Bright with Hope

It's no secret I love Christmas. And Christmas music. I start playing it November 1st and play it almost continuously through Christmas Day, much to the dismay of a couple of my sons who live in this house. I can't choose a favorite Christmas song because it's a dead tie between two: "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" and "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day." Coincidentally, or maybe not, my favorite parts of both songs come near the end. In "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," it's the very last verse:

"Hail the Heaven-born Prince of Peace!

Hail the Son of Righteousness!

Light and life to all He brings,

Risen with healing in His wings;"

The year 2020 has been rough. We've all felt the need for healing, but none more than those who have contracted this wretched, unpredictable, and, in too many cases, deadly virus. My heart aches for all who have suffered themselves or lost loved ones; I'm so very sorry. If ever we needed the healing power of "the Heaven-born Prince of Peace," it's now.

In "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," my favorite part is near the end as well:

"Then rang the bells more loud and deep

God is not dead, nor does he sleep

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to all."

In this challenging year, the hope this song offers feels especially significant. President Gordon B. Hinckley used to say, "Everything is going to work out in the end. If it hasn't worked out yet, that's because it's not the end yet." Living in Utah, where so many people don't believe in science or that COVID19 is real, or feel a mask mandate limits their personal freedom, I've felt at times pretty despairing. Grateful for this song to remind me of what is true.

Even more grateful to the relentless effort of dedicated researchers and scientists who've developed an effective vaccine, currently available to frontline healthcare workers and soon, to everyone. Thank you so very much. Our immediate family has been fortunate to avoid the virus thus far; perhaps we will all be vaccinated before anyone becomes ill. That is certainly my prayer.

Meanwhile, we quietly and joyfully celebrated Christmas. We ate good food. We laughed. We took turns opening carefully-chosen gifts, given with love, one to another. We rejoiced to have Seth back with us after his two Christmases spent in Paraguay. And, as always, we continued our tradition of matching Christmas pajamas for all who wanted to participate. Here are some highlights:

The girls!

\

The boys!

Everyone (except those who don't like matching jammies)!

"Then ringing singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to all."

Merry Christmas from our family to yours, and may the new year shine bright with hope!

...but here I am crushing it!

Nope. 

I never thought I'd be the owner of multiple dogs, living in a brand new townhome in the middle of a construction zone, with no fenced yard and a yet-unfinished basement, in the sub-freezing temperatures of Utah in December...but here I am crushing it!

Well, mostly. Yesterday, I wasn't so sure. Our two dogs present different challenges. My dog Waffles (yellow lab/Chinese Shar Pei) likes to sniff around forever in order to select the absolute perfect location to go to the bathroom. "Come on, dude. I'm cold. I wanna go home. Do this thing." Shulamith's dog Woofie (Aussie shepherd/poodle) is much quicker to comply, but he's also extremely protective of me and can be crazy aggressive when he thinks we might be in danger. Which is basically every time another human or canine creature comes near. Holding onto the leash for dear life as I struggle not to slip on the ice while he pulls me forward barking ferociously: "Nooooo! Woof! STOP!" 

Our friend Tia, who is a wonderful and experienced dog owner, offered Shulamith some advice, which we began trying last night and today. We take food like hot dog bits and cheese bites out with us. Not boring dog food. For Waffles, we give him a treat every time he goes to the bathroom. "Yay!!! Good boy, Waffles. Here's a treat." For Woofie, Tia told Shulamith to reward him every time he sees a stranger and begins to feel agitated but before he goes into attack mode. This way, he learns to associate people with the positive experience of getting treats. Holding on tight to a very short leash: "Yes, there's a person, Woofie. Good boy for not barking. All is well. Here's a treat." 

Good news is this seems to be working already, after less than a day. We have many opportunities to practice because everywhere, all around us, are construction workers just waiting to be attacked by an 85 lb. dog. Thank you, Tia! You are my salvation here.

Last night, though. After a long day of multiple walks in the cold wind, I took Waffles out first. By the time we returned and I went to grab Woof, he had managed to pull down their bag of dog food, rip it to shreds, and eat all that was left in it. Fortunately, it was nearly empty, with maybe enough food for one or two more days, but still.

I never thought I'd be the owner of multiple dogs, living in a brand new townhome in the middle of a construction zone, with no fenced yard and a yet-unfinished basement, in the sub-freezing temperatures of Utah in December...but here I am crushing it!

No fence + no basement + two dogs = I need a hard hat!

No Fence.

That pretty much explains it. I ordered and paid for a fence to be installed, but so far, all I have are posts. When I asked when the actual fence would be here, the contractor told me he is waiting for the gate to arrive. He didn't happen to mention when he thinks that might be, so I guess I just wait. With no fence. This would not matter much if it weren't for the two dogs that are living here, but that story belongs further down this math equation, so hold tight.

No Basement.

We knew from the start we would need to finish our basement. This house is not big enough for the four of us without that additional space. We could have had Edge (the housing developers) do it, but they way overcharge for upgrade options, so we decided to hire someone independently. That meant we had to wait until we closed on the house to get started; still, we figured it would be mostly done by the time we moved in and completely done by Christmas. Why did we think that? Because that's what we were told! "We'll have it done for you by Christmas," they promised.

Reality is they started a week late, and they only come some days. I never know which days those will be, so it's always a big surprise and music to my ears to hear the pounding of nails downstairs. This past week I decided to verify what I already knew: there is no way this basement will be finished by Christmas (sigh). I guess it's better to know. Maybe. 

Two dogs.

Neither the fence nor the basement would matter quite as much if it weren't for the two dogs living here. Back in January, Shulamith's dog, Woof, came to live with us because she and her family moved into an apartment as they waited for their Bluffdale house to be built. Woof joined our dog, Waffles, and the two quickly became BFFs. That was at Angel House, where we had a large fenced backyard. 

As noted above, here in Bluffdale, we have no fence. And we have no basement. There is no good place for these dogs to be, and I have to walk them outside in the freezing cold multiple times daily. Shulalmith helps me when she's here, and Seth sometimes goes with me. I keep telling myself that these walks help with my daily step count, which they do. Still, I'll be so grateful when the fence is finished, making it possible to let them outside by themselves.

I need a hard hat.

No, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the fence or the basement or the dogs, but hey, it's 2020, so why would math equations need to make sense? The truth is I live in a construction zone. Literally. On all sides of me, and down every street in all directions, houses are in various stages of development. A few are still only plots of dirt. Some are dug with cement basements poured. Others are framed. Several have roofs, siding, and windows. A few are nearing completion, with most of the work happening inside. And a tiny few, like ours, are done and already inhabited.

This makes walking mildly terrifying. Giant cement mixers, excavators, and front loaders weave in and out along the streets, forward and backward serendipitously, with seemingly little regard for pedestrians who might be out walking their dogs. Some streets have sidewalks, but even those are often blocked with big piles of lumber or these strange orange tubes blossoming out of the ground everywhere.

And on the "dog distractibility index," I'd put the sights, sounds, and smells of construction work right up top. "Woof: stop barking at the workers! Waffles: stop sniffing everything and jumping up and down! Both of you: Go to the bathroom! I'm freezing!" No wonder I never see anyone else out walking. Not many people live here yet. 

I know this is all temporary. One day all the houses will be built, and there will be no more construction. One day there will be landscaping, possibly rocks, mulch, grass even, so we won't track in dirt every time we walk inside our house. One day I will have a fence and a finished basement. One day Woof will move back with his actual family to a house just down the street. I show him that house every day when we walk. "That is your house," I tell him. He smiles. "Waffles can come visit you here," I add. He smiles more.

All will be well...eventually. Meanwhile, it's time to walk the dogs.

Our Best Christmas Gift Ever

At the start of 2020, I decided to tell each of my children's birth story in the month of his or her birth. Here we are in December, the last month and the last birth story, for our firstborn child, Luke. He was born in Walla Walla, Washington, about an hour's drive from the small town of Hermiston, Oregon where we lived. It was freezing cold, and the Christmas season had just begun. What a glorious time to have a baby and to become a mother!

Beforehand, however, I had no clue how glorious it would be. I was scared and felt woefully unprepared. We'd been married just a bit over a year, and I'd recently graduated from college and moved to Hermiston for my first teaching position. My plan was to spend the next three years teaching and working on my master's degree; God had a different plan, a much better one. I quit teaching. I still got my master's, but it took a full seven years, rather than the typical two to three.

I didn't mind in the least. From the second they placed him in my arms, I was overcome with the realization of my destiny, what I was born to do, above and beyond anything else in my life. Motherhood was that destiny, and I knew immediately that, over time, I wanted several children.

...but back to the actual birth story...

Back then I didn't realize that all my babies would take their own sweet time coming to Earth, that due dates meant nothing to them, and that they would chill in Heaven just as long as possible. We were expecting Luke around Thanksgiving, but he didn't show up until Dec. 4th, a full week later. I remember feeling pretty sure I was in active labor because my contractions were much stronger than the Braxton Hicks I'd been experiencing for weeks, but how sure can you really be sure when it's your first child? Gerald drove fast to the hospital. If you know him, you understand just how incredible this is, since he rarely reaches the speed limit. (He's gonna object to and deny this comment, but trust me. And if you don't, just ask any one of our kids.)

We arrived, checked in, and were thrilled to hear they would keep me. This was it: Labor! What we didn't realize and what was not quite so thrilling was that it would be another 18 long hours before Luke was born. The hospital in Walla Walla didn't offer the option of an epidural, so unmedicated childbirth it would be! It was the hardest thing I had ever done or ever would do, up to this very day. In the 80s, ultrasonography was not routine and reserved for high-risk pregnancies, so no one, not even my doctor, had any idea Luke would be 9 lbs. 12 ozs. Such a big boy for a fairly small mommy. As I said, hardest thing I've ever done.

But worth every second. I held him in my arms, and all was right with the universe. Time stood still. My heart could barely handle the love that poured forth for this not-so-little guy. He developed infant jaundice, a fairly common issue with newborns, but I was devastated. They kept coming in to poke his poor little heel to get blood to check his bilirubin levels, and I cried harder and longer each time than he ever did. One nurse told me not to worry: "We've never lost a baby checking bilirubin levels and only a couple of mothers."

Finally, we got to take him home to our apartment, where Christmas decor welcomed both him and the Savior, simultaneously. 

Our best Christmas gift ever.

Farewell, Angel House

This week we bid farewell to the house we nicknamed "Angel House" because it's located on East Angel Ct. Three years ago, I wrote about how we came to live at Angel House in an emotional post called "A Whole Lot of Pathos Involved." Now, as we move forward to the next chapter in a new home in Bluffdale, we say goodbye to our Angel House, which has served us well for nine years. 

They say love makes a house a home. If that's true, then Angel House is the homiest house ever!

Nine Christmases filled it with joy and surprises. I will never forget walking down the steep, slippery, spiral staircase that led from our outside deck down to the backyard, terrified I would fall while carrying a large box containing Seth's WiiU. It was Christmas 2013, and those metal stairs were covered with ice, but I needed to get Seth's present from the house down to Gerald's car without Seth noticing. That night, when all the festivities were presumably over, Gerald would ring the front doorbell, and I'd yell for Seth to answer it. And there it would be. In Gerald's arms. Seth's Nintendo WiiU. Ooooh, so much fun!

Six years later, 2019, was Seth's second Christmas in Paraguay, and it worked out that he could video chat with us for nearly an hour on Christmas morning as we opened gifts. His package from us had arrived a couple weeks earlier, but he saved it to open during our chat. Seeing his genuine excitement over each small item I'd lovingly packed into a tightly-wrapped ziplock bag made my missionary mama's heart rejoice.

Angel House hosted two missionary farewells (Eli and Seth) and one homecoming (Eli). Seth didn't get a homecoming party because of COVID, but he did return from Paraguay to a 14-day quarantine at Angel House. Though the circumstances weren't ideal, that time with him, for me, was truly sacred.

Angel House also hosted five Christmas cookie exchange parties, where friends gathered to feast on yummy cookies and catch up with each others' lives.

Shulamith and Mathew brought all three of their babies home to the basement apartment at Angel House, filling it with the unique spirit that only newborns possess, having so recently walked with Heavenly beings. Shulamith's favorite Angel House memories include sitting on her couch downstairs and watching her kids play in the backyard during the summer months, often with dogs running behind them. She also remembers the two of us baking all our Christmas treats in the giant kitchen with the huge island counter.  

After the five Webster-Monsons left, Eli and Amanda moved into the apartment for two years. I asked them for their favorite Angel House memory, and the first thing they thought of was setting up a tent in the living room and sleeping inside it to keep spiders out. Amanda had been painting the apartment and removed a small plastic covering, which covered a hole in the wall, which of course led to dirt (because it's a basement apartment) and spiders!

My memories of Angel House are too many to count, and I might have shed a tear or two this past week as I had to say goodbye. I'm not a fan of change, and it feels like change is all I do these days. That said, as life eventually stabilizes, I'm sure I will regain my sanity or most of it.

Meanwhile, farewell kind and generous Angel House. You were everything we hoped you'd be.

 

Black Friday, Reimagined!

And, no, we don't have COVID. I thought you might think that because we are on the couch covered with blankets. Don't worry. We are just fine. And we want to keep it that way. Therefore, after 20+ years of Black Friday shopping, we had to reimagine this day and make it joyful despite the unusual circumstances. Every year, we get up early, drive through Starbuck's for hot chocolate, and hit the stores. We love the crowds, the lines, the race to get the best sales; it's a total adrenaline rush! We generally begin at Target, but ultimately hit Walmart, Old Navy, sometimes Kohl's, and both Fashion Place and South Towne malls before returning home, exhausted, but so happy for all we accomplished.

Let me introduce you to Black Friday, reimagined.

We still got up early, but this time we drove through a place called Beans and Brews Coffee House, which is about the only eating establishment anywhere near us. I used to tell Shulamith she lived in the "wilderness," but now we really do. We got our hot chocolate, stopped by Maverick for Diet Coke, and returned to my new house to begin our "couch shopping."

...oh, and all that cash you see in our hands? Well, let me just tell you about that. A little over a year ago, I was sitting at our ward's Halloween party, chatting with a few people, when Lena asked Kelly if she had started her Christmas shopping. Kelly replied, "No, but I've been stashing away cash all year for Christmas presents, so I'm good to start." What a wonderful idea, I thought to myself! I texted Shulamith right away, and we decided to follow Kelly's plan. Every time we got paid, we drove through the bank and withdrew a bit of cash, all of which I kept in envelopes in my files. And today, we got to spend all that cash on presents for our families, with zero financial stress. Woo.

We had lists from all the sibs pulled up on our computers, and we systematically jumped from one person to the next, carefully choosing items we hope they will love. It was like a well-oiled machine, I tell ya; you should be duly impressed. Shulamith is finished shopping for her kids and all her siblings. I'm finished with three of my five kids, a wonderful start.

Suddenly, it was noon. We had to hurry back to Sandy to take care of the dogs, who are still living there (another story for another time), and then order a Christmas tree because I was determined not to deal with this one ever again! Then we grabbed some quick takeout from Cafe Rio and headed back to Bluffdale to walk because when you sit on a couch all morning, you don't take many steps. My count was at like 1,300, woefully low for noon, so we circled our new neighborhood, stopping briefly at Shulamith's house to see the awesome progress being made, and finished with 6,500 steps.

I hope and pray that next year, we are back out there among the crowds. I pray that this virus has been sufficiently controlled through an effective vaccine and responsible behavior before that vaccine is available, so we can be near others without fear. I look forward to that time with a longing I can barely describe.

Meanwhile, I will be patient and grateful. As President Nelson asked us a week ago to flood the Internet and social media with gratitude, #givethanks, I will give thanks for my health; my family; my richly blessed life; and even for Black Friday, reimagined.

Moving sucks, but free food helps!

"If you want to know where the Websters live, stand on the corner and wait for the moving truck to come by and follow it." This is a direct quote from a long-time friend of my original family, meant to be humorous with no offense intended, and none was taken. We did move a lot. I've speculated that this might be because my mom missed her true calling as an interior design artist. Which she definitely did. Guys, I'm not even kidding. I grew up in a house, well 21 houses to be exact, all of which looked like they belonged in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, and her current house still looks like that. So I wonder if once she arranged the furniture in as many different configurations as possible, then decorated perfectly around each new arrangement, she wanted to move, so she could begin the creative process all over? Definitely possible.

I inherited neither her incredible talent for home design, nor her zest for moving. I couldn't decorate my way out of a paper bag, and my house always looks somewhat "vacant?" Also, I hate moving! So much. So I don't do it, unless it's absolutely necessary, like those times we've relocated to an entirely different state.

Until now. We are in the process of moving from our current home in Sandy to a new house in Bluffdale, about 10 miles south. How's it going, you ask? Ugh! I can't think of a single thing I enjoy about this process. It is so hard and overwhelming. I'm taking a break this afternoon to blog; this is for the benefit of my sanity and my family's well-being. But Seth is going with me to take yet another load this evening.

Because our new home is literally "new," there are extra tasks, beyond getting every last item from one house to the other. For example, our beautiful kitchen backsplash needs to be sealed, as does the floor of the garage and the driveway. Amanda, whose skillset never ceases to amaze me, is handling both those projects. Also, I had to meet with a guy to discuss window treatments. Really, though. Picture that in your mind. "Do you prefer the almond cream or the coconut sand?" Honestly, they look exactly the same. "Do you want blackout blinds or filter?" I don't have the slightest idea. "Do you want fabric-covered valances or the modern uncovered look?" Okay, shoot me now!!!

Meanwhile, Shulamith and I make multiple trips back and forth daily, hauling vans full of crap. Why do we have so much stuff? I am the polar opposite of a hoarder, and yet you should see the pile of junk out on the road in front of our house. Fortunately, the city's biannual curbside pickup is this week! 

Sorry if I sound like I'm whining. I am. I'm tired of all of it, truth be told, both the physical effort required and the many mental chores like transferring utilities, getting the mailbox key, joining the HOA, buying a water softener, ordering a fence, dealing with contractors who are supposed to be finishing our basement but who are now a full week late in starting, and did I mention those dang window treatments?

However, when life begins to feel impossible, take heart. There is always food. And sometimes it's free. Trust me; nothing tastes better than free food. The universe wrapped its arms around me this past week with two such opportunities. After closing all summer for an extensive remodel, the Chick-fil-A where Seth works had its grand reopening Thursday, and on Tuesday, they gave free meals to employees' families. Then Saturday, Nothing Bundt Cakes opened a new location in Taylorsville and offered customers free confetti bundtlets! So Tuesday, Shulamith, Isaiah, and I got free Chick-fil-A meals (and we didn't even have to dress like cows), and Saturday, I got a yummy bundt cake.

It's been a long process, and we still have tons left to do. I'm exhausted almost all the time, and moving totally sucks, but free food most definitely helps.

"No Sleep Till 270!"

Sometimes timing is perfection. Such was the case Friday afternoon, when Luke, Shulamith, and Isaiah pulled into Washington D.C. just as the state of Pennsylvania was called for Biden. Honking horns and cheers of joy filled the streets as people celebrated the end of an era of despair, frustration, and pain. In Isaiah's words, "There was jubilation, and it was awesome to be part of it!" 

Early Friday morning, Shulamith and Isaiah flew to Maryland to visit their brother Luke. When they planned this trip, they knew it would fall just three days after the presidential election; however, they had no idea it would take all three of those days to count all the votes and determine the winner.

It had been a long three days that began Tuesday night, as polls closed around the country. As the hours passed and Trump was showing early leads in some swing states, the mood at our house grew quietly anxious as everyone was glued to the TV but also to various maps and predictions on his or her own personal device:

Isaiah is the most politically informed person I know, so when he's nervous, I'm nervous. He was nervous. He had all the swing states' electoral votes in mind, as he calculated the different paths that would move Vice President Biden to the needed 270. By 11:00 p.m., he still felt "okay" about things, though not nearly as confident as he had been earlier. I was exhausted. I wanted to stay up and watch, but I also needed to sleep, so I told Isaiah to text me any important developments, and I went to bed.

Isaiah's election marathon would continue for the next three days, with only brief sleep periods here and there. Each night, he waited up for additional states to turn blue, his motto: "No sleep till 270!" And that 270 came as he and his sister and brother pulled into Washington D.C. Friday afternoon!

I struggle to put words to my feelings during those three, long days of waiting. I couldn't imagine enduring four more years of the current president, and yet that was an undeniably real possibility. At one point I told Isaiah, "If this thing goes bad, I want to hear it from you, not from someone else or from social media, so please tell me right away." He said he would, and that helped a little. Each morning, things looked more hopeful than the day before, but you know me: always glass half empty. I kept waiting for the proverbial "other shoe" to drop. 

It didn't. I am so relieved. And grateful. And just really, really happy!

I may or may not have cried as I watched both speeches last night. Kamala didn't just break that glass ceiling; she freakin' shattered it to pieces! When I was a little girl, the idea of a female vice president was unheard of! Some say it doesn't matter, but I disagree. It matters. Wearing a lovely white suit as a tribute to women's suffrage, Vice President-elect Harris declared, "I may be the first, but won't be the last." 

President-elect Biden faces unique challenges, and he won't meet them perfectly. He will make mistakes. He will almost certainly make decisions I disagree with. But dang. I...we...will once again have a president whom we can respect as a decent human being, one who isn't an embarrassment to our nation throughout the world, one who cares about someone other than himself. 

Rest easy, my friends. A new day lies before us, and there is so much hope. 

(P.S. Get some sleep, Isaiah!)

Is it possible to social distance on Halloween?

The answer is yes! It's not easy, but it's possible. This was nicely demonstrated by Eli and Amanda, as they hosted their 3rd annual Halloween party last night. It's not a huge event, which helps. Usually, they invite our family, Amanda's family, and a couple friends. Also, the weather fully cooperated last night. I don't know what they would have done had it been a week ago when temperatures dropped to the teens, but last night, it was a balmy 50 degrees, so the party could be fully outside.

They were so understanding of my "COVID anxiety" that they set up separate tables across the yard from each other, one for our family and one for Amanda's. Here we are chillin' and enjoying the evening, safely distanced from others:

They served warm, comfort food: lasagna, pigs in a blanket, mac and cheese, and tons of candy. They even have this cool fire thing, which kept Isaiah (and the rest of us) toasty warm!

The highlight of this event is always the games and the prizes awarded, the favorite being the "mummy wrap," where one person wraps the other in bathroom tissue and crepe paper to create a mummy. Shulamith and I always win this one, and last night was no exception. I'd prove it, but the picture was sucky so I deleted it. Use your imagination. Picture me wrapped from neck to knees in bath tissue. Here are a few other shots of the mummy game:

Then there is the "Best Costume" prize. Shulamith and I always dress as "moms," and I really think we should win; however, these two couples were a close second:

Clark Kent and Wonder Woman

Rapunzel and Flynn Rider

Yes, it's possible to social distance and still enjoy Halloween; you just have to be creative! Thank you, Eli and Amanda, for your creativity and for planning and hosting such a fun celebration.

In Our Family, We Cast our Votes for Decency

I so clearly remember the first time I voted. I was a freshman in college, living away from home for the first time. I had turned 18 on October 20th, just two weeks before the election. I didn't have a car, so a guy from my dorm offered to drive me to the polls. "We have to help out our fellow Democrats," he said. 

I grew up in a political family, so voting for the first time was an important rite of passage; it felt strange to do it for the first time without my parents or grandparents, but that didn't take away from the thrill of finally being old enough to exercise this privilege. Though I'd participated in several political campaigns already, this was the first time I could actually make my voice known, however small it was. I was an adult, and I was voting!

I've had the honor to accompany each of our five children to vote, as one by one, they came of age. This time was Seth's turn. He is 20 already, but he's been in Paraguay for most of the past two years, so this was his first time voting. And he really wanted to do it in person. So Shulamith, Isaiah, and I took him to in-person, early voting yesterday. We had our mail-in ballots filled out just in case the lines were too long, or people weren't wearing masks or social distancing, but it all worked out perfectly. Hardly anyone was there, and the setup was designed to be COVID safe. I was so proud of Seth. Since returning from Paraguay, he has done much to educate himself on the candidates and issues and to become an informed, responsible voter.

Eli, Amanda, and Gerald opted to mail their ballots. The Utah Erichsen-Websters have voted! We cast our votes for families, for education, and for healthcare. We cast our votes for science, for sensible gun legislation, and for the environment. We cast our votes for social and racial justice and BLM, and for the rights of our LGBTQ brothers and sisters.

But mostly, we cast our votes for decency, for humanity, for kindness. In our family, we proudly cast our votes for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. 

No pedicures, movies, or massages: Welcome to my COVID birthday!

As birthdays go, this one was definitely atypical. Usually, Shulamith and I take a whole day to celebrate. We always go to at least one movie, sometimes two. We get pedicures and sometimes facials or massages. We go shopping and eat inside restaurants. 

None of that happened this year.

Enter COVID-19. 

No movies. No pedicures. No facials or massages. No inside dining. Utah hit 1,900 new cases yesterday; we're not taking any unnecessary risks. One might argue that it was kinda lame as birthdays go, but that's not true. While I hope and dream that next year, and the next, and all the future years we can go back to our normal day of celebrating, this was still a lovely birthday.

Shulamith and I got takeout from Outback: steaks and loaded baked potatoes; Caesar salad for me, fries for her. We took all this to what we refer to as the "shady park," a nicely shaded park behind Hillcrest High School. We packed forks and steak knives and ate at a picnic table. It was comfortably cool but not too cold. I guess one upside to the serious climate crisis is the warm fall we've had, keeping us outside a little longer.

Then in the afternoon before I went to my evening hybrid class, Eli and Amanda stopped by to surprise me with a yummy peanut butter, chocolate chip cookie from Crumbl. It was so good.

This afternoon we had a family celebration, once again, at the "shady park." Shulamith made me chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and picked up delicious Thai takeout, yellow curry with chicken and potatoes. True comfort food. We talked and laughed and ate and talked and laughed some more.

Welcome to my COVID birthday. Some may say it was kinda lame compared to other years, but they would be wrong. It was different for sure. But when you have these four amazing humans by your side, your closest friends, nothing else really matters. 

Once Upon a Pumpkin Patch

No matter how you slice it, 2020 has been challenging for everyone. A year ago, I don't think any of us ever dreamed this set of circumstances could occur, and once it did, we surely didn't expect it to go on this long.

The other day when I was kinda at the end of my proverbial rope, I said audibly to myself, "I am so tired of this stupid virus!"

But only a second later, I also thought, "...but not nearly as tired of it as those who have it, or those who have lost loved ones to its deadly grasp."

Indeed, we have been lucky so far, and while it's okay to express frustration for the many missed events and opportunities, it's equally important to acknowledge our good fortune and to remember those who have been afflicted.

All those thoughts and more swirled through my mind yesterday, as part of my family and I participated in a "normal" Halloween activity: We visited a little pumpkin patch. We had been there before at least once, so it felt familiar; it felt "pre-virus." It isn't one of those huge, crowded places. It's just a small farm with a few goats and a couple sheep, pumpkins on the vine on sale for $8, $5, or $3 depending on size, and $1.00 hay rides. Such a bargain, really, and even better, social distancing is no problem because there is hardly anyone there. 

We petted the animals (well, some of us did), circled the farm on bails of hay, and each selected our own pumpkin. Seth had to work, so I found the biggest one I could for him to carve. He has missed the last two Halloweens; I think this year's "Seth pumpkin" is gonna be epic!

Eli pushed Shulamith's children in a wheelbarrow. 

Shulamith and I showed up dressed identically, something that happens all too frequently, and all you can do is laugh.

We reminisced on the last time we were there, bundled up in big coats, shivering, but yesterday's warm, fall weather was delightful. 

COVID-19 is not over, not by a long shot. Cases in Utah continue to rise as many people are complacent and in come cases, in total denial. After the pumpkin patch yesterday, I drove to Bluffdale to meet the contractor who will finish our basement once we close on our new home. While I was there, our head builder happened to walk past. He approached me, not wearing a mask, and once he was about to come too close, I backed away and said, "Sorry, I'm COVID cautious."

"What?" he questioned.

"The virus. I'm cautions about not spreading the virus," I responded, to which he replied, 

"What virus?"

We obviously have far to go as we care for others by wearing protective masks and social distancing, and as we pray for those who suffer and for those who work tirelessly to develop a safe vaccine.

But meanwhile, it was sure lovely to take a break from it all,

...and go to a little pumpkin patch, 

...and feel normal.

I'm okay with awkward.

Last week, Shulamith and I stopped briefly at Harmon's to pick up a couple of items we forgot on our individual weekly grocery orders. As I stood in one aisle, trying to make a quick but informed choice, another shopper came up behind me, her mask worn way down under her nose. I immediately stepped away from her and hurried the other way (without the grocery item I needed), as she shouted after me, "Oh, you're good!" Apparently she thought I was leaving because she was in my way. Nope! And I'm not "good" either. I'm not good with people frequenting public establishments with their masks down under their noses. I get that they are significantly more comfortable worn that way, but they're also completely ineffective!

Then today, we were getting Mod Pizza to eat in the outside dining area, and the employee who was checking us out also had her lovely mask way down below her nose. Are you kidding? This is a restaurant. I distanced myself way back from her, reaching awkwardly to insert my debit card into the reader, and then hurried outside. 

Unfortunately, this casual response to a global pandemic that has now killed over a million people worldwide is promoted by some of our country's most influential people, including the current POTUS, who mocked his opponent in the debate (debacle?) Tuesday night, saying, "He could be speaking 200 feet away and he shows up with the biggest mask I've ever seen." Is it any wonder so many people refuse to comply with mask mandates designed to protect us when the nation's leader is this complacent? 

But I guess from a guy who can't even speak the four simple words "I condemn white supremacy," what can we expect? When you don't care about anyone but yourself, mask-wearing becomes inconsequential. And if you're smarter than the most skilled and educated scientists who tell you masks drastically slow the spread of this virus, and therefore, save lives, why would you wear one? And if that same scientific community tells you we are in a climate crisis, why would you listen?

But I digress.

Back to masks.

Wear your masks properly, people, and stay 6 ft. away from me. Otherwise, you and I will experience "awkward." And I don't much care. 

I'm okay with awkward.

Weekend Words

Two entirely unrelated things happened this weekend, but I decided to put them together anyway to complete my blog posts for September (unless something else cool happens in the next three days). 

Yesterday, Shulamith and I went to Bluffdale to check on house-building progress, and guess what? We have walls! And flooring! And it's pretty crazy the difference walls and flooring make. Well just look here:

But there's even better news than this. Everyone, pay attention here! Shulamith's house is finally scheduled to be dug. This coming week! That means the next time we drive down to Bluffdale, we should see the most beautiful hole, right where her house will be. Oh my goodness, I can't even wait!

Then today I had what's commonly known as a "Proud Mom Moment," only this time it was more like a "Proud Mom Couple of Hours." At 9:00 a.m. Seth gave his mission homecoming talk in the 4th Ward, which is the ward we were in when he left on his mission just over two years ago. He spoke in our current ward two weeks ago, but only for five minutes, and he knew not one person in the room besides those from our immediate family plus one friend who came to hear him. Today, he got to speak for 15 minutes to a room filled with many familiar (though masked) faces, and I think he really enjoyed this experience. He talked about keeping the Spirit in our lives and how to do that and why it's so important. It was awesome! Gerald watched it at home via Zoom.

Once that meeting ended, I jumped in my car and headed south to Herriman, where Eli and Amanda were both giving talks in their new ward. Unfortunately, my phone somehow didn't get charged last night, so by the time I was driving to Herriman, it was nearly dead. This might have been very bad because I had only an address for Eli and Amanda's church building. I waited until I was near their house to use my GPS and prayed the phone would stay charged enough to get me to the church. It did. Barely. It died literally as I pulled into the church parking lot.

Both their talks were excellent. Amanda spoke about her gratitude for living prophets and pointed out how long before we knew anything about the upcoming pandemic, President Nelson shifted our focus to a home-centered, church-supported program. Eli gave examples and non-examples of ancient and modern cultures and their experiences following (or not) prophetic counsel.

All in all, it's been a lovely weekend, and the next one promises to be even better. 

Who's excited for General Conference? Woo!

 

I love my family, but I HATE feeding them!

Most of you know how much I love my family. A friend and older lady who has no children of her own once commented, "Terrianne is a fierce mother." That's possibly the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I do love my family, but may I say right here:

I HATE feeding them.

You have no idea what I'm up against. It's not so much that they have unusual preferences; it's that each of them has his or her own little food quirks, the one or two things he or she won't eat, or the one food category that is off limits. Well, let me clarify:

Gerald won't eat mammals. This includes, among other things, all beef and pork. He also won't eat mayonnaise or mustard or any foods containing those.

Shulamith won't eat fruits or vegetables. If the veggie chunks are large enough, she is willing to pick them out of dishes, but if a fruit comes within six feet of her plate, it's game over. 

Isaiah, who has traveled the world and eaten the cuisine of 14 different countries on 5 continents, won't eat a hamburger or a cold deli sandwich. 

Seth hates anything cooked in a crock pot, and he also detests ground turkey. He reminds me of the old lady from the Wendy's commercial once upon a time: "Where's the beef?"

Eli gets sick at the thought of all seafood, but especially shrimp. And he'll only eat deli meat if it's sliced razor thin.

Mathew won't eat onions or mushrooms. He can deal with some chopped onions in recipes, but absolutely no mushrooms, even cream of mushroom soup.

Amanda doesn't like any Asian food and believes sweet food does not go with savory food, and sweet food cannot be for dinner, only for treats.

Are you confused yet??? 

In their defense, all these lovely people are quick to say that I should make whatever I want and not worry about them. They can always find something else to eat, they say. Of course that's true, but here's the thing. We don't do the weekly or every-other-week family dinner, so typical here in the Utah (LDS) culture, so on the rare occasion that we do have everyone together for a holiday or birthday celebration, yes, I want everyone to be able to eat!

And I don't want to have to choose who can't. 

Do I omit all red meat so Gerald will eat? Or do I choose a beef recipe so Seth will? Do I make a yummy Asian recipe and exclude Amanda, or a delicious casserole with cream of mushroom soup and exclude Matt? Do I prepare a tasty, fruity dessert and exclude Shulamith, or do I grill burgers and exclude Isaiah?

Add to this that I'm a subpar cook, so my options are limited in the first place. Ugh! No matter what I prepare, I feel like I have to apologize to someone. 

On the upside, sometimes a glorious thing happens, and people cook for me. During the two years Eli and Amanda lived here, that happened once or twice a week. It was amazing! Dinner was just presented to me; I didn't have to choose the meal, shop for the food, cook it, or clean up. When they left, I thought those days were over, but recently, Isaiah has started cooking, and twice this month, he has done the same thing. Here's what he gave me a couple nights ago:

Asian noodles with pork in a curry sauce with green onions. Mmmmm! And he cleaned everything thoroughly and left the kitchen sparkling. (Of course this wouldn't work for Amanda or Gerald because it's Asian and includes pork.)

Haha, I sure do love my family.

But I HATE feeding them.

Try Something Relaxing, Like Painting or Ceramics, (they said)!

Well not "they." 

He.

My doctor.

With my debilitating anxiety disorder, you will not be surprised to learn that I tend to avoid doctors, to use the proverbial simile: Like the plague. I avoid them until my inner sense of duty takes over, and I realize that there are a couple annual or biennial screenings that do need to be done. Eeek! Knowing these medical appointments will shoot my anxiety right into the stratosphere, I usually spread them out over several months, but this year I had a different idea. What if I scheduled all these appointments (including the dentist, which also scares me spitless) in the same week? That way I would have one horrifying week, but then it would be over, and (once all test results came back clear), I could enjoy the remaining 50-51 weeks of the year.

As I sat in one of these healthcare provider's offices (Day 2 of my weeklong visits with medical personnel), just ever so shy of a full-on panic attack (!), he decided to ask me about my anxiety and what steps I take to reduce it.

"WELL, I TRY TO SYSTEMATICALLY AVOID DOCTORS...DUH!" 

I wanted to shout this in is face, but shouting in people's faces is a bad idea these days, and also, he was really such a nice dude that I refrained. You see, I don't have a personal physician, like someone I see regularly. I have no health issues other than anxiety, so when I force myself to brave up and go do these damn screenings, I see whomever happens to be available. It makes zero difference to me who that is. They are all terrifying.

I tell you that so you'll give this nice guy a break when I tell you the rest of the story. He doesn't know me from Eve. When he asked what steps I take to reduce anxiety, I promptly gave all the right answers:

• relaxation 
• meditation
• yoga poses
• breathing techniques
• regular exercise
• healthy food
• no alcohol
• no tobacco

"Do you drink coffee?" he wanted to know.

"Nope, I drink Diet Coke."

"Me too; it's my favorite," he replied.

Well, look at that. We're BFFs already. Soulmates really.

Then came the most hilarious part of the visit. In a genuine, caring attempt to help me better control my anxiety, he kindly suggested that I "try something relaxing, like painting or ceramics." It was all I could do to hold in the laughter that was bursting inside every part of my body. The irony is that if I wanted to find two things that would most efficiently increase my anxiety, I can't think of two better candidates than painting and ceramics! 

Again, the guy doesn't know me. I didn't want to be rude. Or disrespectful. He had already surpassed my expectations when, as an introduction, he said, "Hi Terrianne. I'm Michael Strombly." I am so impressed with doctors when they aren't so arrogant that they call you by your first name but expect you to use the courtesy title "Dr." and their last name. He didn't do that. Yay!

I told him writing is my sole creative outlet (other than speaking in church, and I only get to do that when they let me), and I promised to do lots more blogging.

Then I got the hell out of there because oh my goodness, those places are bad for me.

P.S. Screenings all came back clear. Good to go for at least a year.

"Imma take this money and run. Love ya!"

This past Friday we closed on the sale of our home, and half the proceeds were handed to me in a check made out to Shulamith! 

Backstory, nine years ago when we moved to Utah, Gerald was still employed in Montana, and I was happily unemployed. We picked out the perfect house for all of us but soon learned that our lender couldn't use income from Montana to secure our loan. "Well that's awesome. Since we have no Utah income," I lamented. Then Shulamith (aka Olivia Pope) suggested we use her job to get the loan. She was a full-time kindergarten teacher at the time, so she had plenty of steady income. And that's exactly what we did. Gerald, Shulamith, and I all signed on the contract, and technically, we all owned the house, even though Shulamith never paid any money for it. Haha. 

As time went by, I sort of forgot she even signed on the loan, but when we listed our house for sale last month, sure enough, the title was in my name, with her and Gerald as co-signers. And Friday, when we signed at the closing, once again, the three of us sat at a table together, signing our lives away. Later when I went back to the title office to get the money, I was handed two checks in equal amounts, one made out to Gerald and me, and one made out to Shulamith. (Why they decided to give 1/4 to me, 1/4 to Gerald, and the other 1/2 to Shulamith I have no idea, but whatever.) I immediately texted her a picture of her check, to which she replied, "Imma take that money and run. Love ya!" 

She won't do that, I don't think (?), but it made me laugh. Instead, she and her family will move to Bluffdale along with us, if their house ever gets built, that is. Which leads to another messy story. Last winter, she and I contemplated moving to Bluffdale and building homes near each other in a brand new development called Edge Homes. So new was it that the first day we went out there to look, literally the only edifice that existed anywhere was a single-wide mobile home, with the logo Edge Homes, Inc. on the front, and a real estate agent inside ready to give us all the details. For miles around this mobile home, we saw only dirt. So much dirt. Mounds and mounds of dirt. The agent in the mobile home, Chase, showed us pictures and floor plans of the different styles of homes, but to see an actual house, we had to drive to Lehi or Saratoga Springs.

Way back then, I didn't believe for a second we would actually move to Bluffdale. Like really? No we won't. We had looked at several other housing developments, and we didn't move to those, so why would this be any different? But then suddenly (it seemed), Shulamith and Matt had serious money and a contract on a house to be built in Bluffdale. Say what??? So I figured I'd better get on board. We went under contract about a month after the Webster-Monsons, but even then, I didn't think it would really happen. Matt agreed. He and I understood all 30,000 things that could still go wrong. Top on the list was getting our house sold. Prepping this house for sale was a major undertaking; oh my goodness! There was so much to do in order to get top value for our investment, and I would have never been able to do that all by myself. I am eternally indebted to Shulamith, Eli, and Amanda, who all worked tirelessly by my side on so many, many projects. Forever the optimist, Shulamith was always sure everything would work out fine. 

And it will. 

Just not as soon as we'd hoped. 

Remember how Shulamith and Matt went under contract a full month before we did? Well let me just show you how things are progressing. Here is our house:

Guys! As of yesterday, we even have a tub in the upstairs kids' bathroom:

And this, right here, is Shulamith's dirt (I mean house):

Do you see the problem? Our house is dug and framed. Plumbing and HVAC have been through, and insulation will be done this next week. Anticipated completion is October 31st. Meanwhile, Shulamith's house is still nothing more than that lovely dirt we saw the first time we went out there. It's a complicated story, but it involves power lines that needed to be moved, forcing Edge to go back to the City of Bluffdale for permits a second time; slowdowns due to COVID; and on and on. She did receive notice just this past week of a very positive step toward getting this house started, which gave us some much needed hope.

One day, in the not-too-distant future, when we're both in our new houses, livin' the dream, I know all this will be just a funny memory. 

Unless....

...unless, Shulamith follows through with her original plan: "Imma take that money and run. Love ya!"

Teaching in the Time of COVID

Do I look as scared as I feel?

In case you can't tell, this is I, on my way to teach my hybrid classes at SLCC this lovely fall semester. After moving fully online last spring and remaining online through summer semester, SLCC decided to try a hybrid format this fall. Students come once a week for just 40 minutes, so I never have more than six in the classroom at any one time. Yes, it's certainly safer than in normal times when I have 24 at once, but still, I'm scared. I haven't spent 40 minutes inside a building (other than my house) with other people in six months!

My classes at UVU are still fully online, and for that I am grateful. But this past week, I put on this lovely getup and headed to SLCC to teach my hybrids. The five to six students in each session sat distanced, both from me and from each other. They stayed glued to their seats, not allowed to move around the room.  They kept their masks on. They complied willingly with all the requirements. Again, I'm grateful.

As for me, let's just say that this mask/shield deal isn't ideal for teaching, and adding reading glasses doesn't help. I wear glasses only for close-up work, so I put them on and take them off over and over throughout my classes. Reaching under the shield to do that is about as awkward as you can imagine. Then, the second I put them on, they fog up so badly that I can't see anything anyway.

Oh, and let's not forget that my claustrophobia kicks in after about 20 minutes wearing this stuff, so I have to remind myself to breathe s-l-o-w-l-y. My poor, poor students!

Do I hope someone in my class tests positive for the virus, so we all go home (online) for two weeks? Of course not! Do I hope we have a breakout on campus sufficient to send everyone home? No. Instead, I hope that in time I adjust to the mask and shield, the foggy glasses, and the claustrophobia.

And I have more respect than I can tell you for healthcare workers on the front line, who wear this stuff for 12-hour shifts. Heroes they are.

Grabbin' Grace!

When you're in the process of selling a house and building a new one; and a viral pandemic lurks about, just waiting to make you deathly ill; and you've been in two car accidents in the past month; and a new semester begins next week, you grab grace wherever you can find it. And I promise you, my dear friends, there is grace to be found, sometimes in the most unlikely places.

For example, it may seem odd to find grace in two car wrecks, but I did exactly that. The first accident was clearly my fault. Don't ask how because I have no idea, but I somehow managed to run a red light. It happened so fast, and I was so shaken and so scared. I jumped out of the car to go check on the other driver: "Are you okay?" He didn't answer my question, but instead declared, "I had the right of way; I have it here on camera." Not an iota of concern for my well-being. No grace. This made me cry, and I ran right back to my car and called Shulamith.

Not two weeks later, the second accident occurred. As the title of that post indicates, this time it wasn't my fault. I was stopped, signaling to turn left and waiting for oncoming traffic to pass, when I was rear-ended. Again, I got out of my car and ran to the other driver with the same question, "Are you okay?" She was fine physically but terribly distraught. Like me two weeks earlier, she had no idea how this happened. "Yes, I'm okay," she said. "Are you? I'm so, so sorry!" By this point her stress level escalated to where she was nearly panicking. In that moment, I was so grateful to be able to comfort her: "You're okay," I said. "All that matters is that we are both okay. That's why they call this an 'accident,' because no one meant for it to happen. Please don't worry. All is well." This calmed her. In the end, she apologized yet again but also thanked me for being so kind. Just grabbin' grace!

As you're probably aware, this past week was the Democratic National Convention. This may not be super important to you, but I come from a zealous political family, and though we are dyed-in-the-wool Democrats, I've been watching the conventions of both political parties for as long as I can remember. It's just what we do. I'm proud to say that our Isaiah is every bit as much invested in the political process as his dad and me. Gerald works nights so he couldn't watch with us, but Isaiah and I were glued to the TV all four evenings. There was so much grace there.

I spoke to another family member after Michelle Obama's speech Monday night. He said her speech made him sad, sad to see how far our country has fallen in the past 3.5 years. I get that; I do. Yet I also found hope in her message. She said she believes in the promise that is America. She said we can do better, and I agree. It's not too late. It can't be. There is too much good in this country and in the soul of its people to allow one sadistic bully, one arrogant, racist, sexist, homophobic, law-breaking narcissist to destroy us. We will fight back. We will resist. We will elect Joe Biden in November. We will grab grace! Stephen Colbert said he might have contracted a case of "The Hopes" last week. No dry cough, he said, but his face did leak several times. Mine too, Stephen. Mine too.

Finally, there is grace to be found in the simple humor of families, the endearing spirits of those closest to us, the only ones we see regularly these days, those part of our personal COVID bubbles. They make us laugh in the wake of uncertainty, and this laughter reminds us that life is still so, so good. Shulamith's 8-year-old son Swen told his mom that she probably needs to take me to a giant parking lot, so I can practice driving where I won't get in any crashes. He also suggested that I go back to college and learn how to drive.

Then there's Seth. Who thinks the only place to eat is Panda Express. Every single day:

Seth: Is there dinner tonight?

Me: Sure, what would you like?

Seth: Panda.

Me: No, I'm really tired of Panda.

Seth: Mom, I think it's Satan telling you that you don't want Panda. It's in the scriptures, I'm pretty sure, that Panda is always the right choice.

Then there's everyone else in my family, who routinely asks me every time I drive anywhere if I managed to get there without getting into a crash. So far, the answer is yes. Driving might be terrifying, but so far, no more crashes.

May you have a wonderful week ahead, as you look for grace in all things, and when you find it, grab every bit.

I don't even really like cars; I just like transportation.

As I wrote about here and also here, the last couple of weeks have been rough. Not only have I been in two car accidents, but I've also been right smack in the middle of our home sale negotiations, prepping the house for photographs, showings, inspection, and appraisal. I'm tired of all of it and desperately yearn for the boring life that was mine just a short time ago. With my car totaled came the issue of transportation. My lifestyle requires that I own a car, and drive it, though at this very moment, I'd prefer to do neither.

While I love to shop for most things, there is hardly anything I enjoy less than car shopping. I like grocery shopping, for example (and I miss it these days, as I do almost all curbside pickup to reduce the risk of contracting COVID19). I enjoy shopping for gifts, even when I don't know the person I'm shopping for. Today I helped Shulamith pick out the cutest little set of PJs for her and Matt's niece. More than anything, I love shopping for clothes! I delight in the whole process: wandering the stores; rummaging through racks to find the perfect style, color, and size; trying on dozens of cute things in the fitting room; heck, I even enjoy paying for the clothes, and of course, wearing them is the icing on the proverbial cake! One day again, when this virus is controlled, I see a major shopping spree in my future.

But car shopping? No thank you. I don't even really like cars; I just like transportation. But despite being terrified to drive and hating to shop for cars, Shulamith and I braved up and went out a couple days ago and again today. As we were deciding between a Ford Escape and a Nissan Rogue, neither of which I particularly wanted (again, I just need a car!), we happened to walk past this bright red Dodge Journey crossover SUV.

Well, what could I do? I mean, really, what choice did I have? This is exactly my previous car, just one year newer, with leather seats and a backup camera. It's even red, my most favorite color! I told Charles the sales rep that I would buy this car. And I did.

And that would be the end of this story, other than to offer a brief shoutout to the dealership CarMax. Truly, I will never go anywhere else to buy a car. Here are some reasons why:

1. No salespeople lurking around outside, ready to pounce on you like vultures when you try to walk in.

2. Zero pressure to buy anything.

3. The price is the price is the price. There is no negotiation, no soliciting help from the manager to make some sort of sketchy deal, making you feel like you're being played.

4. Total transparency about financing. No surprises or added fees at the very end when you're so tired of being there, you'll sign anything just to escape.

Really. Go to CarMax. Even if you're like me and don't really like cars but just need transportation, it's the best place to go.

This one wasn't my fault, but I still feel so bad!

So I don't know what has caused this sudden influx of terrible luck, but I've been in two car accidents in the past two weeks!

Is the universe out to get me? Maybe it's because I switched up the saying "When it rains, it pours" to "When it shines, it burns"? Whatever the cause, I'm so done.

Monday afternoon, I took Isaiah's car to run some errands. You know how they say most accidents happen within 1.5 miles from your house? Well this happened one block from my house. I was headed home, stopped on 8000 S., signaling to turn left onto 400 E. against oncoming traffic, when suddenly, I was rear-ended, causing me to spin out of control in a full circle. It was so scary!

The good news is I was not hurt at all, and neither was the poor, distraught lady who hit me. She got out and right away began apologizing all over herself. I felt so bad for her. I felt equally bad for Isaiah and his crunched car.

Like really awful. Yes, the lady's insurance company will cut Isaiah a check for the value of the car, but no, it won't replace the emotional attachment he has to it. Isaiah bought this car when he graduated from college and paid it off about a year ago. Not many cars built in 2010 have roll-up windows and manual locks, but this one did, and oh how Isaiah loved it! I would give anything to find him another just like it, but I doubt I'll be able to.

And by the way, now I'm terrified to drive, which is one thing I actually never had any anxiety about previously. Ugh. I've only driven once since this latest accident, and that was to test drive a possible new car for me. I tried to convince Shulamith to test drive it for me, but she thought I should drive it myself, since it would be my car. I did it, but I didn't like it. Everywhere I looked were other cars, and all I could think was, "Which one of you is going to run into me next?"

If I could get along without driving, I definitely would, but it's just not practical with my life. So whether I buy this particular car or not (haven't decided for sure), I will need to buy some car, and I will need to drive.

Wish me luck. I obviously need it.

We can do lots of things, we Webster women.

We can teach English to Chinese kids.
We can teach writing to community college students.
We can even cook well enough to keep our children alive.

But just you wait to hear about our latest accomplishment...

WE CAN GROOM DOGS!

Not even kidding.

Backstory: We got Shulamith's dog Woof five years ago. He was a little, round ball of black, fluffy fur, an Aussie Shepherd/Standard Poodle mix. You could barely find him in all that fur. That little fur ball grew to be an 85-lb beast! He is really such a nice dog, but very big. And not only did he grow, but his hair grew as well. Imagine that. It grew and grew and grew. He even had some stylin' dreadlocks goin' on.

Well, all this fur on an 85-lb dog made him hot and uncomfortable, especially in this season, so when we took him and his BFF Waffles (my dog) to Doggie daycare, they suggested we bring him back to be groomed (meaning, they wanted to shave off most of his thick, matted hair; even the dreads would have to go). We knew this was for his own good, so I gently explained to him that he'd need to find a new hairstyle that didn't include dreadlocks, and that he'd still look very handsome. We booked an appointment, but when we took him back, he was either too spooked or the groomer was too nervous; I'm not sure which? Maybe a combo? Regardless, we picked him up, un-groomed.

Then Shulamith had this idea that maybe we could do it ourselves. Because, you know, we figured if a professional dog groomer felt she couldn't groom the dog, surely we could. So we grabbed a pair of scissors and went to work. We took turns. One of us cut hair, while the other calmed Woofie with words of encouragement and lots of pets and loves. Then we switched roles, back and forth. Woof was such a good boy. He lay perfectly still for the most part, enjoying all the attention.

You guys! We cut off SO MUCH HAIR! Oh my goodness. It's not perfect, but way better. Matt even said we did a good job, and that says a lot, trust me. I wish I had before and after pics, but all I have is this "in process" shot that Amanda took:

We can do lots of things, we Webster women. We can groom dogs.

"Well you see, I served at the start of COVID19."

Had life not turned upside down, today is the day all of us would have piled into the car and driven to the Salt Lake City International Airport to pick up Seth. He would have just completed his 2-year mission in Paraguay. He would have come down the escalator to shouts from family and friends; balloons and banners; and long, giant hugs all around. It would have been so joyous!

It was still joyous, just different. 

Instead, this happened.

All the American missionaries serving in Paraguay were taken out and sent home at the end of March. Shulamith and I picked Seth up from the airport, following clear guidelines from the church not to touch him or hug him. We put a "Welcome Home, Elder Erichsen" sign in our car window, and Seth (who was at least two inches taller than when he left) simply walked up to the car and got in. No fanfare. It was far from a hero's welcome, but as Gerald so aptly put it, "He is my hero." We brought him home to two weeks of strict quarantine; he only left the house once daily to walk about the neighborhood. 

That was just over four months ago. Elders like Seth, who had already served at least 18 months, were permanently released from missionary service. It all happened so quickly. Just days before we received news of the exodus from Paraguay, we had our final video chat:

We talked a little about the virus during that chat, but neither of us had any idea Seth would be coming home in less than a week. Not a clue. 

It all made me super nervous. As I've mentioned, I like things to go according to plan, and the plan was for him to serve 24 months and come home TODAY. 

But Seth is way more flexible than I am (not saying much, I know), and he rolled with the situation as he always does. No worries. Immediately following the 2-week quarantine, he found a job at Chick-fil-A. In the past four months he has bought a very nice gaming/school computer and his own car, and now he's saving for college.

His plans continue to be uncertain. He'll take a couple online classes this fall at SLCC, but he still has no idea when he'll be able to go away to college, attend a singles' ward, take a girl on a normal date that isn't hiking. And yet, he remains cheerful! Had life not turned upside down, we would have brought him home today. Instead, we've had him home four months.

I am beyond proud of all three of my honorably returned missionaries: Elder Luke Erichsen (Oregon Portland Mission, 2006-2008), Elder Eli Webster (Arkansas Little Rock Mission, 2012-2014), and Elder Seth Erichsen (Paraguay Asuncion Mission, 2018-2020). But Seth will have the best story to tell:

"Hey Daddy, tell me about your mission."

"Well you see, I served at the start of COVID19."