Merry Christmas To All

Merry Christmas to you all, dear ones!

For the first time since we started having kids many years ago, we don't have anything to assemble tonight. No "batteries required" or "some assembly needed." No dollhouses or train sets. They've graduated to Wiis, books, and cameras. I can say all this because they don't read my blog! Kind of sad to be past that stage, but the upside is that Sweetie and I get a few extra hours of sleep, which is nice too.

Drummer Boy just got back from Las Vegas where he played with the band for BYU's bowl game. Finally, after four months, all four of my children will be sleeping in their beds here at home, which is the best present I could ever ask for. He'll probably stay in his apartment for most of the holidays (rather than share a bunk bed with Kitty Boy), but I'll try to entice him to stay as much as possible.

I hope your holidays are just as sweet and you get exactly what you want most.

XOXOXO

The Best of 2009 Cont'd.

Best Books I Read

1. Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society--Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows
This is an amazing book. So well written, funny, sad, engrossing, educational. Can't recommend it highly enough.

2. A Year In Provence--Peter Mayle
I don't know why, but I love nearly everything Provencal and I have for years. I've never been to that part of France before, but I'm dying to go. This book is a sort of love letter from a British ex-pat to his adopted home in southern France. Affectionate and funny with amazing descriptions of the most delicious food. Very fun to read.

3. The Whistling Season--Ivan Doig
This is a beautifully written coming-of-age story set in Montana in 1909. It's funny, sad, mysterious, and, again, so beautifully written. I loved this book.

4. These Is My Words--Nancy E. Turner
I wasn't so sure about this when I first started reading it. I couldn't quite get past the writing style of the main character (it's all in journal form), but as she ages her writing changes as well. I ended up really loving it and feeling like I knew these people so well. It's an amazing story that made me a little more confident in my own resourcefulness and tenacity.

5. Listening Is An Act of Love--Story Corps
I'm a huge fan of NPR (National Public Radio) in general and look forward to Fridays when a new installment of Story Corps is broadcast. This is a collection of some of their most memorable recordings. While I laughed out loud at some, others actually made me cry. It just reinforces my belief that everyone's life is fascinating.

The Best of 2009

I'm going to start a new tradition here. CNN, Time, Newsweek, even People all have "Best of the Best" lists for all kinds of categories, both useful and stupid. In the spirit of the holidays, I'm starting my own list. I'm even going to get a little crazy with font colors. Woo! Living on the edge!

Best Music

1. Sweet Disposition--The Temper Trap
Love, love, love this song. Fell in love with it the first time I heard it in "500 Days of Summer". Love affair has lasted longer than some relationships.

2. Winter Song--Sara Bareilles w/ Ingrid Michaelson
Reflective, a little sad, hypnotic. Perfect for snowy days when the holidays have you a little down. Well, at least I feel that way sometimes.

3. Sick Muse--Metric
Emily Haines has a great voice, and who can resist lyrics like, "Watch out Cupid, money is a sick muse, pull your little arrows out and let me live my life"? Their other stuff rocks, as well.

4. The Resolution--Jack's Mannequin
Love his voice, empowering lyrics, just hits me the right way.

5. Hologram--Katie Herzig
Great song. She has kind of a little-girl voice, but not in an annoying way. Could be the anthem for online dating.

Best Places I Visited

1. Smart Home--Museum of Science & Industry, Chicago, Illinois
If you thought going green was impossible, you haven't caught the vision. From using no-low VOC paints to passive solar to choosing different materials when you upgrade your countertops, this place had it all. Plus it was modern, comfortable, and fabulous.

2. MUNY Opera--St. Louis, Missouri
The MUNY is a national treasure, or it should be designated as such. An open-air theatre with Broadway musicals every week during the hot St. Louis summers, this place is the place to be for the near-suburban St. Louisan. I grew up going there and still do whenever I get the chance. Something about seeing the women in their pretty sundresses and the men in their polos and khakis makes the world seem more civilized and hopeful.

3. Sundance--Provo, Utah
I've been there dozens of times, in all four seasons, and love it more every time. It's beautiful, peaceful, rejuvenating, and fun. Skiing in the winter, hiking in the summer, lift rides up the mountain, gorgeous cabins and condos to sneak off to, open-air plays to attend, amazing food. Thank you Robert Redford!

4. Grant Park--Chicago, Illinois
The park where I fell in love with Chicago and my husband. Home of the Art Institute, Buckingham Fountain, Taste of Chicago. Lovely place.

5. BYU--Provo, Utah
Surprise! BYU has a gorgeous campus. Lots of trees, wide sidewalks, flowers, interesting buildings, nice people, and an amazing number of cultural and athletic activities. From foreign films to nationally ranked football to killer jazz, BYU can fill many a dull day and evening and turn it into something fun and memorable--without spending a fortune.

Best Restaurants

1. Steak 'n Shake--Midwest U.S.
Okay, the food is good but there are lots of better places, I'm sure. I love the whole diner theme, the fact that my parents ate there in high school, and their hamburgers. We love this place. Burger Supreme in Provo has the closest hamburger-goodness I've found around here.

2. Ted Drewes--St. Louis, Missouri
Ted Drewes has been on Route 66 in St. Louis since 1941. It's a tradition for many locals to head there after a Cardinals game, MUNY outing, or any other reason at all. We go every time we're back home.

3. Chunga's--Provo, Utah
OMG. The best Mexican food in The Valley (that's Utah County-speak--short for Happy Valley). Love this place, and they're so nice there.

4. The Bombay House--Provo, Utah
I love Indian food. The first time I ever had it was in London and it was so spicy I thought my mouth was on fire (Flames! On the side of my face!--Clue). The Bombay House is much more user-friendly, though they'll make it as hot as you can stand it if you'd like.

5. Ikea--Worldwide
Who knew? Well, anyone who has been to Ikea knew, I guess. They have great food! I love their salmon, Swedish meatballs, chocolate cake, lingonberry juice--you name it. It's a fun place to eat when we're in the area, and especially when we're shopping there.

Best Movies

1. The Met--Live in HD
If you love opera, are interested in opera, or think you might or should be, do yourself a favor and start with this. These are live broadcasts, straight from the Metropolitan Opera in NYC. I understood what I was watching so much better through this format. The voices are divine, the costumes gorgeous, the sets ingenious, and I learned so much from the interviews and tours between acts. It really spoils you and makes college productions a little less enjoyable, but it's worth every penny.

2. Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince
I completely agree--the end was disappointing and anti-climactic. But any summer with Harry Potter is a good summer, in my opinion. Except for that, I thought it was a very strong entry.

3. 500 Days of Summer
I really enjoyed this movie, and loved the music. I think Zooey Deschanel is lovely, too. My husband didn't like it particularly--maybe it's a chick thing.

4. Julie & Julia
I adore Julia Child and have made no secret of this fact. I found the Julie Powell character to be annoying and self-absorbed, but I love Julia. And Meryl Streep playing Julia is a pretty fair consolation for not having the real woman. Made me want to cook and bake like crazy.

5. Cranford, North & South, Wives & Daughters
I saw all three of these Masterpiece Theatre mini-series this year and love them as I love my Jane Austen movies. Fabulous, beautiful, romantic, funny (surprisingly funny, actually). I love Elizabeth Gaskell and hope her books are as accessible as the films are.

Things I'm Looking Forward to in 2010

1. The Lightning Thief--February
This was a great series of books by Rick Riordan, and the first movie looks really fun.

2. Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows--November
What an amazing book this was. Nonstop tension and action from the first page on. Hope the movie lives up to it.

3. La Push, Washington--July
Can't wait to head back up to "our" cabin on the ocean for a week of Olympic Peninsula gorgeousness and a few days in Seattle. Had St. Louis obligations the past two summers and didn't make it up, but we're really hoping for 2010. Unless my sister gets married, which will take precedence, of course.

4. My first 5K--May
My goal is to run the 5K in the Provo City Half Marathon on May 1. I have my work cut out for me so I don't completely embarrass myself and my family, but I can do it.

5. All the great things that haven't even crossed my mind yet. 2009 had lots of surprises, both welcome and un-, but it could never be said that it was a boring year. Bring it on!

Writer's Block, Blogging, and What To Give The Neighbors

Sorry I've been MIA lately. I've written so many posts in the last few weeks that I've deleted--they just weren't "working" for me on some level. Frustrating, but I couldn't click on "Publish Post" in good conscience. I'm sure they were brilliant in their own way (that's always my hope), but I honestly don't remember much about them at this point--they were that forgettable.

When I taught writing a few years ago, one of my main rants was the need for voice in the kids' writing. I wanted to know who wrote their story or essay without ever looking at the name at the top of the page. Grammar, punctuation, sentence structure--these are all important elements. But the risk is that over-attention to technique can result in sanitizing the writing to a point where the personality of the writer is either too subverted or missing altogether. My writing is like my piano-playing: the main idea is there, but the way I execute it is unique to me. Tempo, dynamics, and fingering are highly subjective in my opinion and I take a lot of liberties with my music. The same goes with writing.

I read a lot of blogs, many of people I know, more than a few from those I'm not likely to ever meet. Of course, there are lots of approaches to blogging. One is to treat it as an online journal, chronicling the daily comings and goings of one's life. Another is to keep extended family updated on Johnny's first tooth and Mary's potty-training escapades (the little tyke!). Ugh. All little kids are cute and annoying and surprisingly alike. No new parent wants to believe that, but it's true. I tend not to visit those blogs--just aren't my thing. Cooking blogs are awesome, and I have some good ones listed on the sidebar at my other blog, Ambrosia. I have a huge collection of cookbooks in my kitchen that I like to get ideas from, and those in blog-form take up a lot less space.

I don't know how I would describe this blog. I suppose it's more personal essay, if I had to pin it down. It started out as practice for me. Since I was forcing small children to write in their journals daily, I felt I should at least write once a week or so. It has definitely been therapeutic for me. Seeing things in print often makes something obvious to me that wasn't before, even if I read it months and months later. Sometimes especially if I do. I had no idea that my posts and playlists were saying what they turned out to be saying to me until nearly 18 months after I started this blog. There it was, screaming at the top of its lungs, and I couldn't hear it at all. Someone else heard it before I did and pointed it out. A completely different person heard something else entirely, just as loudly. Both truths were exactly that--dead-on true. I suspect that this will repeat itself in any number of contexts, which is a very intriguing thought. It's almost like cryptography, isn't it? Magical in its own little way.

Things have calmed down considerably for me, at least immediately. Of course there is that little thing called "Christmas" coming up that I haven't paid a whole lot of attention to yet. I'm told the children will be traumatized if I again wait until the 23rd to put up a tree, so I really should address that. We had a discussion at work about "neighbor gifts"--cookies, Sprite, dish towels and the like. I typically don't do anything at all because I'm never that organized, though we do often manage something around New Years Eve when things have died down a bit. I liked my mother's approach. She stuck a bottle of Scotch in the mailbox for the mailman and called it good. I doubt our mailman would know what to do with it here in Utah County, but it might be worth a try.

Drive safely in the snow, enjoy the holidays, and thanks for reading.

Ahhhhh!

Thank you so much Sally & Teri for making my life so much better! I arrived at work today to find them completely changing our record-keeping procedures that will make keeping up with how/what the kids are doing waaay easier. It was actually a pretty stress-free day today, though we were really busy.

Thanks!!! I needed that!!! (Oh, and I finished knitting two hats!)

The Benefits of Knitting

I have been experiencing unprecedented stress levels lately, and I've been really close to just curling up in bed and refusing to come out. I feel maxed out before the day even begins, and every day is an endless loop.

Work on Friday started out ominously for me--I could feel my heart pounding in my chest before I even got in the building. I talked to my endocrinologist about this the other day and she suggested I take up yoga. Know of any good teachers out there in Provo/Orem-land? Thinking of Middle Eastern dance, too. I considered joining a gym, but that many people in one place would probably raise my stress level rather than lower it, so I need some calming alternatives.

In the meantime, and always in addition to, I knit. I hadn't picked up my needles in several weeks, but I knit as though my life depended on it this weekend. While standing in line to get into "New Moon" with Elvira, I had a skein of yarn tucked under my elbow and I knit as fast as I could. In between piano stints in church yesterday, I knit. While I sat down and watched a rare show on TV Friday night, I knit. Even this morning, after playing for Tinkerbell's choir at 7:30 am, I came home and knit.

Despite my walking, the unbelievable amount of stupid pills I'm taking every day, and trying to eat healthy, my cholesterol went waaay up. I think it's stress. Maybe I should look for a different line of work. Know of anything I can do that doesn't involve children and large groups of people?

I'd better pop by Heindselman's for more yarn.

Sir Ken Robinson: Do schools kill creativity?

My lovely niece Kate, who is herself a teacher, turned me on to this through Facebook. I would say that anyone who has anything to do with kids would enjoy it and find it interesting. But really, even those who have next to no contact with children will, perhaps, find themselves described in this. I know I did, and as a former Gifted/Talented teacher, it really hit home to me.

The bonus is that he's hysterically funny as well.

Enjoy!

Chicken Soup For the Soul

Things have been very stressful lately. I've had some interesting experiences at work that have taken it out of me these last few weeks, Elvira went through a bad patch with her diabetes, and there's always lots of this and that going on. My spiritual "reservoir" was pretty low.

But yesterday I watched President Dieter F. Uchtdorf's fireside that he gave at BYU just over a week ago, and it really calmed me down and made me happy. Some General Authorities click with you more than others. They're all great, but some I really look forward to. I adore President Uchtdorf. Could be the German accent--sounds like "home" to me.

Here's a link to his talk, and if you would like to know more about what we believe in our Church, you can click here.

Burn After Reading

What an enlightening evening I've had! All my sewing things are stuck in boxes all over the place while we're finishing off the laundry room, and I was looking for something important. I went through box after box with no luck at all. Then I found the bins where I had stored the things I had when I was younger, including some rather embarrassingly sappy diaries. These weren't the ones I was really interested in. The journal that meant the most to me is one that I liberally censored when I became a wife, burning and shredding much of it. Over the past 22 years I've only rarely regretted that decision, but I do sometimes wish I had kept a better record.

Turns out I did.

There in the box was my journal. And guess what? It was intact. It must have been just photos and letters I destroyed. There were loose pages, though, and I think I might have torn out some pages, rewritten them on identical paper, and just stuck them in. Why, I'm not sure.

Oh. My. Gosh.

There it was, in black and white. Not everything, certainly, because I am a sporadic record-keeper at best, but enough that I was sucked right into those pages. I could see myself writing them, remember how I felt at the time. Desperately in love on one page, heartbroken on another. Giddy with excitement on Thursday, despondent on Saturday.

I was seriously planning on going on a mission at one point. My relationship with my father is enormously complex. I have dated a lot of boys/men. I see clearly why things didn't work out with any but Sweetie. I was a challenging person in every sense of the word. My poor parents didn't know what hit them, I'm sure.

I hated advertising and couldn't wait to leave it. I was desperate to move to Seattle and talked about it a lot. I liked smart, powerful people with money and fast cars for awhile. Then my allegiances changed and I sided with the proletariat. My feelings about religion were conflicted and often ironic. I didn't see my family very often. I wanted to get married and have kids at a much earlier age than I remember. I was banging against the sides of my cage with my bare hands, impatient for my real life to start.

I like this person. I had guts, drive, tenacity, and resourcefulness. I wish I had written more, but I'm enormously grateful I wrote what I did. I remembered myself as being much more fickle and irresponsible, but looking back I would call it being infinitely adaptable. When something didn't work out, I made other plans right away. I'm still very much that way.

Makes me want to go write in my journal now.

Visions

I was doing my thing yesterday, loading the dishwasher, thinking about a million other things, when I had a vision as clear as day.

I was older, but not elderly, and living in a little house very like my brother's, a little 1920s bungalow. It was clean (I love this vision), hardwood floors, floaty white curtains at the windows, and a yellow sewing room at the top of the stairs that was all mine. There was a pretty garden that I knew was all my work, and I had lots of projects to do with no deadlines.

But I was completely alone. No husband there, my kids grown and gone. Alone, but not sad. Why wouldn't I be sad? The main reason I work is because I hate being in an empty house. Where was Sweetie? Was he coming back? He wasn't doing the gardening (I could tell that--it would have looked better), and it was very much my house with my kind of stamp on it.

Was this a premonition? Not sure. Written in stone? Doubtful--I don't believe anything is, really. Hallucination? Quite possibly. Wishful thinking? Hmmm. I do think about the day when the kids are grown and gone. Sweetie keeps threatening to die on me, which I would smack him for if I were the smacking type. What if he's right, God forbid?

I must confess that I do get a bit lost in thought at the idea of having my time entirely my own. I think I'd head someplace warm where I'd sit in the shade with a cold drink and a cool breeze, lost in a good book and slipping off to sleep when the urge strikes. Not that I've given it much thought, really. I mean, who has time to fantasize about things like that when one has a house being remodeled and lovely children all around, not to mention hundreds of kids one could possibly be surrounded by at school every day. Honestly.

Not sure how happy I'd be alone, though. I don't want Sweetie to leave me, though the statistical odds against that are pretty daunting. I would hate for my children to live far away from me, as I do from my parents. Is it vain to think my family misses me? I do have four other siblings to fill the gap, but my kids are each completely unique and irreplaceable to me. What an idea to think that my mom and dad might feel that way about me.

I've always lived my life believing and completely accepting that everything is situational and transitory. No one (me) is so important that a substitute won't take the sting away from the separation, either temporary or permanent. Of course, I don't feel that way about others. I remember everyone and everything--nearly. But I have always believed that I pop in and out of people's lives like a flicker of a thought, neither remembered nor missed. It stunned me to know that old friends remembered my name, that my family missed me particularly, that my absence was felt. I feel so forgettable, yet there it is.

So I'm not sure about this vision. It's certainly not something I'm working towards. I like the chaos, color, and energy of my life now. I only imagined living this life when I was single and alone in my cozy studio apartment. But there is that whisper that intimates that if my circumstances do change one day, as they certainly will in some form, I will be able to find happiness and peace there.

Will my children miss me when they're gone? Enough to come see me? Will Sweetie miss me a little if he's waiting for me on the other side? Will he pick out a new someone who is a lot less irritating and likes philosophy? Don't know.

And that's the beauty of it I suppose, if one must find beauty in change, as we really must to maintain some sort of sane perspective. Our relationships and temporal situations change all the time, but our core is the same, the whisper of us that flits in and out of life. For all I know, I'm the one who goes first and my vision is the place I create while waiting for everyone else to join me. Either way, I know I'll be with my family again, and that they'll miss me as I miss them.

Things That Go Bump In the Morning

A few weeks ago our neighbor Josh was hit by a car on his way home from school. He was severely injured, but is doing remarkably better now. You can follow his progress at the blog that was set up for him.

Today was our turn.

Nate was on his way to the bus stop with some friends when a 17 year-old cheerleader pulled out of her driveway quickly without looking first. He was in the middle of the group of kids but was the only one who couldn't get out of the way in time. He hit the back of the car and rolled off the trunk onto the ground. She drove him home and dropped him off, and once he got inside he called me (I was driving to the high school at the time).

An eyewitness report from the 16 year-old girl next to me in our van states: "You then proceeded to freak out."

Yes, I did.

When your kid calls you crying incoherently into the phone and all you can understand is "I got hit by a car!!!", you tend to freak out. I dropped off my daughter and raced home, where I found him lying in bed with an ice pack and nasty bruises and scrapes on his knee and leg. I got Tinkerbell off to school, Sweetie up to BYU, then coaxed him out of the house to have him checked out by the doctor.

Apparently, if he had to get hit, he got hit in the right spot. No kneecap or ACL damage, just bruising that will heal. Didn't hit his head or injure his back and neck. Apart from having my kid hit by a driver who wasn't paying close attention, I feel pretty fortunate!

I feel sorry for her, too. What a scary experience. Apparently she, her brother, and dad came by the house this afternoon while I was at work and asked for me. They neither identified themselves nor asked about Nate, then left. It's odd that we haven't heard from either her or her parents since. Hmmm...

I have to file a police report since there was an injury, so I'll do that in the morning. Wasn't quite up to it today. Hopefully she'll never again forget to look in her rearview mirror, and I don't think Nate will walk across someone's driveway trusting that they see him ever again.

Confusion

A couple of months ago I mentioned a moleskine project that I was working on. I'm finishing up two books right now that I'm mailing out later today, and as I was selecting some photos to print out and use I came across some that gave me a few things to think about.

These are pictures of our garden from a few years ago. Aren't they lovely? Sweetie works so hard on our yard, and he does an amazing job. We've had more than a thousand people tour our garden over the years, and we get to enjoy looking at it every day.

Having a beautiful yard and garden is important to both of us, and keeping it as organic as possible is important to me. I spent many evenings digging up dandelions rather than blast them with pesticide. All those little pesky weeks between the pavers? Me. That was my job in my grandmother's garden, too, so I'm well adapted to such work. I don't even mind it--it makes me feel very happy to see the results of my work.

But I've done next to nothing on the yard for a couple of years now, and it shows. Sweetie is the hardest working person I know, but we have a bit of an inverse relationship there. The harder he works, the more tired I get just watching him. I really (and I'm not being self-deprecating here without cause) have been such a slug! There are so many weeds in the grass now (and we don't have that much) that I'm going to have to resort to non-organic measures. Most of the vegetables went to seed and became compost. The fruit on the trees didn't get picked and canned. I tried to keep the potted stuff watered, but didn't try quite hard enough and they're all crispy now.

There is a to-do list a mile long just in the yard! And then there's the house, which is even longer. Why am I even considering going to grad school and putting everything on hold for two years, cutting our income (which is sort of necessary with kids in college and aging appliances), and then working full-time probably to "use my degree?" The kids would be subsisting almost exclusively on frozen pizza (oh, I know myself better than to think I'd throw something in the crock pot each morning), I would be too tired or busy to monitor their homework, they'd never graduate from high school, and the next thing I know they'd be spouting right-wing sound-bites at me. I can't have this happen to my family!!

Okay, maybe I'm being a bit "Worst-Case Scenario" here. I do know some very nice Republicans after all:) But it is a concern of mine that in my quest to level the playing field with my siblings, the other faculty wives, and whoever else makes my ultra-competitive blood boil at the time (don't even think about taking me on in gin rummy) I'm sacrificing something way more important. Already I've skipped reading bedtime stories to Tinkerbell in exchange for curling up with my GRE prep book. We're on Fall Break right now, and I read about four books to her last night. It reminded me of what I was missing. I made homemade eggrolls for Elvira and her friend on Wednesday, aebelskivers for the kids on Thursday, and tonight it's homemade pizza. I like cooking for them, and while in all honesty I don't like cleaning, I like the results. It makes me sad to see the yard so neglected, and I feel like a horrible parent if my kids aren't doing well in school.

So I'm confused. But not really. I'm more valuable right here being a mom and "keeper of the hearth" than I would be as another drone in an ad agency. I've been that before, and my colleagues didn't bat an eye when I left. There's always an eager 22 year-old college grad ready to step into the gap. Masters degree or not, everyone is infinitely replaceable in the workplace. But I'm the only mom my kids will ever have, and these are the only years my kids will ever be young. Once they're out of school, if I still feel so compelled I will absolutely go back to school. Age is just a number, and if having a graduate degree is that important I'll do it anyway. But for now, I think I'll stay a bit closer to home and hearth.

How many times does this make that I've changed my mind? Not sure anymore. Aren't you glad you're not me? This is what goes on in my head 24/7! Will I flip-flop again? Maybe...

Young At Heart

Wow, I threw an idea out into the cosmos and things happened which I hadn't quite considered.

My erstwhile friend Facebook put me in touch with a couple more dear wonderful friends from Chicago--Adam and Scott. As luck would have it, both are coming out in two weeks for entirely different reasons and I'm so excited to see them both. Scott will be speaking to the advertising majors at BYU in a couple of weeks during Homecoming, but he wasn't quite sure what time he would be giving his presentation. I left a message with the professor over the advertising program and kind of forgot about it for a couple of days until he returned my call. Such a nice guy! We had a great chat and he asked about my background which I shared with him. When he found out I'd been a media buyer/planner at Leo Burnett and planned on applying for grad school, he threw out the idea of doing some teaching for them while I'm going through my program. No big deal--lots of grad students teach lower division classes. But to think that I might be one of those grad students makes me all excited and happy inside! I've decided to spend the whole day with the advertising students and professors and listen to the other presenters that day, as well as Scott. I can introduce myself, get to know a few people, maybe hang out at the Ad Lab for a little while. See and be seen--you know.

And then the awful truth hit me.

I have nothing to wear! Proud to be a mom, but keenly aware that I look like one. This was confirmed by my mother who panicked at the thought that I might wander amongst polite society in my usual garb. So I got my hair cut over the weekend and have to head out for new clothes this week. I used to dress pretty sharp back in the day, but I'm not sure what's workable on me now. There's a big part of me that's worried that no matter how much paint I put on the old barn, it's still just a barn after all.

Years ago my darling grandmother Gigi prepped me for just such an occasion. She was a great beauty when she was young, but she looked very much like a grandmother, albeit a lovely one, during most of my life. She always encouraged us to show off our strengths and be interesting and animated. People are much more likely to listen to what one has to say if one is not self-conscious about how one looks. Make scintillating conversation, be witty, urbane, au courant, considerate, and charming.

That's a lot of pressure!

But I listened.

I'll put on something nice, put on a big smile, and jump in with both feet.

T Pain Obama Auto-Tune

Okay, I voted for Obama. But even I have a sense of humor.

Calculating "Life Cost"

I've been taking a great class up at BYU this past month on financial planning. The material is challenging but so interesting, and I'm looking at our finances and goals through much more hopeful eyes now. We meet every Thursday for three hours up at the Marriott School, and last night we had an interesting discussion about cars.

Somewhere around 1990, Toyota was selling over 9 million cars to people in Japan. The twenty-something segment of the population started reevaluating the expenses associated with automobile ownership. In order to pay for the car itself, parking, gas, insurance, maintenance, etc., they had to shell out a ton of money, not to mention accept the environmental impact of that many cars on the road. Many decided that the "life cost" of owning a car was too high, and today Toyota only sells 2 million vehicles in Japan. Of course, they have a ridiculously more advanced mass transit system over there than we have in the States, which makes it more feasible for some, but it's still a pretty significant shift.

During the break, I talked to two women who were sitting by me. One is single with no kids and recently finished her masters in Library Science. The other is divorced with older kids who just finished the Executive MPA program this summer. Both talked about how stressful their programs were and how they had to put their entire lives on hold to get through those few years. The MPA grad told me her program was incredibly intense, and it didn't turn out to be what she really wanted to pursue after all, though it will help her get where she wants to go. This gave me a few things to think about.

As you know, I've been agonizing over my lack of a master's degree forever on here, and I keep flip-flopping about which program will get me where I want to go, although I'm not really sure where that is yet. Do I pursue the MPA, MBA, JD/MBA, JD, MA in Comms, English, Nursing degree(s)? Can I even get in? Am I way too stupid to keep up with the work? And what about those little people at home? Oh right, and I'm married. Sorry Sweetie! Almost forgot about you!

I'm already working at the school way more than I thought I would be this year. Obviously this is my actual life, but I feel so disconnected from the life that I value. I miss being with my kids, even though I'm with other people's kids all day. I can't remember the last time I did the simplest things like iron, make bread, or weed the garden. Yes, the money is helpful, especially now that the kids are older and much more expensive. But what is the life cost of my choice? Do the benefits outweigh the drawbacks? Right now, I think they do. It's hard on the kids and me, but it's working out. I still haven't figured out when to exercise and sleep, but I'm optimistic that I can do both.

I'm debating about taking the GRE prep class, but I'm planning on taking the test itself in December and applying for my program in February. Can I handle one more thing on my plate? Maybe I should have gotten my MBA at Wash U back in '87 like I had planned. Maybe I should have done the Comms degree and taught at BYU back in '87 when they offered. Maybe I should have just pushed through the rest of the Nursing prerequisites in '03 when I started going back. Maybe I should have done less playing in college and more studying and then I wouldn't feel so stupid when I look at my GPA now.

Maybe I missed my chance.

This would be a very bitter pill to swallow. I still think I can do it all and have it all. Accepting that I'll die with just a BA is like accepting that I'll never be thin again. Sure, I can love myself in spite of it, but I'll always feel like I didn't live up to my potential. Maybe that's a divine prompting. Maybe the life cost does make it worth it. Maybe I'm supposed to do this, for whatever reason, and I just need to have faith and press forward. If it weren't a worthy goal, I really doubt that not accomplishing it would eat away at me like it does. Maybe I'm placing waaaay too much importance on a stupid piece of paper. Does God really care if I have an advanced degree or not? Would He prefer that I just make a decision and shut up about it already?

It sounds blasphemous, but that's the one I'm going with.

500 Days of Summer

This seemed like an appropriate film to watch just as summer ends. Sweetie and I actually had a real date today--dinner and a movie! I really liked this film; him--not as much but still enjoyed it. I think Zooey Deschanel is lovely, and her clothes are to die for. Great soundtrack--in fact, you're listening to my favorite cut from it right now! It's not squeaky clean, but I wasn't offended. Then I again, I rarely am :)

All in all, a great day.

Coldplay - Life In Technicolor ii (HD)

Brilliant! I love this video. Reminds me of the glory days of MTV in the 80s.

Living With Terrorists

This morning I read on CNN.com about a terror investigation in New York City. I was working on a post a few weeks ago on a related topic that I ended up deleting, but after reminiscing with my sister last night I thought I'd rewrite it a bit. Most people probably know nothing about what was going on in Europe in the mid-70s, so this might prove a little enlightening.

My family lived in Germany twice--1962-1965 (I was born in Munich in 1963), and then again from 1973-1977. It was gorgeous, interesting, exciting--all the things you would imagine growing up in a foreign country to be. It was also very dangerous. At the time, there was a very active terrorist group there called the Baader-Meinhof Gang, a self-described communist urban-guerrilla group. They fought against all sorts of things, but one of their favorite targets was the US military. A year before we moved to Heidelberg, they detonated two car bombs at Campbell Barracks. (See 24 May 1972 in link) When my father began working there, they were still in the middle of reconstruction which took several more years. They also launched a missile from the mountain and blew up a general on his way to work. Bomb threats at school were a weekly occurrence, sometimes more often than that. Suzanne and I have vivid memories of standing outside Heidelberg High School in the freezing cold while our school was searched--yet again. On 4 July, 1976 when our peers in the States were celebrating the Bicentennial, I was grounded from the fireworks display in Heidelberg because yet another bomb was rumored to be planted at the big beer tent on post. Stupid terrorists--always ruining my fun.

Later that summer, my family moved to Giessen, a city two hours north of Heidelberg and in a more hostile part of the country, at least towards Americans. My father was the battalion commander of a Nike missile battalion, which brought some perks with it, namely cute soldiers falling all over me and my sister so we would let my dad know how helpful they were. It also put a big bulls-eye target on us.

Every Friday evening in the winter I went ice skating at Rhein-Main AFB about an hour or so south of us. I came home around midnight one early January night to find the junior high school, which was right next door to our apartment building, engulfed in flames. Military police were running around shouting at everyone to evacuate and I ran upstairs to wake my parents and little sister to get them out of the building. It was speculated that our fastidious science teacher had accidentally mixed the solid and liquid chemicals from class in the same container, which had caused the massive explosion. But my father always strongly suspected that the school had been bombed. Nearly the same night the Red Army Faction, a more violent incarnation of Baader-Meinhof, hit the fuel tank at the depot with explosives in an attempt to blow the army post into the stratosphere. Fortunately, the fuel level had dropped just below the explosion line, which saved all of us. (See 4 January 1977 in link). The two explosions seem a little too coincidental to not be related, at least to us.

In November 1977 we were traveling across the Austrian border when guards stopped us and made us unpack the back of our car, searched it, and then handed us a flyer with the photos of the primary Baader-Meinhof terrorists on it (see the photo at the top). At home, we were told not to speak English in public or to wear clothing that identified us as Americans. When we left the country in December to move to San Antonio, Texas we were surrounded by guards carrying sub-machine guns. Did the people back home know what was going on over there? I have no idea.

A couple of years ago someone phoned in a bomb threat at Provo High School. My kids evacuated with the others, and I must admit I was a little sentimental when I learned of my babies' first exposure to bomb threats. "Oh, that brings back so many memories! I'm so proud of you both--your first evacuation!" Lots of pats on the back, so proud that they didn't panic or cry like some other kids did. We're a tough breed in my family!

So there's yet another interesting tidbit from my very interesting life so far. Maybe next I'll tell you about the sniper attack we survived in San Antonio. Bet you can't wait!

Miss Capucine - Once Upon A Time...

I Can't Wait For New Moon!!!

I Rock

I just walked five miles on the Provo River Trail! I'm a little sore and tired, but I can't believe I did it! Next weekend I have another big challenge--hiking the Y. I rock!

Our 9/11 Story

On VE Day in 1945 my mother was on the top of the Empire State Building in New York City. She looked off the top of the observation deck and saw the air fill with ticker tape as the whole city poured into the streets. I was only three months old in 1963 when JFK was killed, but my parents remember where they were. Mom was in Germany with the three of us and my dad was in Texas that day while half his group was stuck across the Mexican border when it closed. I remember when Ronald Reagan was shot, too. It was my senior year of high school (1981) and I was in either accounting or notehand class that March afternoon when they announced it over the PA system. By the time I drove home after school they were reporting his death (erroneously) on the radio.

9/11/01 started out with a bang. I woke up that Tuesday morning to the radio on my alarm clock. The DJs were talking about a small airplane that hit one of the Trade Towers. Weird. How does that happen on accident? I immediately thought something really bad was up. I got the three older kids ready for school, trying not to let them know the things we were all learning that morning. Tinkerbell was barely a year old and blissfully unaware. At least the kids would be sheltered at school, I thought. But the school had all the TVs on in their rooms that morning, and the kids saw the world go to hell in real time. Their teachers didn't understand why my children were so scared--they didn't know that Sweetie was across the Canadian border at the Toronto Film Festival. The kids were too young to pay attention to Festival dates and itineraries. He left on a plane and in their minds he just flew around in the sky until it was time to come home. Why couldn't one of the planes have been his?

My dad called. He was sure it was those crazy liberal environmentalists that had been protesting in New York the week before. For some reason I knew right away that it was Osama bin Laden, and I tried to convince my father of that. Interesting theory, he thought, but way off base. Then the towers crumbled to the ground. All the firefighters and police were dead? Not possible. Their radios just weren't working. These things never have the high body count initially projected. Right? Then the Pentagon and Flight 93. What is happening to us?

One thing I appreciate about myself is that I'm very efficient and calm in a crisis. After I hung up with my dad, I called Sweetie to make sure he was all right. I knew he was, but I still wanted to hear it from him. It took hours to get an open line, but the call finally went through. Things were weird up there. He had been in a film screening when they interrupted and announced that the towers had fallen. Most of the Americans ran out at that point. Some of our lovely neighbors to the north were full of theories that asserted that the US had it coming and we greedy Americans were finally reaping what we sowed. It's tempting to think that Canada is just sort of an extension of America, but there are some pretty strong philosophical differences there. Being in a foreign country during a national tragedy can be logistically complicating as well, as we were about to discover.

How does one get a stranded husband back across a sealed border when all the flights are cancelled and the airports shut down? First off, you call BYU travel, make yourself a complete nuisance until they listen to you, then beg. But begging doesn't work, so you then offer to do as much of the work as possible yourself. They like that. Lots of professors were renting cars and driving back from Canada, couldn't he do that? Or just buy a car? You would think that travel agents would have some basic knowledge of Canadian geography, but they seemed to think Alberta and British Columbia were right next to Ontario. I made call after call to the airline, railroads, rental car places, bus lines. I found the bishop's number in Toronto, the mission president's, that neighbor who moved to Ontario a few years ago that would never remember us but who might help.

Days passed by, and nothing was happening. He was running out of money. Eating became a rare occurrence so he could conserve any cash he had to use as bribe money if necessary (he went on his mission to Mexico--old habits die hard). Finally he called and said the border was opening for a few hours and he was taking a bus across it to the Buffalo, NY airport. What could I find out about planes? We didn't have our cell phones back then, so he called from any payphone he could find. They crossed the border at midnight, and it sealed shut again after they got through. He spent the night on the floor of the terminal, and got out on one of the only planes the next morning before the airport shut down again. I got him as far as Denver, but that's the best I could do. Just before I was about to drive the 10 hours to pick him up, he found one seat on a plane to Salt Lake City. He arrived home tired, hungry, and stressed, but whole, and the amazing good fortune of that was not lost on me. Total time--five days.

I will never forget 9/11. The images are etched in my brain forever and I will probably take them to the grave with me. My children have only the vaguest memories of that day, for which I am grateful. Someday we will face another unforgettable event in American history, and my kids, one of whom is an adult now, can talk about our family's unique 9/11 experience. I just hope that when that day comes, as I know it will, that both my family and yours are far away from the action.

Its Been Real, and Its Been Fun

I won't be writing as much in the future. Turns out that having a kid in college and three more coming up gets a little expensive, so I've taken on a second job at the school. I'll be helping Annette run the afterschool program until 5 everyday, so what little time I have at home is going to need to be spend productively in more tangible ways than a blog post. Like, folded laundry and dinner on the table before 10 at night (you think I jest). I will miss it very much, but in all honesty I've been getting way too introspective lately and am boring myself a bit, which probably means I'm boring you a lot.

I'll still pop on and update from time to time, just not as often.

Gravity

Homework: Do any or all, or be inspired. (If your real life is too real right now, be your own private tutor and do an assignment in your head.)

~Search through the drawer in your heart. Are there memories that shaped your self image? Write about a time when your feelings were hurt. Why do you think you still remember the incident? How does that help you understand yourself better?

~Describe yourself from a friend's point of view. Does she know the real you? Do you want her to?

~As a trusted mentor, write a letter advising yourself what to do about a current situation in your life. Prompt: "Dear Friend, I know you're worried about ____. Knowing you like I do, I'm sure you feel____, but I trust your instincts. You seem so____."

My homework assignment yesterday was to write about an experience that shaped me into the person I am today. That was so easy! I immediately sat down and wrote a post about a really traumatic moment in my life when I was 15. It was a fabulous bit of writing, in all modesty, one which even made me shed a tear as I wrote it. I waited to publish it so I could rework a few things, listened to sad music, cried a bit more--and then slapped myself in disgust.

Of all the things I've experienced in my life, the thousands upon thousands of happy moments, why would I go right to something sad and believe that it shaped me more than the good things? So stupid and self-indulgent. Like that idiotic Janis Ian song, "At 17". I hate that song! And I can't stand being around people who are always dwelling on past failures and tragedy. I feel sorry for them, not because of what they've experienced (though I do actually feel sorry for that), but because they got stuck there in their heads. Why would I want to go there and wallow in it? Do I have sad stories? You bet I do--some that would leave you speechless. Do you have sad stories? Some that would make me grateful that I only had my little traumas to deal with. But dwelling on those things just pulls us into their gravity, sucking the very life out of us until there is nothing but despair and hopelessness.

I consciously choose not to go there. I've got lots to be happy about, and in spite of the occasional blip over the years, I've had a remarkably happy life. Those little moments that are almost a blur because there are so very many of them, yet with enough impact that they have left smile lines on my face.

So I got out of bed this morning, threw on my walking clothes, popped in my ear buds and listened to The New Radicals, who never fail to put things into perspective for me. Then I deleted my old post and wrote this instead. I feel much better.

Overheard

Elvira: You're spending too much time playing Mafia Wars.
Kitty Boy: You. In my grill. Out (as he pushes away with his hand).

I found this inexplicably hilarious.

Book Review: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I'm not taking a class at BYU this semester, and am instead going to focus on improving my writing. Check out the "School Days" button on the sidebar if you want to join me!

Homework: Pick one or the other, or be inspired. ~Read something on your book shelf for sheer pleasure.
~Blog about a book you've read over and over. Prompt: "I can rifle the pages of ____and easily find my favorite part about____."

Do you ever close a book that you've loved and just clutch it tightly to your chest when you've finished it? That's the mark of a truly beloved read and it is exactly what I did when I finished "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. I first heard of this book from my friend Pat, who read it following an actual visit to the Isle of Guernsey. We generally have very similar reading tastes, and the fact that she loved it was enough for me to put the next few days of my life in Mrs. Shaffer's capable hands.

The story is set in post-WW2 British Isles and is written in letter form, primarily between Juliet, a newspaper columnist/author, and a fascinating collection of people in her life. She is a bit lost concerning what to write about next when she receives a letter from Dawsey, a man on the Isle of Guernsey who has a used copy of a book that used to belong to Juliet. He contacts her through the address she wrote inside the cover, and that one letter changes her life and the lives of everyone surrounding both of them.

It's laugh out loud funny in many parts, and deeply moving in others. Though my mother-in-law was born and raised in England and spent her late teens and early twenties surviving WW2, I knew absolutely nothing about the Channel Islands or the events that took place there during the war. The voices of the characters came through so clearly it was almost as though they were reading their letters out loud right over my shoulder. Such an amazing story of survival in all respects--physically, socially, spiritually, and intellectually.

I nearly always check my books out of the library, but after reading this I had to have my own copy. It was a great read, and is also an amazing audio book. I still laugh when I think of my favorite quote from the book: "My friend Mrs. Maugery bought a pamphlet that once belonged to you too. It is called 'Was There A Burning Bush? A Defense of Moses and the Ten Commandments.' She liked your margin note: 'Word of God or crowd control???' Did you ever decide which?"

If you would like to see the other books that I've enjoyed, click on the Goodreads button on the right sidebar. I try to review them all and not just give a star rating. Your suggestions are most welcome, as I usually have three or four books going at a time anyway!

Weird

Just when I thought my life was as weird as it could get, it got a bit weirder tonight. I need some fresh air, so I'm headed over to Ambrosia to visit.

What the....?

I've been having a strange out-of-body experience lately. Or maybe it's more like an intense in-body experience. That's probably a lot more accurate.

I've never suffered from depression, even after I had my kids, which I am extremely happy about. I always said that I was way too busy to have a nervous breakdown or lie in bed for days on end, much as I would love to (not that anyone who suffers from depression wants to do any of that, just so we're clear on that point). But now that I'm feeling better, I think I was probably in somewhat of a depressed state for many of the last, oh, 19 years or so. Nothing too severe, but enough to dull a lot of what was going on around me, which honestly wasn't such a bad thing sometimes.

It was inevitable that I would eventually reawaken and take a good look around, and frankly, I'm a little shocked at what I see! Whose house is this? Since when do I like oak? Why is there wallpaper anywhere, let alone in my kitchen? Whose clothes are these? OMG! Whose thighs are those? You get the picture.

Focus, deep breaths, visualize happy times at the beach... I can accept that this is what my life looks like at this time. Yes, I did choose an impractical, tiny house--I can live with that. At least the antiques are quarter-sawn oak--they can stay. Wallpaper is awful, but I'm pretty good at stripping it off and will be more than happy to do it again. Accessories can do wonders for a T-shirt and jeans ensemble. Right, about those thighs... This is indeed your body, and it is still alive in spite of your gross negligence. Not to worry! That's why you walk and should probably start running stairs right after you finish this post. For every problem, there is a solution. I'm pretty sure that's a law of physics or something.

Hope my lights don't keep you up too late, Sue. I've got a bit of catching up to do.

Love On the Rocks

After 21+ years, it's a little hard sometimes to keep the spark going. A houseful of kids, pets, chores, and work take their toll. For years, Sweetie used to unwind by going for long hikes in the mountains, but I never went with him. The kids were too little to go with us, I had too much to do at home--there was always some reason why he hiked solo. Then he started having lots of problems with his joints, and even he didn't hike anymore.

Last night we had a big Philosophy department dinner at our chair's cabin up at Sundance. It's a gorgeous old place that his wife's parents built in the 40s, right on the creek up a private road. There were so many new faculty members that I had never met and I got to visit with the lovely ones I've known all these past 19 years. We had such a great time, and near the end several of us decided to take off on a hike to Stewart Falls.

I've been feeling so amazingly great lately, especially these last few weeks, that I was more than game for it. Tinkerbell joined us, and Sweetie and I took our first hike together in years. We walked on a private path until it joined up with the main trail, then about 1/2 mile beyond there we reached the falls. By this time it was getting pretty cool out, and the water was freezing coming off the rocks. But after teasing Tinkerbell that I would throw her in, she dared me to go under myself.

Completing this hike was huge for me. My joints didn't hurt at all, not even a little, for the first time in years. I walked across logs to cross streams and didn't fall in, which is also pretty rare, kept up a good steady pace, didn't even get out of breath because I've been walking so much lately. I did not make it all the way up to those falls just to walk back down again. So I walked right into that water and let it drench me. It was definitely cold, but euphoric in a certain respect. Then Tinkerbell hopped under too. Sweetie thought we were both insane and was not tempted to join us.

It was dark by the time we reached the cabin, with a bright white moon coming over the mountain. While our lovely hostess let Tinkerbell soak her cold feet in some warm water, I walked down to the meadow to drive the van closer to the house. The whole way down, the words to Jem's song "Got It Good" kept running through my mind. Having a good attitude is important, but having my health return makes life worth living again. I truly am a lucky girl.

Rock On Drummer Boy

Last night Sweetie and I spent the evening at BYU attending the new student/parent barbeque. It was so much fun! There were thousands of people there--the line stretched from the west end of Helaman Field all the way through the southeast gate and up the street in Helaman Halls, and it stayed that long for an hour or more, no matter how many people went through. Somebody from BYUSA (student government) had good taste in music and was blasting it through some serious speakers. Lots of sun (I've got that summertime glow back again on my neck and face), happy kids, proud parents, energy galore. We even got to see him perform for the first time with the band as they rocked the house. Those 14 hours days have really paid off!

I was talking to a man behind us in line who also has a son in the Cougar Marching Band. I mentioned that I keep having to remind myself that this college experience is what we've been working for all these years and not a sad thing, so I don't get teary. He smiled at me and said he has been telling his wife the exact same thing. I'm sure I went to school with many parents there that I would never recognize now. We all looked the same! Sun damage, crow's feet, gray hairs here and there--all with stupid grins on our aging faces. It was hugely validating and inclusive, in an odd way. Further reinforcement that time has marched on was the tent where they sold shirts commemorating the 25th anniversary of BYU's 1984 national football championship season. I went to every one of those home games with my boyfriend. 25 years?! But we were just there!

So off he goes into the dorms this week. My wonderful kid is moving out. When he was a baby older moms would urge me to enjoy every moment with him because the time would fly by. I took their advice to heart, even though there were days that felt like an eternity all by themselves. I have loved every minute of being his mom! I'm enormously proud of him, and everyone who meets him thinks I'm totally justified. I will definitely miss having him here every day, but he's just up the street really. He is my partner in crime when it comes to our music tastes since no one else has an appreciation for 80s music and Michael Jackson around here.

You rock my world, Chris!

Song of the Day

Oftentimes a blog post will be inspired by a particular song I've recently listened to, though it's just as likely I guess that the post itself will inspire the song choice. With that in mind, I've created "Diane's Song of the Day" over on the sidebar. It's just another bellweather of the state of mind I'm in when I write, which is fun for me to revisit.

Or sometimes I think the song really rocks and I just want to share. I'm really generous like that :)

Happy Birthday to Me!

For my birthday present, please leave a comment. Even if you never have before for whatever reason in the world, I would love to hear from you.

I'm so curious to see who reads my blog!

Wild Child

I had a great day Sunday. I couldn't sleep, so I snuck out of the house early in the morning, cranked up Jem on the CD player, drove all through Provo Canyon, and ran away for the day. I drove fast on winding roads, got lots of sun and fresh air, had an amazing chair lift ride up the mountain, ate a crazy good sandwich at Sundance, and had a fabulous time. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'll be 46. Not that 46 is old--I've heard that 50 is the new 30 after all, so I'm really only going to be about 26. But even so, I've been around awhile now. Some days my 20s seem like just yesterday, and others so long ago that I think they were just a dream. When opportunity smacks you upside the head and gives you a chance to look your past square in the eyes and reconcile it with your present--that, my friends, is an eye-opener. You may not be where you want to be in life, or look the way you want, or a host of other things, but do it anyway. You have to take those opportunities when they come, because if there's one thing that growing older has taught me, it is this: those chances don't always come back around for a second try. Carpe diem.

I had so much time up there to think and work things out, and I really created a fresh start for myself. Look at your true self, see where you are, reassess, correct your course, and move on. I'm not going to beat myself up anymore for what I did or didn't do. I keep looking at the past from my current position, and of course everything I did looks insane! That's why we get better with age (in most respects). But at the time, I struggled with things, made decisions one way or the other, and tried to make the best of whatever the consequences of those decisions entailed. Is that something to regret? Of course not!

So it's all good, things have a way of working out, and I am embracing it and being happy.

A Love Letter To Sweetie

Many years ago I met a brilliant, funny, intriguing grad student. He wasn't like other men I'd met. He liked to talk about art, film, and literature with me, subjects which I knew next to nothing about, but which he enthusiastically taught me. He cooked for me, we went for long walks together, and stayed up late talking and talking. One October night after a particularly hard day, he searched all over Chicago to find me daffodils and dutch iris, my very favorites. He was so concerned with making me happy, that I actually started to be again.

But there was a part of me that was still unhappy, and that part would leave the rest of me and race around the cosmos, frantically searching for something it didn't understand or recognize. And he took care of the rest of me during these voyages until that part came back for a moment or two. I knew he loved me, because he showed me every day, but I still wasn't sure if I was ready.

Then one night he read a poem to me, and it changed everything.

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

--W. B. Yeats

I knew that he understood me, and that if I wasn't careful I would lose out on the opportunity to share a life with this wonderful man.

So I fell in love with him, and my pilgrim soul came home to rest.

Fresh Starts

When this picture was taken, I was 22 and fresh out of BYU. I had just landed my dream job with Leo Burnett in Chicago and left a few days later to start my new life. I ended a long-term relationship, packed up my stuff, and left Provo for good (or so I thought). I had a decent salary, was young, healthy, and, dare I say it, kind of cute. Within days I found a tiny but cheap apartment in Lincoln Park and jumped into yuppydom full force. So many great experiences and people came into my life, including my husband. There were definitely growing pains, but it was all leading me to a place I couldn't see in the beginning.

As I was walking tonight, I had so much to think about. I feel a bit like I did back in 1986 when the world was my oyster and the sky was the limit. So many interesting experiences and people have come into my life this year, and I'm trying to learn what I can from each. I feel like something big is about to happen to me, something that I can't imagine right now. There have definitely been some growing pains, as there always are, but I feel more confident than I did 23 years ago and am not quite so worried that I can't see around the corner.

Back To School

I started back to work today. It felt great to see everyone and be back where I feel like I contribute something. My opinions mattered and I felt real affection from everyone. Thanks for making me feel so loved, girls!

When I got out of college I got a hot-shot job in Chicago where I got to spend other people's money by the bucket load and was wined and dined every day by very nice people with bottomless pockets. It was awesome! Lunches, dinners, parties on boats, seaplanes at my disposal--what a great job. Of course it was the 80s and no one bothered about silly details like where the money was coming from to actually pay for it all. Not my problem! Then I got married, and we decided that I would stay home with the kids when we had them. By that point, I was so starved for babies that I couldn't wait to stay home and sew Halloween costumes and bake cookies.

Well, we were naive about how far money really stretches. Sure, you can make your own baby wipes and drink only powdered milk. I know people who have done just that. But it wasn't long before the needs of our family outstripped my economizing skills. Little jobs started coming my way for lots of different things, but I was always able to still be at home.

When Tinkerbell started first grade, I realized how much I hated being in an empty house. Of course there is still a mountain of things I could spend my time on--ironing, laundry, dishes, paperwork, cleaning--but it was miserable not having a little voice in the house with me. So I started working at her school.

My first job there was teaching Gifted/Talented in grades 1-6. I had never taught before, and suddenly I had to come up with a curriculum map and daily lesson plans for the entire year. It was overwhelming and I really didn't know if I could do it. But with lots of help from my colleagues I slowly got the hang of things and began to settle in. Soon I wasn't just trying to keep the kids corralled but actually sitting with them and laughing over their writing and silly jokes. I got hugs in the hall, sweet love notes from six year-olds, and parents told me how much the kids loved my class. My day was full of positive reinforcement and I found that working with kids, even other people's kids, was the most fun I'd ever had on a job.

As my own kids have gotten older, my desire to stay home has lessened and lessened. Of course I love summer vacation--who doesn't love sleeping in and having no particular place you have to be every day--but once school starts back up again I couldn't imagine being home alone to work on projects, no matter how desperately they need it. I feel like I've found something I'm good at and really love, and that's more important even than the pay cut we all took this year to keep doing it. And that's truly saying something.

The Things We Don't Say

I just spent a fab morning making crepes with Kata and Rachel. Sweetie spoils us with them sometimes, but this time I learned how to make true Hungarian ones, with a real Hungarian chef.

This started out as a group Visiting Teaching meeting. We invited the girls we teach over to Kata's and she was going to instruct us in the art of crepe-making. As it turned out, only Rachel could come, which is honestly how I would prefer it anyway. The three of us have a great time talking and things get pretty candid, which is how I like it.

If the only perception a girl/young woman had of motherhood was from Relief Society on Sundays, they would only scratch the tip of the iceberg. What about when someone is horrified that they got pregnant--again? How about the children of neighbors that you can't abide and want to torment in subtle ways? What if we give birth to an ugly baby? How many kids can I stop at without feeling guilty?

Church leaders try to sanctify mothers and endow them with the noblest of hearts and intentions. The pressure! We're only human, and have as many frailties, doubts, and anger management issues as anyone else. We love our own children, but no way are we changing the neighbor kid's diaper. And do we really need to be eternal Primary teachers? Do you not trust us with the general population of young marrieds and empty-nesters? How about giving us time off for good behavior, at least? Though I must confess, you will have to pry my Primary piano accompanist job from my cold, dead hands.

And then we admit that being a mom isn't nearly as bad as we thought it would be. We kind of dig being pregnant, at least most of us do. Being a chick isn't that bad, we guess. That having a baby fall asleep in your arms is one of the most amazing experiences one can have. We could even learn to love an ugly baby in time, or at least try to.

These talks are good for the soul, even if they involve things we'd never discuss in polite society. There are some women who seem to handle motherhood with such natural ability and grace that the rest of us feel inadequate. There are others who make us feel pretty darned proud of ourselves after encounters with their horrible offspring. We're all just doing our best, most days, and hoping the kids are so distracted by their crazy mothers that they don't remember the other ones.