Gifts

It is now 10:00 p.m., and as Mother's Day 2010 comes to a close, I am thinking about gifts. Some gifts are beautiful and expensive; others are equally beautiful but cost nothing. Some gifts are crafted by tireless hands; others are purchased in fancy stores, and still others are carefully created by tiny fingers in kindergarten classrooms all over the world. Gifts: those things we give and receive in the spirit of grace, generosity, and love.

I have to admit, though, there have been times when I have not felt so graceful, generous, or loving, even on an occasion as special as Mother's Day. It's time to come clean, my friends. Let me explain. In our church it is traditional for the men (the Elders' Quorum, the Bishopric, the High Priests' Group, or some combination of those) to have gifts ready for all the adult women in the ward on Mother's Day. After the closing prayer in Sacrament Meeting, the women are asked to stand, and the young men (boys 12 - 17) go out into the foyer, bring in the gifts, and pass them out to all the sisters. And what do you think those gifts usually are? Candy bars or home-made cookies like we give the men on Father's Day? No! Never! It's always a little plant in a tiny plastic not-so-sturdy container. Every year.

So every year we're forced to carry these plants through our next two meetings, trying to keep the dirt from spilling out as we conduct or teach or lead or sing or whatever we happen to do. If we decide to set our plant down on the floor, you can be absolutely certain that some adorable baby (we keep our children with us in meetings until they are 18 months old) will crawl over and spill it, or worse, eat it! If that doesn't happen, and we manage to get the plant safely into our car, without question, it will spill on the drive home, forcing us to vacuum up dirt on the Sabbath.

Now I realize that I sound horribly ungrateful and unappreciative here, but why can't they give us food like we give them? Don't they understand how much easier that would be? And how much more satisfying? Don't they know how hungry we get during the three-hour block? I'm sure on other days, we often go three hours without food, but seriously, church makes people positively ravenous. How lovely to have a nice candy bar or bag of cookies to tide us over on Mother's Day. But no, it's always those little plants.

Until today.

Today, I had to repent of all my negative thoughts directed toward my brethren and friends. Today, they did not give us plants. No, they did not give us candy or cookies either. They gave us something even better, something that lasts. Today, they gave us music. I nearly jumped out of my pew with joy (and shock!) as the dashing young men entered the chapel carrying stacks of CDs to hand out to the sisters, a collection of hymns both well-known and not so well-known. I haven't had the chance to listen to mine yet, but I can't wait to do so first thing tomorrow. What a perfect gift!

I received some other "perfect" gifts today as well. Some were indirect, that is they were delegated by one sibling down to the next. Isaiah texted Eli last evening to be sure Eli had "done something" about Mother's Day. Eli reassured Isaiah: "Yes, I baked her a cake and bought her two kinds of chocolates and a card." And so he did. Thank you, Eli. Some of my perfect gifts were as simple as a phone call or text message from my three "away" children. Another was even simpler, but equally perfect: a giant hug from Seth.

Gifts. I am thankful today for my many gifts, most especially for my five funny, smart, incredible, unique kids. And I'm thankful too that I didn't get a plant at church.

Mother's Day Kool-Aid

Today was a lovely event: A Mother's Day Tea in Seth's 4th grade classroom. However, Seth insists that I call it the "Mother's Day Kool-Aid" because (1) they served Kool-Aid not tea, and (2) we don't drink tea. So today I had the supreme pleasure of attending a Mother's Day Kool-Aid.

I entered the classroom with all the other moms, classical music playing in the background and a slide show of the kids flashing across the screen in front. A sense of calm filled the room; it was not noisy or raucous as one might expect. Next to each child's desk was a chair for his or her mom. I proudly took my seat next to Seth, and he politely asked me which type of cookie I would prefer: chocolate chip or M & M. I chose M & M, and Seth served me a delicious cookie with a cup of Kool-Aid.

Next, the children took turns reading the poems they had crafted for their moms. Seth was near the end and stood with grace and confidence (all those primary talks have obviously paid off) to share his poem. He wrote a poem in which he created phrases using each of the letters in my name. Now Seth knows full well that I go according to "Terrianne" and that no one calls me just "Terri" and lives to tell about it. Evidently, he felt he could get away with it on this very special occasion. His poem was as follows:

The best mom ever.
Everybody likes her.
Really loves me.
Red is her favorite color.
Irregular mom.

(Okay, no comments on that final phrase. You may laugh, but no rude comments).

After the poetry presentations, the children proceeded to introduce us moms to our grand-baby eggs. Yesterday, each child was given a hard-boiled egg to care for throughout the day. They got to draw a face and hair on their eggs and name them, filling out birth certificates with weight and circumference. My grand-baby egg is named Jake Webster Erichsen. He had a difficult time surviving his first day of life, as evidenced by the three band-aids covering the cracks he suffered the multiple times during the day that Seth dropped him. Poor egg baby!

Next, we walked around the room attempting to identify the portrait of ourselves that our child drew. It took me at least five guesses to find "me"! That's because Seth thought it would be funny to give me totally gray hair. He thinks it's hilarious that I'm just slightly older than most of his peers' moms, and he takes every possible opportunity to rub it in. But here's the thing: I DO NOT have gray hair. Not one single strand! My mother doesn't even have gray hair. Sheesh! He did draw me nice and skinny, however, and for that I am surely grateful.

Lastly, our children presented us with beautiful, flowering plants in pots they had painted themselves. Seth's comment as he handed me mine: "Try not to kill it." Ah, my child knows me well.

What a joy to have a 4th grader. I am blessed indeed.

But Mostly, I Think It's the Wind.

Anxiety is a frustrating disorder. For one thing, everyone feels anxious sometimes, so those of us with genuine anxiety disorders are forever second guessing ourselves: "Is this how a 'normal' person would react in this situation," we ask, "or is my anxiety creeping in?" Often, it's hard to tell. I am definitely feeling anxious today.

But mostly, I think it's the wind.

You would not believe this wind. For days now, Billings has been nearly swept off the map by a constant, harsh, relentless wind. It's like nothing I've ever experienced, at least not continuously or for this long. Last evening, as Seth and I walked through the Albertson's parking lot, I felt compelled to grasp his hand (something he doesn't much appreciate these days) to keep him from blowing into oncoming cars. He only weighs 60 lbs., after all! Then during the night, I lay in bed listening to the rumble overhead and the clash and boom as trees hit windows over and over all around the house. Had I awakened this morning transplanted to the Land of Oz, I would hardly have been surprised.

I wanted to drive Seth to school, but he insisted on riding his bike, even in the wind. So I've been stressing for the last hour over whether he arrived safely. Surely, his weight combined with the weight of his bike would keep him planted firmly on earth, right? Hmmm. Unable to ease my fear, Gerald offered to go over to the school and make certain Seth's bike was parked safely in the bike rack. Text just in; bike is there; Seth is fine. Okay, good. Now to address other issues.

Yesterday was the first official day of my summer vacation. Grades are submitted. Outcomes assessment is complete. I'm done! Woo! Typically, this scenario would make me feel calm, relaxed, anything but anxious. Not today. Today, I look toward the next four months, still uncertain how everything will play out. Ugh! As I mentioned in an earlier post, I will be in Portland on July 10th for my niece's wedding, but I still don't have airline tickets or a definite plan. Tentatively, we're thinking of driving to Salt Lake City the day before the wedding, "we" meaning Gerald, Seth, and I. Tickets out of SLC are half the price as out of Billings, so we would fly from SLC to PDX early Saturday morning in time for the wedding. Can I afford three airline tickets even at half price? Not really. But I don't know what else to do. Sunday, Gerald and Seth would ride Greyhound up to Everett to visit Gerald's family there, and I would fly back to SLC to be with Shulamith. Tuesday, Gerald and Seth would fly out of Seattle and meet me in SLC, and the three of us would drive back to Billings Wednesday. It's a plan, yes, but only a tentative one. You'll remember that we "J" personality types like definite plans. Uh huh, my anxiety is a little high today.

But mostly, I think it's the wind.

Even as I sit here typing, I am distracted by the constant thrashing outside. It's unsettling and disconcerting. And it won't stop.

In addition to our trip to Portland, Gerald and I have been discussing the logistics of a possible trip to Costa Rica in August. That is still completely up in the air, which does nothing to ease my anxiety. I love to browse the websites showing the beautiful beaches and the amazing animal life in the canopy of the rain forest, but then I get scared. What if this doesn't work out? I'd be better off not looking at this stuff until I know for sure we will go. But how can we decide for sure if we don't look? Blah! Anxiety really sucks.

Ultimately, I think it's just been too long since I've seen Shulamith. As a rule, the two of us get together once a month, but because of various circumstances, when I go to Salt Lake City next week (!!!), it will have been a full six weeks since I last saw her. You would think those extra two weeks wouldn't make much difference, but they do. Yes, we talk every day. Yes, we have lots of contact through all different types of media. But it's not the same as being together in person.

Oh, and then there's the anniversary tomorrow of my dad's death. Never an easy day for me. Never an easy season. I guess you could say there are lots of reasons I'm feeling anxious.

But mostly, I think it's the wind.

In Support of Bachelorhood

When I began this blog over a year ago, one of my many objectives was to record some of Seth's charming comments. I've done that, occasionally, but not enough. When he says funny, adorable things, I think to myself, "I really need to blog that." Then I don't. Then I forget. Such is life. When our four older children were younger, I would tell my mom the funny things they said, and she would always say, "Did you write that down?" Nope. I didn't. I wish I had.

So this morning, after a conversation with Seth, I decided this one would be recorded, today, before I forget.

As many of you know, part of my job is to march with faculty in commencement exercises at my university. That was today. For some reason I was running terribly late (can't remember why), so I asked Gerald if he would drive me, so I wouldn't have to deal with traffic, parking, walking from the parking lot to the arena, etc. He said "sure." I explained to Seth where I was going and that I'd be back by 1:00. Then Seth saw Gerald getting ready to go too and assumed he was attending graduation with me, which would leave Seth here alone.

"No, no," Gerald reassured Seth. "I'm not going to the ceremony. I'm just doing taxi service this morning."

To which Seth replied...

"Ugh. That's why I'm NEVER having a wife."

101 Posts and Feelin' Good

So I fully intended to do something special with my 100th blog post. I wasn't sure what that would be, but certainly something should mark such an important number, right? It's sort of like when the kids in early elementary school celebrate the 100th day of school by bringing 100 items. I remember going to the bank to get 100 pennies, so Seth could take them to school on his 100th day of second grade. I thought about the upcoming 100th post when I was on #90 and again at #96; however, when I actually wrote my 100th post, I didn't think about it at all. I didn't even notice! The 100th blog post came and went (sigh) without the slightest fanfare. Ah, well. It matters not.

What matters is today I write my 101st blog post, and I have to tell you that I am feeling good. I mean really good. Like almost "normal" good. As you know, Shulamith's wedding was hugely emotional for me. It was the strangest thing. I love my daughter more than life, and in the past year, I have come to love Mathew nearly as much. Seriously, this kid has really gotten under my skin. He and Shulamith are so perfect together; what a blessing they found each other. Nevertheless, this whole wedding thing tapped my emotions in ways I could have never imagined. Worried that I wouldn't be able to hold myself together long enough to get through the ceremony, let alone two receptions, I was calmly reassured by my friend Lindsey. She predicted that I would do okay through the sealing and even through the first reception for the most part because I would have no choice. But the trip home in the car, she thought, might very possibly be a repeat of our trip home nearly six years ago after dropping Shulamith off at college for the first time (See May 21, 2009 post entitled "Angst" for details).

As usual, Lindsey was pretty much right on. I did okay at the sealing, and even pretty well though the Utah reception, other than right after they took off together in the decorated car. But the ride back to Montana the following day was pretty tough. As was the Billings reception the following week. As were the next two months, truth be told. I simply could not stop crying. Like four or five times a day. Every day. I would hear a certain song on the radio and cry. I would look at a picture of Shulamith and me and cry. I would go to the mall and cry. I would eat a Cinnabon and cry. I would wear one of the many items of clothing she and I have in common and cry. I would do absolutely nothing and cry. Sheesh!

Once again, Lindsey to the rescue. She told me that eventually, this would stop. Eventually, everything would feel normal again. My anxiety would decrease, and life would be okay. Well, I am here to tell you that I think she was right. This morning as I was driving out to the C.O.T., it occurred to me that I'm no longer crying every day. I still cry sometimes because I'm an emotional person, but not every single day and certainly not several times each day. When did the change happen? I don't know. It must have been gradual? However it happened, I am grateful. I still miss her tons, just as I always did. I still hate the distance between us and can't wait until we can move down there. And I'm still profoundly thankful for modern technology which allows us such regular contact. I know we're not supposed to worship "items," so I won't, but I'm pretty darned appreciative of cell phones, text messaging, instant messaging, and email. Moreover, every time she tells me the latest kind and thoughtful thing her new husband has done for her, I am once again thankful for Matt.

So yeah, to any of you who were concerned for my mental health, you can relax. I really am doing better.

101 Blog Posts and Feelin' Good!

What's in a Name?

What's in a Name?

I am prompted to write this post as a result of a recent thread of discussion on the Facebook wall of one of Gerald's virtual "friends." Up until two days ago, she was not my friend; I had never even heard of her. However, Gerald commented on her status; I read it; I read what others had to say, including one sexist bigot (sorry, but he really is); and before long, my anger got the better of me. I added this woman as a "friend," because I had to comment myself.

The topic? Names. More specifically, the cultural tradition in this country for women to change their last names to their husbands' last names when they marry. As anyone who follows this blog regularly already knows, I chose not to follow that tradition. In fact, I never even considered it. As Gerald pointed out in this Facebook thread, "We have been married 20+ years, and we have never had the same last name. This has not hurt us or our children." And why should it?

This business of name changing is not a law, civil or spiritual. It's purely cultural. Back in the 1980s, Gerald and I both believed that fewer and fewer women would make this choice as time went on; we were wrong. I am positively baffled by it, but even today, the vast majority of women in this country still opt to change their last names upon marriage. And that is okay...IF (and it's a big "if") they are fully aware it is a choice, and they are fully aware of the consequences. I have spoken to many women, even those who married recently like in the past ten years, who tell me they really didn't know they had a choice. They thought it was something they had to do. It was expected of them.

And that is the problem. No woman should feel pressured to give up her own last name, the name she was given at birth, the name she has used all her life, just because she falls in love and gets married. Changing one's name is a choice; it is not a requirement or expectation of marriage. Those who opt not to change are not any less committed to their marriages, nor do they love their husbands any less than other wives. I know how silly those ideas sound, but trust me, I have heard both. We need to educate our daughters (and our sons too, for that matter) on this subject, so young women (and older ones as well) don't go blindly into a decision which can be difficult and expensive to revoke.

Here are some consequences of that decision:

1. If you change your name, in time, hardly anyone will remember your birth name; it will be as though it never existed.

2. Some people will forget even your first name and will address you and your husband as "Mr. and Mrs. John Doe" (or whatever his name happens to be). How utterly and oppressively sexist! But it will happen. I promise.

3. Just short of this, some people will refer to your family as "The John Doe Family," as though you aren't even there.

4. You will give up the option of passing on your last name to some of your children. One alternative is to at least give your birth name as a middle name to your children, but if you don't do that, none of your children will carry any part of your name.

5. Friends from the past could have difficulty finding you and reconnecting. In some cases, this could be a good thing, but in most cases, it's a giant hassle.

6. If your marriage should end in divorce (and I seriously hope it does not, but life is not always predictable), you then carry the name of a person to whom you are no longer married, unless you reclaim your birth name or remarry and change yet again. I have one friend who has had four different last names in her 40-year life. This cannot possibly be fun.

I'm sure there are some positive consequences of changing one's last name, but from my perspective, they can't begin to outweigh the negative.

What's in a name?

LOTS.

Be very certain before you decide to give yours away.

What Have You Done Today?

So Lindsey just changed her Facebook status to read, "Lindsey just helped save three lives by donating blood. What have you done today?" Indeed, she did! And good on her, I might add. The first (and only) time she had previously donated was ten years ago when she was in high school, and the experience wasn't good. She felt sick for an entire week. When I asked (urged, coerced, coaxed) her to go with me to our church-sponsored blood drive, she was understandably hesitant. Who wants to risk feeling sick for a week?? But she agreed.

So this time, I was determined she would not have any negative side effects. I know, right? Like I had any control over that. Still, I was wishing and praying hard. I, myself, am a seasoned blood donor. I started donating when I was 17, and other than during my five pregnancies and when I've been deferred because of foreign travel, I've always donated regularly. Gerald is also a serious blood donor, and we've effectively trained Luke and Shulamith to be the same. Now we just need to get Isaiah and Eli on track with this. Anyway, in all the times I've donated (surely, over 100), I've never had a side effect. I always feel exactly the same afterward as I did when I walked in. Getting started can be sketchy because I have tiny veins, hidden deeply under my skin, but I figure even phlebotomists need challenges. Once they find a good vein, all is well. The ones who are really good can sometimes get in with just one try. They follow my specific instructions including which arm to use, where to go in, and how to "dig deep...like you're going for oil!" I call these amazing people who get in on the first try "vein whisperers." Usually it takes some poking and prodding, which leaves my arm sore and bruised the following day, but ultimately, they do succeed.

So tonight, Lindsey picked me up at 6:10, and off we went to our 6:20 appointment. We went through the standard iron check, blood pressure check, body temperature check, and question/answer session before beginning the actual donation. I was seated in front and to the right of Lindsey, but I could see her in the mirror. I prayed fervently that (1) my phlebotomist would find my tiny vein quickly and painlessly, and (2) that Lindsey would not feel sick. Within ten minutes, we were both finished. I made my way back to get some water and cookies. Lindsey stayed down a while longer just to be cautious. When she did stand, she did so quickly and all in one motion. Bad idea. "Ah, I don't feel very well," she said. Back down she went, and they brought her a sugary drink, along with a cold pack for the back of her neck. It was already freezing in there; my body temperature was only 97.2 when they measured it. But she was a trooper and obediently placed the cold pack behind her neck. We stayed another 10-15 minutes before she tried to get up again, this time slowly, first sitting, then standing. Much better. Other than shivering from the cold pack, she was okay.

Blood donation is such a good idea. Many people cannot donate because of health issues or certain medications. But if you can, I hope you will. There are some other little perks, like it takes 600 calories to replace what they take, so they encourage you to make your next two meals hearty ones. No problem!

Lindsey and Terrianne helped save three lives each by donating blood. What have you done today?