S O S

OK, I need help getting my life back under control. Summer has gone to the dogs. Read what's going on, then think of a way to help me.

7:30 AM When school was in session, we were all getting up, getting dressed, the kids were eating breakfast and getting their practicing done. NOW everybody is sound asleep, in various rooms of the house, in sleeping bags, blankets, swimsuits, whatever they passed out in the night before.

8:40 AM During school, 3 of the kids were out the door and the rest of us were loading into the car for preschool. Breakfast was eaten, lunches were packed. People were wearing clothes and shoes, in most cases. NOW Everybody is still asleep. Freestone left his shoes at the pool last Thursday. We see them in the lost and found sometimes. At least we know where they are.

9:30AM While they kids were at school, I would do some wash, fix some violins, meet customers at the shop, go to the grocery store, put stuff in the crock pot. NOW kids are just dragging their tangled heads out of bed, only to find there's no milk for the cereal and no hope of anything else to eat, either, since I haven't been to the store since June 2nd. Some of the more survival-minded kids are eating dry Top Ramen. In front of the TV, of course, wearing the swimsuits they fell asleep in.

12:00 PM Back in the day, I would have had a bunch of errands done, a bunch of laundry done, and would be feeding the littles lunch and helping them practice. NOW I'm thinking, if I can just make it to the car with all the kids, we could get to the pool and everything would be OK. But I can't get up off the couch. Freestone is on his 6th popsicle, all the doors are wide open, wild animals are on the counter in the kitchen, and Xanthe is spraying the hose into the house through the front door. Do I care? No. I'm too hot.

3:00 PM During school, I'd be zipping around getting the house clean and making a snack for the kids who were about to come home from school. I'd have little piles of dance wear, sheet music, whatever we'd need for the rest of the day, all ready to go by the front door. NOW I'm still trying to make it to the car to go to the pool, but Xanthe can't find her swimsuit and Ari hasn't practiced yet. I drag myself to the laundry room to rewash the same load of laundry I rewash every three days. I just can't get the clothes to the dryer.

4:00 PM If I had my schedule, I'd be at a music lesson and there would be another one afterwards, then it would be ballet pick-up and everyone would have homework to to and things would be getting done. NOW that it's summer, we've made it to the pool and we're hastily swallowing cheese bread which we gobbled in the parking lot on the way in. (No outside food in the pool.) Dinner will be a pizza on the way home. The people at Pies for Five recognize me as the crazy lady who comes in twice a day with five kids, once dry and angry for cheese bread, and then again later, soaking wet and calm, ordering pizza.

7:30 PM If school were in session, the littles would be ASLEEP, if you can believe it. Stories would have been read, dinner finished, baths done. The bigs would be at a dance class or reading or doing their homework in their jammies. NOW, though, we're still at the pool and we can't leave because I only have 50 pages left in my book. Nobody has had a bath for weeks, unless you count the kiddie pool. Scott is home eating leftovers from a family party, and the rest of us are holding out for that five-dollar pizza.

10:00 Ahh, I remember the good old days. The kids would have been asleep for hours, I'd be watching TV and doing whatever crafty thing I wanted to do. My piles of gear would be on the counter, ready to go for the next day. NOW, 13 kids are outside running through the sprinklers, Xanthe is in her crib shouting, "Mom! Whatcha doin'?" and Scott is comatose on the couch. He gets overstimulated by all the chaos and takes a nap. I'm on my way to the car with a big bag of give-away because it's easier to get rid of everything than to put it away at this point.

MIDNIGHT If there were school the next day, even I would be asleep by midnight. The dryer would be humming, the dishwasher would be swishing. All would be quiet on the Western front. This is ridiculous, but NOW, Scott, Ruby, Golda and I are watching So You Think You Can Dance, which we didn't watch earlier because we were at the pool. Tomorrow, we'll all sleep in until 9:00 and the cycle will repeat itself. Help! How can I regain control? Give me your job charts, your incentive programs, your threats, your bribes, your master plans. SOMEBODY GIVE ME A SCHEDULE!!

Karena and Luis

They say parenting is the hardest job in the world. Yesterday, a man worked in our yard for 8 solid hours in the hot sun. That's hard. What's harder, though, is that he's a parent. As he sat in our kitchen eating lunch with my kids, his kids were a thousand miles away. He hasn't seen them for a year, but has their names tattooed in fancy cursive over his heart. Karena and Luis. He lights up when he tells me about them. They wait while he works, eating alone after every back-breaking day. That's tough parenting. It cost him six thousand dollars to get here, to earn enough money to feed his kids. I wish he didn't have to be here alone. I bet his wife wishes the same thing. The sacrifices this man, Thomas, has to make for his family far outweigh any that I'll ever know. So parenting can be a hard job, yes, but it has nothing to do with changing diapers, fixing meals and reading bedtime stories. Those are the easy parts. The hard parts happen in your heart, where your kids' names are tattooed, no matter who you are or how far away you have to be.
*Photograph of a migrant worker in California.

Our Own Emeril

You'll have to read my previous post to see why Scott went searching for these pictures. After enlarging and studying the picture of my BBQ carnage, he pulled out the pictures of his masterpieces to show me how easy it is to grill a perfect piece of meat. I know! Scott is a better grillmaster than I am! Look at the dinners he comes up with! Grilled apple cedar pork loin. Grilled salmon caesar salad. And they're beautiful, too. There's no competition. It's OK. I don't feel bad. Eventually, we were bound to discover something Scott's better at than I am. (Besides looking good in hats.) Friends, when you come over for dinner, make sure you know who's wearing the flame.

New Orleans Style

I had a brilliant idea for a delightful lunch al fresco in our back yard with my kids. Just look at their happy little faces. They are so optimistic, even after watching me battle the flames that were engulfing their food on the grill moments before. They were such a supportive audience for my grilling efforts, saying politely, "Um, Mom, are you sure you know how to do that?"
From behind a wall of sizzling flame, I answered, "Yeah! This is easy! We should grill every meal!"
Ari asked, "But why is it on fire?" As if she trusts me that the meat is supposed to be on fire, and that I, in all my Mommy Omnicience (momnicience?), will know why and will be able to explain it. So I gave it a shot.
"Well, it's New Orleans style! That's how they do it down there." I don't even know what that means, but I didn't want to say, "Well, because I'm an idiot!"

I learned three things today. One, barbecuing bacon is a risky, and fiery, proposition. Two, I should have paid more attention to Scott when he was explaining to me how he gets everything to grill to perfection. And three, cats love charred chicken wrapped in bacon. Kids, not so much. After Golda asked me if the chicken was supposed to be grey, nobody would eat it. So the cat and I are really full of carcinogenic meat, and the kids are really full of Kool-Aid and pretzels. I guess it's back to hot dogs and grapes three times a day. I'm saving up my creativity for non-culinary endeavors.

Happy Birthday, Golda!

Golda had her birthday party early a couple of weeks ago to accomodate her best friend, who moved to Boise right after the ballet recital last week. She had Ruby, Lexie and 2 friends over for dinner and a movie with a Broadway theme. Scott cooked mizythra cheese spaghetti, Texas toast and strawberry cheesecake for the little drama queeens. Later, they watched Hairspray. I missed the whole thing; I had the littles at the pool, out of the way of the festivities. It was nice to have Scott take over and have fun doing it.

Tonight, "Panama Jack" stepped in again, this time to take Ruby and Golda to the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate Golda's "real" birthday. (If you've seen Scott lately, you know I'm referring to his new favorite hat when I say Panama Jack. He looks jauntily tropical these days.) The girls had a really good time with Scott. I was happy to see that Golda wanted her sister there to share in the fun and the Macaroni'n'cheese balls. I never had sisters, so I live vicariously through every joke they share and every fleeting moment when one of them isn't rolling her eyes at the other one. Happy eleventh, Golda!

Character Building

Two hypothetical scenarios:
1. Golda practices all week to play her flute in Sacrament meeting. Her practice with the pianist goes smoothly. (Thanks, Jennifer!) She gets up in church and plays flawlessly, and is thrilled with her performance. Everyone raves.

Or 2. Golda practices all week to play in Sacrament meeting. Her practice with the pianist goes smoothly. Then she decides to play a different song an hour before church. She practices with the pianist in the chapel 30 minutes before the meeting. She sounds wonderful. I'm playing violin with her, and I'm really having fun. Five minutes before the meeting, a crotchety, outspoken retired band teacher walks up to her and tells her she's playing flat and that the flute is his least favorite of all the musical instruments in the world. As Golda stares at him, trembling, he proceeds to give her pointers about blowing air. Now, I love this guy because he swears when he's bearing his testimony, but Golda's not feeling the love. When it's time to play, Golda is shaking like an Aspen tree. When the music starts, she sounds beautiful, she doesn't buckle under the pressure like the rest of us would, and she looks confident as she fills the hall with music that's right on pitch. As it turns out, the new song she had chosen fits perfectly with the messages of the talks. Afterward, she's convinced she was flat and that everybody thought she was awful. An onslaught of effusive compliments and glowing reviews did little to erase the doubt in her mind, and the feeling that she could have done better.

Scenario 1 would have been great. I'm a little bit thankful for Scenario 2, though, because it gave Golda a chance to test her strength. It allowed her to see that we all say things that have unforeseen consequences, and to forgive that in another person and learn from them. It showed her that maybe she's not quite perfect yet, but that so many people love her anyway and think she's wonderful. The moral: When 99% of the people say you're fabulous and 1% say you're crappy, believe all of them and go forward with confidence and humility, knowing you're on the right path.

Beautiful Moments

We were so lucky this week to experience a whole series of beautiful moments, in full costume, backstage and from the audience, as the girls danced in their recitals. Standing in the wings, I got to see them from up close as they danced onstage. It's as if I had a special pass to see everything they had to offer the world written on their faces as they presented themselves to the audience. From my perspective, each and every dancer was truly beautiful from the inside out, and it choked me up to witness such unvarnished innocence, even under all the lip gloss and tulle. I was so involved in the moment, I didn't even take a picture of Ruby in her snow-white ballet costume, or Golda in her jazz costume. In their modern dance, Golda and Ruby were moonrocks. It was very cool.

Into the whirlwind of bobby pins, tutus and pink tights came Freestone's Fantastic Four Birthday Party. Jake and Freestone came in costume and MADE the party! They had to quickly locate a phone booth to change in, however, for the water slide part of the festivities. All the superheroes got their own personalized grey t-shirts to wear while they're not saving the world. Since all the guests were kids who play here all the time, I didn't do much besides keep the cake, ice cream and hosewater flowing. Easiest party ever, and not one evil villain in sight.

Today, a funeral made me slow down after the rush of recital week and reflect on what's important. Scott's Uncle Elmer passed away, a man I'll remember most for unceremoniously making me feel accepted from the first time I met him. His children and grandchildren make up a close-knit family of people who would take you into their home without question if you knocked on their door right now. That's an example I'll treasure and try to emulate.

My parents returned yesterday from a trip to France and Switzerland. The kids are so happy to have them back, they've been sneaking over to their house constantly since Coco and Bill walked in the door. There's no time for jetlag when gifts are burning a hole in your carry-on. Xanthe was so excited to open her delicate little package. It was a beautiful Heidi doll wearing a dirndl and little shoes. Gorgeous. Xanthe tore off the paper and shouted, "Bubble wap! Tank you, Coco!" Eventually she noticed the pretty doll inside the bubble wrap, but I'm still not sure which gift she liked better.

Freestone loves collections. He has a candy collection, a rock collection, a seashell collection, a collection of cardboard pieces under his bed. My new collection is beautiful moments. Life is so full of them, there's no time to lose. Our mission is to notice them, revel in them, create them and share them. I have a whole jar full of them, and I'm adding more tomorrow. Do you want to help?

Head Babysitter Back on the Job

My Head Babysitter was out last week with bronchitis. It was mayhem. He's back in the game now, and I can finally get back to my lounging about. Isn't that what stay-at-home moms do all day? When you have a Head Babysitter like Jake, you do. All he has to say is "C'mon, guys! Let's go outside!" Those are the magic words that signal a block of time where I can actually get something accomplished. But watch out if Jake says, "C'mon, guys! Let's go get a popsicle!" Prepare for a stampede. At least I have time to clean up after the herd when Jake leads the charge back outside. Am I violating any child labor laws if I pay this kid in chicken nuggets? It's really a win-win. Jake's having fun, I'm happy and Wendy's is making a fortune.

Scott

How can just one guy be the perfect person for so many people and circumstances? I'm not the only one who loves Scott, but I get to be the one that loves him the most. I especially love him for being a dad.

He was the perfect dad to Golda recently when he waited in his car in the parking lot of Jake's while she celebrated Alice in Wonderland with her friends. It was a new chapter in fatherhood, being peripheral to her life, and he chuckled over it. He gave her a new outfit to wear to her birthday party yesterday. Then he orchestrated the party, cooking dinner for the girls and artistically plating their cheesecake, then standing back while they enjoyed the fruits of his labor.

He was the perfect dad for Ruby yesterday when she hopped in his car as he was leaving to have some alone time. He didn't complain one bit. He just asked her where she wanted to go. When I posted the story about Ruby being frustrated about the bar, Scott called me and asked, "What time does Ruby have lunch?" He took her to Pepperbelly's and just listened. He told everyone at the office how funny and creative her 3rd grade writing journal was. He revels in the fact that she's such a wise little soul.

He's been the perect dad for Xanthe from the moment he signed on for the adoption journey. He was the first one to draw out her hearty giggle. He's the one who sneaks her drinks in bed when Mama says no. Today, Xanthe saw a forlorn-looking picture of herself the day we got her. Xanthe said, "She was lonely in her crib." It's because of Scott that Xanthe isn't lonely in her crib in China anymore.

Scott was the perfect dad for Freestone yesterday when he let Free drench him with the hose, pretending to be really surprised. He redecorated Free's room and hung big pictures of the beach, Freestone's favorite place. He arranged Freestone's most treasured seashells and trinkets on his dresser. He watched all of this season's soccer games and kept track of the shoes and shin guards. He gives Free his favorite t-shirts to wear to bed. He gets tears in his eyes when he calls Freestone "son."

He's the perfect dad for Araceli when she sneaks out of bed hours after her bedtime. He just puts his arm around her and smiles. Whenever she comes up with an idea about "a special date with Daddy," Scott goes along with it, grabbing his car keys and telling her to fix her hair and get in the car. He compliments her when she practices, he laughs when she's silly, he hugs her when she's cranky. He bites his tongue when he comes home to find ALL of Ari's friends scattered around the house and yard.

Scott's mom, Marlene, has a sixth sense about what her children need. She knows just when to call and see what's wrong. Scott has the same supernatural ability. He keeps his instincts tuned to each of his children, and divines what they need. He often comes home with a little treat or an item that's just the thing. Right now, Scott is soaking cedar planks for a Fathers' Day barbeque, telling me about the beach towels he got on clearance (just what we needed!) and listening to Ruby play Star Wars on the piano for the millionth time. When she finishes and looks at him expectantly, he'll say, "Wow! Good job, Ruby!" And he'll mean it.

Good job, Scott! Good job. And happy Fathers' Day.

So You Think I Can Dance?

So You Think You Can Dance is the best entertainment there is. Our whole family is highly invested. Yes, the costumes are revealing, but so were those NBA short-shorts. And how about Wimbledon? Huh?
During the last show, Freestone whispered in my ear, "Mom, I think you can dance." Then he snuggled up next to me. I have a fan! I admit, he's never seen me dance, but he thinks I can!

Every year in the spring recital, all the teachers at the school where I teach do a dance. This trial by fire is the bane of my existence because (don't tell Freestone) I can't dance! So there are a few recital stories I won't be telling Freestone:

2005: The teachers were dressed as nuns, with long, black habits. Perfect, because nobody could see my legs. During the recital, I was on fire. (Read: I stayed on the right count.) For the final pose, I whipped my arm into position, smacking a fellow dancer in the face. I think the audience heard her go, "Ooomph!" as she doubled over.

2006: Rehearsals were on Thursday nights with an insanely creative and optimistic choreographer. Every Friday, I literally could not bend my legs. For days, I had to take shallow breaths because my ribs hurt. By the time the next rehearsal rolled around, I had barely recovered from the last one enough to get from a standing position to a sitting position. This torture went on for weeks. Knowing I'd never be able to pull off the dance, I came up with a foolproof excuse: I had to go to China to adopt a baby. Luckily for everyone, I sat that dance out.

2007: I stood in the back and didn't hit anyone, and nobody got hurt.

2008: Tonight was our last rehearsal, and I've had to come to a decision. I can either move my arms with everyone else, or I can move my legs with everyone else. This dance is hilarious. It's the cantina scene music from Star Wars, so theoretically, we're in a bar in outer space. There's one part where we all run around like crazy, waving our arms and pretending to shout because the table and the lamp are dancing. During a run-through tonight, I was doing that part of the dance, running around the studio, waving my arms, just putting everything I had into it, feeling like Twyla Tharp. I looked around and all the other dancers were doing a different part of the dance, a small, controlled box step. I was 16 counts ahead, and worlds away. It was, in a way, representative of my whole experience in dance. (Some of you are about to click on "comment" and say that I wasn't that bad. I know who you are, and that's why I love you!)

Despite my shortcomings, I love to teach the technique and discipline of ballet to girls who I know will grow to become better than I ever was. Dance is just a beautiful art form. It defies words. What I've gained from being involved in it is an appreciation for beauty, and an understanding of discipline. I want that for my girls. Ballet class is not necessarily "fun." There are no treats, no rewards. Elements of it are the same every class time, for years. What I try to instill in my students is that you push yourself to be better this time than last time, you come to class when you're tired, you miss birthday parties to be at class, you point your toes when I'm not watching, and you succeed according to the effort you put in. If it's easy, you're not doing enough. There are not many places these days where kids get that kind of work ethic, and it's one of the few really important things you can learn in life. That's the reason I'm so commited to waving my arms and running around like crazy in front of lots of people. I just hope I do it on the right counts.

Father Nose Best

Scott hates to eat anything involving a casserole dish and a can of Cream of Mushroom soup. But since those two staples are as integral to the Mormon lifestyle as jello salad, they occasionally crop up. Tonight, one of the ingredients in our dinner is smashed-up Ritz crackers. Sadly, you all know what dish I'm talking about, and you all love it as much as I do. Not Scott. I can almost guarantee he'll have cereal for dinner. (He has definite opinions about cereal, too. He never buys plain Cheerios. I always do. He can't have soymilk on cereal. I always do.)

To counteract the chicken dinner, I'm spreading clean-smelling cleansers around the house. I'm letting you in on one of my best secrets here. If I spray Windex or Lysol around the front door right before Scott walks in, he thinks the house is clean. A lot of times, the house is clean, but Scott's eye is trained to hone in on imperfection. One time, the house was spotless and Scott walked in and said, "What's all that stuff on the kitchen table?" "All that stuff" was the table being set for dinner. Plates, silverware, a vase of fresh flowers. Things that can really clutter up the place.

So it's hard to tell exactly what Scott's standards are, besides impossibly high. Hence the olfactory trick. The great thing is, sometimes I inadvertently do real cleaning while I'm spraying the walls, floors, furniture with Lysol Antibacterial Country Fresh Scent. Now that I think about it, maybe I'm tricking myself more than I'm tricking Scott. I tell myself I'm just spraying cleaner around, when I'm really doing housework. Oh my gosh, I'm a housewife, and I've been in denial about it. I'm totally doing all the household chores and laundry and gaining satisfaction from the results! I don't even know if that's good or really sad, but I do like the smell.

Church Graduation

Sometimes I forget that 4-year-olds are walking around in a perpetual state of blissful confusion, until a conversation like this one reminds me. It makes sense: Freestone had two end-of-year parties for his preschools, then preschool was over forever. The next week, he went to a Primary party...

Uncle Josh: It's time for us to get ready for church.
Freestone: Oh, I'm done with church. I don't have to go ever again. I already had my party.
Uncle Josh: What do you mean? I still go to church, and I'm a grown-up.
Freestone: Have you had your party yet?
Josh: No.
Freestone: Well, that's WHY!!

So all we have to do is go to a graduation party, then we're finished with church? Why didn't anyone tell me that? I've been going for 36 years!

Walk-About

Scott and I were helpless with laughter when we looked outside and saw this. Freestone, obviously having been advised by Ari on his wardrobe, walking inside of a hula hoop with his big sister. They were circumnavigating the cul-de-sac inside the hula hoop so they could "stay together" and "in case we want to hula on the way." Ari's purse contained several notepads and a doll bottle. Freestone's backpack was completely devoid of necessities, except for a string and a toy truck. Supplies McGuyver could have used to fly a helicopter; not so useful in real life. It's a good thing they didn't make it far enough from home to need their survival skills.

Ari and Freestone's walk-about reminded me a little bit of my family's only camping trip back in the '70's. We had a two-man tent, 5 people, no plan and a flashlight with dead batteries. We drove around in the mountains less than 5 miles from home, looking for a suitable campsite to pitch our tent. About an hour after dark, we found a good spot. My brothers and I set up the tent by the glow of the car's headlights while our parents foraged for firewood. The high point of the trip was when my parents, who were sleeping in the car with the firewood, realized that the logs were infested with ants. Meanwhile, my brothers and I and all 30 of my stuffed animals were snuggled up in a two-man tent that was missing about half of the stakes required to hold it up. Good times! We were home in our own beds before dawn.

I'm glad Ari and Free are practicing their outdoorsmanship. It might come in handy if their (Dopp) cousins ever offer to take them camping!

Heads Up

This is Xanthe, my baby who could have died today, but didn't. I have always been haunted by stories of mothers backing over their children in their own driveways. Because of that, I have a habit of turning off the radio, rolling down my window and sticking my head out to look behind me. I listen because I figure if one of the kids is trying to get my attention, she'll be shouting as she runs behind the car. Sometimes I wonder why I go through the whole ritual, but I'm always extra vigilant backing out. Today, I put the car in reverse, rolled the window down and looked out, and there was Xanthe, hugging the back bumper and crying; she wanted to go with me. Moments before, she had been playing happily on the other side of the yard, and Ruby was watching her. Even though Ruby was shouting at her to stop and Xanthe was crying, I wouldn't have heard any of that had the radio been on, and my window been up. I couldn't see Xanthe in the rear-view mirror because she was right at the corner of the back bumper, right behind the rear tire.

Everything I did today, I was grateful for. It was a normal day. I changed the wash. I mopped. Friends came over. I picked up popsicle sticks. Today could have been so different. And I'm so, so thankful it wasn't. Today, even Xanthe's tantrums were precious, and the mud pies she made were beautiful.

The White Queen Thanks You

You always hear about those mothers who never missed a little league game or a recital, who were on the sidelines for all the major events. You hear less about the dads, the grandparents, the aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who make up the audiences of the world's community theatres and small-scale ballparks. I mean, when a group of kids from a suburb of a smallish city puts on a play in a converted garage, do you think the people sitting in the folding chairs got their tickets through Artix? They certainly didn't stand in line for front row seats. Those people are there because they love somebody in the play. Or because they are really bad at saying no. Whatever the reason, I'd like to say thanks to the people who support the arts on the smallest possible scale, especially the ones who saw Golda play the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland last weekend.

Golda's heart is squarely in the theatre. She got the script for this little play and had her lines down hours later. She loves everything about acting. Without an audience, however, there is no art, and without encouragement, nothing grows. Thanks to Grandma, Grandpa, Coco, Bill, Tricia, Alex, Jennie, Lexie, Rob, Michelle, Jake, Ellison and Ruby's friends for being the village that it takes to raise this "drama queen." Golda, you were great!

Family Trees

At age eight, the future seems to extend to about next week. Anything beyond that is inconceivable. When I helped my dad plant a dozen saplings back when I was eight, my dad told me what those trees would grow to become. He said, "When you're all grown up, those trees will be even taller than you are, and they'll make a nice, shady arch above the pathway."
I remeber looking at the scrawny little trunks and sparse leaves and thinking, "Well, that'll never happen, but I'd better not tell my dad. It would hurt his feelings."
Now that pathway is, indeed, shaded by twelve magnificent trees that shelter my kids from sun and snow and rain as they walk to Coco and Bill's house. In the fall, the trees grow deep red berries and their leaves turn bright orange. My dad has adorned them with twinkle lights to guide us along the path to his house. That tranquil path is one of my favorite spots. It's bittersweet to see the evidence of time's passing in the size of the trees.
Tonight, we planted an apple tree. As Josh and all the kids dug the hole, I said to Scott, "Come help with this apple tree. It the tree that's going to shade the dessert table at Golda's wedding."
Golda probably thought, "Well, that's never going to happen, but I'd better not say anything. It might hurt my mom's feelings." But now I know that time goes too fast, and that little baby tree we planted tonight will grow to witness the events that make our lives. Little feet will climb its branches, little hands will pick its apples. Then one day, big hands will grace its branches with twinkle lights and set up tables under its boughs and there will be a wedding.
Tonight, I sat out on our newly remodeled porch, admiring Scott's handiwork. The kids were wrapped in blankets and Scott's new lanterns glowed. I said, "Listen to the wind whistle through the branches of our new apple tree. Do you hear that? Isn't it beautiful?"
Ruby crushed my reverie with her reply. "Mom, that sound is the neighbor's air conditioner." Believe it: That wedding, and more to follow, will be here far too soon.