We've Earned It!

When we first moved to Billings six years ago, we knew not a single person in the entire state of Montana. It was not the first time we had made such a move. Our family likes to get around, try new places, find new opportunities, meet new people. And always, as we've made these moves, we have discovered an outpouring of love from gracious and welcoming folks. I remember when we moved to California in the summer of 1991. With Isaiah a wee babe and Luke and Shulamith both young as well, we headed out to see what life might bring us in the beautiful Bay Area. Among other things, it brought us the friendship of a dear person named Corrie, who wrapped us up and helped us in every way possible to adjust to our new California life. Thanks to Facebook, I'm still in touch with Corrie, but even without Facebook, I could never forget her kindness.

Coming to Montana was another adventure and a challenging one, at least at the start because of various circumstances beyond our control (like having to live the first four months in a college dorm while we waited for our house in Washington to sell). I wrote a bit about that here, but I didn't mention one person who made a huge difference in our lives back then. Her name is Kathy. I met her when I got a part time job tutoring in the writing lab at MSU-Billings. She was the Assistant Director of the Academic Support Center. She didn't know me from Adam (Eve?), but she saw an opportunity to help, and she didn't let it pass by. Several times in those four months, she invited our family to her home for dinner. We were dealing with not only extremely limited space for the five of us (Luke and Shulamith were away at college), but only a small fridge and microwave with which to prepare meals. Now you all know how I love to eat in restaurants, so for the most part that's what we did, but those occasional home-cooked meals at Kathy's house were appreciated more than you can imagine.

Finally, we got out of the dorm and into our house, but not before the bitter cold of our first Montana winter hit. I am from the mild Pacific Northwest where the temperature rarely dips below 30 degrees, and when it snows, everything shuts down, so you don't have to go anywhere. I was woefully unprepared for the sub-zero temps and the relentless snow and ice. One freezing morning in January, I showed up for my tutoring shift, feeling particularly down-trodden. It had not been above zero for several days in a row. I was ready to pack up my children and return to Washington. Sensing my despair, Kathy informed me that here in Montana when spring finally arrives, we Montanans emphatically declare:

We've earned it!

For some reason, this was exactly what I needed to hear. It made me laugh. It took the edge off. It made me realize that an end would eventually come, an end to the snow, an end to the ice, an end to the bitter bitter cold. And it did. It really did. That was six cold winters ago. Each year I forget how cold it was, and each year I am again surprised. And when I fear it will never warm up again, I remember Kathy. I remember her declaration:

We've earned it!

And so we have. The winter of 2010-2011 has been just like all the others: COLD. Snow and ice have covered the ground for months; I practically never feel warm. But I want you to know that the end is in sight. There is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Today, the high was all the way up in the 40's. I'm serious...the 40's! That was enough to melt much of the ice, and I was able to walk my regular four miles without slipping. I feel physically and psychologically refreshed. Only two weeks ago when Gerald and I walked the trail with the temperature 12 degrees, I only made it 2 miles before I was too cold to continue. And he had to practically carry me from my house to the trail because our street resembled a skating rink very much in need of a Zamboni.

Indeed, conditions are improving daily. Okay, yes, we could get another storm bringing more snow and freezing temps. It's possible. It is certainly not unheard of in February. I'm praying it won't happen, but even if it does, thanks to Kathy, I always have hope. Hope for change. Hope for warmth. Hope for spring.

And when spring arrives, you can be certain that here in Montana, we've earned it!

"Go West!" and Other Proud Mom Moments

When we lived in Washington, our elementary school funded a program called Missoula Children's Theater. Each year, two actors would show up with a trailer full of sets, costumes, scripts, and props. They would audition a huge group of kids, cast most of them, rehearse them after school over the course of about a week, and then miraculously (and I do mean that most literally) put on an entire play. It was beyond crazy. And it was also wonderful. My four older kids had this opportunity for several years. I wish I could remember all the shows they were in and all the characters they played, but alas, I cannot. The only one that stands out is when Eli was in first grade and played a tarantula. I can't even remember the name of play, but he was seriously the cutest tarantula ever, smiling from ear to ear throughout the performance.

Ironically, now that we actually live in Montana, our school does not have Missoula Children's Theater. Instead, the PTA sponsors a similar program though a local company called Venture Theater. It's not quite as polished or professional as Missoula, but the concept is the same, and it still provides a marvelous opportunity for kids to try out the art of theater, perhaps for the first time. Pictured above is Seth with some fellow cast members performing in the production "Go West!" just last evening. He played a Native American and had five lines which he delivered splendidly. This was his second year participating and most likely his favorite part of both fourth and fifth grades.

We have been in the parenting business for 26 years now, and we've attended various children's performances for at least 20 of those. It never gets old. It never gets tiresome. I always feel like the proudest mom there. I'm certain every other mom in the audience feels like she's the proudest, but right in the moment, I'm sure it's me. From primary programs to orchestra concerts, from dance recitals to spelling bees, from basketball games to track meets, from piano recitals to cheer competitions, from choir concerts to high school musicals, from fifth grade band concerts to Venture Theater plays, it's great to be a mom. So very, very great.

Karma?

You have likely heard of the Law of Divine Reciprocity: What goes around comes around. Karma. And you may remember that in my most recent blog post, I spoke a bit harshly about the airline industry with its baggage fees, lack of food, and silly security policies. So I have to ask myself, "Could it be karma?"

Let me explain. Shulamith took me to the airport in plenty of time for my 7:30 flight to Denver Tuesday evening. She even parked her car and went in with me because her sweet Mathew was due to arrive back from New York at about the same time my plane took off. Everything seemed normal. My flight was listed as "on time." I made my way to the gate, where the monitor showed my "on time" flight to Denver scheduled to board in 30 minutes. Excellent.

Those 30 minutes came and went. And though the monitor still listed the flight as "on time," there wasn't an agent to be seen. Along with several others awaiting the flight, I began to worry. Then I tried to reassure myself. I had a 90-minute layover in Denver, so I should be okay, right?

Wrong.

Minutes passed. Finally, an agent arrived to inform us that our plane was on its way and should arrive in 15 minutes, and they would "turn it around" just as quickly as possible. Okay, fine. Those 15 minutes turned into 30, and the quick "turn it around" was anything but quick. By the time we were off the ground, it was a full hour later than our scheduled departure. This would give me at best only 30 minutes in Denver. Now I was scared. You see, Wednesday was the first day of my new semester at school. I had classes at 8:00, 9:10, and 11:30 a.m. I had to get to Billings.

You may have noticed that I'm not very good at accepting what I can't control. "Flexible" is NOT my middle name. Or my first name. Or my last name. Not sure it's even part of my vocabulary. Any attempt at relaxation during the flight was utterly futile because surely if I worried enough, my anxiety would make the plane fly faster. It was not a pleasant ride. Now you'd think that once we touched down in Denver, I could push my way off that plane and begin my marathon sprint through the "B" concourse from gates B88 to B37 where the plane to Billings would depart.

Nope, wrong again. Because of the fees to check baggage (see earlier post), most of us frequent fliers, myself included, do not check our bags. Instead, we take the biggest bag that qualifies as a "carry on," only these bags don't actually fit on the smaller commuter jets, and must be checked plane side and retrieved at the top of the jet way. So, as I considered that my plane to Billings might be pushing back at any second, I was forced to wait...and wait...and wait...and wait at the top of the jet way for my suitcase. Grrrrr.

Once the bag was retrieved, I made the familiar dash through the airport hoping against all hope that maybe my flight was delayed. If these people only knew that my classes started the following morning, surely they would wait! Wrong again. Panting breathlessly, I arrived at Gate B37 to find no one in sight. My flight was gone. The very last flight to Billings that night was gone. Fighting back tears, I called Gerald briefly to tell him, but of course he already knew because he is our family's would-be travel agent, who tracks every single detail of our flights whenever anyone travels. Had I called him as soon as I had my suitcase, I'm pretty sure he could have told me it was hopeless, but well, in desperation I really needed to make the run for it. Just in case. Just to know I did all I could.

Next, I called two colleagues from my school. I left voice mail for the first, and luckily, the second picked up. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. Once I related my tale of woe and explained that under no circumstances would I be in Billings for my first two classes the next day, she graciously admonished me to "Be safe." Barb, you cannot know what that simple phrase of kindness meant to me in that moment. I was crying yet again.

The next order of business was to make my way to the Customer Service desk where the line was thick and deep and turned out to be 90 minutes long. I was familiar with that line because Lindsey and I stood in it over a year ago with little Emma on our way to visit Celeste, when our delayed flight out of Billings caused us to miss our connection in Denver. But that's another story. At some point during the wait, a United Customer Service Rep. told us that if we were on the flight from Salt Lake City, we would receive hotel and food vouchers because the issue causing the delay was mechanical. I know I should have been thankful, but really, all I could think about was missing the first day of the semester and my students who would show up at 8:00 the next morning to find no teacher.

Vouchers in hand, I headed to Burger King, the only restaurant open that late. Others in my same situation joined me for a late dinner, and we all headed out into the bitter cold (-12 with wind chill) together to wait for the hotel shuttle. It arrived about 20 freezing minutes later and took us on the 30-minute jaunt to the Holiday Inn. Then there was yet another line to check in. Finally, at nearly 1:00 a.m., I was in my hotel room, a quite luxurious one at that. Problem is, I could hardly enjoy it since I needed to catch the 6:30 a.m. shuttle back to the airport the following morning. Fearing I would miss that shuttle, I barely slept.

The rest of the journey was beautifully uneventful. I arrived back in Billings in time to teach my 11:30 class. I wanted to say to my students: "If it looks like I slept in these clothes, it's because I did!" I don't pack clothes when I visit Shulamith because it's easier to just wear hers. Oh, and I don't pack make-up or hair products either because I can just use hers. If you'd like to imagine what I looked like that morning when I met my 11:30 class for the first time, I can assure you it's much worse that anything you are thinking.

Could it be karma? I don't know. But I'm pretty sure I won't be dissing the air travel industry again any time soon.

Monday, January 10, 2011

As I type, I'm listening to Shulamith's student teacher, Michelle, do the calendar with her kindergarten class. I just learned that today is Monday, January 10, 2011. Wow! My last blog post was Monday, December 27th, a whole two weeks ago. Where did those days disappear to? I spent most of them immersed in post-Christmas relaxation: sleeping late in the morning, enjoying the calm of a quiet home, reading, watching "Prison Break," and doing little productive. It was fabulous really. Then about a week ago, I experienced a bit of an emotional fog. Let's see...how can I describe it? You know how sometimes it feels like you are walking through water? No matter how hard you try, you can only move in slow motion, trudging along as the rest of the world races past you at normal speed? Yeah, that's how it was. For about 48 hours. Perhaps that would still be going on, except this past Thursday I boarded a plane bound for Salt Lake City to spend six days with Shulamith while Matt is in New York.

Nothing like air travel to lift you out of the fog (figuratively AND literally!) and bring you back to the normal rush of life. As I made my way through airport security, it occurred to me how much has changed in the past ten years. It used to be that friends and family could accompany travelers through security, wait with them for their flights, and then say goodbye as they boarded the airplane. At the other end of the flight, others could be waiting at the gate, which made for some wonderfully romantic reunions. I remember the year Gerald and I were engaged. I went to Niagara Falls to visit my dad's relatives over spring break, and Gerald went to Alabama to visit his sister. When I landed back in Portland (nearest airport to Hermiston), we did one of those classic runs through the airport, falling into each other's arms.

No more.

These scenes have gone by the wayside, right along with in-flight meals and free checked baggage. Now we literally "lug" our luggage through the airport because we don't care to pay the ridiculous fees to check it. Clumsily, we lug it through security, as we put our liquids and gels into small ziplock bags, remove our shoes, and subject ourselves to embarrassing body scans. I'd be more sympathetic to all this fanfare if, in doing so, I felt one iota safer on the airplane. I don't. Regardless, I jump through the hoops along with everyone else because I have no choice. I need to fly, often, just about every month it seems.

We are now starting the fifth day of our six together. Tomorrow night I'll once again maneuver through the hassle of airport security and board a plane back to Billings. But we won't talk about that now. We still have two fun-filled days ahead. In the past four we have eaten lots of delicious food; found some excellent post-Christmas sales; watched one good movie (Hereafter); finished Season 3 of "Prison Break"; and spent a glorious morning with Matt's mom at the temple, followed by lunch at Olive Garden (Thank you, Dawn!).

And now, I'm learning so much from Michelle's calendar lesson. Not only do I know what day it is, but I also learned that yesterday was Sunday, and that tomorrow will be Tuesday. And I learned that this is the 74th day of school, which (by the way) is seven bundles of ten sticks plus four sticks by themselves. And I learned that it is snowing outside, and it is cold!

I'm not sure if ALL I really need to know I learned in Kindergarten. But I definitely learned a lot.

There's Nothing as "Over" as Christmas

My friend Patty tells me her sweet mother always said, "There's nothing as "over" as Christmas.

How true.

I so vividly remember the first weekend I began shopping and wrapping this year. It was still a couple weeks before Thanksgiving, and I put on some lovely Christmas music (I believe it was Josh Groban). For me, the season had begun! Even my kids complained, "Mom, it's still November!" I didn't care. It's my absolute favorite time of year, and I wasn't about to wrap Christmas presents without Christmas music. I attributed my early start to the fact that we had three new people join our family this year, a nearly 50% increase. I would certainly need more time.

As November faded and December arrived, I was already in full swing. The tree was up. The house was decorated. The lists were made. The shopping was under way. As the days flew by, one after the other, and I watched Seth move the mouse in our Christmas countdown calendar, I was okay until the mouse reached the final row beginning with December 20th. At that point, I began to feel much like the Grinch. "I've got to stop Christmas from coming!" I thought. Not because I don't like it. Not because my heart is two sizes too small like the Grinch's (at least I hope not), but because as Patty's mother so eloquently points out:

There's nothing as "over" as Christmas.

And I didn't want it to be over. I wanted to slow down time those final few days in order to stretch out the joy just a little longer. What if we simply didn't move the mouse? Would that work? Obviously not.

Christmas came and went. Just like that. It was lovely, by the way. We had a houseful of people most of the week, constant coming and going, the normal last-minute shopping, plenty of cooking and eating with no regard for calories or fat grams. Still, in all the bustle, some quiet moments found their way. On Christmas Eve, before opening our traditional one gift each, Gerald and I read aloud the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke, and Mathew offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of the Savior and for the blessings of family. It was quiet for just a moment, even with all ten of us in the same room. Christmas morning, we waited with anxious delight for Seth to ascend the stairs and find his "Santa" gifts, an electric scooter and a new fish to replace Orange-head, who died a couple weeks ago.

And then, as quickly as it came, it was over. Early this morning, Shulamith and Matt got into their car to begin the long drive back to Utah. This afternoon, Désirée and Luke and Evelyn boarded an airplane bound for Texas. We get to keep Isaiah for another week, thanks heavens! Tomorrow, I will take down the mouse calendar, along with the tree and other decorations and pack them safely away for another year. I will try not to cry. Isaiah is still here. And Lindsey is in town this week as well. Both these things will help tremendously. I will try hard not to cry.

Generally speaking, January is my very least favorite month. It's still so cold, but Christmas is over. It's much easier to tolerate the bitter cold when Christmas is coming. I find myself thinking about the curse of the witch in Narnia, which made it always winter but never Christmas. How wretched! January feels so long. This year, however, I get to go to Utah and spend six days with Shulamith while Matt is in New York. I'm thinking January won't be so bad after all.

There's nothing as "over" as Christmas, and yet, the new year is rich with opportunity. Who knows what is in store for each of us. Two thousand ten brought us two weddings and three new family members. I doubt 2011 can measure up to that, but you never know.

Christmas Is Still Wonderful As Long As You're in Love

Once upon a time in a park on a swing way back in December 2009, a dashing young man proposed marriage to a beautiful young girl. That was a whole year ago. About six weeks later, they were married.

Since then, they have lived the first ten months of "happily ever after," but they had one regret. They wanted to get a picture in the park where they got engaged. As the anniversary of their engagement approached, the young man had an idea. What if they went back to that swing and took a mom with them to take a picture. This idea grew into another wonderful surprise.

So the young man and his beautiful bride, along with her mom, set out for the park. It was very cold, and they had to climb over mounds of snow just to reach the correct swing. The girl sat down on the cold swing, and the young man knelt down in the snow as if to simulate last year's proposal, only this time, he pulled out a box with yet another ring, a stunning blue topaz set in silver. He asked her to stay married to him forever. It was very romantic! The girl was overcome with surprise, and the mom (who was in on the secret all along) photographed the whole event.

Overcome with excitement, the girl shoved the ring onto her right ring finger because, of course, she wears her wedding ring on her left hand. Everything seemed perfect...at least for a while. But then..

A crisis occurred. Oh no! (Warning: if you only like happy stories, you should stop reading now. Remember, you were warned!)

The young man went home to play videogames with the girl's brothers, and the girl and her mom headed out to shop for Christmas groceries. With loaded shopping carts, they proceeded to the check-out when the girl attempted to remove the ring. It wouldn't budge. Not at all. Apparently, her right ring finger is slightly larger than her left. The finger had swollen up below the ring, and the harder she pulled, the more swollen it became. They arrived home and tried every online technique to remove rings: she elevated her hand above her heart for an hour. The young man iced her finger and applied cream, oil, and butter. He even tried wrapping dental floss around her finger to make it small enough to pull off the ring.

Nothing worked.

By now it was11:00 p.m., and it was obvious we would need to find someone to cut off the ring. The girl was very sad. Her beautiful new ring would need to be cut off her finger. We called the fire department, and the nice firefighters told us to come right over. Even they tried to remove the ring without cutting it, but to no avail. They used their "ring cutter" and cut off the ring.

I'm trying to find a way to make this story end happily. What can I say? That the ring can be repaired once they get back to Utah where the young man bought it? Indeed, it can! That Christmas is still wonderful even when slightly unfortunate things happen? Indeed, it is. Most importantly, that the young man and his bride are still madly in love despite this incident? Indeed, they are!

Seth, Loose Teeth, and Safe Airplane Travel

Everyone loves to hear children around age six or seven sing the song "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth." If visits from the tooth fairy aren't exciting enough, visits from the tooth fairy around Christmas time must be the epitome of excitement for young children. Seth, at the mature age of ten, is obviously past that point; however, he's at another milestone in the ongoing process of replacing "baby" teeth with permanent ones. When kids get to be ten or eleven, it seems like every baby tooth they have left in their mouths becomes loose, all at the same time. I distinctly remember this situation with Luke. Nervous mom that I was (am?), I couldn't imagine it was normal for one kid to have that many loose teeth at the same time. Panicked, I called the dentist, who graciously reassured me that children are supposed to lose their teeth. I knew that. But all at once?!? Apparently so. Luke's situation was perfectly normal, and it's the exact situation in which Seth finds himself now.

As he was pointing out to me all these teeth at varying degrees of looseness and speculating about how much money he might receive, I casually mentioned that the tooth fairy is likely very busy in December, what with Christmas and all. Okay, okay, so why would the tooth fairy be any busier around Christmas than at any other time? I don't know. Trust me, it sounded good when I said it. Poor Seth had to wait three weeks last time he lost a tooth. There's something about being the fifth child in the family that causes that tooth fairy to be awfully slow and forgetful. I just wanted him to be prepared. His response: "If I don't get lots and lots of money for all these loose teeth, I want nothing more to do with the tooth fairy!"

Did you hear that, Tooth Fairy? The kid is serious.

This entire conversation occurred as we flew between Indiana and Denver this afternoon. Next topic: the safety of air travel. Upon descending into Denver, we experienced a bit of turbulence, not a lot and not bad, but a little. Seth hasn't flown that much, so the turbulence caused him some concern.

Seth: What if this plane crashes?

Me: The plane is not going to crash. You don't have to worry.

Seth: But what if it does?

Me: Seth, if I thought there was any reasonable chance at all that this plane would crash, I would not take you on it. Because you are very important.

Seth: No Mom, you are more important than me.

Me: Seth, that is just not true.

Seth: Mom! Yes, it is. I am just a kid, but you are the mother of five children. If I die, you still have four left. But if you die, none of us would have a mother. You are much more important.

Oh, my precious baby boy! Your logic is lovely, but in this case, you couldn't be more wrong.

Wishing everyone plenty of loose teeth followed by regular visits from the tooth fairy, and safe holiday travel, whether by plane or otherwise.