A mirror selfie. Who would have guessed?

To most of you, this won't seem like anything special. It's just a mirror selfie, you might say. But to me, it was an accomplishment. You see, until recently, I was completely clueless about these things. I've seen many of them out on social media, and I've always wondered what the point was. Finally, one day last week, a friend posted one of these, and rather than wondering any longer, I texted Shulamith. Our text thread went something like this:

Me: Why do people keep taking pictures of themselves holding up their phones like they're taking a selfie, except they can't be because their phone is in the picture?

Shulamith: I don't think I've ever seen that before.

Me: Yes you have! People do it all the time. Go look at Angela's wall right now, for example.

Shulamith: Mom! They're taking a picture in the mirror. It's when people want to take a full-body selfie.

Me: So they're actually taking a picture of themselves?

Shulamith: Yes, silly!

Me: Which way do they face in the mirror if they want to do that?

Shulamith: Which way do you think?

Me: Probably backwards?

Shulamith: Yeah, if you want to take a picture of your butt.

Me: My brain can't process it. If you face the mirror, which way do you position the camera? Regular or selfie mode? Never mind. It's all too confusing.

At this point, the whole thread transferred to our group family chat thread.

Amanda: Haha!

Shulamith: I'm making her take a mirror selfie tomorrow.

Amanda: Oh good. Education is good.

Me: There might be a blog post here. Maybe.

Next post was a mirror selfie of Shulamith when she was maybe seven months' pregnant with Kennedy.

Eli: It's called a "mirror pic" Mom. Get with the times. They were super popular before cell phones and selfie cameras. It was the only way to take a picture of yourself while looking at the picture.

Shulamith: Hahaha, exactly. She's talking like this is all a new thing from the past few months.

Me: I am ALWAYS with the times. Don't you worry about that. But this whole mirror thing is totally confusing. I think you need to be more visual to understand it.

Shulamith: No, mirrors have been around a long time.

Gerald: Even St. Paul referred to a mirror in his letter to the Corinthians.

Me: "Now I see through a glass, darkly." One of my favorite scriptures!

Next came numerous mirror photos of Eli from way back in high school, which he was somehow able to access instantly.

Gerald: True. I was confirming Shulamith's comment that mirrors have been around for a long time.

Shualmith: Hahahahaha yes!!! You look so young, Eli.

Shulamith: Why are you holding up your phone in that picture, Eli? So weird.

Me: Yes, Eli. These! They've never made any sense to me. Which is why I asked you in the first place. I always thought people were just pretending to take pictures of themselves, which seemed so ridiculous.

Me: And just look at my adorable Eli!

Eli: You're funny, Mom.

So the following day, I tried to take my first mirror selfie. It's so hard. Like seriously hard. The picture above is the best I could do after 14 tries. I really don't think I'll do this again, but I'm glad I finally understand the whole deal, and that I have such an adorable little family to help me.

I love to watch you play!

I once read an article, whose goal was to temper over-the-top sports parents. You know, the stereotypical dad (or mom) who screams at his kid incessantly throughout the game, the one who screams at the coach, screams at the referees, screams at the parents of the opposing players, screams at everybody! If you've ever had a kid play sports, you've met this parent at least a time or two. It's always sad. And embarrassing.

The point of the article is that, really, the only thing you need to say to your kid after the game are these six words: "I love to watch you play." And by extension, I love to watch you sing, or dance, or swim, or ski, or cheer, or perform, or run, or jump. "I love to watch you play." It offers no judgment about how well the kid did; it simply expresses our joy in being present. It speaks to the process, not the product. And for me, at least, it's much more honest.

My five children have never been the superstars of anything. They're just regular kids, who participate in various activities of their choice. They will never be professionals at any of these activities, nor do they need to be. But to me, they are the stars. Always. And regardless of what they do, I love to watch them.

Yesterday, Isaiah played in a local DotA 2 (Defense of the Ancients) tournament. Now I should point out that I have absolutely zero understanding of DotA. Honestly, it's the most confusing, convoluted game I've ever seen. There are heroes and towers and ancients to defend. There are items and cosmetics and creeps. It's all very complicated. Isaiah taught Seth to play several years ago, and together, they speak an entirely foreign language all wrapped around this game.

Still, when Seth texted (from work) that Isaiah's team was in the finals, I asked Gerald to find it streaming on Twitch, and I was all in. Isaiah has used the gaming handle "Tehmop" for over a decade, so I know whom to look for. Every time I saw "Tehmop" fly across the screen, I cheered: "There he is! That's my baby!" Gerald and I tried to figure out if his team was winning its first game of the "best two of three" finals, but we were clueless. There's just no way to tell. Finally the sportscaster commented that he'd rarely seen a team coordinate so well as Team Classic was, so we thought that had to be good. The highlight was when the caster said "I'm not sure how Tehmop managed to escape that one, but he did."

"Did you hear that?" They mentioned Isaiah by name!

After winning the first game of the finals, they were on to the second, and Seth was back. I hoped he might be able to shed some light on what we were watching. He tried, but this game is seriously impossible to understand. You can't even tell when it's going to end, but Seth at least could tell us that Isaiah's team was playing well, and that Isaiah was busy "farming." Well, okay.

In the end, they won the tournament! They won eight straight games. Woo hoo!

But for me, the joy was just watching. Watching Tehmop's character swinging his sword, his pet armadillo following by his side. Because for me......

I love to watch you play!

"This is I" - Teaching grammar in the elevator

As many of you know, I teach a couple classes part time at LDS Business College, which is located in a 10-story building downtown. Three elevators move tirelessly up and down those floors all day long, transporting students to and from their classes. I'm not sure what our total student population is, but I can tell you for sure that three elevators are not sufficient to accommodate it. During the busiest times of the day, first thing in the morning and then late in the afternoon, it's not uncommon to find students packed into those elevators like sardines. The chant is always, "Come on in; there's always room for one more!" Except there isn't. But they go in anyway.

Nope, there is not a separate elevator for teachers. One semester I decided to forgo the elevators altogether. I make a goal not to ride the elevator once during the whole semester, and OCD as I am, I accomplished that goal. It wasn't easy. Classrooms are on the 5th - 8th floors, with the library on floors 3 and 4, registration on 2, student support on 9, and administration on 10. That means my mailbox, along with our supply room and break room, is all the way up on 10. Every morning (the three days I teach), I climbed those ten floors to check my mail, make copies, etc. Then I climbed up and down among the 5th through 8th floors the rest of the morning.

Yeah, I decided not to make that goal the following semester, and back to the elevators I went. The worst part is when I'm stuck in the very back of the elevator, with tall people squished all around me. Can you spell "claustrophobia"? The elevator stops at every single floor, as more students pile in because "There's always room for one more."

Finally, my escape is in sight as the elevator approaches the 6th floor, where my first class is, and I announce for all to hear: "Sorry! This is I," meaning they will all have to move so I can get out.

"This is I"? one student asks. "Is that correct?"

I then proceed to give a brief lesson on Predicate Nominative, explaining why the correct form is "I" not "me" in this sentence, and the response from students is stellar:

"Really? That's amazing. I'm going to say it that way from now on. I'll never forget this. I will always get it right."

Music to this English teacher/grammar Nazi's ears.

"This is I" - Teaching grammar in the elevator.

Finally February! Can I get an "Amen"?

Finally.

January (aka the longest month of the year) is over. And February, the shortest month of the year, is here.

And we've earned it. It's been a long one. And a cold one. It's been hard to find much hope this month, when day after day it is so cold, and here in Utah the air is so terrible that it's nearly impossible to breathe. No one told my about this Utah thing called the "inversion," until after I moved here. Seth would be quick to point out that he doesn't notice it at all, and if I weren't complaining about it, he wouldn't know it existed. But me? It totally kicks my trash. I feel so sick.

The other bad thing about every January is that I'm always on a sucky diet, the result of gaining a ton of weight after eating a copious amount of delicious food throughout the holiday season. It happens every year. And every January I swear I'll never do this again, and then I always do. No will power at all. At this moment, I have been full-on dieting for four weeks, and I'm making progress, but I still have a few pounds left to lose. Blah!

My annul diet, along with the cold temperatures mixed with the terrible air quality have made this January particularly despairing, and our newly-inaugurated President, who is the epitome of arrogant pride and narcissistic personality disorder combined, has made everything so much worse.

So yeah, I'm grateful it's finally February. Granted, not much has changed from yesterday to today. It's still cold, and the inversion is worse this week than I've ever experienced it in five years, but the end is at least in sight. A storm is brewing. Those of us who suffer from the inversion live for storms. We don't care if they bring rain or snow (well, I prefer rain, but I'll take either); anything to clear out this miserable air, so we can stop coughing is welcome. It's coming. Not for another five days or so, but yes, it's coming.

Wanna know what else is coming, or more precisely who else is coming? Eli! Yep, Eli and Amanda will be here Monday night, and I get Eli ALL DAY TUESDAY while hardworking Amanda is in a training seminar. Woo hoo! The air will be clear by then, and Eli will be here. February is good, I tell you.

This Sunday is our second annual Erichsen-Webster Super Bowl party. If you want to read about the first one, just go here. Plans are in the works for this year's party, and it should be epic. You should definitely come if you don't have other plans that day.

What else happens this month? Wait for it.......

...............my little baby is going on his first date to his first dance. I know. This can't be possibly be happening. I'd stop it if I could, but what can I do? Some girl asked him to the girls' choice sweetheart dance, and he said yes. Just like that. My baby, the youngest of my children has totally betrayed me and grown up, and now he's going to a dance. With a girl. So stay tuned for February 18th when I post a ridiculous number of pictures to document this momentous occasion.

January was long and cold, and for a number of reasons, this one was especially hard to get through. But take heart. It's finally February. Can I get an "Amen"?

I have no words

I have no words. But I search for words anyway. I have nothing new to say. Yet I must say something. Bloggers and meme creators have already exhausted all the possible ways to express their dismay over tomorrow's events. I have nothing new to say. Yet I must say something.

I must say something because I ache inside for what will happen in my country tomorrow. I must say something because, for better or worse, this medium serves to gather and preserve my family's history, and even the sad things need to be documented.

As President Obama leaves office tomorrow, I must say something, though I'm quite sure it won't be anything new.

I will miss him so. I will miss his grace, his integrity, his honor. I will miss his humor and his wit and his captivating smile. I've often thought that once the President gig ended, he should consider stand-up comedy.

I will miss his beautiful family and the love and respect he consistently showed for his wife and daughters.

I will miss his strength and resilience. When they went low, he went high.

Four years ago, I celebrated his reelection. It was a joyous time. I was so grateful he would serve a second term to strive to make our already great country, even greater. And admittedly, I was grateful I would never have to say "President Romney."

Oh how I wish that tomorrow, I would be able to say "President Romney." Because although Governor Romney's politics are vastly different from my own, and although his vision for our country would never mesh with mine, he was (and is) a man of honor. His presence as a world leader would not have been an embarrassment to the United States.

Circulating social media are a few memes and posts, suggesting that to wish an incoming President to fail is to wish cataclysmic failure for all of us. True. Certainly, I do not wish for the President-elect to fail. But unfortunately, failure seems inevitable in light of his behavior prior to the election and his behavior and choices since.

I have no words. And, as most of you know, I always have words. I can't even wrap my mind around this. It is unbelievable.

Tomorrow would be a sad day for me regardless of who the new President was. I love President Obama, and I would miss him no matter what. But this situation feels so much worse.

It feels tragic.

What Rexburg means to me

Last night, I rode a shuttle van for five hours to arrive in Rexburg at 7:30. As we approached the town, as evidenced by the glowing temple on the hill, it occurred to me, through the paths and turns of life, how much this little place in southern Idaho has come to mean to me.

My first ever visit to Rexburg was in the summer of 2002. Shulamith was approaching her junior year in high school, and we were starting her college search. We traveled from Washington to Rexburg to show her Brigham Young University Idaho, hoping that maybe she would think it a good fit. Compared to Whitman, where Luke would go to college the very next year, BYU-Idaho was practically free! We toured the campus, met with admissions counselors, and discussed options.

It was not to be. Shulamith liked the campus fine and the atmosphere, but she was resistant to the many rules, some of them admittedly ridiculous (no shorts or capri pants or flip flops allowed). More than clothing, though, she balked at being told what to do. "I've never been told what to do in my entire life. I've never had a curfew. So when I'm a freshman in college and technically an adult, I don't think I'll be interested in having one then."

Touche. She wound up at Westminster College, where she (and we!) paid literally ten times more than we would have at BYU-Idaho, but she received a great education where she got to wear shorts and flip flops and not have a curfew, and ultimately met her husband, so it's all good.

Nevertheless, I have the fondest memories of that first visit to Rexburg 15 years ago. We stayed in a motel with an outdoor pool, and through the course of the weekend, Shulamith taught both Isaiah and Eli how to swim, while I played in the shallow end with my baby, who was just two years old. This was before the Rexburg Temple was built, so one night Gerald and I left Shulamith with the three little boys at the hotel with money for pizza delivery, and we drove up to Idaho Falls to go through the temple there. Such a good weekend.

I would not return to Rexburg for another eight years in January of 2010. Newly engaged, Shulamith needed to go through the temple to receive her endowment in preparation for her wedding in February, but she was living in Salt Lake City, and we were still in Billings. We decided to meet in the middle, and where would that be? Rexburg! Gerald and I met her and Matt on the campus of BYU-I, where we all changed clothes and then drove up to the beautiful Rexburg temple, shining brightly on the hill. After the temple session, we had a quick, yummy Mexican dinner (where was that restaurant?) and sent Shulamith and Matt back to SLC, while we went the opposite direction back to Billings.

My ties to Rexburg were still fairly weak at this point, despite two lovely visits. But then, not long after, my best friend Lindsey moved permanently to Rexburg with her husband and family, and that kind of changed everything. Shulamith and Matt were married and living in SLC, and Rexburg became my overnight stopping point when driving to and from SLC to visit them. It was about the most perfect arrangement, because each time I passed through for a night, I got to hang with Lindsey, whom I missed so much anyway.

I have to admit it: Rexburg was growing on me. Enough that as Eli approached college age, I strongly encouraged him to consider BYU-Idaho. He was a chill enough kid that I knew he would be able to look past the silly rules about shorts and beards and curfews, and I thought it would be a great fit. Turns out I was right (moms usually are). In the fall of 2011, I brought Eli here to college. It was my fourth time dropping a kid for his first year of college, and I remember telling myself that this time, I would not cry. Fail. I sat in the parking lot of the Hinckley Building as the tears flowed. My Eli. In college. Once I pulled myself together enough to see, I drove straight to Lindsey. She didn't tell me I was being crazy. She didn't tell me to grow up and get over it. She didn't judge. She and David welcomed me into their home as they had done dozens of times before, and we played multiple games of Phase 10 (which I lost, as always), and they made me laugh and gave me Diet Coke, and I felt better. They are such good friends.

During that semester, I made several trips to Rexburg to visit Eli (and Lindsey), but when I wasn't there, she took over the "mom" role in my absence. She and David brought Eli over for dinner every Sunday and let him do his laundry at their house. They got to attend his first choir performance in "From the Heart," and she drove him to several pre-mission medical appointments. I will always be grateful for this service.

In the fall of 2014, home from his amazing mission, Eli returned to BYU-Idaho, and my Rexburg adventures continued. That was nearly three years ago, and here I still am, in Rexburg. Eli is now married and living here full time, not even home during off track semesters, so yeah, I have to come visit pretty often. Lindsey and family are also still here, so there's always an added bonus to my trips.

This weekend it's super cold here, currently about one degree. In a way it makes me nostalgic for those seven frozen tundra winters I spent in Billings. I came this time, partly to meet their new kitten, Ramsey, so last night, Amanda and I watched Downton Abbey while Eli was at work, and Ramsey (who is a possessed kitty) ran and tumbled and did somersaults all over the house.

Today, we play! Not sure yet what the nature of the "play" will be, but I know it will be fabulous, regardless. Tonight, I think we'll go to dinner at Wingers, to see Eli in action at his new job. Tomorrow I'll get to visit their new ward and relax with them on the Sabbath. Monday, I get to hang with Lindsey until my shuttle leaves at 2:00.

Whether it's sitting at McDonald's watching Lindsey's cute kids play, or staying up until way too late in the middle of the night talking to Eli and Amanda, or playing in a pool with my baby Seth so long ago, Rexburg has come to be a special place for me.

Faith. Family. Friends. That is what Rexburg means to me.

"Give my regards to Broadway...

...remember me to Herald Square.
Tell all the gang at Forty Second Street
That I will soon be there."

Written by George M. Cohan for a musical in the early 19th Century and covered multiple times by artists including Barry Manilow and Donny Osmond, this song is a quintessential element from my childhood. I remember my mom singing it, as if she were on stage herself, as she cleaned our house. This past week, I stood on Broadway, and on 42nd Street, and on Herald Square, making a lifelong dream of visiting New York City and the Broadway stage a reality.

And it was quite incredible.

New Year's week, though an exciting time to be in Times Square, is crazy crowded. We heard they were expecting 5,000,000 people. I'm not sure if there were really that many, but it sure seemed like it. Here is the view from our hotel window. We were two blocks from where the ball dropped.

And speaking of our hotel. It was just two years old, so essentially brand new and very nice. The decor, though? It must be a modern type of interior design that favors stark, white walls with an almost institutional feel and no carpet. Walking through the halls, we felt a bit like we were in a mental hospital. Well here, you see what you think:

We arrived late Wednesday night, after flying across the country and then riding a shuttle for over an hour, so we were tired and hungry! But we soon learned two important things about hotels that resemble mental institutions: (1) they don't have room service, and (2) they don't have vending machines. Since the dining room closed at 11:00 p.m., there was literally no way to get any food or (worse) any Diet Coke, unless we left the hotel. It was nearly midnight, so we opted to cut our losses and just go to bed. We slept well in large, comfortable queen beds and awoke to prepare for our first day in NYC.

It was pouring rain. Those of you know know me, know that rain is my absolute favorite. And this was perfect rain, too, pelting straight down, not blowing. It was really lovely. Except that I had left my brand new rain boots at home, following the weather forecast which showed no rain whatsoever in the four days we would be there or snow either. We had both. After walking all over Rockefeller Center, including NBC studios, where I got to pretend to host The Today Show, my mom insisted on buying me new lace-up combat style boots to replace my athletic shoes that were soaked through. Here are a couple of pictures from Rockefeller Center.

Of course it never rained again after that first day, but the boots are super cute, so thank you, Mom! We did have one evening of pretty snowfall, not enough to stick to the ground, but enough to create a festive ambiance in the NYC lights. Regardless of weather conditions, our most challenging task was transportation. Isaiah uses Uber when he travels, so we tried that. Here's my advice about Uber: If you are not in a city with 5,000,000 other people, Uber might be an excellent choice. But in NYC approaching New Year's Eve, maybe not. The problem is that once you call for an Uber and a driver accepts your request, he still has to find you. Or you have to find him. But when the app tells you to "meet your driver on the NW corner of West 5th Avenue and 52nd Street," it helps if you know which way is north. Or west. It also helps if there are not 200 other people in the same intersection, all looking like they might be waiting for an Uber.

We actually had two successful Uber rides, but our third try left us standing in an intersection for 30 minutes, only to have the driver cancel our ride. Ugh! From that point on, we chose taxis. Though decidedly more expensive, they are certainly more convenient. We also rode the "Big Bus," a two-tier tour bus that circles Manhattan and includes a live, guided tour monologue. We stopped at the Statue of Liberty. My mom had pre-purchased tickets to ride a ferry out to the island, but we arrived to find a line literally circling a giant block. We asked someone in that line how long she had been waiting, and she replied "We've been freezing our asses off for over two hours, and we aren't even close." Yeah, we decided to forgo that experience, but I saw the Statue from a distance:

My mom also wanted to see the 9/11 Memorial, so on our final day we took a taxi to Ground Zero, where we saw the fountains where the Twin Towers once were, surrounded by a memorial plaque with the names of those who died.

Now you may be wondering, "What about the Broadway shows?" I like to save the best for last. We saw three shows: Something Rotten, School of Rock, and Cats. Each was excellent! Honestly, I was in love all three times. My favorite, though? Hands down, Something Rotten. Set in Shakespeare's time, but with incredible contemporary music and brilliant writing, this production combines the best in acting, dancing, and singing. I can't describe how wonderful it was. All I can say is when it goes on tour at some point in the future, run (don't walk) to get your tickets immediately. Preferably, sit in the second row of the orchestra section, like we did.

School of Rock spotlighted some crazy talented kid actors and musicians, and Cats....well, it was spectacular as always, and of course I cried during "Memory" because I'm wimpy like that, and her voice was unbelievable.

We also saw the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes' Christmas show, which was enormously, over-the-top big! This was nostalgic for me because my grandma loved the Rockettes and always wanted me to be one. Sadly, I am only 5'5", and Rockettes must be at least 5'6". Sorry, Grandma! Most of this show was focused on the more secular parts of Christmas, with lots of fun Santa stuff and reindeer, but the final scene was a live nativity, and when I say "live," I mean it. Two live camels and one live donkey walked across the stage to join the Holy Family. It was really beautiful.

"Give my regards to Broadway
Remember me to Herald Square.
Tell all the gang at Forty Second Street
That I will soon be there."

Well I WAS there. And it was spectacular. Thank you, Mom.