Post #500: Can it really be that many?

Seven years ago, I began blogging. A friend once said, "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a Mommy Blogger," and seven years ago I became one of the many. A lot has happened in those seven years, and much of it is documented right here in this blog. I am grateful. Grateful for the medium with which to tell our family's stories. Grateful for a place to give voice to my thoughts. And mostly, grateful to you, those who read and enjoy.

This is the 500th post.

Wow.

That is worth celebrating, I decided! When I began, I never dreamed so many people would want to read my essays. Really, I thought it would be just my kids (and probably not even all of them) and Gerald. Maybe my brother, occasionally? My two best friends? And that would be just fine because my goal was to do my part to preserve some family history. Plus, writing is therapeutic for me and far cheaper than a psychiatrist, so there's that.

But how to celebrate? I decided the best way was to look back and attempt to pick my favorite post of each of the seven years. Every year, I have my posts published into a hardback book, so I've been leafing through the many pages of those books, trying to chose my favorites. It's not easy. I  will link each of my choices, in case any of you would care to reminisce along with me.

For 2009, I chose my Christmas post. It was last Erichsen-Webster Christmas before people started getting married, and I remember so fondly sitting in my living room the night after, so joyous, so content, so thankful for my sweet family. 

For 2010, I chose an essay I wrote in my mind as we drove home from Salt Lake City after marrying off our only baby girl: Wasn't it just yesterday? I penned it the very next day as I remembered some of the earliest experiences of "The days of me and Shulamith."

For 2011, ah, okay it's a tie. I couldn't choose. Sorry. First is this post, "Wealth" because it highlights my sweet Isaiah and his understated yet strong character, and at this moment he is on the other side of the world (Australia), so very far away from me. And I miss him. But then there is this other one about Eli and leaving my baby at college, and, well, go ahead and read it if you want. And cry along with me.

For 2012, I chose two posts about Seth, our funny and fabulous 15-year-old, who, just the other day, was an equally funny and fabulous tween: Tweens and Planners are a Waste of Time and Space. I've said it so many times, but if you decide to have a "capstone" child, seven years after the others, be sure Heaven sends you one as amazing as Seth.

For 2013, I picked two again. Yes, this is becoming a habit. It's hard, though. There are so many. This one, because it still cracks me up everything I think about it (think Matt and Seth) and this one because it speaks my truth.

For 2014, so maybe three this time? I know, I know; this post is spinning right out control. But it's my blog and my 500th post, so whatever. I couldn't leave out my essay about bringing our missionary home after two years: You came home. You really came home. Or the one about our trip to Indiana to celebrate the first "doctor" in the family: Dr. Luke Erichsen. But then there's this other one which highlights the crazy, beautiful dysfunction that is our family.

And for 2015, we shall return to just two, Friends are friends forever and You might cry a little. Just because.

So there you have it. Post #500. Eli just came in and asked what I was doing. When I told him, he said, "That's a lot of writing!"

Indeed. A lot of writing. A lot of joy. A lot of memories. I may be one of the hundreds of "Mommy Bloggers," but my stories are all mine. And my family is all mine. I love them so very much. 

Conflicted emotions: A tale of two brothers

Once upon a time was born a beautiful baby boy, welcomed with love by his parents and three siblings. He was a happy child, with a smile that melted hearts everywhere he went. After seven years as the baby of the family (a role he took quite seriously) something happened to rock his world. It was documented by his first grade journal entry, which began: "For seven years, I was the youngest in my family. Then my mom had a baby."

On a conscious level, the little boy was thrilled to welcome his new brother. He did all he could to help his mom care for the tiny babe and showered him with endless kisses and hugs. Subconsciously, though, he appeared to be a bit more conflicted. His behavior regressed more than a little, as he tried to win back the attention he felt he was losing. This was, of course, a perfectly normal response under the circumstances, and his parents did their best to love him right through it.

As time went by, these two boys, though separated seven years in age, grew to love each other with the unshakable bond only brothers fully understand. Through the years, they fought mercilessly over the dumbest things, including whose leg hair is longer (not even kidding) and whose Snap Chat is better, but in the end they were always each other's closest ally.

As life would have it, the older brother grew up and found the affection of a lovely young lady, and in good time, these two became engaged to be married. And just like that, it was now the younger brother, rather than the older, who struggled with the conflicted emotions. Karma? The law or divine reciprocity? You see, now the younger brother felt replaced, much the way the older brother felt once upon a time about 15 years ago.

This is evidenced in a myriad of ways, but allow the storyteller to share a dialog that occurred just last evening:

Mom: You will need to take three days off from school in April, when we go to Billings for the wedding reception.

Younger brother: Yes!! That's great! Where we will stay when we're there?

Mom: Well, you get to stay with Ethan (his very best friend, who lives in Billings).

Younger brother: Yes!! That's perfect.  Where is everyone else staying?

Mom: Well, Dad and I are staying with the Careys, and Eli and Amanda are staying in a hotel.

Younger brother: Amanda?!?! Why is she going? Does she have to go everywhere Eli goes?

Well, no, not everywhere. But it would probably be good if she showed up for her own wedding reception!

So, dear readers, the end of this tale is yet to be written. The hope of this mom is that in time, these two brothers will work out a relationship that is acceptable to both with no conflict. And that the younger brother will come to know that marriage is much more a gain than it is a loss. Because one day, it will be his turn.

A picture paints 1,000 words...

...or so they say.

Generally, I prefer words over pictures.

Not today.

Eli and Amanda's engagement photos came back, and well, they most definitely speak for themselves. So I'll be quiet (fairly untypical of me) and let you see for yourselves:

No words needed.

I sometimes cook separate meals for my kids. So sue me.

I just read an article entitled “Five things I will never again do for my kids.” This author mom was reflecting back to past parenting “mistakes,” and vowing never to repeat them. As I read the article, it became clear that while none of the things she discussed was an absolute deal breaker for me one way or the other, I most definitely did (and still do) some of the things she mentioned. And I have no regrets.

This mom said she would never again cook different meals for her children just to satisfy the picky eaters in her home. I do this all the time, and I won't apologize. No, I don't prepare elaborate, gourmet meals for anyone (I'm a terrible cook!), but I do consider my kids' individual tastes, and if one of them doesn't like what I'm making, I'm happy to make him a quick, easy substitute, perhaps a peanut butter sandwich or scrambled eggs. I don't think this practice has turned my kids into spoiled, entitled creatures who won't eat anything. Not at all.

She also said she would never again clean her kids' rooms or do their laundry (once they were old enough to do these things themselves). Hmmm. Well, I think it's great to teach kids age-appropriate independence by letting them assume responsibility for their rooms and laundry.

That said, many times my teens have been swamped with homework, part time jobs, and extracurricular activities, so to help them out, I've done a thorough sweep of their rooms, vacuumed, and done a couple loads of their laundry. I remember one time after I did this, my teenage daughter arrived home exhausted from a 15-hour day: “Mom, you have no idea how much I appreciate this. It just helps me out so much this week. Thanks.” You're welcome. To me, part of being a mom means serving.

Lastly, she said she'd never again bail her kids out of a jam, for example rushing to school with an assignment they forgot on the kitchen counter. Really? Because I kinda want my kids to know that being part of a family means we support each other, that we are all in this together. And I can point out a number of times when Gerald has rescued me by bringing me something I needed, even when doing so inconvenienced him. If he'll do this for me, why wouldn't I do it for my kids?

I'm all for teaching responsibility, but I honestly believe we can do that and still serve our kids, help them out when they need it, and yes, even cook them a special meal here and there.

Tiny Veins and "Can we get a pizza baked in a super hot oven?"

Eli's wedding is fast approaching in just a few weeks. If I were Amanda, I would be able to tell you the exact number of days, but I think it's around eight weeks from now. She and her mom are likely up to their eyeballs in planning at this point; Eli and I, on the other hand, are pretty chill. We have done a couple things. Best of all, Eli selected his wedding suit! We weren't even suit shopping. I was trying on dresses, just to get an idea what I'd like to wear myself, so Eli meandered over to the men's department of the store. He returned to tell me he found an excellent sale on suits and there was one he really liked.

"Let's go try it on, " I suggested, not imagining in a million years it would be the exact cut and size and color he wanted. But it was. Really, it looked just gorgeous on him.

"Should we buy it?" I asked.

"I can't imagine anything I would like better," was his reply, so we bought it right then. Yay!

We haven't been out looking for ties for the groomsmen  yet, but that is our next goal.

Meanwhile (and on an entire different topic), I've been thinking about donating plasma. I didn't realize the critical need for plasma, but I recently learned that if a person donated twice weekly for an entire year, he still would not have donated enough to meet the needs of a hemophiliac for that same time period. The process takes a bit longer than donating whole blood (which I've done many times), so they offer compensation for donors' time. So I thought this would be a great idea right now: help meet an important need, and bring in a bit of extra money to help with wedding expenses.

Today was the day. I entered the plasma donation center and went through the "first time donor" orientation and physical. Unfortunately, when the time came to actually make the donation, the phlebotomist was unable to access one of my very tiny, uncooperative veins. I've had this problem before when donating whole blood, but this time, he gave up without trying very hard. I was not impressed. Yes, I do sort of need a "vein whisperer," but this guy honestly didn't even try. They paid me anyway (woo!) and told me to return within seven days to try again. Okay, fine.

The other thing Eli and I are doing that would count as wedding prep is sticking strictly to our low-fat, low calorie eating program. All that is super good for us and has excellent results, but let's get real: It's certainly no fun! Yesterday he came down and met me for lunch between my classes, and we went to Wing Nutz. I was telling Eli about how this particular restaurant has the hot, hot ovens, which is why they can make wings and chips (pretend french fires) without grease, and they still taste good.

So last night he and I were trying to figure out what to eat for dinner. As is often the case, nothing low fat sounded very good. We were both sort of whining about that, when Eli said: "Can we go get a pizza baked in a super hot oven?"

Haha, I wish.

First annual Erichsen-Webster Super Bowl Extravaganza: Coolest Party Ever!

Let me begin by saying that anyone who know us well also knows that we are not a sports family. Not at all. I watch sports only if one of my kids is playing, and then only when he's actually in the game. Many times, while grading papers, I've said to Gerald, "Tell me when he's in. I don't have time to watch other people's kids play sports today." Oh, and I should add that I also used to watch when Shulamith was a high school cheerleader, every game she cheered at. And every time, I secretly wished they would switch it up and put the cheerleaders out on the field or court with the players on the sidelines. They never did.

Then there's Gerald. I've often said that I'm grateful to have married the one man on the planet even less interested in sports than I am. So you can imagine how excited we are NOT about the Super Bowl. Most years, we don't even know it's happening until we hear about it at church. And who's playing? Not a clue.

But then last year, this happened. Shulamith's husband, Mathew, commented to Shulamith: "As much as you and your mom will find any excuse to make a  ton of food, it's surprising you don't have a Super Bowl party."

And in that moment, we experienced what can only be called a true epiphany. Matt was so right. What the heck were we thinking all those years, letting a perfectly good food holiday pass us by? So right then and there, we began to plan this party. That was nearly a year ago.

Today was the day. We planned the menu: chocolate fondue with coconut marshmallows, bananas, fudge brownies, and Nilla Wafers; chips and dip; and plenty of Diet Coke. What we couldn't figure out was what to eat for, you know, actual food. Protein. Eli to the rescue: "You gotta have nachos. Every Super Bowl party has nachos." Score! We bought chips, hamburger, cheese, sour cream, and stuff for Matt to make guacamole. In case all this wasn't enough, we threw in some double-stuffed Oreos and a can of peanuts, and it was game on!

But did we watch it, you might ask. Well, sort of. Parts of it. Eli watched more carefully than anyone else. I tried to watch a little. Truth be told, I don't really get football. To me, it just looks like a bunch of guys who line up, run into each other, and fall down. Then they get up and wander aimlessly around the field for a bit before doing it all over again. I rarely see a ball. That said, I know many like it, so no judgment here.

Didn't watch, but ate some food!

The Super Bowl is, indeed, a wonderful excuse for a food party, and I can't believe it's taken us this long, and Mathew, to figure that out.

This is definitely a new Erichsen-Webster tradition.

"I hope his kids are healthy and happy forever," and "Is that a sparkle I see on this dress?"

Yesterday was an amazing day. Eli's fiance, Amanda, invited Shulamith and me to go with her and her mom to shop for a wedding dress. Yeah, we were pretty thrilled. And grateful. So grateful she included us, when she definitely didn't have to. Pretty sure we'll remember this sweet gesture forever.

The day began perfectly, with Matt offering to take some PTO and stay home with their kids. Shulamith and I don't get a lot of "kid free" time, so we were dang excited. But as we headed to Kneader's for a quiet, relaxing breakfast before we met up with Amanda and her mom, a tiny glitch occurred. Behind us were flashing lights; yep, a police car was signaling us to pull over. Seriously? Cuz this was supposed to be our "day."

We knew right away what the problem was: Shulamith's license tags were expired (just barely!). I should probably say right here that most of our prior experiences with cops have not been great. There was this one time that 4-year-old Seth escaped and walked across a busy street all the way to the grocery store because he wanted to buy Skittles. I was home with just Isaiah and frantic beyond belief, scurrying in a combination frenzy of crying, praying, and screaming, when a police officer pulled up to our driveway with Seth in the car. Relief flooded over me, and I crumbed in a pile of tears, but was this "public servant" kind to me? No. He gruffly ordered: "You need to take better care of your kids."

Then there was this other time just over a year ago, days before Christmas. Shulamith was in the car with both her kids, Kennedy screaming as only Kennedy can. Stressed to the max, Shulamith was driving maybe 38 mph on 80th, where the speed limit is just 30. The resident cop, who sits on that street 24/7, pulled her over. Referring to Kennedy: "She doesn't sound too happy." Gee, ya think? "Well, I'll try to be quick as I write you your ticket." Oooooh. Now Shulamith and I react very differently to circumstances such as this. I get sad. I cry. I sob. I blubber. Shulamith doesn't cry. She doesn't get sad. She gets mad. Really mad. Her comment was something to the effect of " What a horrible human being. I hope his kids die. Every last one of them."

Which brings us to yesterday. I'd like to go on record as saying we encountered a very nice cop. He was kind and polite. He was not macho. He was not rude. He was not arrogant. He asked Shulamith to get her car registered right away, and he wished us a nice day. We had plenty of time for delicious Kneader's french toast, without being late at all for Amanda's dress appointment. And Shulamith's line: "I hope his kids are healthy and happy forever."

And then it was time. As Eli would say, "Yeeeeyaw!" We met Amanda and her mom at the bridal shop, and the fun began. The first dress she tried on was positively stunning. Like she looked gorgeous in it. Oh. My. Goodness. How I wish I could include a picture right here on this post, but you see, Eli is a faithful reader of this blog (Hi Eli!). I KNOW he will see this. And he cannot see Amanda in her wedding dress. So no pics. Sorry.

Of course we couldn't let her try on just one dress, lovely though it was. The lady helping us brought out several more, and Amanda looked beautiful in all of them. Let's face it; the girl would look pretty in a paper bag. But then there was this one dress. I should point out that Amanda is not fond of sparkles. At all. The lady was aware of this, but she must have forgotten or something because Amanda's immediate response to the dress she was wearing told the whole story:

"Is that a sparkle I see on this dress?"

Indeed it was. Say no to the dress.

Finally, she decided it was time to try on the first dress once again. And that was it. Her expression said it all. A glow came over her entire face, matched only by the ring on her finger. It just felt right. Comfortable. Elegant. Sophisticated. Feminine. Perfect. Amanda!

Say yes to the dress. Only two more months to wait.