Looks Like We Made It!

 Golda gave me a makeover for our date.

So, fifteen years ago today was our perfect wedding day.  It's hard to know exactly where to start if I'm going to tell the story of our wedding.  Fifth grade?  Senior prom?  The Dear John letter that ended our missionary/college long-distance relationship?  The lunch five years later where Sarah laid it on the line and asked Scott if he would ever date me again?  The day I veered from the path I had chosen to join Scott on the better path?

I think I'll start the spring that I decided I was going to marry Scott.  I moved home to my parents' house to prepare, and to take myself out of the self-imposed role of Party Queen of the violin making school.  I was serious about the Scott thing.  I called the Salt Lake Temple and made a reservation for our wedding.  For Scott's address, I gave my Aunt Tricia's because, well, Scott didn't know about the wedding.  In fact, my intentions had him scared, running the other direction.  While I was purchasing the Martha Stewart Wedding Planner, he was trolling the singles ward for anyone who wasn't me.  Somebody who hadn't let him down before, and who didn't have quite so much power to break his heart, should it come to that.

It was a crazy time, for sure.  Scott going to baseball games with girls named Caroline...me picking out a china pattern.  I can't say I was too concerned, though, because I knew I was right.  There have only been a couple of times when I knew what to do.  One was when I chose to move back to Utah after college for violin making school instead of Chicago or Prague, and one was marrying Scott.  So I just waited for him to come around.

It wasn't until August that we were out in the water at Pineview, wave running, when our friend Brian said, "Why don't you two just get married?"  I said casually, "I already have the temple date set."  Scott looked at me and the color drained right out of his face.  He knew I was serious, and just like that, we were engaged.

Told ya so.

We had a week before I went back to school, and the whole thing was planned by the time the semester started.  I had very specific ideas, but very traditional, too and therefore easy to implement.  And, while my wedding certainly wasn't extravagant, my parents were able to provide what I had in mind, and I am so grateful to them.  The first day after our engagement, I found the perfect wedding dress.  It was on sale, I loved it, and I didn't shop around at all.  Then I ordered the cake from Backer's Bakery, which was right next door to the dress shop, and chose my invitations.  I set up engagement pictures at Busath, where my aunt worked, and chose invitations.  It was easy, because I knew I wanted plain white.  My mom and I met with the two guys I had chosen to do my flowers and I said, "Bright colors.  All of them."  I wore my prom dress in the engagement photos, the one I had worn when I went with Scott.  It was a classic black silk dress with bright bows on the sleeves.  So that was my color scheme.  Black and white, overlayed with bright colors.

My grandmother, Golda, had asked me to get married in the Salt Lake Temple, where she had been married, so that was that.  Scott's parents hosted a beautiful wedding dinner the night before at the Joseph Smith Building.  I wanted the reception to be at my parents' house so I could take my shoes off and relax. I didn't do a fancy hair thing because I wanted to look like me at my wedding.  Laurrie Storey catered it, my brothers and their friends served the food, Trajan's piano teacher played jazz for the music, and we just had a good time.  I was blissfully unaware of the entire Elders' Quorum furiously shoveling sleet out of the gutters in front of the house to prevent flooding, and all the people working with the caterers in the kitchen, and everyone, our parents especially, who probably collapsed at the end of the night from exhaustion.  Scott and I were so happy, and so thrilled with every detail of our day.  When it was time for us to make our grand exit, I just wanted to stay at the party a little bit longer, to enjoy our magnificent wedding day. I didn't want it to end.

Truly, running to our car in the rain, holding hands with Scott, wearing my new Armani suit, was just the beginning of a celebration that has lasted fifteen years and shows no sign of drawing to a close.  It might not always seem like a big party.  We did the exact same thing for our anniversary this year as we did last year, with Scott even wearing the same sweater.  So we're boring.  But beneath our mundane exterior, we are two friends who fell in love as kids, really, and had the good fortune to somehow hang onto a good thing.  I used to listen to Barry Manilow and pine away for Scott, after I was sure I had lost him, during that bleak time between falling in love and following our charted courses.  I showed roommates from France, Spain, Japan, Honduras and Germany how good old American girls mourn the loss of their first love.  I would sob over "In Another World" and "The One That Got Away."  "When the Good Time Come Again" was excruciating:

Hope we both survive the world out there
You'll never know what wind will blow so don't forget I care
And don't forget the way we felt together
Sometimes we have to hold to all the good that's been
Until the good times come again...

Tonight, as I jumped in the car for our big fifteenth anniversary dinner, I sang another Barry Manilow tune, "Looks like we made it!"

Here's another one for you, Scott...
Keep Each Other Warm lyrics
Songwriters: Hill, Andrew; Sinfield, Peter John;

If you're looking for the dream you dreamed of
Open your eyes
If you're looking for the one and only
In your life, oh darling

Reach out your hand, reach out for me
I'll be walking beside you
Through it all
And we'll stand tall

When we're blown by the wind
Torn by the storm
We'll always find the love we need
To keep each other, keep each other warm

Come sail into my arms
The harbor of my heart
And trust that love is all we need
To keep each other, keep each other warm.


Boy, am I glad I ended up in the harbor of your heart, Scott.  I'm glad I don't have to rely on my moonlight memories of you, as wonderful as they are.  I can't smile without you, so don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me.  We made it through the rain on our wedding day and every day since.  Love ya!

Golda's New Blog!

Golda has recently done drama camps and a ballet class for younger kids. The kids have had a lot of fun in the past and now she has a new blog to update people on camps and classes that she is doing. It is http://www.goldacristine.blogspot.com/. Check it out!

Mother-Daughter Book Club; An Invitation

I had an idea several years ago and I still have yet to implement it.  My idea was a Mother-Daughter book club.  I thought it was a great idea, an important idea, but I was always afraid it wouldn't work.  Every time I try to get it off the ground, I worry that it won't work, and I stop.  I still worry that it won't work, that nobody will be interested, that I will fail or be embarrassed, but I'm going to do it anyway.  My older girls are already becoming disinterested, and I'm running out of daughters!  Plus, I realize that my kids aren't reading some of the absolute must-read classics, and I am looking for ways to broaden their base of experience besides me handing them a book and saying, "I loved this when I was your age."  That hasn't worked for me so far.

So here's the deal:  Everyone is invited to my house the third Saturday of the month from about 4:30-5:30 for book club.  It seems like a random time, but there are very few conflicts during that small window between soccer, etc., and Saturday evening plans.  The first book will be Diary of Anne Frank.  Araceli, my third grader, will be invited to participate, and I don't know whether this book will be over her head.  She suggested Tuck Everlasting, and I think that's a great idea.  We'll plan on having two books on two different age levels to read and discuss every month.  And sons are welcome, too, of course.  I just like the sound of "Mother-Daughter Book Club."  I'm not good at committees; I'm better at either being in charge or following orders, so I'm tempted to choose the books for each month myself, based on what I want my girls to read.  However, one of the things that is most valuable about book clubs in general is that you end up reading books you wouldn't have chosen yourself.  So if everybody comes to the first book club with ideas, we'll put together a calendar and a reading list.

I know this is just One More Thing in our busy lives, but I feel inspired.  I'm reading a book called Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire by Rafe Esquith, a teacher famous for his success in the classroom.  His quote that inspired me:  "  If young people develop a love of reading, they will have better lives.  That objective is not listed in our state curriculum standards.  Our assessment of reading may begin with standardized test scores, but in the end we must measure a child's reading ability by the amount of laughter exhaled and tears shed as the written word is devoured."

I know kids have a lot of homework and not a lot of time, but I want to give them the enjoyment and satisfaction of reading for pleasure, not for a grade.  I so desperately want them to love reading.  Even if Mother-Daughter Book Club results in just one book read, it is better than nothing.  Ari, Freestone and I are already on Chapter 7 of Tuck Everlasting and it only took a little bit of time.

My house, January 22 (which is actually the 4th Saturday, but it works better).  4:30.  No age limits, no rules.  You don't have to be a mother have a daughter, and if you live far away from me, you can still read with us!  It's just a reason to read a good book and talk about it.  And eat brownies, of course.

The Most Real Things

The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor grown-ups can see.
                                                                    -Francis P. Church, New York Sun

While Freestone's dream came true Christmas morning when Santa did, indeed, haul a treadmill all the way from the North Pole, Araceli's experience was more subdued.  Santa didn't bring her the Utah Utes sweatshirt that she hoped for, and he forgot that she still likes baby dolls, even though she packed all of hers away recently.  She stood quietly Christmas morning, a lone island in the swirl of excitement, and said softly to herself, "I think I'm too old to believe in Santa Claus."  I could almost feel my heart tearing in half and despair gushing out.  At that moment, I would have done anything to banish her disbelief.

Later, when things were quiet, Araceli asked me for the truth about Santa.  I told her that I was just about her age when I had to decide for myself if I was going to believe in Santa Claus.  I said that I had decided I was going to believe in him forever and ever, and I still do.  That miracles happen when you believe and that I love the magic of Christmas.  That's the truth.  Ari was pleased with our talk, and happy about the gifts Santa brought.  She and I thought that maybe Santa got the idea that she wanted to be more like the big girls and that's why he didn't bring a baby doll.  And maybe he didn't get the message about the sweatshirt.  But Christmas is about a child's dreams coming true, and Scott and I were crushed that Ari's expectations hadn't been met at such a crucial moment in her childhood.

On Sunday, Ari and I stayed home from church.  I was reading in bed and Ari was walking on the treadmill in the basement when I thought I heard a noise on the roof.  When Ari came upstairs and went into her room, there was a brand new Utes sweatshirt on her bed!  It had a note with it that said, "When you believe, dreams come true!  Love, Santa"  We don't know how Santa did it, but he did.

Coco took Ari to the store and helped her choose a baby doll today.  When she came home wearing her new sweatshirt and lovingly cradling her baby doll, I felt like something had been restored this Christmas.  Ari's heart is full of magic now that the world will never take away, because Ari chose for herself to keep the magic and never let it go.

Holiday Hangover

It's not fair that I have a holiday hangover and I don't really even drink.  I'm having withdrawals, too, from all the goodie plates we used to find on our doorstep.  And I think I have a touch of SOD.  (School's Out Depression)  My kids are having to forage for real food to eat and there ain't none because I have the Dreaded Flu.  On the plus side, I've read 3 books since Sunday and I got to stay home from church almost all alone.  On the downside, Xanthe is sick too, and she's not the kind of sick where the kid sleeps for two days in a drug-induced land of crazy dreams.  No, Xanthe has just enough strength to grill me continuously in the softest, scratchiest possible voice about why there is no ballet this week and how it could have possibly been Esmae's birthday if there was no party and when the party will be and maybe Esmae had a party without her and maybe we missed ballet and will she have to go to the doctor and will he give her shots.  If I leave her side, she bleats at me until I come back.  "Moooooom!  Moooooom!"  She also claimed I gave her too much medicine.  She said her legs hurt when she blinked and asked why the chair in my room was so much smaller than it was yesterday.  Oops, maybe I did give her too much medicine.  Is that why she looks so goofy?  Then why won't she rest!?!?

I am getting my 2011 calendar out right now and writing on December 26, "You and the rest of the family will get sick."  It's true.  And it's because Christmas is over and there's nothing to do but incubate the germs you collected at all those holiday parties.  At least next year, I'll be ready for it.  I'll have a big stack of books, milk and cereal for the kids and some stronger medicine ready for Xanthe.  Medicine that makes her veeeeeeeeeery sleepy and much less curious.  Is there such a thing?

There is a Santa Claus!

Freestone believed...

Opa's Shoes

Tonight, Christmas Eve, after a perfect day of celebration st Grandma and Grandpa's, we settled in at Coco and Bill's for the "Bible Story."  As I took my customary place on the hearth in front of the quiet fire, I took notice of Opa's Dutch shoes.  I have been reading Opa's missionary journal, given to the families by my Uncle Paul for Christmas this year, so the shoes held greater significance for me.  They are just a souvenir; Dutch people no longer wear wooden shoes, and they didn't when Opa served his first mission there in 1931.  But the rough-hewn shoes were a reminder to me of Opa's sacrifices and of his unwavering faith in the gospel.  When I got home tonight, I looked in Opa's missionary journal to see what he did on Christmas as a missionary in The Netherlands.  His family at home in Salt Lake would have had an extremely modest Christmas, it being the Great Depression, and the family with a missionary to support.  Opa, in Dordrecht, Holland, wrote in his journal, "Saturday, Dec. 24.  Plenty of mail this morning, even money and good tidings.  Went to Van der Merwe's and ate some eggs, bread and milk."  Opa also decorated the church and helped put on a Christmas production for the saints on Christmas Day.  His Christmas dinner was nothing like the bounteous feast we enjoyed today, and his family, across the Atlantic, surely didn't have anything approaching the riches we have under our tree.  Yet is it because of them that we enjoy not only the material blessings we have, but also the freedom of living in the country they gave everything to immigrate to.  And it is partly because of strong and proud Dutch immigrants who sold their furniture to keep their son on his mission during the Great Depression, that my family has the blessing of having the gospel of Jesus Christ to guide us safely home.

Tonight, Golda came to Scott and me, long after a girl should have been asleep on Christmas Eve, and said that she had just finished reading the Book of Mormon for the first time.  She was so happy!  As Opa sat eating his Christmas dinner of eggs, bread and milk in a bitter-cold city in Holland 1932, he could scarcely have imagined the benefits his faithfulness would have for his posterity.  Opa, I miss you.  Thank you for giving me such big shoes to fill.

Luke, Chapter 2

Every year, my dad reads Luke, Chapter 2 from our big, old family Bible.  In the past, we have had visitors read it in Dutch, Japanese, French and Spanish.  My brothers have read the account in Portuguese.  Tonight, it was just Bill and his clear, kind lawyer's voice, directing his words to the kids gathered around.  They may not appreciate the import of the story tonight, but they will come to understand that the story Bill reads on Christmas Eve is the most beautiful and important of all the stories in the world.  Thanks, Dad. 

Through the Years, We All Will Be Together

 Dear Grandma and Grandpa,
It is hard to believe that two mere mortals could pull off what you do for Christmas.  Even with the hundreds of hours you spend and the months of thought and preparation, it is mind-boggling that you are able to shop for, organize and wrap the perfect gifts for 23 kids and 11 adults!  Then, at the end of all the shopping, wrapping, list-making, cookie decorating, tree trimming, sleepless nights and last-minute mall runs, you host a delicious dinner, put together a wonderful program and let us enjoy your beautiful home and each others' company until far beyond a reasonable hour.  We imagine that you completely collapse when the last grandchildren are loaded in their car clutching their own plates of goodies.  Hardly will you have time to soak your weary feet before we all return, the children with stories to tell about Santa and the treasures he brought and the adults craving not only your endless cookies, but the camaraderie and comfort of family.  You have given us a treasure far more valuable than anything Santa could fit down our chimneys.  Thank you for your holiday traditions that bind us together into one big, wonderful group.  We love you!