Where's my breakfast in bed?

For the past five years (maybe more?), I have received breakfast in bed on Mother's Day, courtesy of my youngest child, Seth. He sets his alarm to wake up in time to accomplish this before church. He usually comes into my room and says, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Breakfast will be coming soon." Here's one example. And another one.

This year, instead of bringing me breakfast in bed, Seth walks the flooded streets of Paraguay, for no other reason than that he loves his savior and desires to follow his admonition to "feed my sheep." He has now been out on his mission nine months. That's pretty long, I keep telling myself. It's even long enough to carry a baby to term, and you know how awfully long that feels, my dear mothers? Well, this mission has felt equally long. I've said it before; missionary mom-hood is not for wimps.

And I'm kinda wimpy, so.

Determined to make every holiday wonderful even though I miss Seth, yesterday Shulamith and I did our annual Mother's Day girls' day out. It was especially awesome this year. As I've said before, this day should more accurately be called, "How much food can two women stuff into their bodies in 12 hours?" We started with Krispy Kremes first thing in the morning, fresh and hot! Limiting ourselves to two each, we headed to the mall for massages. If you've never had a massage at Fashion Place Mall, I recommend it. These guys are so strong! When they say they do Chinese deep tissue massage, they aren't kidding.

From there, we headed to our all-time favorite Chinese restaurant, Fortune Cookie. Again, if you haven't been there, it's worth the drive to Riverton. I promise. Order the Crispy Beef. You're welcome.

We finished just in time to make it to a movie, and guess what? The theatre had reclining seats! I'm not even kidding. Matt's earlier comment about these seats, "This is a game changer" is 100% on point. Usually during movies, my knees get sore, stuck in one position for so long, Not anymore:

After movie popcorn, it was nearly time to eat again. Ahhhhhhh! But just as we were getting into the car, I gracefully spilled my newly-refilled, giant Diet Coke all over me. Yep, drenched right through. So cold! We sped home so I could change, then raced downtown to The Melting Pot, just 10 minutes late for our reservation. Whoa! Fortunately, dining at The Melting Pot is relaxing and never feels rushed. We enjoyed our fondue (both cheese and chocolate). It was a lovely dinner.

So question. What is the worst thing two women could possibly do after eating all day? Go!!

If you said try on swimsuits, you'd be right; nevertheless, that's exactly what we did. At three different stores. Clothes off. Swimsuits on. Swimsuits off. Clothes on. Over and over. You get the idea. It was hilarious. "I wonder what this might look like if we hadn't just eaten 3,000 calories?" I found nothing. Nada. Gar nichts. Shulamith found one seriously cute top, the only downside, the $88 price tag. She left it at the store.

We were both so tired by then but wanted to pick up cheesecake for the next day. Visions of lying in bed after church, intermittently napping and taking bites of rich, creamy cheesecake kept us motivated to wait in the giant takeout line at Cheesecake Factory.

And here I am, lying in bed, blogging, napping, and eating lemon raspberry cheesecake. Also, waiting to hear from Seth, and trying so hard not to fret about that. He transferred Tuesday, and I have no idea about his new area or what access he may or may not have to technology. Also, it's been raining and flooding all week. I heard on Facebook that President Hansen even asked the missionaries to stay inside one whole day. Thank you President and Sister Hansen for taking care of my baby, the one who didn't bring me breakfast in bed this morning, the one who walks the flooded streets of Paraguay.

The one I love so fiercely and miss so intensely.

It's been a good weekend, really good. Today, Isaiah and Shulamith and Matt (maybe?) and I will go to Macaroni Grill for dinner, the only way to catch a glimpse of  Eli and Amanda. Such hard workers they are. BTW, I have some exciting news about Eli, and that will def be the next blog post, so stay tuned,

Meanwhile, I look forward to Mother's Day 2021, when I'll have breakfast in bed and a hug from my baby.

Those Mother's Day Breakfast-in-Bed Meals Improve with Time

Breakfast in bed. What greater luxury is there? But what about when the cook is five? We moms have all experienced the peanut butter toast mess carried ever so proudly on a tray by a five-year-old beaming with joy for her accomplishment. The love is almost indescribable. But then we have to eat it. Okay, maybe you actually like peanut butter toast. I don't really. But yes, I've eaten it. And I'd gladly eat it again if I still had a tiny tot to make it for me.

However, I want you to know that these Mother's Day breakfast-in-bed meals do improve. They improve proportionately with children's increasing age. That five-year-old's peanut butter toast turns into cinnamon/sugar toast with a fruit bowl on the side by the time your child is seven or eight. And then...at some point, he learns to make pancakes! And you think to yourself, “Wow, this is way better than peanut butter toast.”

And the time goes by. At age 10 or 11, your child reminds you the night before to “stay in bed.” By now, she is actually cooking real food. You might get eggs, maybe even bacon, possibly waffles or french toast. As you awake to the frenzy of clanging pots and pans, you wonder what is happening to your kitchen. Will it ever be the same? But then, in walks your sweet 10-year-old with a plate of slightly undercooked eggs and overcooked bacon, with a flower handpicked and in a vase, and your heart melts all over again. All thoughts of messy kitchens vanish.

And the time goes by. My youngest is now 14. Last year on Mother's Day, he was determined to prepare a gourmet breakfast-in-bed for me, which he served in courses. First, he brought a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and one of my favorite bran muffins. Next came an omelet with green peppers, onions, mushrooms, and cheese. This was followed by pepper bacon and blueberry pancakes. At the very end, he brought me a See's maple pecan bon bon, the best candy on the planet.

It was lovely and delicious, and he did it all with very limited help from Gerald. Indeed, the Mother's Day breakfast-in-bed meals improve with time; still, my heart misses the peanut butter toast mess and the sweet five-year-old beaming with pride.

We Stand on the Shoulders

It has often been said that we "stand on the shoulders of those who came before us." Fortunately, most of the people who have been the strongest and most positive influences in my life are still here on Earth; however, three of them are not. My dad, along with my grandma and grandpa, have already passed through the veil, leaving precious memories forever in my heart. Let me identify the photos above: The top one is my grandma holding baby Shulamith. The second is my grandpa and me at a Rainbow Girls' installation. The third is my dad and my grandpa together back in the day (When Seth saw that one, he said "They were missionaries??"). And finally, the bottom photo is my dad holding me. Does he look like a proud new daddy or what?

I already wrote about my dad here, and about my grandpa here and here, so let me take this opportunity to tell you a bit about my lovely grandma. The photo above is just about three years before she died. And though I don't remember the exact day it was taken, I can tell you with all certainty what was going on. Shulamith was screaming. How do I know this? Because that's essentially all Shulamith did the first six months of her life. And Grandma? She was trying to soothe her beloved great-granddaughter by singing the song "Ba, Ba, Ba, Means I Love You." Her troubled expression indicates that she wasn't succeeding, but she was trying nonetheless. This sweet song is one she made up when I was born. I am proud to be the first child ever to be rocked to sleep to the comforting words

Ba, ba, ba means I love you.
Ba, ba, ba, you love me too.
Ba, ba
Ba, ba

She sang it to me, and two years later when Tom was born, she sang it to him. Our parents then learned the song and sang it to us as well. Tom, Gerald, and I sang it to all our children, and one day I'm sure our children will sing it to their own babes. I even translated it and sang the German version to my kids:

Ba, ba, ba, Ich liebe dich.
Ba, ba, ba, und du liebst mich.
Ba, ba
Ba, ba

It is more than just a song in our family; it is a tradition. It has even transformed into both a verb and an adjective. I remember one of my little guys, after falling down, looking up at me and, through his tears, pleading, "Mommy, I need you to rockie ba ba me in the rockie ba ba chair." I wish you could hear the song, so you could know the tune. I wish my grandma could sing it for you because she sang beautifully.

Although I can't sing well, I am like her in so many other ways. My mom once said "Oh vanity, thy name is Terrianne." However, I'd like to point out that my grandma was every bit as vain as I am. Before the heart attack that ultimately took her life, she had several others from which she recovered. I remember rushing to the hospital to find her in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. The conversation went like this:

Me: "Grandma! How are you feeling?"

Grandma (not even mentioning her health condition): "Tannie! You need to go home to my apartment and bring me my cosmetics bag. It's the middle of the night, and I don't have any make-up on. Tannie...there are doctors and nurses coming in and out of here!"

Dutifully, I went right over to her apartment and fetched her cosmetics bag, and as they rolled her out of the CICU and into a regular room, she applied her make-up. And you know what? I understood. This made perfect sense to me. I've never been hospitalized other than to deliver my babies, but if I'm ever sick enough to be in the hospital, Shulamith had darn well better remember to bring my make-up. Oh, and by the way, I don't think any of us ever knew for sure how old my grandma was. She lied about her age for so many years, I'm not sure she knew herself. Go Grandma!

She loved to be in her bedroom, to sit up in her bed and carry on life from there. She would read her "lesson," a set of scripture references that Christian Scientists read daily. She would watch late-night TV, particularly "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson." She loved to stay up late at night and then sleep late in the morning, and when she awoke, my grandpa would bring her breakfast in bed. I have a family and a few more responsibilities than she did by that point in her life, but let's just say that I, too, love to lie in bed, watch "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno," and play on my computer. Oh, Grandma... if you'd only had a computer! And yes, Gerald has been known to bring me breakfast (and even lunch and dinner) in bed. Not because I'm sick, but just because I like to eat in bed.

Today is May 5th, the anniversary of the day my dad passed away. It's always a difficult time. But it's good to think about him, so good, and about my grandparents too. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us. For me, these three provided some incredible shoulders on which to stand.

Mother's Day Seth Style

After a day like no other, I awoke Sunday to the aroma of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Told to stay in bed, I happily obeyed. Soon, Seth began to bring me breakfast, one course at a time. As an appetizer, he brought caramel cinnamon rolls and milk.

This was followed by scrambled eggs. Then pancakes. And for dessert, the absolute best piece of candy See's makes: a maple pecan bon bon! I don't remember when I felt this pampered. He told me he wanted it to be like an IHOP breakfast, with lots of different foods. It was better than IHOP because I got to eat while relaxing in bed. I should acknowledge that Seth enlisted Gerald's help cooking. In all Mother's Days past, Gerald has told me that I am not his mother and, therefore, he does nothing to honor the day. This year, however, Seth somehow convinced him to help cook breakfast, and I'm pretty sure the outcome was considerably better than it might have been otherwise.

I was subbing in Gospel Doctrine at church that day and also doing a special presentation for the primary children during the third hour, so I worked a bit on both those things before getting up to shower. Church was nice; both Sacrament Meeting speakers did an excellent job presenting their topics of spiritual gifts and faith and tying both topics into honoring the mothers and all the women in our lives. Spot on, both talks! My Sunday School class was super fun; man I love to teach Gospel Doctrine! My skit for the primary kids was rather unpolished and impromptu, but there was much laughter and the kids seemed to be entertained, so win/win.

On our way home, my phone rang. Without even checking caller ID, I answered. Guess who???!!!??? Eli! He had tried to Skype with us, but we were "offline." That's because he forgot about the time change and that we would still be at church. I was so shocked to hear his perfect little voice that I fell right into tears. I knew we would be Skyping later, but I did not expect him to call me. On my cell phone. Right then. Sheesh! We hurried home and connected to Skype. Words cannot express how wonderful it was to "see" and talk to our missionary; you're just gonna have to imagine. And unless you are a missionary mom, yourself, I'm not sure you really can.

We each spent some quality, individual time on Skype, all except Isaiah and Mathew. Mother's Day is the busiest day of the year for restaurants, right next to Valentine's Day. Everyone works. Doubles. At one point, Isaiah texted me asking if Eli had called yet because Isaiah thought he might get a short break soon. "He's on right now! COME HOME!" Sadly, Isaiah's next text was to tell us his break had been canceled.  Blah. Dumb restaurant. Both he and Matt got home much later, long after Eli was gone.

Gerald and Seth went geocaching up in the mountains, and Shulamith and I made quiche lorraine for Mother's Day dinner. It was a quiet afternoon and evening. Perfect, though. And much more in line with Seth's idea of Mother's Day. Whew!

Like Brother, Like Brother

On this cool, October morning, Seth awoke at 7:30 a.m., showered, dressed, and waited patiently until I got up at 8:00. I don't think I've seen him awake before noon on a Saturday in at least a year. Why this day? This day was the release Pokemon X, a 3DS game Seth pre-ordered using his precious babysitting cash. I took him to breakfast at Kneader's, then on to GameStop, where I waited in my warm car while he waited in a cold line for the store to open at 9:00.

He comes from a long tradition of video-gamers. I remember Christmas of 1999. It was the first year a video-game system found its way into our home, in this case the Nintendo Game Boy Color. Eight-year-old Isaiah had wished for it with a child's desperate longing, never imagining one could ever really be his. But I was on a mission, and it took exactly that to get one of these things; they were extremely popular that year! I had visited several stores, and the story was the same: when a shipment of the hand-held Game Boy Color consoles comes in, every one of them is sold in less than an hour. What was a Christmas mom like me to do? And a pregnant one, at that! Yep, Seth was with me on this endeavor, though he knew it not. I was about three months' pregnant at the time.

After searching countless stores with zero success, I finally appealed to the mercy of a kind salesman at GameStop in the mall in Burlington. "My eight-year-old really wants one of these. And he has no idea he might get one. And it will be the best surprise ever. Is there any way you can help me?" He took pity and offered to take my name and phone number. As soon as a shipment came in, he would call me. If I could get over there before they were gone, one would be mine. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday when that phone call came. They received three units: one pink, one yellow, and one teal blue. "I'm on my way. Be there in 10 minutes. PLEASE save me either the yellow or the teal. I don't think he wants pink."

I was in my car and on the road in a matter of seconds. Ten minutes later, I held in my hands what would be the best surprise of Christmas morning: a shiny, teal blue, Game Boy Color. It would be the last gift Isaiah opened. I wouldn't even put it under the tree ahead of time. He would think he had opened everything, and then I'd bring out this one last gift. It went flawlessly. The surprise was everything and more than I anticipated. Isaiah looked at me with those giant, ocean-blue eyes with thick, dark eyelashes, his mouth wide open, and once he could speak, said in astonishment, "A GAME BOY COLOR! YOU GOT ME A GAME BOY COLOR?"

For the next three months, he played, but never by himself. Sprawled over him constantly was six-year-old Eli, straining every muscle he had to see the screen in Isaiah's hands. Isaiah was so patient. He never told Eli he couldn't watch. He never pushed him away. He never complained. March 13th was Eli's seventh birthday. He had a face full of chicken pox and had been home from school all day, miserable and itchy, a sad way to spend a birthday. But you should have witnessed the attitude transformation when he opened his only present, a bright yellow Game Boy Color. Let the gaming begin!

That was 13 years ago. Since then, Isaiah and Eli have bought, sold, and traded a wide array of gaming systems, along with countless games. I can't begin to remember all their names, but one stands out in particular. On November 19, 2006, Nintendo released its latest and greatest game system: the Wii! It was anxiously anticipated by gamers everywhere, including my two teenage sons, then 15 and 13. In order to get one on that very day, you had to pre-order it and then go to the store, take a number, and wait in line all day until midnight when it was released. Yep, Isaiah and Eli did just that. Walmart, my least favorite store on the planet, had set up an entire room in the back just for these people who would be squatting there all day. I stopped by several times, bringing sustenance to my waiting children in the form of candy, soda, and a McDonald's dinner. By midnight, I was home in bed, but even then it took the boys three more hours to get their game system because they had to wait for their number to be called. Eventually, they made it home, but of course they couldn't just put the thing away and go to bed. No way!

Seth was born into this world. Wait, actually he was part of this gaming world even before he was born, as he unknowingly accompanied me in my quest for that elusive Game Boy Color for my Isaiah-pie all those years ago. No surprise, Seth joined right in just as soon as he was old enough to hold a controller. He can play with the best of them and does so regularly. This new game he bought yesterday is played on the hand-held Nintendo 3DS, a few generations past Isaiah's first Game Boy Color.

I'll say straight up that, personally, I don't love video-games. In truth, I've never played one but I don't think I'd like them. I don't like animated-type stuff, and I really hate violence. Plus, I'm painfully awful at games of any kind; from board games to card games to electronic word games, I totally suck! When I play games, I lose so badly that I often wonder if I am mentally challenged but no one has had the nerve to tell me? So it's not likely I'd excel playing video-games, and in addition, they are crazy addictive. That said, video-games have created a bond among Isaiah, Eli, and Seth, which has now extended to Mathew. Though spread out 14 years from oldest to youngest, they are connected. For that, I am thankful. Admittedly, I get frustrated with the constant gaming, but even so, I do not regret going to the store on that cold day in 1999 and begging that nice GameStop salesman to save me a Game Boy Color.

Like brother, like brother.

Thankful......and Exhausted!

As I lie in bed at just 7:30 on this lovely Black Friday evening, I feel thankful. But so, so tired! It's fine. Shulamith assured me that it's fine; it's okay to be simultaneously thankful and exhausted after three full days of holiday celebrations. First.... the thankful!

I'm thankful that four of our five children live here in the Salt Lake Valley: Isaiah in Salt Lake City, Seth in Orem, Eli in Herriman, and Shulamith just around the corner. They were all here Wednesday afternoon and evening, as we celebrated "Fakesgiving" (aka Thanksgiving one day early) in order to accommodate their various schedules. And not only that; they all slept overnight here, so we had even more time together. 

I'm thankful for their friendship with each other. Four diverse personalities they are, but one unbreakable bond connects them. You can feel it when they're together, and it's my happiest of happy places.

I'm thankful for their friendship with me. I know that some children grow up, make their own lives, and see their parents only occasionally. These four are some of my closest friends, and I see them often. This is a gift I never take for granted.

I'm thankful for the two who married our children, Mathew (Shulamith) and Amanda (Eli). Matt brings his unique humor and love for all things awkward; life would not be the same without him. Amanda is the "girl" Shulamith and I always dreamed of and wished for. 

(Before much celebrating began, Amanda and I made a Diet Coke run. Shulamith had this great idea that if we each bought two, they would last the whole day. Brilliant!)

I'm thankful all these amazing people are sealed to us by covenant. My anxiety causes me to worry more than non-anxious moms, and I'm working on that, but I know they will be with me eternally. I recently had a sign made for our home, after studying/teaching the Book of Proverbs. It is Proverbs 31:21 and reads, "She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet." Indeed!

Next... the exhausted!

Wednesday was devoted to cooking, cleaning, and decorating. Shulamith's daughter, Kennedy, was here all day, and thank goodness she was because I couldn't have done it without her. She literally decorated our entire house by herself, including climbing a ladder to trim the very tall tree. Then she made stuffing and helped me prepare and baste the turkey hourly throughout the day. Dinner was good; everything turned out well. Afterwards, we played "The Game of Things," and  (wait for it.......), I actually won! I never, ever, win. Board games are just another of the hundreds of things I suck at, so this victory needs to be memorialized here in this blog.

Thursday (aka the real Thanksgiving), I got up and made breakfast for everyone, bacon and cinnamon streusel french toast. Then we headed out to see a movie: The Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery, and I'm pretty sure those were the only 120 minutes I sat down in the whole three days. Movie was good, not great, but good. Then back home to make soup from the turkey carcass. It was also good, not great, but good. In Isaiah's words, "Tastes just like everything else we ate growing up, bland!" Yep, cooking is on that list of hundreds of things I suck at. Later, though, Eli fried scones for everyone to eat while the bros played video games, and those were actually great! Thank you, Eli. 

By 10:30 last night, I was wiped. Isaiah and I were playing with Eli's one-year-old baby, Jane, but I had to take her back downstairs to her parents, so I could fall desperately into bed. Because the following day...today(!)...would be arguably the best day of the year: BLACK FRIDAY!! It's true. Shulamith and I look forward to this day with excitement and anticipation all year long, as we stash cash away in envelopes and dream of hot chocolate, Diet Coke, crowds, Christmas music, and an entire day of shopping! 

We set alarms for 7:00 a.m., dressed quickly, and I was at her house by 7:20. We hit Target, Costco, Fashion Place Mall, Ulta, and Deseret Book, with lunch at Cheesecake Factory in the middle, a seriously awesome and productive Black Friday!

And now I lie here in bed, thankful and exhausted, beyond ready for some "me" time, some down time, some time to read the second half of The Alice Network, which has taken a backseat recently to dumb essays that need grading. But not tonight. 

Finally, I am thankful for all of you my dear readers and friends, every one.

Mother's Day 2020: You five are my everything.

Yesterday morning, during our social-distancing walk, Emily and I dove right into the most natural conversation topic: "How was your Mother's Day?" Of course there's the obvious. Quarantined holidays don't quite measure up. Since the shelter-in-place advice was first issued, our family has celebrated three birthdays, plus General Conference, Easter, and now Mother's Day. We also welcomed our missionary home, abruptly and prematurely. Life goes forward, COVID-19 or not, just differently.

Emily mentioned that she and Trent got to go somewhere together, kid free, courtesy of two of her sisters, who are currently staying at their house. Where did they go? I don't think I asked. Because really, where could they go? Maybe for a walk in a park? For a drive? To get some takeout? When they returned, her sweet sisters commented on the experience of caring for a 4-year-old and a 2-month-old. "Jeffrey cries and needs soothing, but then the second he is better, Evelyn needs a drink. Then Jeffrey is unhappy again because we put him down."

Rinse and repeat, the cycle continues.

"Welcome to my life!" Emily replied. Then she said something that resonated right through me. I'm paraphrasing here, but she noted how through this cycle of helping each kid as much as you can, then switching to the other, back and forth, you come out of it all feeling like no one's needs are getting met perfectly, and that you're not ever doing quite enough, even though you're trying with all your might. I told her I wish I could tell her that gets better, but I really can't. Cuz even though her kids are tiny and mine are older, I feel exactly the same.

Motherhood is the craziest gig. It's simultaneously challenging and joyful, frustrating and fabulous, heart wrenching and heartwarming. It makes us doubt ourselves on the daily, while highlighting more clearly than anything else, our divine nature. It tests us to our very core, as it digs deep to find the absolute best we have to offer. It's a paradox of feelings, often surfacing one on top of the other, as we move from kid to kid, from need to need, stretching in ways we never thought possible.

I often comment that I was a better mom to little kids and teens than I am to young adults. The former always felt like a a better fit. Seth is still technically a "teen," thank heavens! No idea what I'll do when he turns 20 next month. Let's not talk about it. Regardless, I am grateful beyond description for the chance to be a mom; no other role makes me happier, and this Mother's Day, though unusual, was still lots of fun.

Here are some highlights:

A few days prior to Sunday, Shulamith and I went on a hike to a place called Mill B South. I use the word "hike" loosely; it was just 0.5 miles. But the rushing water alongside the short trail was beautiful, and it was a great day. I see more hikes in our future this summer.

A few days before that, we decided to bathe both the dogs. We didn't get a picture of Waffles, but here's Woof:

On Mother's Day, itself, I awoke to Seth, carrying a plate full of eggs and chocolate chip pancakes. He has been bringing me breakfast in bed on Mother's Day ever since he was a little boy, and with the exception of last year (when he was in Paraguay), he hasn't missed a year. Over the years, the cuisine has definitely improved. He learned how to cook eggs on his mission. Protein was scarce in parts of Paraguay, so they threw an egg on just about everything.

Mid morning, Seth and I drove to the stake center, where our awesome stake presidency hosted a drive-by for the women in the stake. They wished me a Happy Mother's Day, and gave me an ice-cold Diet Coke, a Haagen-Dazs ice cream bar, and a dark chocolate truffle. We're talking legit treats. They also had plants, but I suggested they not waste a perfectly good plant on me. No doubt it would be dead before we ever made it home.

Next, the plan was to gather at a park for lunch, takeout from Buffalo Wild Wings. Isaiah volunteered to take everyone's requests and order and pick up the food. I requested my favorite sauce, honey barbecue, and mounds of the best onion rings on the planet. If you haven't had them, you're missing out. As we were about to leave, we found out that Eli was feeling sick (JUST a stomach upset, NOT the virus), so he and Amanda weren't coming. That was the only sad part of the day. In addition to not having them with us, I had really wanted to get a picture of me with all four kids who live here in Utah (our oldest son lives in Maryland). It was not to be. Instead, Matt took this one picture, and then Shulamith took one of me with my new Bluetooth headphones. I got two presents (!) from my nice children: new walking shoes, plus these headphones, for the times I have to walk alone, without Emily or Seth. I can listen to music or talk to my mom on the phone, hands free. Yay! It was such a fun afternoon. We laughed so much!

For the past 10ish years, I have spent Mother's Day at Macaroni Grill, where one or more of my kids was working. This year was different. Social distancing. No eating inside restaurants. But it was still good.

Thank you Luke, Shulamith, Isaiah, Eli, and Seth for the profound privilege of being your mom. I wouldn't trade this role for anything. You five are my greatest accomplishment (which isn't saying much because I suck at most things), but still.

You are my everything.

Pura Vida - Part 4

A Nightmare Worse Than Any Tick - Part 4 of 6

And if a tick wasn't enough of a nightmare, let me backtrack to our travel from Alajuela to Santa Teresa. Before I begin, I should probably say that our first two days in Costa Rica were really great. The first day we went on a canopy tour (zip lining) which was way, way fun. I loved it and can't wait to do it again sometime. That night we went to the San Jose Temple which was also lovely, that is once the taxi driver found it. You see, they don't use normal addresses. Instead, they indicate where things are located in relationship to where other things are located. Gerald told the taxi driver, "We want to go to the Mormon Temple, 600 meters west of the Marriott Hotel." That would have worked great if the taxi driver had any idea where the Marriott Hotel was. He didn't. Ultimately, we made it there and back again, but the next day, well, let me just start at the beginning.

People in Costa Rica, it seems, never care about getting paid. You know how here in the U.S. when you eat at a restaurant, before you've even taken your final bite, the server is practically jumping into your lap, handing you the bill and blathering, "I'll be your cashier when you're ready!" In Costa Rica, not so much. You have to beg for your bill. So the morning we were to leave Alajuela to catch the bus on the way to the ocean, I was scurrying around trying to eat the continental breakfast and pay my hotel bill. The host at the hotel had a different idea: "Relax," she admonished. "You are on vacation." Okay, fine. I will try to relax. Finally, she got around to taking my credit card to pay for our room, and we hopped a taxi to the bus station. And you guessed it. We missed our bus. By exactly ten minutes. Seriously. When would the next bus leave? In 2-1/2 hours. So we sat in the bus station for 2-1/2 long hours. One hundred fifty minutes. Ugh!

Finally, we boarded the bus and thought our troubles were behind us. About five seconds on this bus and I remembered vividly why I don't like traveling in Latin America. Their road conditions are so horrible and their buses so old and rickety that I get a headache within the first half hour. I like roller coasters; really I do. I like them because they last maybe 45 seconds. "Whew! That was SO fun! Do I want to do it again? Maybe one more time." But riding a bus that feels like a never-ending roller coaster for hours on end, bouncing and jarring up and down, side to side, relentlessly, isn't quite my idea of pleasant.

Shaken and jarred, we arrived at the ferry terminal where we were to ride the ferry one hour on our way to the ocean. Care to guess by how many minutes we missed that ferry? Yep, exactly 10! Care to guess how long before the next ferry? FOUR HOURS. I'm not exaggerating. Gerald, am I exaggerating? No, I'm not. Incredibly, though, I was still holding up fairly well. It helped immensely that there was a gentle rainfall that evening. I walked around the little town and felt the rain. I was happy. Mostly I was happy to be off that stupid bus, but I was happy. We ate at a restaurant and talked with a German couple. It was all good.

That is until we had to board the next bus after the ferry ride. Same story with this bus, only this time it was dark. What is it about dark that makes everything more unsettling? I was tired too, so much more tired than on the first bus ride. My attitude was deteriorating. Fast. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was probably a couple of hours, the bus simply stopped. Right out in the middle of the rain forest, it stopped. Ahead was a washed-out bridge, and the bus could go no further. We all had to get off, gather our luggage, and carry it around the washed-out bridge in the mud. How do you think my attitude was faring now? Whatever you're thinking, I'm sure it's worse. Then...then! There was a bus up ahead that was already filled to capacity, but they made all of us from the first bus pile on anyway, and off we went.

More bouncing and jarring, only this time we were standing on a bus, packed in like proverbial sardines. And I somehow got separated from Gerald. I could see him up ahead, but several people separated us, all speaking Spanish. I don't speak Spanish. I was so tired, so muddy, and so hungry, and I couldn't understand a thing people were saying. "Know signs" appeared occasionally. I should explain that "know signs" are what we call mileage signs because they let you "know" how much farther you have to go. My grandma and I decided this when I was a very young child, and nothing will ever change it because I loved her, and she loved me. One know sign read "Santa Teresa - 15 km." Their know signs totally lie. It does not take an hour to go 15 km, even on a stupid bus.

By the time we reached Santa Teresa, it was 9:30 p.m. Almost everything there closes at 9:00, but we found a grocery store and called a taxi to take us to our hotel. The taxi driver loaded all our luggage into the trunk and asked Gerald where we were going. "Gumbo Limbo Hotel," Gerald told him. "Ah, no, this taxi can't go there. That hotel is way too high up a steep hill. You need 4-wheel drive." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? So they sent another taxi with 4-wheel and charged us $10 just to drive up a hill. And what a hill it was! When we were looking at hotels online, this one looked especially wonderful, but it did warn that one needed strong legs because it was on a hill. "No problem, " I thought. "I'm in excellent shape. I do P90X. Duh."

And it's probably thanks to Tony (P90X trainer) that I could even climb the hill at all, but it was crazy. Like 1/2 mile straight up a rocky, muddy road. Gerald guesses around 400 feet of elevation, which, by the way, is more than the tallest building in all Montana! Strong legs needed? Ya think? Now it would make sense if our story ended here, right? We reach the top of the hill, check into our nice room, get some dinner, and relax. Oh no, not quite. The taxi could only take us to a certain point, where the road ended and the stairs began, log/mud stairs. We had to walk those stairs in pitch black. Apparently, electricity is quite expensive in Costa Rica, so they just don't use it. It was so dark! We were stumbling around dragging our suitcases behind us, tripping over things in the pitch black, animal noises everywhere. I felt like I was in a horror movie.

We could tell there was a hotel there, only because Gerald found a flashlight, but no one was in it. By this point I was done. So done. I sat on my suitcase and cried. Leaving me in total darkness in the middle of the rain forest, Gerald took the flashlight and went looking for signs of life...human life. There was plenty of non-human life around, trust me. He eventually found a door and knocked on it. An older man (60ish) came out wearing only a towel. He told Gerald that the hotel owner expected us five hours earlier (Really? Cause that's what we expected too), so he left when it got to be 10:00. The man had a key to our room, and he let us in. I crashed on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. I'm sure the man thought I was insane, and do you think I cared?

After all this, it occurred to us that we were still starving, but that nothing was open down in town, even if we had the energy to walk all the way down that hill and then climb back up, which we didn't. So we went to bed without dinner.

We had other challenges during our time at the ocean, but nothing remotely close to the events of this particular day; even the encounter with the tick didn't come close. Pura Vida!

.........................to be continued........................

They Call It Nostalgia, Right?

We are supposed to live in the present. It is the healthiest place to live. We all know this. Too much time spent longing for the past or dreaming of the future is not productive and robs us of the joy of right now.

Okay, fine.

Still, on occasion, isn't it okay to look back just a bit? Isn't it okay to remember past experiences with fondness? They call it nostalgia, right? "A wistful desire to return at least in thought to a former time in one's life; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time" (Dictionary.com). That's how it was the two days Shulamith and I spent in Mt. Vernon this past week. It was pure nostalgia. 

Getting there, however, was complicated. I may have mentioned how much little Swen detests his car seat. I have truly never seen a baby who hates it quite as much as he does. He can go from giddy happy to raging furious in a matter of seconds; all we have to do is place him in that seat. Consequently, we wanted to arrange our travel so his car seat time was as minimal as possible. We flew into Portland Friday night and spent a couple days with my family there. Here is Swen riding on my mother's wooden cow:

Sunday evening, we rode Amtrak from Portland to Seattle. Swen was fairly happy with that arrangement, other than a brief period in the middle of the trip when his mom and I took turns carrying him up and down the train as he expressed his dissatisfaction. I was flooded with memories of an airline flight four years ago with my friend Lindsey, whose daughter Hanna was the same age Swen is now. We had gone to visit our friend Celeste in Texas. On the trip home, I carried Hanna up and down the fuselage the entire 2-1/2 hour flight from San Antonio to Denver, to keep her from screaming.

Once in Seattle, we had to get back down to Sea-Tac Airport to rent a car to drive to Mt. Vernon. That was the scariest part of the whole four days because we had all our luggage, a stroller, our carry-on bags, and a highly unpredictable infant. Ha! But no worries. It was smooth all the way. Gerald had given us clear instructions, and we had no trouble finding our way through the rainy Seattle night to the light rail, which would take us to the airport:

Instantly, as we stepped off the light rail, we found a shuttle to the car rental arena. What timing! We were feeling pretty awesome at this point...not gonna lie. We quickly selected our rental car and were on the road to Mt. Vernon. Shulamith discovered the fine art of nursing Swen in the car, without removing herself from her seat belt or Swen from his car seat, and believe me, this new skill proved invaluable! Ironically, would you care to guess which of my five babes was the only one who required me to go to such drastic measures once upon a time? Uh huh. You guessed right. Karma!

We arrived in Mt. Vernon around 9:30 Sunday night, greeted by our friends Jeannie and Larry Henderson, who hosted us in their home. Their amazing hospitality was unbelievable. We felt like we were in a luxury hotel. Each of us had our own room, with the comfort of a lovely queen bed and private bath. We rested peacefully after a very long day and awoke refreshed and ready to reminisce. It was raining hard. I had requested rain for the whole 4 days we were in the Northwest, and I got my wish. I miss it so much. Even if I never live in that part of the country again, I will always love the rain.

After breakfast at Calico Cupboard, Swen did something miraculous and totally out of character; he actually fell asleep in his car seat. And stayed asleep too, for nearly an hour, giving us plenty of time to drive around our home town.

First stop was our house:

The person who bought it from us eight years ago, used it as a rental unit for college kids, and I'm sad to say, it shows. It looked pretty run down. Still, we sat for several minutes and looked at it. So many memories surround that house. The tree we planted for Shulamith, outside her bedroom window, has grown and grown. The poem "Tree at My Window" by Robert Frost was the impetus for this way back in 1996 when we bought the house. And it is still there. So many things have changed, but that little tree is still there, though not so little.

From there we drove by Haggen, my favorite grocery store. Now you may think me strange for my obsession with this store. All I can tell you is that Haggen is the loveliest grocery store I've ever been in, and going back there, I was once again overcome with memories. From Seth in the childcare center (I know, right? What could be more brilliant than a child care center in a grocery store?), to cheer parent meetings in the Market Street Cafe, to hot chocolate with friends at the Starbucks, to the friendly faces at Peoples Bank, this was my store. 

Next stop, Mt. Vernon High School. Obviously, Shulamith had more memories here than I did, but late Monday night, when the lights shined brightly over the Bulldog football field, we were both taken back ten years to the days of cheer, which pretty much consumed both our lives from 2001-2004. Baby Seth attended more football games, basketball games, and wrestling matches than any child his age; sadly, he remembers none of that, but we do. Such a sweet little boy he was. Here is the high school today:

We spent two full days wrapped in nostalgia, which of course included food. We ate at Round Table Pizza and Mama Riva's. We roamed Cascade Mall. The food court, which had been our Friday night ritual, was practically non-existent; only Subway and Orange Julius remain. We rounded out our eating frenzy with fries, ice-cream, and Diet Coke at Big Scoop Sundae Palace. How many birthdays have we celebrated there? I couldn't begin to count. The restaurant has not changed even one iota, including the menu. I enjoyed my long-time favorite, the banana royal.

 

We left town Tuesday afternoon, satisfied with all we had experienced. It's not that we wish to return to those days. We don't. It's not that we were happier then. We weren't. But in every way that counts, Mt. Vernon will always be our home town. Luke and Shulamith grew up there. Isaiah and Eli were young children there. Seth was born there. We had deep roots for sure. And were it not for the declining economy, we never would have left. But life moves forward. We must live in the present. And so we will. But on occasion, isn't it okay to look back just a bit?

They call it nostalgia, right?

No Pink Eye for Christmas, and Other Tiny Miracles

Christmas is without question my favorite day of the year. All season is really my favorite. I can't get enough of the sights and sounds. I'm in awe each year of the transforming power of this holiday in the hearts of all of us; everywhere I look, I see demonstrations of unselfish kindness and increased tolerance and grace, the result of what can only be the pure love of Christ, manifested in mere mortals. Even in the midst of the tremendous pain and suffering, fear and doubt, hurt and anguish that is life, we are each transformed at Christmas. This year a friend of mine decided to help two families who are struggling to make ends meet. She single-handedly collected enough donations to provide each family with groceries for Christmas dinner, some presents, and cash to pay utility bills and prevent shut-offs. I am honored to have been one of many, many who was able to assist her in this effort.

For six weeks, Christmas music plays almost constantly on my car radio and also in our home, which we decorate with love just after Thanksgiving. As the carol goes, "Christmas is my favorite time of the year." So you can only imagine my dismay when on December 23rd, I developed an allergic reaction (to who knows what?), resulting in a horrible case of conjunctivitis, aka pink eye. It began during Relief Society that morning and continued to worsen through the day. Christmas Eve, I awoke to a swollen, red eye, oozing and sore. I spent most of the day like this:

It was quiet here. Gerald and Isaiah had to work all afternoon and evening. Shulamith spent part of the day visiting Mathew's family, and by the time she got home at 3:30, she was stuck doing all the last-minute running around that I should have done that day. There was no way I could have driven, especially in the bright snow that blanketed the city. So Shulamith handed me Swen (my eye condition was an allergic reaction, so not contagious), who promptly fell asleep, and I lay in this chair and continued to ice my very sore eye while he napped across my chest. She ran all the Christmas errands by herself, including picking up Chinese dinner for everyone. Gerald and Isaiah were home by 6:00, and Matt was off work a couple hours later. Everyone was in full celebratory mood; I was just as you see above. In pain. It was so sad.

I took an antihistamine and some ibuprofen and went to bed, my bag of frozen corn on my nightstand. And sometime in the night, I awoke to a tiny Christmas miracle. My eye wasn't throbbing. For a second, I didn't believe it. I could touch my eyelid without pain. It was still goopy and red, but it didn't hurt. I got up just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. Gratitude enveloped me. I was so thankful I would not be in pain all Christmas day. And so I wasn't. My eye was still not normal; even today it isn't quite back to normal. But it was way, way better.

We gathered around 9:00, ate breakfast, and began opening gifts, knowing we would be gloriously interrupted at 10:30 to Skype with Eli from Memphis, where he is currently serving. I could barely contain my excitement.

Coming down the stairs for presents!

The Webster-Monson Family on Swen's 1st Christmas

The highlight of our day: Skype with Elder Webster!

Mom and Seth

We spent the rest of the day eating good food (well, not healthy-good, but delicious), listening to Christmas music, enjoying family time together. Okay, I'm lying. A little. That's what some of us did. There are those in the family who promptly escaped to Seth's room to engage in intense video-game playing. What can I say? It's a disease. Before we knew it, it was 6:30 and time to leave for the movie.

No pink eye for Christmas. My tiny, but perfect, Christmas miracle!

(Christmas, 2012 - Part 2 of 3)

Christmas 2021: The Good, the Bad, and the Beautiful

It's 8:44 a.m., Tuesday, December 28 2021. I sit in my bed, sipping Diet Coke from my brand new Stanley Cup (thanks, Shulamith and Seth), eating apple pie, cream puffs, and a gingerbread cookie, while watching an episode of 911. This is only a slight shift from my normal morning routine, which includes a walk first thing and no food until noon (intermittent fasting). 

It's the day after Christmas, and every mom deserves a break the day after Christmas; am I right? So rather than restoring order to my post-Christmas disaster house, I'll happily continue my self-indulgence by telling you the story of Christmas 2021: the Good, the Bad, and the Beautiful:

The Good.

1. A finished basement, allowing us all enough room to sleep downstairs overnight on Christmas Eve. (Last year, we had to cram all of us into our bedroom upstairs, lined up wall to wall on air mattresses in sleeping bags.) This was a definite improvement. 

2. Matching Christmas pajamas. Years ago when this tradition began, only Shulamith and I participated. We'd buy each other matching pajamas for Christmas Eve, and they weren't even Christmas themed. In recent years, the tradition has grown into a family affair, with everyone participating except Isaiah and Shulamith's husband, Matt. Isaiah hates matching Christmas pajamas. No, really. The words "creepy" and "cultish" may have been spoken, but this item still belongs on the "good" list, because Isaiah is outvoted! Only because he loves me, did he agree to put on a black shirt and stand in the back for the picture. Mathew doesn't enjoy much of anything about Christmas, so no surprise he would opt out of pajamas. That said, he was kind enough to set up the timer on his phone to take the photo.

3. Spending December 25th with Eli and Amanda. On the years we need to move our Christmas to a different day in order to accommodate everyone's schedule, I usually stay home on the 25th and try to convince myself that it's not really Christmas and I can be perfectly happy relaxing alone, reading, and watching shows. However, there is always a tinge of melancholy, just a tinge, even though I know our joyous celebration is still to come... just not today. But this year, I was blessed to spend the 25the with Eli and Amanda, as they celebrated their first Christmas with their new baby. It was the loveliest! I spent most of the day snuggling a "Jane-in-a-gown," so Eli and Amanda could open their gifts to each other, along with ones they received from Amanda's relatives. Babies in gowns are my absolute favorite. My five wore them pretty much every day of their lives until they no longer fit in them. Thank you, Eli and Amanda, for inviting me; this could for real be my Dec. 25th tradition forever. 

4. Simple food. Years ago, after preparing a giant Christmas feast, Shulamith and I remarked to each other that "we are the only ones doing all the work, and we are exhausted, and it's not the way we want to spend Christmas." From that point on, we simplified. We eat yummy Chinese food from Fortune Cookie Christmas Eve. We have our trusted prep-the-day-before egg casserole for Christmas breakfast, then snack on copious amounts of cookies, candy, cream puffs, Hickory Farms treats (sent from my mom in Portland) throughout the day, followed by chicken pot pie and apple pie, both courtesy of Costco. This year we added some chocolate fondue at the very end, and all was perfection.

5. The blessings of a large family. In the early days, when I was crazy busy with five bickering children, debilitating anxiety, sleepless nights, so much to do and so little time for myself, I questioned my sanity. I still sometimes question my sanity, as we all do, but I am profoundly grateful we had our five incredible kids. It was worth any sacrifice we might have made to experience the love we felt yesterday. Only our oldest son and his daughter, who live in Maryland, were missing.

The Bad.

1. Waffles, trapped in his kennel all day. He actually loves his kennel, but he's usually only in it at night. I bought him a brand new bone to keep him happy and occupied and away from the Christmas chaos. 

2. Ruined surprises. There are 12 of us, and Shulamith and I handle all the details of selecting, ordering, purchasing, wrapping, and organizing gifts. We make lists. We check off items as we wrap them. We do all the things. And still, I always make at least one mistake. Sometimes it involves putting the wrong code on someone's gift. "Wait! No! That's not for you; that's for ___________." Gratefully, that didn't happen this year. Instead, I messed up and gave Mathew the tool for his Ooni backyard pizza oven before I gave him the actual oven. Oooops! I told him this was intended to build the suspense. I'm sure he believed me.

The Beautiful. 

1. This present. I know, I know, it's not about the presents. But you guys: just look at this glorious picture that will soon hang in the entryway of our home! It's called "Peace in Christ," and it's even more beautiful in person. Thank you Gerald, Shulamith, Eli, and Amanda, for this surprise. I am overwhelmed.

2. Eli, in animation. Our gift opening is a bit of a marathon. There are 12 of us, and we open presents one at a time, slowly, in order of age, youngest to oldest. It takes a minute. At one point, Shulamith was holding Jane, so Eli took over her picture-taking duty. He was taking tons of pics of Shulamith's kids, so I politely inquired, "Are you taking any pictures of MY kids, you know, for MY blog post?" So he took 14. They all look like this:

Beautiful for sure, but I wonder if he thinks he's an only child?

3. More pictures from our celebration yesterday:

Merry Christmas, everyone! Our love to all.