2009 Blog Book Arrived!

A few weeks ago, my friend Patty mentioned that she decided to have her blog posts compiled into a book. What a wonderful idea! I have often thought that I should have a hard copy of this blog just in case something happened to it online. I mean how secure is cyberspace anyway? What if the Internet suddenly disappeared? Okay, not likely. But what if Google somehow lost all my posts? Anyway, I thought it would be good to have something physical, but the idea of printing the entire blog and compiling all the pages was way too daunting a task to even consider.

Fortunately, I didn't have to.

This company called blog2print did it for me. It was so easy. All I did was log on to the site and enter my blog address. I chose a color (red, of course) and pictures for both the front and back covers. They quoted me a price, I paid it, and this lovely book containing all seventy 2009 blog posts, complete with pictures and comments, arrived two weeks later. I am impressed. I believe I will do this every year.

Next came the anxiety. No wait, the fear. No wait, the TERROR! I have to read the blog in hard copy print. WHAT IF I FIND ERRORS? Ack! When I skim through my former posts electronically, I make changes all the time. I tweak a phrase here; I edit a clause there. I trim wordiness wherever I can. Always, always, writing can be improved. But not anymore, at least not with the hard copy edition of my blog. I can no longer edit. And that's hard for me. In the depth of my soul, I am an editor.

In the comfort of my bed, with pillows propped up all around and a Diet Coke on the nightstand, I took a deep breath, faced my fear, and read the book cover to cover. Believe it or not, I didn't find a single error. That doesn't mean no errors exist; it just means I didn't see any. Which is all that matters, right? -- because I'm the only one who cares. What I did find was a year of glorious experiences, memories, thoughts (both sad and happy), friends, family, vacations, holidays and more, woven together in a series of essays. Much of it I had forgotten. It was fun to read it all again.

I am thankful to have discovered blogging as a creative outlet. I'm even more thankful that I can finally follow the age-old counsel to record something of our family history. I've never been good at keeping a journal. Writing daily about events seems boring because my life, day to day, isn't all that interesting. I recently read a blog whose author called herself an essayist. I think that's what I am. Yes, I'm an essayist. I love to write, but I need a focus, a theme, a central idea in order to make it work. I'm happy to have found the ideal medium for that.

So to all of you who read and even sometimes comment here, thank you. I love to know that people are reading.

Now for the next hurdle. Gerald suggested taking a picture of me holding the blog book to post with this entry. Good idea? Yes! But that means I have to take a good picture. Blah. We've now taken 12 pictures, and I like NONE of them. I look either frightened, frumpy, fat, or 40+. Blech! Thank goodness Gerald is a patient photographer. We'll keep trying, and if you see a picture with this post, you'll know we finally succeeded in taking one I could live with.

Vanity. Is that one of the seven deadly sins? If so, I think I'm doomed.

Papers, Papers, Papers

With just six days class days remaining in the semester before final exam week, I once again find myself buried in papers. This happens every semester. I come to a point where I seriously don't believe I'm capable of getting it all done. It feels impossible, insurmountable, and hopeless. Everywhere I look is another stack of papers to be graded. Shulamith offered this encouragement today: "You will get all the papers graded. You always do. But it will probably suck a lot."

I'm afraid she's right. The next two weeks will, indeed, "probably suck a lot," but then, let's get real. This is simply the plight of the English teacher. Papers, papers, papers. I remember once a very long time ago I thought I'd try teaching high school. For so many reasons, I hated it. I have absolutely no clue how to discipline kids, so my classroom management was atrocious. I don't even discipline my own kids; how on earth would I know how to discipline other kids? It was a complete disaster. However, I have one fond memory. One day in the faculty lounge, I was lamenting the fact that I had a bunch of essays to grade, while the P.E. teacher was on his way outside to play kick ball with his class. "This is just not fair," I protested. His reply: "Hey, I knew what I was doing when I chose a field of study. You made your choice as well."

And that is the truth. I made my choice. To be perfectly honest, I can't think of another subject I would choose to teach. I love English. I love watching students' writing skills mature and develop over the course of the semester. I love watching their confidence level as they set out to write their final essays. Yes, I made my choice, and it wasn't P.E.

Or math.

Or communication.

Or science.

It was English. And that was a good choice. Very good. But oh the papers!

Papers, papers, papers.

Uncertainty. Blah!

I was thinking today, well actually in the middle of last night (sigh!) and then again today, about how different people, depending on their personalities, handle uncertainty. On the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), a personality inventory, one of the four components includes this idea. People who score toward the "J" (Judging) end of the spectrum prefer definite plans. They like to know what is going to happen and when. Conversely, people who score toward the "P" (Perceiving) end don't need such definition in their lives; they prefer to keep their options open.

So any guesses where I might fall on this "J/P" spectrum?

Yep, I'm a "J." I'm a strong "J." No, wait, I'm a polarized "J." I HATE uncertainty. I love to plan! I like to know what to expect in any situation, and I don't like surprises. Uh huh, I'm a happy "J."

That is unless life becomes uncertain. Then I'm not so happy anymore. And that's how I feel about the upcoming summer. For me, summer begins May 1st. That is Commencement Day at my university and my last official day of the school year. In case you haven't checked your calendars lately, May 1st is just three weeks and three days from today. That's 24 days. So you would think a "J" like me would have some idea what the following four months would bring.

However, I'm basically clueless. Every time I try to figure it out, I can't. There are just too many variables. Uncertainty. Blah!

My niece is getting married July 10th in Portland. The one and only thing I know for certain about this summer is that I will be in Portland that day. But how will I get there? Whom, if anyone, will I take with me? How long will I stay? All questions with no definite answers. If I drive to Salt Lake City and fly from there, I'll pay literally half the price I would pay to fly out of Billings. I could take Gerald with me and pay the same price as if I flew alone. But that would leave Seth at home with just Isaiah and Eli. They love him, yes. They would never let anything bad happen to him, no. Still, they tend to sort of ignore him and leave him to fend for himself, and they'll both be working full time this summer which doesn't help. I could bring Seth with me instead of Gerald, but then Gerald might not make it over to the West Coast at all this summer. I could bring Seth AND Gerald, but then I pay for three airline tickets. We could drive over, but that takes such a long time, and I'm not sure it's cost effective after paying for hotel rooms and food. Questions, questions, questions, none with clear, obvious answers. Uncertainty. Blah!

Then there is the remainder of the summer. I would like to go somewhere in August, but at this point, I don't know where or even with whom.

Last night, when I was mulling over all this instead of sleeping, I thought about the "P" people I know and how much easier their lives must be. All this uncertainty would not bother them one bit. In fact, they'd likely enjoy it. They would probably sleep right through it! Isaiah, for example, is a definite "P." In the evenings, we often find ourselves both on Facebook at the same time. If I'm very lucky, he will be bored enough at his job that he'll decide to chat with his mom. In case you didn't know, Isaiah is a hall monitor in the dorms at Westminster. His only duty is to sit at a desk and "monitor" the hall. In other words, he doesn't have to do a single thing. On those evenings, our conversations always begin something like this:

Isaiah: Hey Mom!

Me: Hi Isaiah! How are you?

Isaiah: Okay, just bored at work.

Me: When do you get off?

Isaiah: In another hour.

Me: What will you do then?

Isaiah: I dunno.

Me: What are you doing this weekend?

Isaiah: I dunno.

Now let me point out that in my profession, this "I dunno" stuff is somewhat annoying. But do I say anything about it? No way. I wouldn't do anything that might discourage Isaiah from chatting with me. He's by far the quietest, most introverted of my five children; I'll take any communication I can get. Also, he is an excellent writer. I'm not sure I've met another kid his age who writes with such strength, precision, and skill. And I say that NOT as a mother, but as an English teacher. So though mildly annoying, his "I dunno" is not a huge concern.

My point here is that when he says, "I dunno," he truly does not know what is coming next in his life. He has told me that he doesn't make any plans. He goes to his classes, and he goes to work. Other than that, he just waits to see what comes up. And usually, something does. Often something fun! Isaiah is a "P."

I am a "J." I need predictability in my life, and before too long, I will need to get this summer mapped out so my anxiety doesn't spin right out of control. I believe I'll start now. May 1st, just after the final mortarboard is tossed into the sky, I'm going to Salt Lake City. By then, it will be over five weeks since I last saw Shulamith, and yada yada yada (you know that story). But will I fly there? Will I drive? How long will I stay?

I dunno.

Uncertainty. Blah!

A Hunting He Will Go

I believe this was our 23rd Easter hiding eggs. I can't be absolutely certain, but that is my best guess. Luke was born in December 1984. I'm pretty sure we didn't dye eggs for him on Easter 1985 when he was only a few months old. The following Easter, I was crazy big pregnant with Shulamith, who was born April 30, 1986. I doubt we dyed eggs that year either; however, the following year, with two little ones toddling around, I know we did. So that was the start of 23 years of Easter Bunny duty. Were there years that the whole process seemed tiresome, time-consuming, and messy? Yep. Did I place it right up there with pumpkin carving, another of my least favorite activities? Yep. As you know, these kinesthetic tasks that require artistic ability are hard for me. I'm not naturally talented in this way.

However.

This year, I rejoiced at the prospect of dyeing and hiding eggs. Here's the thing. Seth is nine years old. I have no idea when the year will come that he looks me in the eye and and declares, "Seriously, Mom, I am TOO old to hunt for Easter eggs." I don't know when that year will come, but come it will. I know that because I've already been there four times. Will it be next year, or the year after? I don't know. What I do know is that it wasn't this year, and I am delighted.

Seth was as excited as ever about the whole process of Easter eggs. His dad hard-boiled the eggs (I don't do that step; see previous blog post for details), and Eli bought the standard Paas egg dye. The difference this year: Seth wanted to dye the eggs entirely on his own; he even wanted to read the directions on the Paas package and mix the dye himself. So I got everything out (vinegar, measuring spoons, individual cups) and let him have at it. I put in a P90X DVD and began my workout. By the time I finished, beautifully-colored eggs were lined up in the egg carton, and the mess was surprisingly minimal. He is surely growing up.

Last night after he was asleep, Gerald and Eli and I filled plastic eggs with a variety of candy. As always, we ate nearly as many pieces as we put in the eggs. We laughed. It was good. Then early this morning, Gerald hid both the plastic eggs and the colorful hard-boiled eggs all around the house. Seth slept until after 9:00. When he awoke, he came into my room and cuddled with me under the covers before asking, "Do you think the 'Easter Bunny' came?" He knows full well there is no Easter Bunny, but pretending was fun for both of us. The hunt took nearly 1/2 hour, and all the eggs were found.

I know people around my age whose children are all grown and gone. I've even heard some of them make comments like, "We are really enjoying the empty nest." I believe them. I do. I can even say I'm happy for them, I guess. But I would not want to be them. Days like today make me pause and once again feel so thankful that we still have a young child at home. Seth will be here with us for at least another nine years, although the Easter egg hunts will end long before then.

Does it get any better than this?

Occasionally, Easter falls on the first Sunday in April which is always General Conference weekend for our church. When this happens, we get both Easter and General Conference in the same weekend. I can't wait! I mean really, does it get any better than this? Not as far as I'm concerned.

My goal today was to get as much accomplished as possible to increase my chances of getting to watch all four sessions (eight hours) of conference with minimal interruption. First, I hit Costco where I bought the biggest, most beautiful strawberries I believe I've ever seen. The plan: strawberry shortcake. I also bought mini angel-food cakes (no, relax, I'm not baking), and two-dozen eggs. Next, I headed for my favorite bagel shop because I'm totally thinking egg salad bagel sandwiches for Sunday. Sadly, I was too late; the shop closes at 3:00 p.m. and I arrived just ten minutes after. There's still hope, though. Maybe Gerald could stop by the bagel shop tomorrow morning after he takes Seth to the Easter egg hunt at MSU?

I realize most people do fancy Easters dinners; you know, like they cook hams and turkeys and stuff. But, well, this year I just don't want to. I WANT to watch conference. So this egg salad idea seems perfect. We'll already have the hard-boiled eggs because Seth will want to dye them tomorrow night and hunt for them first thing Sunday morning. Also, this leaves the only real work completely out of my hands because Gerald is the hard-boiled egg maker in our family. That policy took shape years ago. You see, I sort of have this "issue" with hard-boiled eggs. I follow all the directions perfectly, but when it comes times to peel them, the shells never want to come off. And I get SOOOO mad! You don't even know. If I can't peel each egg perfectly, like totally smooth with no dents, I become so frustrated that I just squish the whole thing in my hand. I've even been known to throw the egg right out the window. So yeah, Gerald took over the task of boiling eggs years ago. He doesn't share any of my perfectionistic tendencies and doesn't mind the dents at all.

Sunday dinner: egg salad bagel sandwiches, strawberry shortcake, and Easter candy. Yum!

My next stop was Albertson's where I bought some cream cheese and sliced turkey for the strange people in my family who do not like egg salad. I also got chips, pop, and a cheese ball with crackers. Eli was working, and he told me to go back and get shampoo. "Dad is out, and he keeps using mine, and mine is expensive." Got it.

Now I'm home contemplating a plan to get the house in shape, so we don't have to worry about that tomorrow either. As you can see, I'm not making great progress there, but it's only 7:00 p.m. Have faith! Tomorrow, we're scheduled to feed the sister missionaries currently serving in our ward, but guess what? I don't want to cook tomorrow night either. How does Papa Murphy's take-and-bake pizza with green salad sound? They get plenty of home-cooked meals, right? Okay, that's settled.

Easter and General Conference all in one weekend. Does it get any better than this?

Happy General Conference weekend to those for whom that matters, and Happy Easter to all!

50 Hours

How do you make the most of just 50 hours? That was my question last week before leaving for Salt Lake City. Ordinarily, I would have gone THIS weekend (like right now!) because I have the next four days off from school for what they call "Mini-Spring break." However, this coming week is also Shulamith's regular spring break, and she and Matt are leaving Saturday on a Mexican cruise for their belated honeymoon. Fun, romantic! I'm excited for them.

So my best alternative was to go this past weekend; if I waited until they got back, it would have been six weeks since I saw her, and that is seriously too long. I already used up all my personal leave days for the wedding, so from touch down to take off, I had exactly 50 hours in Salt Lake City.

50 hours. How do you make the most of just 50 hours?

For one thing, you plot out your eating plan right from the start. Priorities, right? We had to find time to hit all our favorites: Cafe Rio, Pei Wei, Cheesecake Factory. Then we needed to fit in one meal at Macaroni Grill because we get free food there. Also, Matt was working there every night, and we wanted to see him. We wanted to hang out with Isaiah too, so we took him to dinner with us at Mac. Grill. With this careful planning, we were even able to fit in Mimi's Cafe and Olive Garden as well. Wow!

Next, you plot out your movies. I knew I wanted to see "Bounty Hunter" and "Remember Me." Shulamith also wanted to see "She's Out of My League," which turned out to be the funniest of the three albeit a bit raunchy. "Bounty Hunter" was cute, nothing spectacular, but worth seeing. "Remember Me" was sadder than I was expecting. I don't do death particularly well, especially when I'm invested in the characters. The movie was good for sure...just sad. And of course the fact that "Edward" starred in it didn't hurt.

Lastly, you plot out your shopping. We were determined not to buy a lot this time, but we couldn't pass up one visit to Down East Basics. There we found adorable dresses on clearance for just $7.00 each. Shulamith bought three, and I bought two. Our other shopping goal was to find her a bathing suit to take on the cruise. Now you all know (well at least the women who are reading know) how much fun that is. Is there anything more depressing than shopping for bathing suits? No matter what style you get, there's just too little fabric covering too little skin for a girl to feel comfortable. Every last flaw is exposed. Bathing suits are a necessary evil. We can't go swimming naked, and we can't wear our clothes, so we have to have them, but shopping for them is just not fun. In the end, we found Shulamith a cute suit, a tankini style with sort of a retro rainbow design.

Fifty hours came and went so fast I can hardly believe it. I miss her already. So much. But we did make the most of each and every one of those hours, and I'll get to go back for as long as I want May 1st when school is over. The countdown is on!

Clothes Crisis

Two days ago I had a clothes crisis. Ladies, you know exactly what I mean, right?

It goes like this. You get up in the morning, shower, and begin to dress. But you don't have the first clue what you want to wear. I think this is truly the catalyst for the crisis. Generally, you have some idea, based on how you are feeling that day, what you might want to wear. But no, not today. So you stand at your closet for a few minutes, staring mindlessly at your clothes. Still nothing.

And the frenzy begins...

You start pulling items off hangers and putting them on. One after the other. Each time you have on a new outfit, you run to the mirror, only to find that you look like crap. So you strip off that outfit, throw it on the floor (or, if you're lucky, maybe the bed) and try again. Over and over. And over. And over. Half your wardrobe is now on the floor, and you're still standing in your bedroom, dazed and confused, in your underwear.

The frenzy escalates...

You notice the time and realize you are running terribly late. You pick up the pace, but the result is still the same. One outfit after another, on and off, on and off, but everything looks horrible. Now obviously you bought all these clothes, so you had to have liked them at some point, for example when you tried them on in the store. But not today. They look old, ugly, wrinkled, mismatched, or woefully out of style. And though you most probably haven't gained even half an ounce since yesterday, absolutely everything you put on makes you look fat.

The frenzy subsides...

On the most recent visit to the mirror, you notice the impact all this is having on your hair and make-up. Ugh! You also notice the time and that now you are very late, so you go with whatever happens to be on your body at the moment, briefly finger-style your hair, and head out the door, feeling anything but lovely.

It's hard to say how much this crisis will influence the rest of your day; it depends. For certain, you will eventually have to come home and face your bedroom, which now gives new meaning to the word "tornado." Good luck with that.

Clothes crises. We all have them.