Seth his best present first. In the past, I've done all sorts of things to make sure his main gift is a total surprise, and this year I couldn't think of anything but this. So he unwrapped his laptop first, and in utter disbelief exclaimed, "Is this a computer? Really? Why did you give me this first?" His gifts to follow would go quickly downhill, which didn't bother him at all, but then this happened: Within seconds, it seemed, he managed to install a virus on his new computer. Yep, he sure did. From that point, it was "game on." My two computer gurus, Gerald and Isaiah, were fully distracted, obsessed by their goal to rid the computer of the nasty bug, passing the laptop back and forth, discussing their effort and progress. No longer did they see a single thing anyone opened; it almost felt like an imposition to ask them to open their own gifts when their respective turns came around. But this didn't matter at all because honestly, it's only Shulamith and I (and maybe Eli, a little) who even care what people get, and we saw everything, while Gerald and Isaiah successfully wiped out the virus. It was all good.
But just as this minor glitch ended, there was this. Gerald likes to freeze plastic cups containing ice cubes and all sorts of different varieties of diluted pop. I often can't find a single cup to drink from because so many are in the freezer! So we are all sitting there opening gifts, one by one, when suddenly Gerald starts yelling, "Oh, no, ack, ack, help, help HELP!" But none of us knew what was wrong. No idea. So we just sat there. For seconds. Finally, we saw that his ice cube cup had cracked, and Diet Coke was dripping wildly all over everywhere, but still we just sat there. It was so weird. Like no one moved, as Gerald continued to scream for help. Finally, after way too long, someone grabbed some wrapping paper, and I ran upstairs for a towel. Weird.
Problem solved, and the gift-opening continued. Including Isaiah's gifts. I should point out that for the past five years, Isaiah has lived in the typical poverty of most college students, so he's never had money to buy anything. This year was much different. His sweet job provided him the means to buy gifts, and when he walked in on Christmas Eve with gifts nearly falling out of his arms, it was one of the most adorable things I'd ever seen. Many of his gifts were truly heartfelt. He gave me a mother's necklace with charms engraved with the initials of each of my five kids (love!), and he gave Shulamith's baby Kennedy a $10 bill, her very first cash. But some others? Have you ever heard of men who give their wives tools for Christmas? Yeah, think along those lines. He gave Seth a WiiU controller, so he (Isaiah) could play Smash, and he gave Eli a Dominion card set. Eli sort of plays Dominion? Sometimes? But Isaiah is the Dominion king. So this made us all laugh, and you probably need to actually be an Erichsen-Webster to understand the humor in all this, so I'll leave it at that.
About halfway through the morning, Shulamith texted me that on Matt's next turn she wanted us to go up and bring down his new flat screen HDTV. Up to this point, they had a tiny, dark TV, and Shulamith had saved and saved to get this new one, and I helped her as well. She was so excited, and she so wanted Matt to be excited, and on some level, she actually thought he would be. Now she knows Matt. She knows him well. As well as anyone does. And she loves him so much. But she also knows that he does not care for Christmas at all, and he certainly does not get excited about presents. No way that's gonna happen, and I could have told her that, and I probably should have told her that, because I think she was a little disappointed by his utter lack of emotion when we carried this TV down the stairs. It was dead silent. No one said a word for several minutes. However, I think he liked it because his annual "escape the Erichsen-Webster Christmas marathon" strategy involved him taking the TV downstairs and setting it up. And then he spent the greater part of today mounting it. So yeah. He likes it, even if it was a Christmas gift.
And just like that, it was over. It happens every year. Regardless of how slowly I make them go, the end comes eventually, leaving an empty tree. It's always sad for me; I won't lie. So much preparation, so much shopping and wrapping and shopping and wrapping (I even wrap my own gifts, once Shulamith puts them in boxes so I can't see what they are), and it's all over so fast. I need to remember, as we all do, that the first gift, the real gift, the most important gift, the only gift that matters ultimately, never ends. Indeed, the reason for all the other gifts is the gift from Heaven sent to all.
Quirks and all, He loves us. Quirks and all, He provided the path by which we may find our way back to Him. May we be blessed to remember that as we embark on yet another year of this crazy good life.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Take Christ out of Christmas? I Don't Think It's Possible
On a friend's Facebook wall recently, she shared a blog post regarding those who repeatedly tell us to "keep Christ in Christmas" or to "put Christ back in Christmas" or those who are offended if someone wishes them "Happy Holidays" or "Season's greetings." The blogger said that when we perpetuate these ideas, "we prove ourselves people of little faith." I think her point is that God's presence is in no way threatened because of anything we, or others, happen to do or not do when celebrating holidays, including Christmas.
I agree.
You see, I believe Christmas is for everyone who wants it. Don't misunderstand; for me, Christmas is a religious holiday, the day we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, who came into the world to bring light in the darkness, to demonstrate what pure love really looks like, and to redeem humankind from sin, thus providing the path to eternal life. That's what Christmas means to me. Every gift I wrap, every carol I sing, every cookie I bake, every tree I trim, is because of that tiny babe born in Bethlehem so long ago, whose perfect love brings redeeming grace to all who seek Him.
But everyone isn't me.
And everyone doesn't have to be me in order to share in the joy of this season.
Would I withhold the joys of Christmas from those who don't happen to believe the way I do? I would not.
Would I make Christmas an exclusive club only for the religious, only for those who attend church, only for those who attend my church, only for those who identify themselves as Christians? I would not.
And I don't think God would either.
Christmas brings out the very best in people. It manages to take otherwise self-involved humans and turn them into something better. We give more than just gifts at Christmas; we give of ourselves. We willingly reach out in generosity to those less fortunate. We love more deeply. We are kinder and more tolerant. We help more and judge less. We are gentler with our children. Indeed, we behave more like Christ.
Why wouldn't we want this for everyone? Perhaps growing up in a non-religious family, yet celebrating Christmas every year with such gladness, I can't imagine why I'd want to exclude anyone, ever, from this glorious holiday.
So take your kids to visit Santa. Or don't. (I happen to adore Santa, but that's just me.) Sing carols about reindeer and snowmen and jingle bells. Or sing carols only about the Savior. Do what works for you.
Either way, if folks care enough to wish you well this season, be grateful, regardless of the words they use. Be grateful they took the time to stop and think of you, and then send that love right back because it can only make the world better.
Take Christ out of Christmas? Nope, I don't think it's possible.
I agree.
You see, I believe Christmas is for everyone who wants it. Don't misunderstand; for me, Christmas is a religious holiday, the day we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, who came into the world to bring light in the darkness, to demonstrate what pure love really looks like, and to redeem humankind from sin, thus providing the path to eternal life. That's what Christmas means to me. Every gift I wrap, every carol I sing, every cookie I bake, every tree I trim, is because of that tiny babe born in Bethlehem so long ago, whose perfect love brings redeeming grace to all who seek Him.
But everyone isn't me.
And everyone doesn't have to be me in order to share in the joy of this season.
Would I withhold the joys of Christmas from those who don't happen to believe the way I do? I would not.
Would I make Christmas an exclusive club only for the religious, only for those who attend church, only for those who attend my church, only for those who identify themselves as Christians? I would not.
And I don't think God would either.
Christmas brings out the very best in people. It manages to take otherwise self-involved humans and turn them into something better. We give more than just gifts at Christmas; we give of ourselves. We willingly reach out in generosity to those less fortunate. We love more deeply. We are kinder and more tolerant. We help more and judge less. We are gentler with our children. Indeed, we behave more like Christ.
Why wouldn't we want this for everyone? Perhaps growing up in a non-religious family, yet celebrating Christmas every year with such gladness, I can't imagine why I'd want to exclude anyone, ever, from this glorious holiday.
So take your kids to visit Santa. Or don't. (I happen to adore Santa, but that's just me.) Sing carols about reindeer and snowmen and jingle bells. Or sing carols only about the Savior. Do what works for you.
Either way, if folks care enough to wish you well this season, be grateful, regardless of the words they use. Be grateful they took the time to stop and think of you, and then send that love right back because it can only make the world better.
Take Christ out of Christmas? Nope, I don't think it's possible.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
The Night Before Christmas (Erichsen-Webster Style)
'Twas the night
before Christmas, when all through the house
Not an
Erichsen-Webster was stirring, not even a mouse (well, except maybe
Kennedy and Shulamith downstairs. The Webster-Monsons welcomed a baby
sister, Kennedy Webster Monson, July 5th.)
The pictures were
hung on the kitchen wall with care (Yep,Terrianne, the LEAST crafty
person on earth, somehow created a family photo gallery),
In hopes friends and
visitors soon would be there.
The children were
nestled all snug in their beds (including Swen, who at age 2-1/2 has
finally figured out sleeping, much to his mother's relief!);
While visions of
Diet Coke danced in their heads;
And mamma
(Terrianne) in her 'kerchief, and I (Gerald) in my cap,
Had just settled our
brains for a long winter's nap.
When out on the lawn
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed
to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I
flew like a flash,
Tore open the
shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the
breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a lustre of
celebration to objects below,
When what to my
wondering eyes did appear,
But seven
Erichsen-Websters from far and from near,
With Isaiah in the
middle, so lively and rad,
I knew in a moment
he must be a grad (from Westminster College with a B.S. in Computer
Science).
More rapid than
eagles his family they came,
And he whistled, and
shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Luke!
now, Shulamith! now Eli and Seth!
On, Mathew!
On, Désirée! on, Mom and Dad!
To the top of the
porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash
away! dash away all!" (And dash away Isaiah does, all the time,
in his new position with Lanyon Inc., where he travels the world as a
tech support specialist at various events and conventions).
But Isaiah, not the
only graduate this year,
Dr. Luke Erichsen
soon would appear;
So up to Indiana a
few of us flew
Terrianne, Gerald,
and Shulamith too — (...possibly for the last time. The
Erichsen-Valentines moved from Indiana to Maryland in August, where
both Luke and Désirée secured jobs in their respective fields of
psychology and business at exactly the same time, no easy task for a
family).
As we landed in
Indy, and were turning around,
Down the aisle of
the auditorium Luke came with a bound.
He was dressed all
in black, from his head to his foot,
Including a
mortarboard, tassel, and hood;
A Ph.D. he had
earned on his back,
And he looked like a
scholar just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they
twinkled! So thrilled to be done!
Through five years
of hard work, the battle he'd won.
On his face was a
smile, his countenance glad,
With Evelyn
watching, so proud of her dad.
But before all that
happened, and lest we forget,
The most glorious
day of the past two years yet;
At the airport we
waited for one flight to land
'Til we saw Elder
Webster, Book of Mormon in hand.
We ran forth to
greet him, for after two years,
Oh the joy! — and
then Mom in a puddle of tears.
We touched him, we
hugged him, we looked in his eyes,
It was really our
Eli, a little more wise;
He spoke many words,
then went straight to his work,
Serving pasta at
Mac. Grill; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his
finger aside of his nose,
Up to BYU-Idaho in
Rexburg he rose.
Then there is
Shulamith, home with her babes,
Terrianne helps her
on most of the days.
Save three mornings
a week when with strength, mind, and might,
She tries to help
college kids learn how to write.
Matt works for
Vision, supply chain his role,
Gerald helps people
hablar español.
And last we have
Seth, who in June turned fourteen,
Which is totally
nuts if you know what we mean.
He is our “baby”
and needs to stay small,
But he currently
stands five feet, nine inches tall!
He sings in the
choir, piano he plays,
He makes our lives
joyful in so many ways.
Magic his favorite,
with card tricks galore,
A freshman in high
school, so much still in store.
From the twelve of
us here to the many of you,
May the love of the
Savior, bless through and through.
“Happy
Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Friday, December 5, 2014
Christmas Traditions from the Viewpoint of Seth
Last evening, as Seth and I were driving home from Taco Time, he made known his unwavering viewpoint about Christmas traditions. I thought I'd share it with you.
Mom, I just love ALL our Christmas traditions. I'm going to do all of them with my own family one day. I don't care what my wife thinks. If she doesn't like our traditions, she is obviously not the "one."
First, we will eat delicious Chinese food on Christmas Eve. (In reality, this is a fairly new tradition in our family, just the last few years that we've lived here in Utah, but apparently Seth likes it).
Second, we will read the Christmas story from the Bible and open one present on Christmas Eve. It can be pajamas or a pillow or a new blanket, nothing too exciting. The good presents have to be in the morning.
Third, we will take turns, from youngest to oldest, opening one present at a time Christmas morning, so it takes hours and hours.
Fourth, we will open our stockings LAST. I've heard of families that open stockings first, and that is just wrong.
Fifth, we will all go to a movie together on Christmas night. This is my favorite part of Christmas. Well, besides the presents.
*****************************************************
Dear Seth's Future Wife,
I apologize for Seth's rigidity, and I hope all this is acceptable to you.
Love, Seth's Mom
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Grateful In Any Circumstances
In a recent General Conference address, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf encouraged members of our church to be grateful in any circumstances. He spoke of those dealing with all varieties of adversity: sickness, loss, financial stress, mental anguish, and more. He taught that with the Gospel in our lives, it is possible to be grateful despite adversity and to find reason to rejoice in any situation.
While our circumstances are not nearly as devastating as those he mentioned in his talk, our Thanksgiving celebration did not turn out quite as we planned, thanks to a pesky little stomach virus that cycled its way through our family during the holiday week. I had one brief moment of tears as I looked at Eli, flat in bed, so sick, on this, the first Thanksgiving since his mission.
Nevertheless, I found reason to rejoice and to be so grateful for so much. Despite the stomach flu, it really was a lovely holiday.
Eli arrived home Monday evening, and in the middle of that night, both Shulamith and I awoke feeling blah, you know, that undeniable feeling that something is just not right in the digestive system. Yeah, you know the feeling. Since we eat lots of our meals together, we just assumed it was some sort of food poisoning. With Eli's help, we pushed forward all day Tuesday with of dozens of "to-do" items on our Thanksgiving prep list. On Wednesday, Matt got sick. At that point we realized this must be a virus rather than food poisoning. Who would be next to drop? Sadly, Thursday morning, both Eli and Seth woke up sick. I tried to remember President Uchtdorf's counsel, grateful in any circumstances.
I was grateful. I was grateful Eli was home where I could take care of him, rather than away at school or in Tennessee! I was grateful this virus was only lasting about 24 hours, so he and Seth should be better by the next day. And they were. Just in time for Black Friday! For years, Shulamith and I have shopped Black Friday by ourselves, but this year we let the boys come too, and also Grandma, who had flown in from Portland Thursday afternoon. She recently received an inheritance, and she chose to share it by letting all of my children go shopping for clothes.
It was a shopping extravaganza (!), and by the end of the day, they each had lovely new wardrobes consisting of all their favorite styles. This photo is only of the three younger boys; Luke lives in Maryland and will have to shop there. Shulamith was home napping her kids when we took this picture, but she was with us in the morning and again after naps, so she got her new clothes too. Yay!
I am grateful the four Webster women could be together for this next photo, taken Thursday night, BEFORE Grandma (my mom) got sick:
Yep, we managed to pass along this dumb virus to her, and she woke up sick Saturday morning. It's never fun to be sick, but it's especially not fun when you are away from home. I felt so bad for her. Still, I tried to be grateful in any circumstances. I am grateful she was able to come visit us, and I hope she is too, despite the stomach flu.
I had responsibilities in all three hours of church Sunday. I got to speak in Sacrament Meeting (my favorite!!) and then teach my regular Gospel Essentials class and then sub as chorister in Relief Society. By the time I dropped Grandma (still sick) off at the airport Sunday afternoon, I was positively exhausted.
I came home, grateful for my wonderful bed, which I immediately climbed into and fell sound asleep.
Grateful in any circumstances. Indeed, I am trying to be.
While our circumstances are not nearly as devastating as those he mentioned in his talk, our Thanksgiving celebration did not turn out quite as we planned, thanks to a pesky little stomach virus that cycled its way through our family during the holiday week. I had one brief moment of tears as I looked at Eli, flat in bed, so sick, on this, the first Thanksgiving since his mission.
Nevertheless, I found reason to rejoice and to be so grateful for so much. Despite the stomach flu, it really was a lovely holiday.
Eli arrived home Monday evening, and in the middle of that night, both Shulamith and I awoke feeling blah, you know, that undeniable feeling that something is just not right in the digestive system. Yeah, you know the feeling. Since we eat lots of our meals together, we just assumed it was some sort of food poisoning. With Eli's help, we pushed forward all day Tuesday with of dozens of "to-do" items on our Thanksgiving prep list. On Wednesday, Matt got sick. At that point we realized this must be a virus rather than food poisoning. Who would be next to drop? Sadly, Thursday morning, both Eli and Seth woke up sick. I tried to remember President Uchtdorf's counsel, grateful in any circumstances.
I was grateful. I was grateful Eli was home where I could take care of him, rather than away at school or in Tennessee! I was grateful this virus was only lasting about 24 hours, so he and Seth should be better by the next day. And they were. Just in time for Black Friday! For years, Shulamith and I have shopped Black Friday by ourselves, but this year we let the boys come too, and also Grandma, who had flown in from Portland Thursday afternoon. She recently received an inheritance, and she chose to share it by letting all of my children go shopping for clothes.
It was a shopping extravaganza (!), and by the end of the day, they each had lovely new wardrobes consisting of all their favorite styles. This photo is only of the three younger boys; Luke lives in Maryland and will have to shop there. Shulamith was home napping her kids when we took this picture, but she was with us in the morning and again after naps, so she got her new clothes too. Yay!
I am grateful the four Webster women could be together for this next photo, taken Thursday night, BEFORE Grandma (my mom) got sick:
Yep, we managed to pass along this dumb virus to her, and she woke up sick Saturday morning. It's never fun to be sick, but it's especially not fun when you are away from home. I felt so bad for her. Still, I tried to be grateful in any circumstances. I am grateful she was able to come visit us, and I hope she is too, despite the stomach flu.
I had responsibilities in all three hours of church Sunday. I got to speak in Sacrament Meeting (my favorite!!) and then teach my regular Gospel Essentials class and then sub as chorister in Relief Society. By the time I dropped Grandma (still sick) off at the airport Sunday afternoon, I was positively exhausted.
I came home, grateful for my wonderful bed, which I immediately climbed into and fell sound asleep.
Grateful in any circumstances. Indeed, I am trying to be.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
What If You Really Just Suck at the Assigned Topic?
Many of you know that speaking in Sacrament Meeting is my all-time favorite thing to do. Honestly, it's the most fun thing we get to do in our church. I'd speak every week if they'd let me, and I'm not even kidding. So this past Sunday, when a bishopric member pulled me aside and asked me if I'd speak the last Sunday of this month, I was understandably delighted. That is, until he told me the topic.
What do you do if you really just suck at the assigned topic?
Because that's the case here.
When I came home, I told my family that I get to speak later this month, and they were super happy because they know how much I love to speak, and they like me to be happy. Then I asked them to guess the topic. I told them it's something I'm really, really bad at. Then they started listing things, so I guess I must suck at lots of Gospel topics, but eventually they guessed right:
Fasting.
Yeah, I really struggle with this one. I think it's partly cultural. As adults converts, Gerald and I did not grow up fasting. It was a foreign concept to us, and now, all these years later, it sort of still is. Perhaps it's just that I really like food a lot, and I don't like to be hungry? But for whatever reason, I've never fully embraced this principle or incorporated into my life, at least not regularly.
And now I have to speak about it in Sacrament Meeting.
Okay, nothing, absolutely nothing, would take away from my joy in getting to speak. I'm thrilled. But I needed to figure out a way to proceed. I want to teach the principle, but I don't want to be a hypocrite. So I asked for help from people I trust: first, an LDS Facebook group I belong to; and second, my family. One person from the FB group had this suggestion: "You should fast until you gain a testimony of fasting. That way, you'll either be ready to give the talk, or you won't have to." Ha!
Then my son and recently returned missionary, Eli, has this to say: "Hahaha, that's hilarious. So what are you going to do? Say 'I don't fast, but it's a good idea. Amen.'"
Ah, no. I think maybe I WON'T use either of those two suggestions. Instead, I was reminded of a conversation I once had with a friend and member of our Stake Presidency in Washington. For some reason, we were discussing this exact issue: how to teach a principle when you know you don't live it very well yourself. His opinion was that it doesn't matter. In our church, we teach principles; we teach the ideal. We know full well that none of us is perfect and that none of us lives all Gospel principles perfectly all the time. If that were true, we probably wouldn't need to be here, yet here we are! Here we are on this beautiful earth, blessed with families, friends, Gospel principles to guide us, and most importantly, a Savior to rescue us when we need rescuing. We are here to grow, to learn, to practice living the Gospel, and to improve ourselves day by day. And knowing we all fall short here, there, and everywhere, we still teach true principles. We still teach the ideal.
That is what I will seek to do in this talk. Those of you in the Union Park 6th Ward can see how that all goes a week from Sunday. The rest of you....wish me luck.
What do you do if you really just suck at the assigned topic?
Because that's the case here.
When I came home, I told my family that I get to speak later this month, and they were super happy because they know how much I love to speak, and they like me to be happy. Then I asked them to guess the topic. I told them it's something I'm really, really bad at. Then they started listing things, so I guess I must suck at lots of Gospel topics, but eventually they guessed right:
Fasting.
Yeah, I really struggle with this one. I think it's partly cultural. As adults converts, Gerald and I did not grow up fasting. It was a foreign concept to us, and now, all these years later, it sort of still is. Perhaps it's just that I really like food a lot, and I don't like to be hungry? But for whatever reason, I've never fully embraced this principle or incorporated into my life, at least not regularly.
And now I have to speak about it in Sacrament Meeting.
Okay, nothing, absolutely nothing, would take away from my joy in getting to speak. I'm thrilled. But I needed to figure out a way to proceed. I want to teach the principle, but I don't want to be a hypocrite. So I asked for help from people I trust: first, an LDS Facebook group I belong to; and second, my family. One person from the FB group had this suggestion: "You should fast until you gain a testimony of fasting. That way, you'll either be ready to give the talk, or you won't have to." Ha!
Then my son and recently returned missionary, Eli, has this to say: "Hahaha, that's hilarious. So what are you going to do? Say 'I don't fast, but it's a good idea. Amen.'"
Ah, no. I think maybe I WON'T use either of those two suggestions. Instead, I was reminded of a conversation I once had with a friend and member of our Stake Presidency in Washington. For some reason, we were discussing this exact issue: how to teach a principle when you know you don't live it very well yourself. His opinion was that it doesn't matter. In our church, we teach principles; we teach the ideal. We know full well that none of us is perfect and that none of us lives all Gospel principles perfectly all the time. If that were true, we probably wouldn't need to be here, yet here we are! Here we are on this beautiful earth, blessed with families, friends, Gospel principles to guide us, and most importantly, a Savior to rescue us when we need rescuing. We are here to grow, to learn, to practice living the Gospel, and to improve ourselves day by day. And knowing we all fall short here, there, and everywhere, we still teach true principles. We still teach the ideal.
That is what I will seek to do in this talk. Those of you in the Union Park 6th Ward can see how that all goes a week from Sunday. The rest of you....wish me luck.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Dropped Out of School, or Kicked Out of the House
Kids are funny. There's no doubt about about that. And we moms tend to think our own kids are the funniest. But mine actually are.
So today I'd like to focus on my youngest two.
First Eli. As some background, let's just say that Eli doesn't really love to do schoolwork. That is not to say that he doesn't like school. He likes lots of things about school, most especially the social aspects. Let's be honest; Eli is a Webster through and through. But when it comes to doing homework, you know, the assignments given by teachers at school, he is not all that impressed. So every week or so, usually on Tuesday because he has only one class on Tuesday, I receive a call. I see "Eli Webster" on my Caller ID, and I get super excited because I just love to hear from Eli. Then comes his sweet voice, usually telling me that he does not want to do his homework and that instead, he thinks he will just drop out. (I'd like to point out that in the end, Eli always does his homework, and currently, over half way into the semester, he is earning an A in every class).
However.
He doesn't like to do homework or write papers or read stuff or study for tests. Not one of those things does he like to do. So our last Tuesday's conversation was even more hilarious than usual:
Me: Hi Eli!
Eli: Sup, Mom?
Me: Not much. How are you?
Eli: I don't want to do my homework.
Me: Well, you have to, Eli.
Eli: But I really don't want to read all this stuff or write this essay.
Me: I know you don't want to do those things, but you have to.
Eli: I think I will just drop out instead.
Me: Eli, you are not dropping out of your classes.
Gerald (overhearing my end of the conversation): What classes does he want to drop out of?
Me: I think he wants to drop out of all of them.
Eli: No, I'm gonna stay in my College Success class.
And then there is Seth.
As some background, most of you know that Shulamith and her husband and two babies live downstairs in an apartment under our house. It's the best thing ever! And I mean ever! Her son, Swen is 2 1/2. I don't know how familiar you are with 2 1/2-year-olds, but they are extremely productive. And determined. And relentless. And skilled! Swen is particularly so. He has an agenda, a very serious one. It includes such things as taking all the silverware out of the drawer and scattering it all over the kitchen and dining room. It includes finding both the garbage and recycling containers, and insisting that we take out the semi-full bags and replace them with fresh bags, so he can "play garbage," which means to gather every single item he can find in the house and put it into one of the two garbage cans. It includes taking all his toys (and some non-toys) and throwing them, one by one, over the railing and onto the furniture in the living room below. It includes removing all the plastic bags from their package and spreading them all over the floor. And that is only a partial list of Swen's important work.
And he is so very good at it. I'm pretty sure no toddler in the history of toddler-hood can trash a house any more quickly or efficiently. In fact, the last toddler I remember who could achieve this level of job performance was a little boy named Seth. That's right, my own child, who is now 14. Problem is, Seth has no memory of doing this very important work. None at all. So the other night, after Swen had ransacked the house, and I was begging Seth to help me clean it all up, he and I had this conversation:
Seth: I don't think you should let Swen live here anymore.
Me: What? Swen can live here as long as he wants to. What are you talking about?
Seth: No, you really need to kick him out. Shulamith and Matt and Kennedy can still live here, but Swen needs to go.
Me: Where you would suggest he go?
Seth: He could go to a foster home! We could all still visit him every day, so we wouldn't miss him, but he could destroy someone else's house.
So today I'd like to focus on my youngest two.
First Eli. As some background, let's just say that Eli doesn't really love to do schoolwork. That is not to say that he doesn't like school. He likes lots of things about school, most especially the social aspects. Let's be honest; Eli is a Webster through and through. But when it comes to doing homework, you know, the assignments given by teachers at school, he is not all that impressed. So every week or so, usually on Tuesday because he has only one class on Tuesday, I receive a call. I see "Eli Webster" on my Caller ID, and I get super excited because I just love to hear from Eli. Then comes his sweet voice, usually telling me that he does not want to do his homework and that instead, he thinks he will just drop out. (I'd like to point out that in the end, Eli always does his homework, and currently, over half way into the semester, he is earning an A in every class).
However.
He doesn't like to do homework or write papers or read stuff or study for tests. Not one of those things does he like to do. So our last Tuesday's conversation was even more hilarious than usual:
Me: Hi Eli!
Eli: Sup, Mom?
Me: Not much. How are you?
Eli: I don't want to do my homework.
Me: Well, you have to, Eli.
Eli: But I really don't want to read all this stuff or write this essay.
Me: I know you don't want to do those things, but you have to.
Eli: I think I will just drop out instead.
Me: Eli, you are not dropping out of your classes.
Gerald (overhearing my end of the conversation): What classes does he want to drop out of?
Me: I think he wants to drop out of all of them.
Eli: No, I'm gonna stay in my College Success class.
And then there is Seth.
As some background, most of you know that Shulamith and her husband and two babies live downstairs in an apartment under our house. It's the best thing ever! And I mean ever! Her son, Swen is 2 1/2. I don't know how familiar you are with 2 1/2-year-olds, but they are extremely productive. And determined. And relentless. And skilled! Swen is particularly so. He has an agenda, a very serious one. It includes such things as taking all the silverware out of the drawer and scattering it all over the kitchen and dining room. It includes finding both the garbage and recycling containers, and insisting that we take out the semi-full bags and replace them with fresh bags, so he can "play garbage," which means to gather every single item he can find in the house and put it into one of the two garbage cans. It includes taking all his toys (and some non-toys) and throwing them, one by one, over the railing and onto the furniture in the living room below. It includes removing all the plastic bags from their package and spreading them all over the floor. And that is only a partial list of Swen's important work.
And he is so very good at it. I'm pretty sure no toddler in the history of toddler-hood can trash a house any more quickly or efficiently. In fact, the last toddler I remember who could achieve this level of job performance was a little boy named Seth. That's right, my own child, who is now 14. Problem is, Seth has no memory of doing this very important work. None at all. So the other night, after Swen had ransacked the house, and I was begging Seth to help me clean it all up, he and I had this conversation:
Seth: I don't think you should let Swen live here anymore.
Me: What? Swen can live here as long as he wants to. What are you talking about?
Seth: No, you really need to kick him out. Shulamith and Matt and Kennedy can still live here, but Swen needs to go.
Me: Where you would suggest he go?
Seth: He could go to a foster home! We could all still visit him every day, so we wouldn't miss him, but he could destroy someone else's house.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
"From the Heart" Touched My Heart
I know I have zero objectivity when it comes to my children. And I know you know that too. So I won't blame you if you don't believe me when I tell you that the fireside I attended Sunday evening, a choir performance by "From the Heart," a community choir in Rexburg, was BEYOND amazing.
But it was.
So I'm going to tell you, even if you don't believe me.
Saturday morning, we drove through McDonald's, and with yummy (Read: fattening) sausage biscuit sandwiches and large Diet Cokes in hand, Gerald, Seth, and I were on the road to Rexburg. It would be a quick trip. "From the Heart" presents firesides every Sunday evening on the BYU-Idaho campus. I teach English every Monday morning on the LDS Business College campus. In order to attend both things, I would need to drive between Rexburg and Salt Lake City very late Sunday night. Lucky for me, Gerald volunteered to drive instead. I am grateful.
We arrived in Rexburg around 1:00 Saturday afternoon and immediately picked up Eli at his apartment near campus. Following lunch at the Pie Cafe, we spent the afternoon visiting Lindsey and her family. Eli's choice to attend BYU-I has many merits: gospel-centered education, smallish classes, low cost, to name just a few. But selfishly, for me, trumping all those things is the fact that Lindsey lives in Rexburg.
After dinner, we dropped Eli and Seth back at Eli's apartment. Yes, Seth got to stay overnight with Eli and live the college life for one day. Eli's roommates even let Seth show them magic tricks. How cool is that? Gerald and I stayed with Lindsey and David, where we all stayed up way too late visiting, but it was worth every lost second of sleep just to have that time with them. Kids are growing way too fast just as all kids do, and Baby Olivia doesn't know me at all (sigh).
Sunday, we attended church in their ward, while Seth went to the singles' ward with Eli and watched him teach Gospel Doctrine. Delicious chili and corn bread (Lindsey is a crazy good cook) with the Mechams, and finally, it was time for the principal purpose for our trip, the "From the Heart" choir fireside.
We entered the Gordon B. Hinckley building to find 40 or so choir members scurrying to prepare for their performance. For the next 75 minutes, we were mesmerized, totally captivated by a combination of gorgeous voices and the spirit that shone forth from radiant faces. Through song and word, they taught of Jesus, of his love, of his grace, and of his atoning sacrifice. Some of their songs were standards, including "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," "Amazing Grace," and "Beautiful Savior." Others I didn't know, but now I want to know them. My little Eli sang the sweetest solo at the very end. You don't even know how proud I was.
We took a quick photo (above), hugged goodbye, and left. Gerald brought us safely home while Seth and I slept in the car.
If you get a chance to experience this choir, you should take it. If you are in Rexburg on any Sunday evening, you should go. If you are in Billings, Montana when they tour there the second weekend in December, you should go.
I know I have zero objectivity when it comes to my children. And I know you know that too. So I won't blame you if you don't believe me when I tell you that the fireside I attended Sunday evening, a choir performance by "From the Heart," a community choir in Rexburg, was BEYOND amazing.
But it was.
So I'm going to tell you, even if you don't believe me.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Do you skip, cut, or sluff?
We have already established that Utahns have some vernacular that is foreign to us outsiders. For example, in Utah, they "tend" children. We tend sheep, but never children. In Utah, they drink "soda." We drink "pop." They go "out" to church, while we simply go to church. I am learning.
But last Friday, I discovered a new one. When I picked Seth up from school, he mentioned that because it was the last day of the term, lots of kids decided to "sluff." Or maybe it's spelled "slough"? I don't know. This is a new one to me. Apparently, it means to deliberately not attend school.
Where I'm from, we call that "skipping." Or sometimes "cutting."
"I was tired, so I skipped math today" or "No one noticed that I cut the last half of the school day."
But I guess here in Utah, kids "sluff."
Why does this interest me? Um, because I'm a language nerd. So this isn't much of a blog post, but I am curious, so I'm posting anyway.
Inquiring minds want to know.
Do you skip, cut, or sluff?
But last Friday, I discovered a new one. When I picked Seth up from school, he mentioned that because it was the last day of the term, lots of kids decided to "sluff." Or maybe it's spelled "slough"? I don't know. This is a new one to me. Apparently, it means to deliberately not attend school.
Where I'm from, we call that "skipping." Or sometimes "cutting."
"I was tired, so I skipped math today" or "No one noticed that I cut the last half of the school day."
But I guess here in Utah, kids "sluff."
Why does this interest me? Um, because I'm a language nerd. So this isn't much of a blog post, but I am curious, so I'm posting anyway.
Inquiring minds want to know.
Do you skip, cut, or sluff?
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Comin' Down, Baby, and Laughter is the Best Cure!
I am fortunate never to have had an addiction to drugs or alcohol. Of course, it probably helps that I don't use drugs or alcohol, but yeah. Closest I come is my ongoing love affair with Diet Coke. But I could really stop that any time I wanted. Really.
Seriously, though, since addictions run in my family, I am grateful not to have struggled personally; nevertheless, I do suffer from another debilitating condition that causes plenty of trouble and turmoil without any substance abuse, and I wonder if the "coming down" process feels anything like when people overcome addictions.
Anxiety.
Now THAT'S something with which I am all too familiar. Indeed, I am the queen of anxiety, and it is a position I'd gladly abdicate, given the choice. But since I've written about it before, here and here, I won't repeat. I'll just say that these past two weeks, I've suffered a crazy bad bout of it, worst one in years, certainly since we've been here in Utah. And now that I'm finally "coming down," I thought I'd write a bit about how that process feels.
It is profound relief.
Unbelievable.
It's like my whole body, which has been filled with so much tension for so long that every muscle aches, begins to recover. When I suddenly realize that I actually don't have a fatal disease (yes, my anxiety objectifies itself to paralyzing fear of dying), it's like the thick, dark cloud of pressure I've been navigating for so many long days, and even longer nights, finally begins to fade. Recovery isn't instant. I'm still exhausted. Because functioning at that level of hyper alert for such an extended period of time is, well, exhausting.
And not only for me. Poor Shulamith and Gerald bear the brunt of it because they are with me all the time, Shulamith during the day and Gerald during the night. Gerald is even patient with me. Haha, just kidding, Shulamith. Sorta.
Some might ask why I would choose to talk about it or write about it so publicly. Simple. It is my experience that talking freely about such things takes some of their power away. That is a good thing. Very good. Also, the ability to laugh at the irrational nature of anxiety speeds the recovery. In fact, laughter of any kind helps.
So I thought I'd share a couple things that happened in my classes during these past couple of difficult weeks, things that made me laugh ever so briefly, but long enough to forget my fear for a second or two.
Because I have a lot of students divided into four different sections of the same course, it's a challenge to learn all their names. To expedite this process, I give them all 3X5 index cards and ask them to print their first names on them and then display these cards on their computers where they are easily visible. I even color-code the different classes by using different colored markers for each: red, green, black, and blue.
So in one class recently, I was in the middle of doing too many things at once. I teach that multi-tasking is impossible, yet I try it all the time. Students were supposed to bring me their essay drafts and their name cards and put them into two separate piles on my desk, but since my students listen to me about as well as my children do, in most cases they forgot one item or the other. As one young woman came forward with her essay, I asked, "Do you have your green card?" meaning her name card printed in the color green.
We are blessed with much diversity at LDS Business College. We have students of all different races and nationalities, from all over the world, who speak all different languages. I can't even tell you how much I love this because how boring would it be if everyone just spoke English all the time? But I digress.
So of course the sweet young lady whose "green card" I requested was from Latin America, and she looked at me, frozen, for just a sec before she realized what I was truly asking. By that point the entire class was rolling in laughter, and now the standing joke in that class is, "Sister Webster...I have my green card!"
Then only about a week later, THIS! I sometimes forget which class I'm in and which color name cards the students have. I need to know, so I know which ones to pass out for roll. Again, trying to do too many things at once while shuffling through my four piles of name cards, I said, "Are you guys black?" And of course sitting right there in front of me, yep front row and center, was a handsome African-American student. The kid next to him replied, pointing to him, "Well, he is!" And now the joke: "We're not all black, Sister Webster, but Ben is." Ahhhhhh!
I am grateful for laughter. For students who can laugh. For a family that loves me despite my nutty anxiety disorder. And for the fact that I now see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
I am calm. I am not worrying. I am ALIVE! I can sleep again. I am...
Comin' Down, Baby!
Seriously, though, since addictions run in my family, I am grateful not to have struggled personally; nevertheless, I do suffer from another debilitating condition that causes plenty of trouble and turmoil without any substance abuse, and I wonder if the "coming down" process feels anything like when people overcome addictions.
Anxiety.
Now THAT'S something with which I am all too familiar. Indeed, I am the queen of anxiety, and it is a position I'd gladly abdicate, given the choice. But since I've written about it before, here and here, I won't repeat. I'll just say that these past two weeks, I've suffered a crazy bad bout of it, worst one in years, certainly since we've been here in Utah. And now that I'm finally "coming down," I thought I'd write a bit about how that process feels.
It is profound relief.
Unbelievable.
It's like my whole body, which has been filled with so much tension for so long that every muscle aches, begins to recover. When I suddenly realize that I actually don't have a fatal disease (yes, my anxiety objectifies itself to paralyzing fear of dying), it's like the thick, dark cloud of pressure I've been navigating for so many long days, and even longer nights, finally begins to fade. Recovery isn't instant. I'm still exhausted. Because functioning at that level of hyper alert for such an extended period of time is, well, exhausting.
And not only for me. Poor Shulamith and Gerald bear the brunt of it because they are with me all the time, Shulamith during the day and Gerald during the night. Gerald is even patient with me. Haha, just kidding, Shulamith. Sorta.
Some might ask why I would choose to talk about it or write about it so publicly. Simple. It is my experience that talking freely about such things takes some of their power away. That is a good thing. Very good. Also, the ability to laugh at the irrational nature of anxiety speeds the recovery. In fact, laughter of any kind helps.
So I thought I'd share a couple things that happened in my classes during these past couple of difficult weeks, things that made me laugh ever so briefly, but long enough to forget my fear for a second or two.
Because I have a lot of students divided into four different sections of the same course, it's a challenge to learn all their names. To expedite this process, I give them all 3X5 index cards and ask them to print their first names on them and then display these cards on their computers where they are easily visible. I even color-code the different classes by using different colored markers for each: red, green, black, and blue.
So in one class recently, I was in the middle of doing too many things at once. I teach that multi-tasking is impossible, yet I try it all the time. Students were supposed to bring me their essay drafts and their name cards and put them into two separate piles on my desk, but since my students listen to me about as well as my children do, in most cases they forgot one item or the other. As one young woman came forward with her essay, I asked, "Do you have your green card?" meaning her name card printed in the color green.
We are blessed with much diversity at LDS Business College. We have students of all different races and nationalities, from all over the world, who speak all different languages. I can't even tell you how much I love this because how boring would it be if everyone just spoke English all the time? But I digress.
So of course the sweet young lady whose "green card" I requested was from Latin America, and she looked at me, frozen, for just a sec before she realized what I was truly asking. By that point the entire class was rolling in laughter, and now the standing joke in that class is, "Sister Webster...I have my green card!"
Then only about a week later, THIS! I sometimes forget which class I'm in and which color name cards the students have. I need to know, so I know which ones to pass out for roll. Again, trying to do too many things at once while shuffling through my four piles of name cards, I said, "Are you guys black?" And of course sitting right there in front of me, yep front row and center, was a handsome African-American student. The kid next to him replied, pointing to him, "Well, he is!" And now the joke: "We're not all black, Sister Webster, but Ben is." Ahhhhhh!
I am grateful for laughter. For students who can laugh. For a family that loves me despite my nutty anxiety disorder. And for the fact that I now see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
I am calm. I am not worrying. I am ALIVE! I can sleep again. I am...
Comin' Down, Baby!
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Sometimes All You Need is a Really Cute Pair of Shoes
True story.
But what is even better than a really cute pair of shoes? EIGHT really cute pairs of shoes. And what is even better than eight really cute pairs of shoes? Eight really cute pairs of shoes that together cost just $40.
It's a known fact that we Webster women are excellent bargain shoppers, but this has to be one of our finest moments in bargain shopping history. Right up there with the time we got dresses at Down East for $7 each. Or last Christmas when we found $70 designer dress pants for Gerald for $5.99. Yeah, we are really good at this, and today was no exception.
Back story, yesterday, one of Shulamith's Facebook friends "liked" an ad for a sale to occur today in the RC Willey parking lot in Murray. A company called "Cents of Style" would sell shoes, jewelery, scarves, and more for $5 apiece. Everything would be $5. But really, how could they have anything good for just $5? Would it even be worth our time to go? Probably not.
But what if it was?
So first thing this morning, we loaded Shulamith's two babies into the car and headed to RC Willey. And this is what we found:
Boxes and boxes of shoes piled high. Dozens of shopping-crazed women rummaging through box after box, frantically seeking the right sizes and styles. It was such a rush. Oh my goodness! Shulamith had Kennedy asleep in the front carrier and couldn't effectively search, so I left her, along with Swen in the stroller, and went in for the kill. Rather than taking the time to look at the shoes, I just picked up every box I could find in our two sizes and ran back and forth piling them up next to Shulamith.
Once I was satisfied that I had looked at every last box, it was time to open them and try them on. Ooooh, it felt like Christmas! Systematically, we make one pile for yes, one for no, and one for maybe. In the end, we settled on eight adorable pairs of shoes, five for me and three for Shulamith. We got in line to pay.
A very, very long line.
I'd say we were in line for about an hour. Keep in mind we had one toddler and one infant in tow. Had we known what to expect, pretty sure we would have left said toddler at home, but you wouldn't believe how easy it was. Kennedy obviously understood what was happening. Though only three months old, somewhere deep down in her little girl brain, she "gets" the importance of shoes. But Swen? Swen is a guy. Through and through. His world revolves around cars, tractors, water, and garbage cans. But mostly cars. Shoes, especially girl shoes, don't even begin to make the list. Nevertheless, he cooperated perfectly through this ordeal, which lasted a full two hours beginning to end.
So there you have it. When life becomes a bit overwhelming, as it does for all of us at one time or another, keep in mind that sometimes all you need is a really cute pair of shoes.
Or eight really cute pairs. Especially if you can get all eight for $40.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Siblings: The Longest Relationships
Typically, we have our parents for the first two-thirds of our lives, our spouses and children for the second two-thirds. The sibling relationship is the longest. Barring unexpected tragedy, we have our brothers and sisters throughout our mortal journey. When you think of it that way, the relationship claims greater significance. I have only one sibling, my brother Tom. He lives in our native Portland, Oregon, where I have not lived since I left for college at 17. I moved to Eastern Oregon, then California, then Washington, then Montana, and now Utah. He remained in Portland. No, I don't see him often, not nearly often enough. He has a career, three lovely daughters, and a giant Boxer, who makes our Kitty look like a Chihuahua. He is busy. So am I. But on the rare occasions that we do get together, it is always a pleasure. I love him. I appreciate his constancy, his humor, his dedication to doing right. I wish I could see him more.
I was blessed with five children of my own. Not only do I rejoice in that for myself, but for them. Each of them has four siblings with whom to share life. How wonderful! This weekend four of the five were here at home at least part of the time. Shulamith and Seth, of course, live here full time (hooray!). Isaiah was here Thursday and Friday nights, and Eli came Friday until today. Can I just say that I am seriously groovin' on all this family time?
Thursday night was the midnight release of Nintendo's latest cash grab, Super Smash Bros for the 3DS. I've explained before my feelings about video-games, but regardless of my opinion, with sons who love them, they are part of my life. Isaiah pre-ordered this game weeks ago, while poor Seth stood by with hopeless longing. A $40 price tag for Seth may as well be $40,000. Christmas is three months away. How would he ever wait that long? Little did he know that when Isaiah pre-ordered his own copy of Smash, he also ordered one for Seth. Yes, Isaiah is that nice.
So late Thursday night, the two of them headed off to Game Stop, Seth believing he was just along for the ride, there to watch Isaiah pick up his game. Imagine his surprise when there was a copy waiting for him too! I wish I'd been there, okay not enough to go out at midnight, mind you, but a little. They came home and played non-stop into the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately, Seth had Friday off from school; Isaiah still had to get up and go to work.
Friday night, Isaiah came back. Eli was on his way driving down from Rexburg with his friend, the former Elder Bradley Bell. The two of them would attend the first Petersen mission reunion in Farr West, for missionaries who served in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission under the leadership of President Steven Petersen. That was apparently a huge success. Most of Eli's former companions are still in the field, but he enjoyed reuniting with the Petersens and those missionaries who are home. He arrived here around 9:00 Friday night, in time to spend a bit of time with Isaiah and try out the new video-game. First thing Saturday morning, Gerald drove Isaiah to the airport, where he flew to Orlando. He will be there a week, then home overnight, then off to Nashville for a week, followed by a week in San Francisco.
Shulamith and I are just a little jealous of all this travel. We are living vicariously through Isaiah. This week, the client has paid for the Lanyon team to spend one evening in Disney World and another at Universal Studios at the Harry Potter exhibit. Okay, now we're not just a little jealous; we're full on covetous! A job requiring this much travel would not be ideal for everyone, but for a single, 23-year-old, with zero responsibilities at home, it's just about perfect. We're grateful Isaiah has this opportunity.
At last came Saturday morning, which began one of my two favorite weekends of the year: General Conference, the semiannual worldwide meeting of our church. We all love it! Well, Gerald, Shulamith, Eli, and I love it; Seth has to be bribed just a bit. This time, because he's now in seminary, he had an assignment to watch all five sessions and take notes, but he still asked me if I'd be buying the usual General Conference treats. I get all his favorite things and then bring them out periodically throughout the sessions. I won't go into detail, but let's just say Pringles, chocolate, Twinkies, and red vines are involved.
As I write, it is 1:30 p.m. Sunday. Eli and Elder Bell just left for the return trip to Rexburg. They will listen to the final session of Conference in the car radio while we watch here at home. The sessions yesterday and this morning have been excellent. I could point to so many inspiring talks, but Elder Jeffrey R. Holland seriously rocked the Conference Center yesterday afternoon. His understanding of and concern for the poor among us is truly prophetic, his heartfelt plea for us to care for our fellow beings, the truest example of Christlike love. With tears in his eyes: "We may not be our brother's keeper, but we are our brother's brother."
The weekend is winding down. I'm trying hard not to be sad. It was so good to have Isaiah here and to see Eli after nearly three weeks away at college. Have I mentioned before that I'm not all that impressed with this idea of kids growing up and leaving home? It will be seven weeks before Eli is back for Thanksgiving. I'm pretty sure a trip up to Rexburg between now and then is in my future. Meanwhile, I'm ever so grateful for technology that keeps us all connected in ways we'd never thought possible even 15 years ago. The final session of Conference just began. The choir is singing. Seth just commented, "It's just you, Dad, and me. Just the three of us. It's weird." Indeed. Shulamith is downstairs napping her babies. Eli is on the road. Ahhh!
Before Eli left, I had begun writing this blog, and I posted the picture above of Isaiah holding Shulamith's baby, Kennedy. Eli looked over my shoulder and remarked, "Isaiah doesn't get to make the blog. It's a General Conference blogpost, and he's not watching General Conference." Haha, you gotta love siblings.
I love my brother, Tom, and I'm grateful for him. And I'm grateful my children have each other. Siblings: The Longest Relationships we have.
I was blessed with five children of my own. Not only do I rejoice in that for myself, but for them. Each of them has four siblings with whom to share life. How wonderful! This weekend four of the five were here at home at least part of the time. Shulamith and Seth, of course, live here full time (hooray!). Isaiah was here Thursday and Friday nights, and Eli came Friday until today. Can I just say that I am seriously groovin' on all this family time?
Thursday night was the midnight release of Nintendo's latest cash grab, Super Smash Bros for the 3DS. I've explained before my feelings about video-games, but regardless of my opinion, with sons who love them, they are part of my life. Isaiah pre-ordered this game weeks ago, while poor Seth stood by with hopeless longing. A $40 price tag for Seth may as well be $40,000. Christmas is three months away. How would he ever wait that long? Little did he know that when Isaiah pre-ordered his own copy of Smash, he also ordered one for Seth. Yes, Isaiah is that nice.
So late Thursday night, the two of them headed off to Game Stop, Seth believing he was just along for the ride, there to watch Isaiah pick up his game. Imagine his surprise when there was a copy waiting for him too! I wish I'd been there, okay not enough to go out at midnight, mind you, but a little. They came home and played non-stop into the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately, Seth had Friday off from school; Isaiah still had to get up and go to work.
Friday night, Isaiah came back. Eli was on his way driving down from Rexburg with his friend, the former Elder Bradley Bell. The two of them would attend the first Petersen mission reunion in Farr West, for missionaries who served in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission under the leadership of President Steven Petersen. That was apparently a huge success. Most of Eli's former companions are still in the field, but he enjoyed reuniting with the Petersens and those missionaries who are home. He arrived here around 9:00 Friday night, in time to spend a bit of time with Isaiah and try out the new video-game. First thing Saturday morning, Gerald drove Isaiah to the airport, where he flew to Orlando. He will be there a week, then home overnight, then off to Nashville for a week, followed by a week in San Francisco.
Shulamith and I are just a little jealous of all this travel. We are living vicariously through Isaiah. This week, the client has paid for the Lanyon team to spend one evening in Disney World and another at Universal Studios at the Harry Potter exhibit. Okay, now we're not just a little jealous; we're full on covetous! A job requiring this much travel would not be ideal for everyone, but for a single, 23-year-old, with zero responsibilities at home, it's just about perfect. We're grateful Isaiah has this opportunity.
At last came Saturday morning, which began one of my two favorite weekends of the year: General Conference, the semiannual worldwide meeting of our church. We all love it! Well, Gerald, Shulamith, Eli, and I love it; Seth has to be bribed just a bit. This time, because he's now in seminary, he had an assignment to watch all five sessions and take notes, but he still asked me if I'd be buying the usual General Conference treats. I get all his favorite things and then bring them out periodically throughout the sessions. I won't go into detail, but let's just say Pringles, chocolate, Twinkies, and red vines are involved.
As I write, it is 1:30 p.m. Sunday. Eli and Elder Bell just left for the return trip to Rexburg. They will listen to the final session of Conference in the car radio while we watch here at home. The sessions yesterday and this morning have been excellent. I could point to so many inspiring talks, but Elder Jeffrey R. Holland seriously rocked the Conference Center yesterday afternoon. His understanding of and concern for the poor among us is truly prophetic, his heartfelt plea for us to care for our fellow beings, the truest example of Christlike love. With tears in his eyes: "We may not be our brother's keeper, but we are our brother's brother."
The weekend is winding down. I'm trying hard not to be sad. It was so good to have Isaiah here and to see Eli after nearly three weeks away at college. Have I mentioned before that I'm not all that impressed with this idea of kids growing up and leaving home? It will be seven weeks before Eli is back for Thanksgiving. I'm pretty sure a trip up to Rexburg between now and then is in my future. Meanwhile, I'm ever so grateful for technology that keeps us all connected in ways we'd never thought possible even 15 years ago. The final session of Conference just began. The choir is singing. Seth just commented, "It's just you, Dad, and me. Just the three of us. It's weird." Indeed. Shulamith is downstairs napping her babies. Eli is on the road. Ahhh!
Before Eli left, I had begun writing this blog, and I posted the picture above of Isaiah holding Shulamith's baby, Kennedy. Eli looked over my shoulder and remarked, "Isaiah doesn't get to make the blog. It's a General Conference blogpost, and he's not watching General Conference." Haha, you gotta love siblings.
I love my brother, Tom, and I'm grateful for him. And I'm grateful my children have each other. Siblings: The Longest Relationships we have.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Positively To Die For
Yesterday was a rough day. I fell into the trap of trying to please others and then feeling "less than" when I couldn't do it. We all do this sometimes, don't we? It creates a vicious, downward spiral when we make pleasing others the test of our own worth. Our worth comes not from what others think of us, but from our divine heritage, unrelated to anyone else. It is far more important whose we are than who we are.
And I am His.
I forgot that for a second yesterday. And that second turned into minutes, then hours. Circumstances caused me to forget that supremely important truth. The tears flowed. Tears of anguish for what could have been, but isn't. Tears of sadness that the past can't be altered. Tears of uncertainty over what to do next. Tears of pure exhaustion from way too little sleep. It all caught up with me. All at once. And I let myself forget.
My beloved President Gordon B. Hinckley once taught:
"Many of you think you are failures. You feel you cannot do well, that with all of your effort, it is not sufficient...You are doing the best you can, and that best results in good to yourself and to others. Do not nag yourself with a sense of failure. Get on your knees and ask for the blessings of the Lord; then stand on your feet and do what you are asked to do. Then leave the matter in the hands of the Lord."
Good advice. I'm sure gonna try.
As General Conference weekend approaches, I look forward to sitting at the feet of prophets. Seth's seminary teacher promised his students that if they will come prayerfully and humbly to Conference, bringing their cares and questions and concerns, that they will receive answers according to the desires of their hearts. Indeed, I think this is true, true for the seminary students, true for me, and true for all of us.
I am a child of God. I was put here to love others and to serve others, but not necessarily always to please others. And yes, there is a difference.
In the end, it really doesn't matter too much what others think of me, because I am beloved of the One who thinks I'm positively to die for.
And I am His.
I forgot that for a second yesterday. And that second turned into minutes, then hours. Circumstances caused me to forget that supremely important truth. The tears flowed. Tears of anguish for what could have been, but isn't. Tears of sadness that the past can't be altered. Tears of uncertainty over what to do next. Tears of pure exhaustion from way too little sleep. It all caught up with me. All at once. And I let myself forget.
My beloved President Gordon B. Hinckley once taught:
"Many of you think you are failures. You feel you cannot do well, that with all of your effort, it is not sufficient...You are doing the best you can, and that best results in good to yourself and to others. Do not nag yourself with a sense of failure. Get on your knees and ask for the blessings of the Lord; then stand on your feet and do what you are asked to do. Then leave the matter in the hands of the Lord."
Good advice. I'm sure gonna try.
As General Conference weekend approaches, I look forward to sitting at the feet of prophets. Seth's seminary teacher promised his students that if they will come prayerfully and humbly to Conference, bringing their cares and questions and concerns, that they will receive answers according to the desires of their hearts. Indeed, I think this is true, true for the seminary students, true for me, and true for all of us.
I am a child of God. I was put here to love others and to serve others, but not necessarily always to please others. And yes, there is a difference.
In the end, it really doesn't matter too much what others think of me, because I am beloved of the One who thinks I'm positively to die for.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Today It Rained. And I Remembered.
There is a name for people like me. It's Pluviophile. It means "a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days."
Ten years have passed since I lived in the Pacific Northwest. I enjoyed our seven years in Montana, and Utah is okay too, but home for me will always be the lovely Northwest, whether Washington or Oregon. And I think that's mostly because of the rain.
I often wonder if I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, only mine is opposite of most people's. The cloudier it is, the happier I am! Nothing improves my mood more than waking to the drizzle of rain with an overcast sky. Problem is, that barely ever happens here.
But today it did. Today it rained. And I remembered.
I awoke in the middle of last night, startled by lightening bright in my bedroom, followed by crashing thunder and then pouring rain. Over and over my room lit up. It went on for a long time, until finally, I woke Gerald; I wanted someone to be awake with me. He was the only one I could think of who wouldn't mind that it was 3:00 a.m.
Today it rained. And I remembered.
I remembered as a little girl, perhaps seven or eight, walking home from Lloyd Center in the rain with my mom. It was a long walk, and I have no memory of why we did it, but if I close my eyes, I can still feel it. We walked and talked, from Lloyd Center all the way to our house on 121st and Halsey. It wasn't exactly pouring, but rather the constant drizzle of tiny, moist raindrops fell softly on our skin. We arrived home drenched, yet I would have been happy to walk forever.
Today it rained. And I remembered.
I remembered my dad picking me up from the dance studio in the rainy evenings. I'd dash out of the studio and run to his car, the smell and touch of rain all around me, then jump in next to him and listen to the rain on the windshield all the way home. I'd crack the window to allow some of it to spray on my face. We'd drive by The Little Chapel of the Chimes Mortuary, and he'd make dumb jokes (that I thought were funny) like "That is a place people are just dying to get into."
Today it rained. And I remembered.
I remembered week after week the dripping wet soccer games. Shulamith played for six years, and in all that time, I'm pretty sure there were only about two dry games. Most times, it rained. I had my two tinies with me, Isaiah and Eli, bundled up in heavy coats and rain slickers, and still I struggled to know how long to keep them out in the rain and when to escape to the car, where I could watch the game only from a distance. Gerald and I took turns sitting in the car with the boys and watching Shulamith play. While I can't honestly say that I miss soccer games (sports are not my favorite), the rain was glorious.
Today it rained. And I remembered.
I remembered because it happens so rarely here. Even with the storm last night, I figured it would be dry by morning. I figured wrong. When I woke up at 7:30, I could still hear it. On the metal carport adjacent to our house. Rain! Was it for real? Was it really still raining? Though tired from being awake so much in the night, I couldn't risk missing the opportunity. This is Utah. It will stop soon. I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, grabbed my umbrella, and left. I walked for a long time. It felt like home. And I remembered.
Today it rained. And I remembered.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
How To Be A Good College Parent
For the past 10 years, save one, I have had a kid in college. So when I saw an article titled "How To Be A Good College Parent," I was intrigued. Education is important in our family. Gerald and I place its value right up alongside faith, family, and friends. Too bad alliteration fails here, and it doesn't begin with an "F," but you get the idea. I remember once when Luke was in 7th grade, he came home and said, "My friend at school told me college isn't required. He says you have to go to high school, but after that, school is optional." My reply: "Oh, your friend is quite mistaken! I wonder where he ever got that crazy idea. College is absolutely required; it's what you do after high school."
So far, they have believed me, and we now have three college graduates with bachelor's degrees, and one with a PhD even! In the article I read, the first rule for being a good college parent is to "think about your parting words," the point being what you say to your child just before he embarks on what will surely be a life-changing experience, matters. I agree. This caused me to reflect back back to the drop-off conversations I've had with my kids, especially when they were just 18 and it was their first time away.
When we took Luke to Whitman College in Walla Walla, WA, I remember climbing up three flights of stairs over and over and over, hauling up all his stuff to his dorm room. This was actually providential for a glazed-eyed mom who had just come from a parents' meeting, where the president of the college had made us all raise our right hands and repeat the words, "I have done my best." Ahhh! If I wasn't already feeling tremendous loss, sending my firstborn off to a college clear on the other side of the state, this little exercise didn't help. But the workout running up and down those stairs helped. It kept me busy. And focused. And purposeful. And too out of breath to cry. When it came time to leave, I looked at Luke and said something woefully unexceptional like "I love you---I know you'll do great," and we drove off. Thinking I had to be brave, I had fought the full-on tears until that point, but then the dam broke. Poor Gerald.
"Think about your parting words." Hmmm. Not so much.
Just one year later, we had moved to Billings, Montana, and it was time to take Shulamith all the way to Salt Lake City to attend Westminster. Now most of you know she and I are best friends. This is not new. Outnumbered 5-2 in the family, it has been she and I against the world for as long as either of us can remember. How in the heck was I supposed to take her 500 miles to a whole different state and then go home without her? Even now I can't believe I did it, and believe me; I didn't do it very well. As far as "parting words," I was such a blubbering idiot, I don't suppose I said anything intelligible. You can read about it here if you want. You may not want to. It's fairly pathetic.
"Think about your parting words." Eeek.
Five years later, it was Isaiah's turn. I was getting a little better at this. Well I thought I was. Plus, Isaiah was so chill about the whole thing (shocking, I know) that I don't think I felt the emotional impact until after he was gone. I found myself longing to do something for him, something so the goodbye would be special. But what? As so often happens with Isaiah, I felt it wasn't as big a deal as it should be, that there wasn't enough excitement or emotion or ????. This was partly because he, too, was going to Westminster, where Shulamith had graduated just one year earlier. I was well familiar with the school, having visited her dozens of times. The newness simply didn't exist. Desperate to do something Isaiah would like, I dashed over to Cheesecake Factory and bought him a piece of his favorite cheesecake. Through the car window, I handed it to him as we hugged goodbye. His face lit up when he saw the cheesecake; mine was already wet with tears. I uttered something ridiculously corny like, "Remember how very important you are to us and how much we love you." Could it get any less original?
"Think about your parting words." Ha!
Two years later, we were living here in Utah, and it was time to take Eli up to BYU-Idaho, where he would attend one semester before his mission. This time I really believed I was over all this crying and carrying on. It was my fourth time. I had sent one missionary and three college students. I was experienced. No worries. But then the time came. I still remember sitting in the car in the parking lot of the Hinckley Building. Gerald was still working in Montana, so I was alone this time. Well, here, you can read about it yourself.
Yesterday was yet another drop-off day. Not my first. Not even my first with Eli. And I would like to report that I did. not. cry. You can ask Gerald. Nope. And I wasn't even trying to be brave because I gave up all that nonsense long ago. If I wanna cry, I'll cry. I didn't. And this time, I actually thought about my "parting words." They weren't anything profound or earth-shattering or novel. But they were from my heart:
"I love you. So much. I am so proud. My only wish is your happiness. If you need me, you call me. Any time. Day or night. I will come. Have so much fun. Enjoy every second. I love you."
Now I sit here at home, missing him. He has texted on and off throughout the day. In less than 24 hours he has found three former roommates, one former missionary companion, and a friend from high school. He has met and become friends with his new roommates. He has been to his new ward. This next chapter in his life has begun. I am grateful.
"Think about your parting words."
Yes, it's good advice, advice I will try to follow in a few years when it's Seth's turn. But let's not think about that right now. Please, can we just not. Thanks.
So far, they have believed me, and we now have three college graduates with bachelor's degrees, and one with a PhD even! In the article I read, the first rule for being a good college parent is to "think about your parting words," the point being what you say to your child just before he embarks on what will surely be a life-changing experience, matters. I agree. This caused me to reflect back back to the drop-off conversations I've had with my kids, especially when they were just 18 and it was their first time away.
When we took Luke to Whitman College in Walla Walla, WA, I remember climbing up three flights of stairs over and over and over, hauling up all his stuff to his dorm room. This was actually providential for a glazed-eyed mom who had just come from a parents' meeting, where the president of the college had made us all raise our right hands and repeat the words, "I have done my best." Ahhh! If I wasn't already feeling tremendous loss, sending my firstborn off to a college clear on the other side of the state, this little exercise didn't help. But the workout running up and down those stairs helped. It kept me busy. And focused. And purposeful. And too out of breath to cry. When it came time to leave, I looked at Luke and said something woefully unexceptional like "I love you---I know you'll do great," and we drove off. Thinking I had to be brave, I had fought the full-on tears until that point, but then the dam broke. Poor Gerald.
"Think about your parting words." Hmmm. Not so much.
Just one year later, we had moved to Billings, Montana, and it was time to take Shulamith all the way to Salt Lake City to attend Westminster. Now most of you know she and I are best friends. This is not new. Outnumbered 5-2 in the family, it has been she and I against the world for as long as either of us can remember. How in the heck was I supposed to take her 500 miles to a whole different state and then go home without her? Even now I can't believe I did it, and believe me; I didn't do it very well. As far as "parting words," I was such a blubbering idiot, I don't suppose I said anything intelligible. You can read about it here if you want. You may not want to. It's fairly pathetic.
"Think about your parting words." Eeek.
Five years later, it was Isaiah's turn. I was getting a little better at this. Well I thought I was. Plus, Isaiah was so chill about the whole thing (shocking, I know) that I don't think I felt the emotional impact until after he was gone. I found myself longing to do something for him, something so the goodbye would be special. But what? As so often happens with Isaiah, I felt it wasn't as big a deal as it should be, that there wasn't enough excitement or emotion or ????. This was partly because he, too, was going to Westminster, where Shulamith had graduated just one year earlier. I was well familiar with the school, having visited her dozens of times. The newness simply didn't exist. Desperate to do something Isaiah would like, I dashed over to Cheesecake Factory and bought him a piece of his favorite cheesecake. Through the car window, I handed it to him as we hugged goodbye. His face lit up when he saw the cheesecake; mine was already wet with tears. I uttered something ridiculously corny like, "Remember how very important you are to us and how much we love you." Could it get any less original?
"Think about your parting words." Ha!
Two years later, we were living here in Utah, and it was time to take Eli up to BYU-Idaho, where he would attend one semester before his mission. This time I really believed I was over all this crying and carrying on. It was my fourth time. I had sent one missionary and three college students. I was experienced. No worries. But then the time came. I still remember sitting in the car in the parking lot of the Hinckley Building. Gerald was still working in Montana, so I was alone this time. Well, here, you can read about it yourself.
Yesterday was yet another drop-off day. Not my first. Not even my first with Eli. And I would like to report that I did. not. cry. You can ask Gerald. Nope. And I wasn't even trying to be brave because I gave up all that nonsense long ago. If I wanna cry, I'll cry. I didn't. And this time, I actually thought about my "parting words." They weren't anything profound or earth-shattering or novel. But they were from my heart:
"I love you. So much. I am so proud. My only wish is your happiness. If you need me, you call me. Any time. Day or night. I will come. Have so much fun. Enjoy every second. I love you."
Now I sit here at home, missing him. He has texted on and off throughout the day. In less than 24 hours he has found three former roommates, one former missionary companion, and a friend from high school. He has met and become friends with his new roommates. He has been to his new ward. This next chapter in his life has begun. I am grateful.
"Think about your parting words."
Yes, it's good advice, advice I will try to follow in a few years when it's Seth's turn. But let's not think about that right now. Please, can we just not. Thanks.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
In the Middle of "Happily Ever After": A Fairy Tale Come True
Most fairy tales end, "And they lived happily ever after." But don't you sometimes wonder what that "ever after" part entails? What is "ever after" really like?
In our story, we are still finding out. We are in the middle of "ever after."
But wait!
In case you missed the first installment of our fairly tale, let me catch you up. There was this bride; and her search for a wedding gown; and her daughter, who didn't like the sleeves; and her mom, who is an excellent seamstress; and a baby boy; and well, it's too long to tell all over again. Can I direct you here to read the whole story?
Okay, now that you're caught up, let's fast forward a couple of years. The mom of the baby boy was expecting a second child, this time a girl. What would they do? She couldn't wear the same little blessing outfit, adorable though it was. She needed a gown. Fortunately, there was still enough fabric left over from the original wedding dress, so the mom of the first bride set out to sew a blessing gown. This project was indeed more extensive than the little blessing romper, and the mom of the first bride worked hard day after day after day.
Finally, just in time for the birth of the baby girl, the gown was finished. Her first two months of life flew by, and on a warm day in September, surrounded by family, she was blessed by her father.
The best thing about "ever after" is that it is exactly that. We are in the middle of building an eternal unit, a forever family. We are raising our children. We are growing together. We are living our fairy tale.
And they lived happily ever after. A fairy tale come true.
In our story, we are still finding out. We are in the middle of "ever after."
But wait!
In case you missed the first installment of our fairly tale, let me catch you up. There was this bride; and her search for a wedding gown; and her daughter, who didn't like the sleeves; and her mom, who is an excellent seamstress; and a baby boy; and well, it's too long to tell all over again. Can I direct you here to read the whole story?
Okay, now that you're caught up, let's fast forward a couple of years. The mom of the baby boy was expecting a second child, this time a girl. What would they do? She couldn't wear the same little blessing outfit, adorable though it was. She needed a gown. Fortunately, there was still enough fabric left over from the original wedding dress, so the mom of the first bride set out to sew a blessing gown. This project was indeed more extensive than the little blessing romper, and the mom of the first bride worked hard day after day after day.
Finally, just in time for the birth of the baby girl, the gown was finished. Her first two months of life flew by, and on a warm day in September, surrounded by family, she was blessed by her father.
Her mom cuddled her tight,
And her mom's brothers came from far and wide to be with her.
The best thing about "ever after" is that it is exactly that. We are in the middle of building an eternal unit, a forever family. We are raising our children. We are growing together. We are living our fairy tale.
And they lived happily ever after. A fairy tale come true.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Because My Friend, Rachael, Asked...
Okay, this will be quick. My friend, Rachael, whom I love for many reasons, not the least of which is that she is a devoted reader of this blog, asked me to do a quick post about when to use quotation marks like this: "____" and when to use them like this: '______.'
Simple.
Use double quotation marks in all situations, except one: quotations within quotations. Use single quotation marks for quotations within quotations.
For example,
The CEO explained, "When I interviewed the candidate for the position, he told me that he was simply 'the best person for the job.'"
In the example above, the comment by the candidate is a direct quotation within the larger quotation by the CEO. Note that there are three marks at the end of the sentence. The single mark indicates the end of the quotation within the quotation, and the double marks indicate the end of the larger quotation.
It could also look like this:
The CEO explained, "When I interviewed the candidate for the position, he told me that he was simply 'the best person for the job,' a comment which I found terribly arrogant."
This makes sense, yes?
As an aside, keep in mind that commas and periods always belong inside the quotation marks. I see it the other way ALL THE TIME. Ugh!
On the other hand, question marks and exclamation marks should go either inside or outside the quotation marks, depending on whether they are part of the direct quotation or part of the entire sentence.
For example,
He said, "Do you love me?"
In this case, the quotation, itself, is a question, so the question mark belongs inside.
In contrast,
Did he say "I love you"?
In this case, the quotation is a statement, not a question. The question is the entire sentence, so the question mark belongs on the outside.
Oh my goodness, isn't grammar fun? I have all kinds of endorphins going on just writing about it.
Thanks, Rachael!
Simple.
Use double quotation marks in all situations, except one: quotations within quotations. Use single quotation marks for quotations within quotations.
For example,
The CEO explained, "When I interviewed the candidate for the position, he told me that he was simply 'the best person for the job.'"
In the example above, the comment by the candidate is a direct quotation within the larger quotation by the CEO. Note that there are three marks at the end of the sentence. The single mark indicates the end of the quotation within the quotation, and the double marks indicate the end of the larger quotation.
It could also look like this:
The CEO explained, "When I interviewed the candidate for the position, he told me that he was simply 'the best person for the job,' a comment which I found terribly arrogant."
This makes sense, yes?
As an aside, keep in mind that commas and periods always belong inside the quotation marks. I see it the other way ALL THE TIME. Ugh!
On the other hand, question marks and exclamation marks should go either inside or outside the quotation marks, depending on whether they are part of the direct quotation or part of the entire sentence.
For example,
He said, "Do you love me?"
In this case, the quotation, itself, is a question, so the question mark belongs inside.
In contrast,
Did he say "I love you"?
In this case, the quotation is a statement, not a question. The question is the entire sentence, so the question mark belongs on the outside.
Oh my goodness, isn't grammar fun? I have all kinds of endorphins going on just writing about it.
Thanks, Rachael!
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Sunday in Paradise
I'm going to make a confession. I went to Paradise today. On a Sunday. For three hours. Why? Because I desperately needed a quiet place to work, uninterrupted and sans distractions. You see, I contracted during this 4-week semester break to write curriculum for a new course we are piloting this fall. I have been working diligently on this project, a little bit each day, for the past two weeks, but it's now crunch time because it has to be delivered, fully pasted into our online management system, by Wednesday.
And it is fairly impossible to work efficiently in my house. Eight people live here, and I couldn't be any happier about that. Our home is bursting with energy of one kind or another pretty much all the time. It's perfect! But it is not conducive to the type of streamlined focus required to do this particular type of work. Where can one find that type of environment?
Paradise!
By that, I mean Paradise Bakery. It is a lovely little cafe up on Ft. Union (other locations too, but I go to Ft. Union) with free, fast WiFi; comfy booths; electrical outlets; pleasant lighting, yummy cookies; and a fountain with Diet Coke not 10 steps from my favorite table. My first exposure to Paradise Bakery was several years ago before we lived in Utah, when I used to fly here every month or so to visit Shulamith. On one of those weekends, her Internet wasn't working, so we had to go to Paradise to get online.
Today when our church got out at noon, I asked Gerald to drop me off at Paradise, laptop and textbook in tow, with a goal to make serious progress toward meeting my Wednesday deadline. So I am really a stay-at-home mom with very little career aspiration, but today I totally felt like a businesswoman, all cool-like, setting up my laptop next to my textbook and notes. I went straight to work and was fully engaged by 1:15, but by 1:20 it occurred to me that I was freezing! Why do business establishments feel the need to air-condition their buildings down to sub-zero temperatures in the middle of summer??? I was really too cold to function, so I texted Gerald and asked him how he felt about bringing me a hoodie. I don't know how he felt about it, but he did it willingly, and by 1:30 I was back to work.
And that's the last thing I remember until 4:15. Seriously. It was suddenly 4:15, and this nice employee was at my table informing me that the restaurant closed at 3:00 and he would be locking up and leaving in 10 minutes. For real? I had honestly sat there for three hours and not noticed that for the last hour, I was the only customer? What a ditz!
"What? I'm so sorry! I had no idea you closed at 3:00. I would have left. You should have kicked me out."
"No worries, Miss. I didn't want to bother you. You looked really busy."
I quickly gathered up my laptop, etc. and left, sat outside on some nice patio furniture, and texted Gerald to come pick me up. At that point I became aware of my physical body. My brain felt fried. My eyes burned. And I really needed to go to the bathroom! But oh, what progress I had made. Just need to proofread files and tweak a couple assignments, and I'll be ready to submit. Yeah, baby!
But before you get too far into congratulating me on my fine progress, I should mention what happened later. We came home and ate dinner. Eli and Shulamith kindly helped me prepare cube steaks, eggs, and waffles. Then we watched a TV show, and Shulamith left to put her babies to bed, and Seth called Gerald and Eli and me for FHE. He had planned the lesson about the importance of free agency, which he presented so nicely with scriptures and good questions. He's gonna be a wonderful missionary in another four years or so. But then, right at the end, he had this to say:
"So we all have our free agency. For example, Mom thinks it's okay to go to restaurants and buy stuff on the Sabbath. But Eli thinks it's not okay for lots and lots of reasons. So they both have their free agency to choose."
Great.
I've obviously set a fine example for my young, impressionable 14-year-old today.
Sunday in paradise.
And it is fairly impossible to work efficiently in my house. Eight people live here, and I couldn't be any happier about that. Our home is bursting with energy of one kind or another pretty much all the time. It's perfect! But it is not conducive to the type of streamlined focus required to do this particular type of work. Where can one find that type of environment?
Paradise!
By that, I mean Paradise Bakery. It is a lovely little cafe up on Ft. Union (other locations too, but I go to Ft. Union) with free, fast WiFi; comfy booths; electrical outlets; pleasant lighting, yummy cookies; and a fountain with Diet Coke not 10 steps from my favorite table. My first exposure to Paradise Bakery was several years ago before we lived in Utah, when I used to fly here every month or so to visit Shulamith. On one of those weekends, her Internet wasn't working, so we had to go to Paradise to get online.
Today when our church got out at noon, I asked Gerald to drop me off at Paradise, laptop and textbook in tow, with a goal to make serious progress toward meeting my Wednesday deadline. So I am really a stay-at-home mom with very little career aspiration, but today I totally felt like a businesswoman, all cool-like, setting up my laptop next to my textbook and notes. I went straight to work and was fully engaged by 1:15, but by 1:20 it occurred to me that I was freezing! Why do business establishments feel the need to air-condition their buildings down to sub-zero temperatures in the middle of summer??? I was really too cold to function, so I texted Gerald and asked him how he felt about bringing me a hoodie. I don't know how he felt about it, but he did it willingly, and by 1:30 I was back to work.
And that's the last thing I remember until 4:15. Seriously. It was suddenly 4:15, and this nice employee was at my table informing me that the restaurant closed at 3:00 and he would be locking up and leaving in 10 minutes. For real? I had honestly sat there for three hours and not noticed that for the last hour, I was the only customer? What a ditz!
"What? I'm so sorry! I had no idea you closed at 3:00. I would have left. You should have kicked me out."
"No worries, Miss. I didn't want to bother you. You looked really busy."
I quickly gathered up my laptop, etc. and left, sat outside on some nice patio furniture, and texted Gerald to come pick me up. At that point I became aware of my physical body. My brain felt fried. My eyes burned. And I really needed to go to the bathroom! But oh, what progress I had made. Just need to proofread files and tweak a couple assignments, and I'll be ready to submit. Yeah, baby!
But before you get too far into congratulating me on my fine progress, I should mention what happened later. We came home and ate dinner. Eli and Shulamith kindly helped me prepare cube steaks, eggs, and waffles. Then we watched a TV show, and Shulamith left to put her babies to bed, and Seth called Gerald and Eli and me for FHE. He had planned the lesson about the importance of free agency, which he presented so nicely with scriptures and good questions. He's gonna be a wonderful missionary in another four years or so. But then, right at the end, he had this to say:
"So we all have our free agency. For example, Mom thinks it's okay to go to restaurants and buy stuff on the Sabbath. But Eli thinks it's not okay for lots and lots of reasons. So they both have their free agency to choose."
Great.
I've obviously set a fine example for my young, impressionable 14-year-old today.
Sunday in paradise.
Monday, August 25, 2014
"I do believe I have been changed for the better...
...and because I knew you, I have been changed for good."
Saturday evening, Eli and I got all dressed up,
hopped on Trax,
and headed to the Capitol Theatre in downtown Salt Lake City to see the Broadway musical "Wicked."
It was epic.
We share a love for the theatre, Eli and I. Shulamith too, but because she has a 2-month-old baby who likes to eat all the time, she couldn't go with us. And though I reminded her pretty much all day about how jealous she should be, in reality, it was hard to go without her. She would have loved it as much as we did. The last show we saw at the Capitol was "Mamma Mia." It was in June of 2011, so over three years ago. Much has changed since then. We weren't even living in Utah at that time; we would move here the following month. Shulamith had no babies yet. Eli had just graduated from high school. Seth had just finished 5th grade. I thought about all those things as we made our way through the crowd, stopping to take this photo, and as we entered the theater and climbed up and up and up to the only seats we can ever afford.
Even from high in the balcony, we were utterly captivated, taken from this world and dropped into another, into the story told in music and dance of the young girl Elphaba and her transformation into arguably the most notorious, most feared character in movie history, the infamous Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. I grew up watching that movie. I saw it dozens of times. Every time, I longed to be Glinda, sparkling in her elegant ball gown. Every time, I hid behind my mom as I anticipated the arrival of the Wicked Witch. Grateful I am to finally know her story, to look at the whole tale with new perspective.
Grateful I am for the lessons of friendship I learned from Glinda and Elphaba, two so different yet so alike. Friendship matters to me. A lot. Perhaps it's because I come from such a tiny family; in many ways, my friends become my family. As the saying goes, "Friends are the family we choose." I found myself reflecting on some of my own relationships and how my life is, indeed, "changed for the better."
I have been changed for the better because of my friend, Lorrie. From her I have witnessed strength and resilience and joy. Faced with troubles whether big or small, she finds the light in every situation and walks forward in faith that everything will ultimately work out fine. And it does.
I have been changed for the better because of my friend, Patty. From her I have learned that there are always different ways to look at the same issue, a myriad of possibilities, numerous viable options. Her analytical mind is positively brilliant. Whenever I'm struggling to figure something out, Shulalmith says, "Have you asked Patty what she thinks?" And I always do.
I have been changed for the better because of my friend, Lindsey. From her I have learned what loyalty is, unwavering dedication to family. What a devoted wife and mom she is! And daughter and aunt and sister. And friend. My friend. She "gets" me when others sometimes don't. I can tell her anything without fear of judgment. Everyone needs someone like that in her life.
Some people come into our lives for just a second, others for a season, others for a lifetime. These three came for a lifetime. They stayed. I don't mean that in a geographical sense. Sadly, not one of these three strong, beautiful women lives here in the Salt Lake area. One is in Washington. One is in Idaho. One is in Southern Utah. Still, they stayed. They stayed close, close in spirit, close in heart, close in love. They continue to influence my life.
Like Glinda and Elphapa, "I do believe I have been changed for the better, and because I knew you, I have been changed for good."
Saturday evening, Eli and I got all dressed up,
hopped on Trax,
and headed to the Capitol Theatre in downtown Salt Lake City to see the Broadway musical "Wicked."
It was epic.
We share a love for the theatre, Eli and I. Shulamith too, but because she has a 2-month-old baby who likes to eat all the time, she couldn't go with us. And though I reminded her pretty much all day about how jealous she should be, in reality, it was hard to go without her. She would have loved it as much as we did. The last show we saw at the Capitol was "Mamma Mia." It was in June of 2011, so over three years ago. Much has changed since then. We weren't even living in Utah at that time; we would move here the following month. Shulamith had no babies yet. Eli had just graduated from high school. Seth had just finished 5th grade. I thought about all those things as we made our way through the crowd, stopping to take this photo, and as we entered the theater and climbed up and up and up to the only seats we can ever afford.
Even from high in the balcony, we were utterly captivated, taken from this world and dropped into another, into the story told in music and dance of the young girl Elphaba and her transformation into arguably the most notorious, most feared character in movie history, the infamous Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. I grew up watching that movie. I saw it dozens of times. Every time, I longed to be Glinda, sparkling in her elegant ball gown. Every time, I hid behind my mom as I anticipated the arrival of the Wicked Witch. Grateful I am to finally know her story, to look at the whole tale with new perspective.
Grateful I am for the lessons of friendship I learned from Glinda and Elphaba, two so different yet so alike. Friendship matters to me. A lot. Perhaps it's because I come from such a tiny family; in many ways, my friends become my family. As the saying goes, "Friends are the family we choose." I found myself reflecting on some of my own relationships and how my life is, indeed, "changed for the better."
I have been changed for the better because of my friend, Lorrie. From her I have witnessed strength and resilience and joy. Faced with troubles whether big or small, she finds the light in every situation and walks forward in faith that everything will ultimately work out fine. And it does.
I have been changed for the better because of my friend, Patty. From her I have learned that there are always different ways to look at the same issue, a myriad of possibilities, numerous viable options. Her analytical mind is positively brilliant. Whenever I'm struggling to figure something out, Shulalmith says, "Have you asked Patty what she thinks?" And I always do.
I have been changed for the better because of my friend, Lindsey. From her I have learned what loyalty is, unwavering dedication to family. What a devoted wife and mom she is! And daughter and aunt and sister. And friend. My friend. She "gets" me when others sometimes don't. I can tell her anything without fear of judgment. Everyone needs someone like that in her life.
Some people come into our lives for just a second, others for a season, others for a lifetime. These three came for a lifetime. They stayed. I don't mean that in a geographical sense. Sadly, not one of these three strong, beautiful women lives here in the Salt Lake area. One is in Washington. One is in Idaho. One is in Southern Utah. Still, they stayed. They stayed close, close in spirit, close in heart, close in love. They continue to influence my life.
Like Glinda and Elphapa, "I do believe I have been changed for the better, and because I knew you, I have been changed for good."
Friday, August 15, 2014
Kid's n' Cart's - Rhetoric Rant
Okay, you have to admit, I haven't done a rhetoric rant for quite some time. I can't even remember the last time I wrote one, but today, I have no choice. None.
Because what I witnessed yesterday was just too over-the-top egregious to ignore. I was innocently minding my own business in the front area of Harmon's, where they keep the grocery carts. I was waiting for a "car cart" for Shulamith's little boy, Swen. To say Swen is fond of cars (which he calls gawks) is a gross understatement; he is positively obsessed. He grows more delighted each new day than the one before with the number of gawks that exist in the world. They're everywhere!
So when grocery stores provide shopping carts that look like "gawks," oh the joy! That is, of course, if one is available. Sometimes they are all in use. This is not a good day. Swen refuses to ride in a shopping cart that is not a gawk. And who can blame him? I wouldn't either, if I loved gawks as much as he does. So sometimes we have to wait for a car cart (aka every parent's answer to keeping a toddler happy in a grocery store) to become available, which was the case yesterday. As we waited, I happened to glance upward where I saw this very large sign:
NO, I AM NOT KIDDING. I have not altered this photo. It really does look just like this. Blechhhhh!
Can we just take a step backward and focus our attention for one second on apostrophes? Generally, apostrophes do two things: create contractions and show possession. That's pretty much all. In the above phrase, I can't even tell for sure what the message is supposed to be. Is it "Kids AND carts"? Or "Kids IN Carts"? Impossible to tell. Apostrophes in contractions replace letters that have been left out. So if the folks who made this sign meant "and," then it should be 'N' with apostrophes to replace the "a" and the "d." If they meant "in," then it should be 'N, with the apostrophe to replace the "i." Either way, N' makes no sense and creates utter confusion.
Next we have apostrophes in the other two words: "kid's" and "cart's." Why do these words contain apostrophes? I haven't a clue. Apostrophes in nouns show possession or ownership, but in this case, neither of these nouns is possessing or owning anything. It makes me wonder if the sign maker paused and thought, "I haven't used an apostrophe in a while, so maybe I'll just add a couple here." It's that random!
By now I was about to have a meltdown right there in the grocery store, but Swen saved the day when, with anxious eyes and sheer exuberance, he exclaimed, "Big Gawk!" Indeed, one of those precious, sought-after car carts, a bright red one even, was right there in front of us. Into the gawk he went, and off we were to do our shopping.
But not before I took a picture to document this this atrocity and, of course, to serve as the foundation for yet another rhetoric rant.
Because what I witnessed yesterday was just too over-the-top egregious to ignore. I was innocently minding my own business in the front area of Harmon's, where they keep the grocery carts. I was waiting for a "car cart" for Shulamith's little boy, Swen. To say Swen is fond of cars (which he calls gawks) is a gross understatement; he is positively obsessed. He grows more delighted each new day than the one before with the number of gawks that exist in the world. They're everywhere!
So when grocery stores provide shopping carts that look like "gawks," oh the joy! That is, of course, if one is available. Sometimes they are all in use. This is not a good day. Swen refuses to ride in a shopping cart that is not a gawk. And who can blame him? I wouldn't either, if I loved gawks as much as he does. So sometimes we have to wait for a car cart (aka every parent's answer to keeping a toddler happy in a grocery store) to become available, which was the case yesterday. As we waited, I happened to glance upward where I saw this very large sign:
NO, I AM NOT KIDDING. I have not altered this photo. It really does look just like this. Blechhhhh!
Can we just take a step backward and focus our attention for one second on apostrophes? Generally, apostrophes do two things: create contractions and show possession. That's pretty much all. In the above phrase, I can't even tell for sure what the message is supposed to be. Is it "Kids AND carts"? Or "Kids IN Carts"? Impossible to tell. Apostrophes in contractions replace letters that have been left out. So if the folks who made this sign meant "and," then it should be 'N' with apostrophes to replace the "a" and the "d." If they meant "in," then it should be 'N, with the apostrophe to replace the "i." Either way, N' makes no sense and creates utter confusion.
Next we have apostrophes in the other two words: "kid's" and "cart's." Why do these words contain apostrophes? I haven't a clue. Apostrophes in nouns show possession or ownership, but in this case, neither of these nouns is possessing or owning anything. It makes me wonder if the sign maker paused and thought, "I haven't used an apostrophe in a while, so maybe I'll just add a couple here." It's that random!
By now I was about to have a meltdown right there in the grocery store, but Swen saved the day when, with anxious eyes and sheer exuberance, he exclaimed, "Big Gawk!" Indeed, one of those precious, sought-after car carts, a bright red one even, was right there in front of us. Into the gawk he went, and off we were to do our shopping.
But not before I took a picture to document this this atrocity and, of course, to serve as the foundation for yet another rhetoric rant.
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