Tweens

There is a delightful group of people in the world who fit into the category of tweens. They are no longer little kids, yet they aren’t quite adolescents either. They are right inbe”tween.” Tweens are generally defined as kids ages 10 - 12, and let me tell you, they are seriously so much fun. Because of their recent ties to childhood, they make wonderful babysitters. They still know how to get down and dirty and really play; they’re not too cool for hide and seek or tag or thumb wars. They aren’t burdened with the hyper-sensitive, self-conscious issues that often dominate the teenage years, yet they are quite capable, responsible, and self-sufficient. Really, tweens are great. If you get the opportunity to befriend one, I highly recommend it.

One interesting thing about tweens is how they can morph, almost instantly and without warning, between their relatively mature personas and their not-so-mature ones. And it’s fine. It’s perfectly fine. They are just doing their jobs. It’s the tween’s job to move back and forth between childhood and adolescence. So one moment, your tween might be opening car doors for you, thanking you for the marvelous dinner you prepared, and offering to do extra chores around the house. But the next moment…well, let me share a TOTALLY hypothetical example to illustrate.

What if (hypothetically) you decided to take your tween to General Conference? He didn’t really want to go, but you insisted, knowing how lovely it would be for him to attend conference in the conference center and hear the general authorities speak in person, rather than just watching on TV. So you coax him out of bed and board the Trax train headed for Temple Square. He is unusually quiet, enough that you know he’s not happy, but other than that, all seems well. Then, after waiting for 20 minutes outside the conference center, you find out that you arrived too late. The conference center is full. What now?

You don’t like to miss conference. Ever. So instead of going home at that point, you decide to walk across the street to the Tabernacle and watch the session on the large screens provided there. Perfect! Well, except for the fact that your tween didn’t want to go in the first place, and now, he has to sit in a warm room on hard, wooden seats and watch conference on TV. But you don’t really think about that as you rush across the street and find a seat in the Tabernacle.

And it begins.

The tween temper tantrum of the century. What if this hypothetical tween happens to be a naturally hot individual, one who absolutely detests being too warm? And what if he doesn’t fully comprehend what is going on until he’s sitting on those hard seats in a very warm room with people all around breathing down his neck? Oh, it could be bad. So bad. Imagine him arching his back in the seat, kicking his legs straight out, and pulling his pant legs up as far as he can in order to keep cool. Imagine him violently rolling up his sleeves and slapping at his face as the tears stream down, then wiping the tears all over his arms. (Later you learn that this was a feeble attempt to use his tears to cool his arms.) Recognizing the need to remain relatively quiet (remember, he’s a tween, not a toddler), he mouths the words over and over, “IT’S SO HOT IN HERE. I CAN’T STAND IT!” with tears continuing to stream down his face.

And this hypothetical tantrum lasts a full hour. Seriously, one full hour. During the congregational hymn half way through the session, his adult sister takes him outside for a bit, and the situation improves somewhat.

So have no fear. He’s a tween, after all. He can switch back to a kind, sweet, mature kid instantaneously. And he does. About the time you get out of the warm Tabernacle headed toward the Trax, he’s back! It’s so great. There is a delightful group of people in the world who fit into the category of tweens. Hypothetically speaking or not, I’m so thankful to have one.

First Quarter Report

It is March 31st. The first quarter of 2012 is now behind us. April brings feelings of springtime; the Easter season; the promise of summer right around the corner; and for me, the end of the school year. Right now, I am buried under final essays, but April 11th is not so far away. Right? Though I only teach three hours, three days a week, all three of those hours are writing classes. And when the essays come pouring in, I can't help but ask myself what on earth I was thinking when I decided to go into this field. Surely there are other subjects I could teach? P.E., maybe? Or one of those classes where the tests are multiple choice and you use those very cool Scan Tron sheets. You feed them through the machine, one by one, and they come out the other side all graded. How would it be?

So instead of grading yet another essay (I've done five since second session of General Conference ended at 4:00, in addition to walking four miles), I decided to blog. Blogging is oh so much more fun than grading essays. That's not saying a lot because just about anything is more fun than grading essays, but stay with me here. I decided to report on the first quarter of 2012. What are the highlights of the last three months? How are the resolutions coming along?

Let's begin there. As you may remember, my goal is to walk 1,200 miles in 2012. That means I need to do at least 100 miles per month. So far that is coming along nicely. My miles for January, February, and March were 100.5, 102.91, and 103.62 respectively. Is it just me, or do those look like increasingly high fevers? Anyway, I'm happy to report success with this resolution. I'm even happier to report that I may have at least a part time walking partner. A woman from our ward expressed interest in walking and then texted me last Sunday evening, and we went. It was so great to have someone to talk to; the time flew by! Dana has a full time job, and she is also the Primary President, so obviously she doesn't have as much time to walk as I do. But even if she comes occasionally, I will be thrilled.

Okay, now for the other resolution. You remember, the one where I was going to try to cook at home more often? Yeah, about that. Not so much. Guys, this is just hard for me. Seth and I both prefer to eat in restaurants, and many nights it is just Seth and I. Sometimes we have Shulamith too, but she likes restaurants just as much as we do. And unfortunately, I find nothing in the entire cooking experience appealing. However! And this part is important. There's this other woman from our ward who loves to cook. She is seriously the very definition of "Molly." Shulamith and I were telling her about how we don't really cook, and she seemed utterly shocked. I told her I was trying to cook at least three weeknights in addition to Sunday but failing miserably, and she seemed even further shocked. So she has decided that she needs to help me out with this by improving my culinary skills. Well, they certainly do need improvement, and I'm so excited to have some sort of connection with people from the ward (even if it involves something boring like cooking) that I agreed. We decided to wait until next week to begin, giving me sufficient time to recover from the MTC drop-off.

And have I recovered? I don't know if I would say that, but I do have to say that I'm feeling tremendous peace. For one thing, we already received a letter from Eli!!! It came yesterday. He sounds so good, so happy, so enthusiastic, so Eli. How can I not feel the same? I have my moments, yes. I'll be going along with my normal activities, when suddenly it will hit me: Wait! He's not just at school. Or out with friends. Or at a piano lesson. Or at work. He's gone. For two whole years. And then there's this melancholic feeling that sinks through my body. But it only lasts a moment. Almost immediately, I remember one or another of the many kind words of support that my friends so lovingly offered me this past week. May I share some of them with you?

Sandra told me all would be well because "He's gonna be working for the Lord and he's a VERY generous boss!!!!" Indeed, Sandra.

Trudy told me to allow the Holy Ghost to bring me peace through the MTC experience. And I did. And he did!

Diane told me it is my calling as a mother to cry. That's one calling I'm really, really good at.

Both Celeste and Lindsey told me the they love me and that they were praying for me.

And Dawn reminded me how blessed we are for the opportunity to send a missionary. She said, "Both times that we dropped off our boys at the MTC there was such a feeling of relief, peace, and love. I know that part of it was the Spirit wrapping me in the promised peace. I would think of it being such a small thing for me to do compared to what Heavenly Father did letting each of us come to the Earth, and then letting his Son come down, knowing what he would have to face."

Do I have wonderful, supportive, and very smart friends or what?

So there we are, ready to begin the 2nd quarter of 2012. Ready to face the challenges, enjoy the blessings, and move toward summer with hope and joy.

Kick 'em to the Curb

I've heard it said that the huge fence surrounding the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah is there not to keep missionaries in, but to keep mothers and grandmothers out. Having just looked at it up close yesterday, I can testify that it would indeed be a tough climb over, but I'm sure that hasn't stopped a mother or two from trying. No matter how you slice it, leaving one's precious child for two years is not easy for us moms.

The process for dropping young elders (oxymoron?) and sisters at the MTC has changed dramatically between the time we sent our first missionary and now. When we delivered Luke there in 2006, we were allowed to park our cars, gather his luggage, and with our entire family, enter the doors of the MTC right along with him. We were greeted by loving missionary couples, and I was given Luke's missionary name tag, "Elder Erichsen," which I got to pin on him. We then moved into the chapel, where we attended a brief meeting. The MTC president and his wife spoke, assuring us of their love for our kids and their promise to care for them just as we would during the time they are there. Lastly, we sang the familiar hymn "Called to Serve" and were admonished by the MTC president to "push back those tears and sing it like you mean it!" And we did. All too soon, the meeting ended, and after final hugs goodbye, new missionaries exited through one door, and families through another.

Yesterday was an entirely different experience. A few years ago (2009?), the Swine Flu hit our country hard, and church leaders decided that perhaps it wasn't wise to bring several hundred missionaries, along with their parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins into the MTC every Wednesday to associate in close contact, creating the ideal environment to pass around harmful germs. So they instigated this curbside drop-off method instead. We all assumed that once the imminent threat of Swine Flu subsided, they would return to the former process, but they did not. I don't know for sure, but my guess is the new way was so much more efficient and less time consuming that they decided to make the change permanent.

I was sufficiently warned by my students at LDS Business College what to expect. Many of them are recently returned missionaries themselves. They told me to be sure to say all our goodbyes ahead of time before even driving onto the MTC campus. "Say everything you want to say, and do everything you want to do because once you get in there, elders will descend upon your car, remove your son's luggage, remove your son, and before you know it, you'll be left standing there on the curb alone. Yikes! Okay, calm down, Terrianne. You can do this. Other mothers do this.

It wasn't quite that bad. It was quick, yes, but it wasn't hurried. It was peaceful actually. As we drove through the front gates, we were greeted by many enthusiastic missionaries. "Welcome to the MTC!" they exclaimed. We were directed where to park next to the curb, and as we got out of the car, a young elder came up and shook Eli's hand, patted him on the back, and said "Welcome to the MTC, man!" Eli smiled as only Eli can and responded with equal enthusiasm. The elder asked Eli if he had any cell phones with him. Right answer: No. And if he had his immunization record. Right answer: Yes. At that point, this sweet young man stepped to the side, as though to give our family a bit of privacy.

By now, I could not hold back my tears. My friend Diane told me it was my calling as a mother to cry. I definitely fulfilled my calling. I hugged Eli as tight as I could and whispered to him how much I love him and that nothing he could do in the entire world could make me prouder than I was in that moment. He shook hands with his dad and sort of hugged (Gerald doesn't really hug), and said goodbye to both Isaiah and Seth. One final hug for me, and he was off, glowing with happiness, so excited to embark on this incredible opportunity to serve the Lord.

How Do You Spell Relief?

In January, I posted about my chronic anxiety disorder and its tendency to present itself in irrational fear of fatal disease. A friend of mine who reads this blog commented in response. She mentioned struggling with anxiety herself and some counsel she received from a kind bishop, who asked her, "can you think of an entity that would want to rob you of the peace you deserve?" When I read those words, I recognized for the first time the source of much of the anguish I experience when my anxiety is high. That is not to say I doubt the biological component that exists; I don't. But I do know who would most love to take full advantage of that situation and exploit it to the fullest. I vowed that next time this wretched condition reared its ugly head, I would try my best to defeat it by recognizing its source.

I'd like to tell you I was successful in this attempt, but alas, that is not the case. I can tell you I tried. I really did. I tried hard. And perhaps I would have been worse off if I hadn't tried? Perhaps. But once again, this crappy stuff got the best of me. It's been a rough week. And it was about the last thing I needed the very last week before Eli enters the MTC. Yep, about the very last thing. Here's what happened.

I awoke Sunday morning with a very sore muscle in my upper left thigh. I didn't pay a lot of attention to it the first day, but by Monday when it was not only sore, but swollen and hard and bruised, I was imagining all sorts of horrible illnesses. This went on all week. I'd have some rational periods for sure, but they were all too quickly overpowered by thoughts of dying, and especially what that would mean for my family. I am first and foremost a mom. How would an 11-year-old little boy get along without his mother? Would Eli have to come home from his mission? Would I even get to meet Shulamith's baby? Yeah, my mind spins right out of control to all these places, and I just can't stop it. Have I mentioned that anxiety really sucks?

Then, tonight, I figured out what most probably caused this injury. Her name is Kitty, and she is a 60-lb Boxer puppy whom I love more than anything. She is seriously the sweetest dog ever, but she's very playful, and she loves to jump right up on your lap as though she were a toy poodle. As I was sitting here tonight with ice on my thigh, it occurred to me that last weekend, Kitty had done just that. I was lying on my bed, and she jumped up and landed with her paw right on my thigh. Then she just stood there with paw digging into my thigh, until I picked it up and removed it. OUCH!

The most interesting part of all this is the incredible relief I felt once I figured it out. My entire body had been in "fight or flight" mode for six days. Every muscle was tense. When I finally made sense out of this injury, it was instantaneous relief. And so joyous! It's like I need some way to celebrate RIGHT NOW! When you have been so scared for so many days in a row, with no reprieve, once it's over and the fear is gone, the sense of well-being is overwhelming.

How do you spell relief?

K-I-T-T-Y!

Sympathy Over the Top

As most of you already know, Shulamith is pregnant and expecting a baby boy in late June. So naturally, she's experiencing normal pregnancy symptoms. Those amazing hormones that work so hard to produce a perfect little baby can cause some less-than-desirable side effects for mom. It's to be expected. It's worth it. Totally.

That is, as long as you get a baby in the end. And that's the problem. For some reason, I seem to be experiencing some of these symptoms, myself, except I'm not pregnant. Why is this happening? Sympathy symptoms? Pheromones? I don't know. What I do know is if I got my own baby in the end, this would all be worth it, but since I won't get a baby, I'll pass on the pregnancy symptoms, thank you very much!

First, I've gained 5 pounds since Shulamith's been pregnant. Yes, I often gain a little bit through the holidays, but by March (!), those pounds are most certainly gone. Not this time. Ugh!

Then there's the acne. Let's be clear: I do not get acne. I didn't have it as a kid. I didn't have it as a teenager. I didn't even have it when I was pregnant. But Shulamith has been plagued with it during her pregnancy, and guess what? Suddenly, I have pimples on my face. For the first time ever! Just as one big annoying one was about gone, I awoke this morning to three ugly, new ones on my chin. Double ugh!

Lastly, there are the aches and pains pregnant women often have, the result of stretching that obviously goes on inside to make room for the baby. Shulamith often feels achy in her lower left abdomen. Her doctor has reassured her that all is well; it's just those ligaments stretching in ways they never have before. So the other day, I woke up feeling distinctly achy in my lower abdomen. "Are you kidding me?" I thought. This is beyond ridiculous.

Like I said, if I could look forward to my own baby, I'd be more than happy to deal with all these symptoms and more. But since that's not the case, the "sympathy pregnancy symptoms" can stop any time.

Is March Making Isaiah Mad?

Until one year ago, I had never heard of such a thing as "March Madness." We are not sports fans. Not at all. I've often joked that I married the one man on the planet even less interested in sports than I am. It's just not our deal. We don't really get the point of it. Why would we want to watch other people play games?

The single exception to this is when one of our children is playing. That changes everything. I love to watch my children do just about anything. Without question, I prefer the choir concerts, piano recitals, plays, and dance performances over sporting events, but if it's sports they're playing, I'm totally down. Shulamith played basketball, softball, and soccer as a child. Then she cheered for high school football, basketball, and wrestling. So yeah, I attended my share of sporting events (every game she cheered at for three years, actually), but my purpose there was to watch her cheer, not to watch the sports themselves. Then came Eli, who played football, baseball, and basketball through elementary and middle school, and even into high school if you count church basketball. I watched nearly all his games.

But watch college or professional sports? Not a chance. I don't even know those people. Why would I care about their games or whether they win or lose? Unless one of my kids is playing, I'm not interested. And until last year, Isaiah felt the same. He was not an athlete, himself, and to the best of my knowledge, he never once attended a single sporting event in his four years at Skyview High School. His interests lay with other activities: video-games, Business Professionals of America, and choir. In college, his one and only focus has been computer programming.

So you can imagine my surprise last spring when he told me he was in some sort of basketball pool. Apparently, each year in March, a bunch of college basketball teams compete in a tournament called "March Madness." And last year, Isaiah somehow got involved in betting on which team would win. I tried to dissuade him, reminding him that gambling is never a good idea, but he rationalized that $10 isn't enough money to be considered gambling. Hmmm. I was still living in Billings at the time, so I wasn't as closely aware of this whole deal as I am now. I only know that he managed to win the whole pot and come out of the Madness $100 richer.

Fast forward one year. It appears March Madness is once again in full swing. Every Friday I pick Isaiah up at his dorm and bring him home for the weekend. His weekend job is much closer to our house than Westminster, so he almost always stays with us from Friday to Sunday. Today, however, he texted me and asked me to pick him up at a coffee shop a few blocks from campus. Okay, fine. When I arrived, I learned that he and his friends were forced to go there to watch the game after the power suddenly went out on campus. The second we got home, he raced into Seth's room to turn on some game, knowing full well I wouldn't allow sports on my TV. Evidently, there was some sort of upset in this particular game because we heard Isaiah screaming at the TV set. This is my Isaiah we're talking about. At least he looks like Isaiah.

Dragging himself away from the TV to go to work, he mentioned that he doesn't know when he'll be able to write the English paper that's due Monday because he will have games to watch every waking, non-working moment of the weekend. Seriously? How could anybody watch that much basketball. It all looks exactly the same. One team gets the ball, and they all run down court, and the one team tries to shoot. Then the other team gets the ball, and they run the other way and do it on the other side. Over and over and over and over. Occasionally, just to keep people from dying of boredom, they all line up around the basket and let one guy shoot without bothering him. That's really all there is to this game.

Which brings us to these questions: Has Isaiah been abducted by aliens who've put someone else inside his body? Has he undergone a personality transplant? Did he hit his head too hard?

Or is March making Isaiah mad?

Faith. Family. Friends.

FAITH
Though he doesn't leave for another two weeks, Eli gave his farewell talk in Sacrament Meeting yesterday. It felt a little early to be doing this, but next week is our Ward Conference, so it had to be yesterday. I sat stoically in the second row of the chapel and watched my baby boy address the congregation with poise, grace, confidence, and an unshakable testimony. I didn't make a scene (don't worry!), but I wiped quiet tears from my eyes over and over, as he spoke of his love for the Savior, for the Restored Gospel, and for the people of Arkansas, even though he has yet to meet them.

FAMILY
It was only our immediate family (and not even all of those) with us yesterday. Luke and his family are in Indiana, and all our extended relatives live in the Pacific Northwest. Still, those of us here in Utah were united in our support of Eli. We will send him off with bittersweet tears, with unyielding love, with the promise of constant prayer, and with anticipation of his happy homecoming two years from now. Will this missionary mom be counting the days? Oh yeah.

FRIENDS
We don't know the members of our ward very well; for one moment (just ONE, mind you), I wished we were back in Billings where Eli has friends, former primary teachers and youth leaders, people who love him. Everyone in our ward here was friendly and supportive, of course, but realistically, they only met Eli in December; they can't know him well. They don't have a history with him. They didn't watch him grow up. So it was a quiet farewell, but lovely just the same.

To my delight, some of my best friends made the effort to travel here to be with us. Lindsey and David and their kids drove down from Rexburg. They know all my children, but they are particularly close to Eli. David was Eli's first Aaronic Priesthood adviser when he was a brand new Deacon seven years ago. Lindsey and David watched him grow up; he babysat their kids. And last semester, they sort of replaced Gerald and me as Eli's substitute parents when he spent his first semester at BYU-Idaho. They picked him up every Sunday and took him to their home for dinner. They let him do his laundry there. They took him to his dentist appointments when he was preparing his mission papers. He loves them very much.

In addition, my long-time friend Patty and her daughter drove up from LaVerkin. While Patty only knows Eli through our long-distance correspondence, she is always supportive of missionaries. She dragged her entire family to Luke's mission farewell in Billings in 2006. It was such a treat to have her and her daughter (also named Lindsey) with us yesterday.

Faith. Family. Friends. As I prepare to send my Eli off for two whole years, I'm profoundly thankful for all three.