Ho-Tales

Our brief overnighter to Salt Lake this weekend reminded me of one of my most memorable road trips. I was 23, going to violin making school, and the Violin Society of America convention was in San Francisco. There were only about 15 students at my school, and we all wanted to go, of course. We couldn't imagine anything more stimulating than talking about varnish into the wee hours with fellow afficionados.

I had a friend from China, Yanfu Tong, who had saved money he earned from making violins in his tiny apartment to bring his wife and twin sons here. They all lived in a one-bedroom apartment across from mine at the school. Yanfu and I decided to drive together to San Francisco, along with his family. We barreled along I-80 West toward the Bay area, me listening to the family shout in Mandarin the whole time. Mandarin isn't a quiet language. At the convention, Yanfu and Yaqing and their boys stayed with Chinese friends in an empty apartment, save for several giant bags of rice and some sleeping bags. I didn't spend much time in the hotel room I shared with about six of Yanfu's Chinese friends, but I did save a lot of money by spending my few sleeping hours on the floor. For one meal, I went to Chinatown with the Tong family, never saw a menu, and had one of the best meals of my life. I don't even know if we paid. Hey, it never hurts to have Chinese connections in San Francisco!

The last day of the convention, we left in the evening and had to stop on the way home at a Motel 6 somewhere in Nevada. Being in poor student mode, all five of us shared a room. Yanfu and Yaqing slept in the bed, the twins and me on the floor. The room was ridiculously puny, and I was right next to the bathroom with a sheet and what felt like a thin layer of astroturf separating me from a slab of concrete. Mandarin warnings flew around the room as Yanfu tried to get the boys to settle down. It was finally quiet. Then somebody tooted and we all giggled, just a little bit. Then a lot. The language barrier was down and the floor didn't seem so hard. One of the funniest nights of my life, for the sheer absurdity of me bunking with a Chinese-American family, three of whom had just arrived in this country and didn't speak any English, in a Motel 6 in Winnemuca. That's a memorable trip.

Friday night, for a minute, I doubted the sanity of seven people sleeping in one hotel room. Seven Chinese violin makers, maybe. But Freestone...That's a different story. He has a routine that he HAS to go through every night before he falls asleep. It requires singing and story telling on Freestone's part, and it must be done in its entirety. Freestone had staked out his spot under the desk in the hotel room and was set up in his "office/bed." The rest of the family, camped out around the room, patiently listened, giggling frequently, as Freestone went through several renditions of his song, "Mimi Mouse! Mimi Mouse! Minds her manners in the house! When she drinks her milk she never makes a mess! Mud pies never stain her dress!" He sang with gusto, stopping to highlight every "M" sound. By the time he had moved on to "Annie Apple," he was winding down and we all had a song that would forever make us burst into fresh laughter.

Since we may never fall asleep together around a campfire, the cramped hotel rooms of our family vacations will have to serve as the glue that keeps us together. Every family has different glue, and this method of adhesion may not work for some. For me, I love it. I would never trade the giggles that only happen at bedtime for anything as paltry as sleep. I'll sleep later, when the giggling has stopped.

I Should Explain...

So some of you noticed that the title of our blog changed. Yeah, Scott and I felt like somebody was missing. Without divilging too much unnecessary detail which you probably know already, we went to great lengths (reconnected great lengths?) to get that missing person here. Then nobody showed up! Just as we had given up hope, the missing person surprised us. So if all goes well, I'll have a baby in July. It's been an exciting journey already with this mystery baby, and the journey has just begun. So there you have it...the party continues! And we're so thankful.

Time-Honored

For thousands of years, families have been gathering around the kitchen fire, sharing stories and preparing food. Sometimes, even today, the kitchen is no more than a certain area of the dirt-floor room a family shares. It's the area that contains the fire and the food, two vital components of survival. Although we didn't gather for survival yesterday, we still gathered around the kitchen, preparing food together and sharing life's best moments. I love my parents' kitchen for all the momentous events that have happened there. My brothers opened their mission calls there, I said goodbye there when I left for college, it's where I lured a skunk inside to give it an oreo...Scott proposed to me in that kitchen. Fortunately, all those events had happy endings, and yesterday's impromptu Thanksgiving breakfast turned out just as happy. My dad even wore his traditional Thanksgiving tux.

Bruce and Marlene's kitchen is exceptionally special to us. It has always been the single most inhabited room in the house, thanks to Marlene's cooking and her good company. Last night, we laughed over some of the crazy episodes that have taken place in the Dopp kitchen. Marlene throwing pancakes at the ceiling...Scott being lectured for trying to drive to Jackson Hole in the middle of the night...Nikki moving a baby Golda away from the kitchen cabinets moments before the inexplicably came crashing down where she had been standing.

I bet if you think about it, some of the biggest moments of your life have centered around the kitchen, because that's where life happens. Yesterday's Thanksgiving was another in a long line of perfect holidays. I'm thankful for our families' kitchens.

Pilgrims

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I wish all of you a rich and peaceful holiday. I'm thankful most of all to live in a place where we can provide abundantly for our children. This is my Thanksgiving prayer, that parents everywhere will someday be able to protect and nurture their children as we can, here in this blessed land.

Gift Ideas

Xanthe came out of preschool today bursting with pride and overflowing with enthusiasm. She still can't get over how cool it is that she gets to go places by herself. The rest of us don't miss a thing, however, because she tells us all about preschool and nursery and violin in great detail. When I help her practice violin, sometimes she says, "What you doing? You not a vi-lin teacher!" Yes, I'm completely unqualified.

So after school Xanthe asked me, "What preschool you go to, Mom?" Like maybe I was at preschool at a different place while she was being independent at her preschool. I would love to go someplace where I could fingerpaint turkeys and come home wearing a pilgrim hat, actually.

I answered, "I don't have a preschool."

Xanthe looked genuinely dejected and said, "Oh. That's saaaaaaaaaad." After a minute, she brightened up and suggested, "We could buy you one!!"

If anyone is wondering what to get me for Christmas, I need a preschool that takes 37-year-old moms who can't teach violin and generally don't know much of anything, according to their three-year-olds. If you know of such a preschool, just bring it over to my house for Christmas. Wrap it first, though. Thanks!

And The Winner Is...

We have an ongoing battle between uncles. A winner is never really declared because the stakes get higher all the time. In an effort to clinch the title once and for all, Uncle Trajan brought over his karate pads for the kids to try out. Sanctioned punching and kicking! Awesome! The whole thing screamed "Favorite Uncle."

But Josh sends over real, live cousins to play with. That's hard to beat, except that cousins aren't as much fun to punch as karate pads. Actually, I might have to rethink that one. It might not be true. In any case, the Favorite Uncle Competition continues. The contestants might need to step up their games. I hear the nieces and nephews like hundred-dollar bills, giant bowls of cookie dough and gift certificates to Barnes and Noble.

Curtain

The Utes have come away with a victory and the final curtain has come down on The Nutcracker. The sports fans are ecstatic and the dancers are a bit melancholy. I had to throw in a little musical message for the Team Down South from the dancers. Golda and Ruby have no such rivalries in their own world, but they support their dad's contempt for the opposition! Go Utes! And Oriental Servants! And Buffoons!

Rock Star

Ever since they gave me a backstage pass for Nutcracker, I've felt overly powerful. My pass has a neck strap and says, "Unlimited Access." I love it, and I'm never taking it off. I can go anywhere I want! I have unlimited access. I'm going to flash my pass in stores that claim they don't have a bathroom. I'm going to use it to walk into the kitchen in slow restaurants to see where my food is. I'll wear in in a prominent place when I'm sneaking out of church during Sunday School. Well, now I don't have to sneak because I have unlimited access, and that includes the great outdoors during church. I'll never have to wait at the doctor's office. I'll just give the receptionist a smug glance as I breeze by with my pass. I can get on any airplane, any time and I never have to wait in line for anything. I'm a rock star. I might catch a flight right now to France and hang out with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt.

When I think about all the places I could go with my backstage pass, I'm content to think that I already have unlimited access to the best things life has to offer, and I don't even need special permission. I think I'll just stay right here where all the treasure is. Where would you go if you had "unlimited access?"

Opening Night

All the sparkle and glitter of the holidays comes early and with a flourish around here, with Nutcracker week. At any given moment, Tchaikovsky's suite is running in my head. It's not a bad soundtrack for the holidays. This is one of the best weeks of the year, when all our rehearsals and preparation pay off and the stage lights go up. I talked with "Clara" backstage tonight and asked her if she was having fun. She said humbly, "Yeah. It's a dream come true." And she meant it. I hope my girls appreciate the wonderful gift they have been given, this opportunity to dance in such a fine production of one of the great ballets, with an excellent orchestra and professional dancers around them. All the dancers were perfect and I was thrilled with my students, but one Oriental Servant and one little Buffoon had that certain je ne sais quoi...at least to me! Great job, Golda and Ruby!

Freestone tried on my backstage pass and took a tour of what happens behind the scenes.
Araceli can't wait until it's her turn to try out.

Kung Fu Chickens

These poor, deprived kids have been on a karate kick for a week. (No pun intended.) They raid my closet for anything resembling a belt, then have lengthy conversations about which belt might be better than the other belt, based on color. They kick things. They grunt. They push each other down. They say, "Hi-ya!" The sad part is that they have no idea what they're doing. They haven't even seen Karate Kid.

So I made some phone calls and took my kids and Jakey to a free lesson, thinking maybe karate would give them focus, strength and self-confidence. (Like they're lacking that. Nobody has told them they're not in charge of the universe, and they're not about to relinquish the idea on their own.) The three of them were so thrilled, they could hardly stand it. Ari wore a silk shirt from China, thinking it fit the Eastern theme. She got out of the car with a little trepidation, saying, "Oh, I hope I don't meet anyone who has a black belt!" Freestone reassured her by reminding her that Uncle Trajan has SEVEN black belts. He's taken to making up lies about Uncle Trajan to impress people. It's too cute an infraction to correct. Besides, it's not complete fiction. Traj does have ONE black belt.

When I went to pick them up at the end of the class, the teacher said, "I'm sorry, they're too young. It's based on concentration and maturity level." Soooooo....the fact that they were flying around the gym like human ping pong balls was a negative? Sensei couldn't do anything about the fact that they can't tell left from right? I was afraid it would put a dent in their Masters-of-the-Universe mentality when I told them the teacher said they're too little. Ari was quiet, the said, "Well, at least we learned some things we can use when we play karate." When we got home, they set up their blanket on the lawn that doubles as a karate mat, and they were set.

Mr. Miyagi would be proud. Wax on...wax off.

Sarah, Emma and Jacob

I had nine kids in the car on the way to Golda and Ruby's choir concert. Two were dressed to perform, in black pants and white shirts. Three of them were wearing an assortment of clothing that they perceived as being appropriate if they were going to karate, topped off by orange leg warmers worn around their waists as karate belts. (Scott generously used the word interesting.) Three of the kids were invisible and imaginary, and one of them didn't even get in the car until we were halfway there.

Freestone has an imaginary friend named Emma Dopp who has been living on his ceiling fan for several years. If I ask too many questions about her, he always sighs and says, "Mom, she's imaginary." Not to be outdone, Ari invented a friend named Sarah and Jake invented one "with my same name." Tonight, Freestone forgot to invite Emma to the concert, which he realized when we were already on the road. Always helpful, Jake said, "I have an imaginary phone. Do you want to borrow it?" Perfect for calling an imaginary friend. Free called Emma and, after a lengthy conversation where Freestone tried to explain to Emma what a choir concert is, she was there in a jiffy.

At the 25 cent ice cream place afterwards, the imaginary friends did OK with their cones. Emma is very tidy. Freestone, on the other hand, thought his cone might double as a light saber. Nope. That was the first splat. Immediately after, Ari's "elbow slipped" and her cone fell on the floor too. Xanthe didn't do much better. She must have rubbed the cone all over her shirt. Then she tried to set it on the table. When it fell, she tried to wipe it off with a napkin, which got stuck to the ice cream, then her tongue. With ice cream up to her eyebrows, she looked at me and said, "Mom, YOU messy!" I think that's the same logic as when Golda picked her up and she said, "You too heavy, Doda!"

Next time, I think we might take just the imaginary kids. They don't need car seats, they're quiet during concerts and they don't drop their ice cream on the floor. They're definitely not as cute, though, or as funny. Or maybe they are, I don't know. They're invisible.

Not So Hidden Treasure

I stayed up until 4:00 in the morning Saturday night, talking to some of my best friends, my sisters-in-law and Marlene. We were in Park City for the Dopp Girls Weekend, sitting around a cozy fire in our jammies, sipping the hot chocolate Michelle brought in a cute mug for each of us. I came a day late because of too many fun and exciting things going on at home, but I still got in on some great meals and a hard-core shopping spree at the outlets.

The thing about sisters-in-law is that when they're there all the time, you might not even notice how wonderful they are, how much you have in common, how much you worry about the same things, and how close you could be if you took the time. Marlene has wisdom enough for all of us, to get us safely through all our challenges. Together, the six of us are striving for the same things in life, molding our kids and keeping our lives in order, and we're doing it in pretty close proximity to one another. We might as well be doing it together. I'm thankful for these amazing women: Marlene, Michelle, Jennie, Jenny, Richelle and Nikki. They shore me up, they keep me grounded, they show me the way, and they have a lot of laughs doing it. I love you, girls!

Namaste

I'm one of those dangerous people who has a little bit of knowledge and isn't afraid to fling it around. Recently, I went to a yoga class for the first time and liked it so much I keep going back. Now that I've been 4 or 5 times, I can't help but show off to the only people who could possibly be impressed: my kids. I whip out the trickiest thing the yoga teacher has ever shown me and say, "Watch, guys, this is what we do in yoga." I then proceed to roll around on the floor like a human bowling pin saying, "No, wait, OK, I think I can do it now," while Golda and Ruby roll around on the floor helpless with laughter. That's when I pull out my single, tiny nugget of zen knowledge and explain how "namaste" means that the light within me acknowledges the light within you, and it's not supposed to be funny. It's about finding your center, I say. "It looks like it's about finding different ways to get your derriere in the air," says Golda. Maybe I'm explaining it wrong. I'll have to take another class...or find a younger, less jaded audience. Freestone might think I'm cool if I say "ninja training camp" instead of "yoga."

Inspiration

My parents have a friend who breezes into town every so often, keeps us all up late playing music and discussing the meaning of the universe, and leaves everyone feeling more alive. Sheldon has all of the genius and none of the insanity of a brilliant man. (Well, actually, I'll have to check with his wife on the insanity part. She might have something to add!) Shelly grew up on the fast track to becoming a professional musician like his older brother. Joseph Silverstein was his first teacher, back in Cleveland. While studying at Curtis, one of the most renowned music schools in the world, Shelly fell in love with medicine and became a brilliant doctor instead of a world-famous musician. He still has the music chops, though, and he brings his fiddle whenever he visits. This time, he was kind enough to give Golda and Ruby one of their first experiences with playing music for fun with friends. This is what I'm always trying to explain to the kids, that music is for bringing you to life and uniting you with friends who feel as passionate about it as you do. Shelly showed them all that by gently inviting them to play their songs while he joined in with harmonies he got off the top of his head. He and Golda played a duet that got the Afghan dogs howling along.

Beginners that Golda and Ruby are, Shelly treated them like fellow musicians, encouraging them and speaking to them as equals. He was always the same way when I was a kid, always acting like there was some spark of genius in me that I had yet to discover. I believed it, and his own kids did, too. Shelly's great gift as a parent, as I saw it, was to treat his kids and everybody else's as the interesting adults they would someday become. He didn't even wait until we were grown-ups to find us interesting, insightful or intelligent. We absolutely knew Shelly thought we were incredible, he knew we were incredible. His three kids grew up to be some of the most compassionate and vibrant people I know, full of life. I'm so glad my girls had a chance to experience Shelly's remarkable gift for inspiring young people. I hope they are waiting breathlessly next time Shelly comes to town for another chance to be inspired.

Xanthe's Life

This past Sunday was the single most important day of Xanthe's life. She's had some milestones, some pretty big days in her short life, like meeting her parents for the first time, arriving on American soil as a U. S. citizen, finding out she had a brother and sisters...But Sunday was bigger than all that. It was Xanthe's turn to bring the snacks for nursery at church.

The previous Sunday, Xanthe brought home the special nursery snack bag and instructions to the effect of, "Send a LOT of food!!" I panicked, thinking for sure we would lose the treat bag right away. Xanthe wasn't about to let that happen. Every night at bedtime, she asked, "Where the snack bag for noos-wee?" I kept telling her it was in the mudroom, hoping it still was and would be until Sunday. You have no idea how things can just disappear around here.

Sunday morning, Xanthe was up early to prepare for her role as Bringer of the Snack Bag. She was ready for church with the hefty bag on her shoulder 5 hours early. We had packed it with mini rice cakes and bags of apple slices. Xanthe's job was to protect the goodies from thieving hands, and to deliver it safely to her beloved teachers at the appropriate time. She had to carry it to church herself, of course. The triumphant look on her face when she finally arrived at nursery, amid much fanfare, was adorable. Afterwards, Xanthe recounted how the teacher had passed out the snacks and the kids had eaten them. She's still talking about it. Sometimes we forget how easy it is to make little ones happy, and how easy it is, too, to overlook their simple joys. I have a quote that says, "The secret to having it all is knowing you already do." Xanthe had it all this Sunday, and she knew it!

Cleopatra

Halloween is over, but 6th grade continues, which explains the Cleopatra costume. The interactive, hands-on approach is great for the kids, a little tricky for the parents. When I was in grade school, first of all, we never had homework. Secondly, if there was a project to be done, it usually involved a shoebox and a toy dinosaur with a few weeds glued on for a really prehistoric look.

Last year the fifth grade had a whole unit that culminated in '50's day. Golda was supposed to wear a poodle skirt that day, and her excitement was the only thing that kept me from filing "costume for '50's Day" under "Yeah, whatever." In a fit of optimism, I bought the materials for a skirt. It was then that I remembered that I'm not very good at sewing. You remember what happened next: Thanks to Coco, Golda and her friend Phebe had the best pink poodle skirts in the school.

When the note came home about Egypt Day this year, it said, "Wear Egyptian costumes brought from home." As my sis-in-law Michelle said, "Ah, yes, the Egyptian costumes. They're in the closet between the Greek costumes and the Renaissance costumes." In a most unlikely and fortuitous coincidence, Ellison had asked Santa for a King Tut costume last year and was nice enough to let Golda borrow it. (Thanks, Sarah! Got anything for Athens Day? I'm going to encourage Ellison to ask for a toga for Christmas.)

No sooner was Egypt Day history than the science fair project was due. Golda did most of the work herself, staying on schedule and ahead of the game. Her project turned out cute. It seems like life for kids is one long party, with events at school and activities at home. On the contrary, 6th graders have a lot of pressure. I remember how hard it was to practice every day, and to get all your assignments turned in on time and hold your own with your peers. Golda gets up early twice a week for orchestra and choir, and it's hard leaving the house in the dark and cold. She has at least "70 minutes" of reading and homework a night, which often begins after 8:00 because of ballet, modern, jazz, flute, voice and church activities. Plus, being the oldest is a role that has its curses. All this while balancing on the edge of adolescence. Sometimes when Golda pulls out a math worksheet at ten o'clock at night, I'm honestly glad it's her and not me. For the most part, Golda loves her life, except for the fact that she's not rehearsing for any plays. She scans the auditions section of the newspaper every Sunday. They say TV and apathy are problems for today's youth, but the kids I see are motivated, active and ambitious. Some call it "overscheduled," but I see it as preparing for life, and I think it's lucky they can focus on developing their talents and managing their time while they're young. I went with Golda and Ruby to the ballet Saturday night. It's fun to see that their dance training is giving them a love for an art we can enjoy together.

I have to hand it to Golda for appreciating the opportunities she has and working hard to deserve them. Golda, you're doing a good job. I'm proud of you! Now go finish your homework.

What Is Art?

It's all about Araceli today, isn't it? Golda would say it's always about Ari, but sometimes more than others. Today was Ari's "friend" party for her 7th birthday. I was telling my book club friends about my 4th grade birthday party, the one where my mom sewed a miniature sleeping bag and pillow with a tiny doll inside for the invitations. Everyone in the fourth grade wanted one of those sleeping bags, and the word spread. Every day after school, I'd come home and place an order for a few more sleeping bags. At the party, there were girls sleeping in every room in the house. If you were there, you remember it by one word: "Debbie."

Anyway, last night, Ari was crying about a friend she forgot to invite. She said, "We HAVE to invite her! She's one of my best friends at morning recess!" I had flashbacks to 4th grade as I called the mom at the last minute, but it all worked out. The party started with a "gallery stroll," where we walked around the house and looked at all the stuff hanging on the walls. The girls were getting ideas for their own paintings, which we then got started on. Each girl got a mini canvas, a brush and a plate of paint. I love how the limited palate of colors made all the little masterpieces look so cute together! While the paintings dried and I cleaned up, the partyers opened presents. All of Ari's friends were very generous. The kids opted to play outside before cake, so I got it all ready and called them in. At the end, I sent them home with their painting in a paper bag and a watercolor set as a favor.

The party, comprised of 19 first graders and me, was awesome, and I'll tell you why:

1. No adults allowed. No parents hovering around asking if they can help. Scott took all the siblings to a movie, too. Thanks, Scott! It's a lot easier when all the party girls are the same age.
2. I cleaned up while Ari opened gifts. It's a lot more fun for the kids if a mom isn't standing there shouting, "WOW! DID YOU SAY THANKS?!?" every time she opens a gift. Thank you notes can say, "Thanks for the nice gift" if you lose track of what came from where.
3. After singing Happy Birthday, the kids chanted with me, "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit!" No requests, no special orders, no substitutions! Have the ice cream already dished up, toss a piece of cake on each identical plate and tell them how fun it would be if they ate outside! By the swingset!
4. I had to remember to get out of the way. Don't micromanage. The kids don't care about you. Let them have fun and relax.

For today, that's what worked, although it could all be different next time! My favorite part was seeing all the little girls being so creative. Each unique painting turned out beautiful, just like each of the girls. It's so fun to spend a carefree afternoon with my daughter and her friends. I count myself lucky, and I know Araceli does, too.

All Dressed Up

All dressed up and noplace to go. Well, actually, we did have someplace to go. I noticed this look at exactly the same moment I said, "Araceli, it's time for cello. Hurry and get in the car!"

Lo and behold, Araceli was waaaaaaaay spruced up for her cello lesson with Mr. Serious Cello Teacher. There was no way I was going to be late for the lesson. I couldn't see walking in late and saying, "Oh, sorry we're late. It just took awhile to get Ari's kabuki make-up off." So she went looking like an actress from Japanese theatre. I think it helped her playing.

Trump and Buffett

There were a couple of little entreprenuers is my driveway this morning, selling hot chocolate. Araceli and Ruby got Freestone set up with a big jug of warm cocoa before they left for school, then Free and Jake set up shop, hoping to make a fortune. As fortunes for five-year-olds go, they made a killing with a total of $4.67. That is not bad for having only three cutomers. Brianna, Michelle and Coco were very generous. Truth be told, the boys would have been happier with 5 dimes than one measly dollar! Freestone's favorite part was putting the money in the special wallet Aunt Carlene gave him. Jake's favorite was pouring the hot chocolate. They made a great team. Free wanted me to call more people to come over. See, he's developing marketing skills already. I think these guys should be competitors on the next Apprentice. Can you imagine what they'd say when they saw Donald Trump's hair? They might get kicked off the show the minute they fall on the ground laughing, "Look at his crazy hair! It looks like a rooster!" Maybe I'll wait until next year to let them try out. Give them time to develop some tact to go along with their amazing entreprenurial skills!