Love

I love...


...her downy head, her delicious smell, her delicate eyelashes, her slender fingers, her giant toes, her chicken legs, her spindly arms, her beautiful face, her tentative smile, her knitted brows, her serious nature, her tai chi hands, the splotchy back of her neck, her kicking legs, those tiny pink lips, her worried cry, how she tucks her fist under her chin, her hair that glows in the sunlight...

...Tziporah

Hee Jun Han...

I'm a big fan.  I loved him form the beginning of American Idol.  I admire him even more after this interview.  The immigrant story has always held great fascination for me, from Ellis Island to today.  Hee Jun said of his journey to the U.S. at age 12, "We all moved to the USA for a better life, better education, of course. Ten years of our life, nothing actually happened. We've been having lots and lots of devastating moments. I just got my green card last year – imagine your life for 10 years without a green card, right?  Then this happened. And I'm so glad that this happened."

What a great story and a great guy.  Thanks, Hee Jun.  You made us all laugh...and think.

Oblivion

Xanthe has a big goose egg on her forehead!  When I asked her about it, she said,  "It just happened! It just HAPPENED when I was on the zip line."  I asked her if she fell off and she said,  "I fall off lots of times."  I asked her if she hit her head on the ground or something and she said,  "I don't know, I wasn't watching.  I wasn't really watching or sumpin."  She has no idea how she got a big, swollen lump on her head.

Weird.  Did she hit her head hard enough to erase her memory?  I know she has problems with spatial relations, but seriously?  Cute little Xanthe, it's a good thing we got her bangs cut to cover up the goose egg.

Packing

Packing for a trip is so much fun.  I have some guidelines I've honed, but there's always room for improvement.  I'm a light packer.  Some people might feel better about over packing, but I get a kick out of minimalism.  Here are my ideas.  What are yours?

Wherever we stay has to have access to a washer and dryer.  If you packed a week's worth of clothes for nine people, including considerations for weather and kids who spill every five minutes, that would be a lot of clothes.

Pack light.  (I keep saying it!)  Unless you're going to Outer Mongolia, you can buy anything you forget.  I usually force myself to unpack one third of what I originally packed.  It's still too much.

Two jackets per person.  If it's cooler than you thought, you don't want to be wearing the same jacket every day.

Color scheme.  When the girls and I went to France, our color scheme was black and pink.  Everything we took was black and pink, so each article of clothing served more than one function and everything matched everything.  A pair of black pants and two pink shirts=two outfits, or three, if you layer the shirts.  Or five, if you have a black sweater to wear over it.  Sharing clothes gave us more options, too.  We didn't all need to bring 10 pairs of socks.  We hardly brought anything.  Again, washer and dryer.

One pair of shoes per person.  Shoes take up too much space.  One pair is enough. 

Wear layers if you're on a plane.  Then you don't have as much luggage.  Never check baggage.  It can get lost, ya know.  It's just an extra step to retrieve it, too.

Traveling by car, we pack in plastic bins.  Easier to transport than suitcases, and they fit in the car better.  All our clothes fit in two bins, and I throw a bunch of dryer sheets in with them to keep them fresh.  Added bonus:  the dryer sheet smell reminds us of our trip after we come home.  All swimsuits and towels are in a beach bag, ready to grab and take straight to the sand.  Each kid can pack their own little bag of stuff that they want to do/have/eat in the car.  Water bottles in the car: a must.  (Thanks, Jennie!)

I always have a new book or two that I'm excited about reading, that I save for the trip.  It's a luxury that adds anticipation.

I pack ahead of time.  The car is loaded days in advance.  I love to just jump in the car and go when it's time.  And having beach towels in the trunk as I drive around town is a little bit exciting.  Creating excitement around the trip, like a new outfit or "The Beach or Bust" signs for the car is great.

Plan on forgetting something.  Don't worry about it.  Improvise, relax, have fun.  It's a vacation!

How Thunder and Lightning Came to Be

Last night, 8:30, conversation between Freestone and me:

Mom, do you KNOW when my book report is due?

Please don't say tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

I knew it!  Aaaarg!

And I'm going to need some puppets and a fog machine.

As it turned out, we bought two birds and some dry ice and rounded up a couple of Easter eggs, batting and a box of "villagers."  Freestone typed a script and the camera crew got it in three takes.  Here they are.  TAKE ONE!  TAKE TWO! TAKE THREE! 

The first two takes include some serious battles between me and fits of giggling.  Freestone and his ideas are so darn cute, I couldn't help it! I suddenly realized in the middle of the night that we forgot to use the dry ice.  Shoot!  We might have to think of something else to use it for today.  I'm sure Freestone will come up with something good.

Reunion?

Tziporah is 6 weeks old, and she is the same size the other kids were at birth.  The saggy little bags of skin on her thighs are starting to fill up with flesh.  She is growing!  She is smiling, too.  She first smiled at Golda, so we think Golda must be her favorite.  Everywhere she goes, she is a tiny celebrity.  I took Golda and Ruby and their friends to the temple this morning (at 5:30!), along with Tziporah.  It is a rarity to have a newborn in there, and all the temple workers, surely grandpas and grandmas themselves, were beside themselves.  Several thanked me for the mere gift of Tziporah's presence.  They were right on;  Tziporah's presence IS a gift, to all of us.  I wondered what her eyes could see inside the temple.  The veil must be so thin for her, so newly arrived from heaven.  She was smiling her most joyful smile.  Wonder why...

They Got Me!

The KUER pledge drive got me again.  It starts out the same every time.  When the pledge drive starts, I grumble and groan.  I tell myself I'm NOT going to call this time.  I pledged last time, and that's good enough.  I think about turning off the radio until the fund drive is over, but I can't.  I'm addicted.  I depend on public radio to make me feel connected and alive.  I know this, and that's what opens the door for the glimmer of guilt.  I listen right through the fund raising segments, feeling increasingly unsettled.  I know I could save myself a few bucks by turning off the radio so I'm not tempted to call, but I just love listening.  I can't stop, no matter how banal the banter gets, or how ridiculous the incentive gifts.

"For a pledge of just $200.00, we'll send you an NPR mug!"  Yeah, a mug that says something so dorky, you won't want to be seen with it in public.  "For a pledge of just one dollar a day, we'll plant a tree in your honor!"  Or I could buy ten trees for the same $365.00 and plant them myself.  In honor of NPR, of course.  We would name the trees Lakshmi Singh, Renee Montaigne, Robert Seagull.  Maybe even a Doug Fabrizio.

I listened all through the week until Saturday.  It was Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me that finally broke me.  I was in high spirits, having already caught the end of Car Talk, so I was an easy target for the fundraisers.  My moment of clarity came sitting in my car during Golda's flute lesson.  I'm not making this up.  I was laughing out loud at Peter Sagal, and I threw my hands up in the air and shouted, "I love this!  This is so FUNNY!"  I looked around to see if anyone noticed the rabid NPR fan who hadn't made a pledge, having a "driveway moment."  Nobody saw me, but I still knew what I had to do.  If the people who shout about how much they love the programming don't call, who will?  I picked up my phone and called 581-5837, just like my radio friends had been begging me to do all week.  Darn them, they got me!  And they did it by being so excellent, I had to admit how much I loved them.  Thank you, NPR and KUER.

Deep Beauty

You were born to be a queen...

Our Idaho Gem

Golda and Ruby have a counselor at school who is just phenomenal.  Today was Ruby's SEOP where we outlined a plan for 8th grade and beyond.  I wish the girls could just keep Mrs. Ferrell in their closet all the time to give them positive affirmations every time they open the closet door.  She is so gung ho about planning for a happy and successful future, she inspires kids to get to work and achieve.  Ruby had been trying to decide whether to do the honors classes offered in 8th grade in English, science, math and history.  After Mrs. Ferrell's in-depth analysis of the benefits of Honors, Ruby's decision was, "I want to do the honors classes.  All of them."  A mom could just stand up and cheer!!

One of the things the counselor said today, I really took to heart.  We were looking over Ruby's report card.  Ruby's hard work paid off this term and she got a 4.0 and all H's.  Mrs. Ferrell really laid on the praise, effusing over Ruby's accomplishment and making it a point to tell her that not many students come through with all H's in citizenship.  Then she asked Ruby, "Have you really taken the time to think about your accomplishment and tell yourself thank you for doing such a great job?  Have you stopped to really enjoy what it feels like to have earned this?"  Basking in your success as a motivator for future success.  Good idea!  So taking Mrs. Ferrell's advice, I wanted to celebrate Ruby through the blog today, telling her how proud I am of her.  I am astounded at how grounded and focused she is on her goals.  Mrs. Ferrell talked about "filling your basket" with life skills and knowledge so that you will have skills at your disposal, no matter what life throws at you.  Being the emotional wreck that I am, it brought tears to my eyes to look at bright little Ruby and know that life will throw hard things at her.  Would that I could shield her!  But it's good to know that Ruby's basket is filling up with skills she can use;  gaining knowledge and good study habits, teaching, dancing, studying music, raising children, cultivating friendships, developing a relationship with her Heavenly Father, keeping her room and bathroom clean, cooking, getting along with siblings, being grateful, reading, writing, thinking, laughing...

Keep filling that basket, Ruby.  It's already full of beautiful things.  We are proud of you and we're so happy to take the time to celebrate your hard work and the wonderful person you are.

Cookie Thief

At the store there was a big grocery cart full of day-old St. Patrick's Day cookies.  An older gentleman was standing next to them and I noticed he had broken into one and was munching on a cookie.  My heart went out to him!  There is nothing sadder than hunger.  I know its repercussions, too, having watched Xanthe try to overcome her fear about going hungry, left over from her infancy six years ago.  I just wish there wasn't so much hunger and lack in the world.

I happened to be behind the cookie sneaker in the check-out line.  He was buying two half-gallons of milk that had been marked down to 25 cents each.  The milk had to have been on the verge of going bad.  I had visions in my head of slipping money into this man's pocket, of paying for his purchase, of giving him my food.  Sadly, I was too chicken to help him in any way.  Even more sad, the fact remains that the cookie man's hunger isn't unique.  Millions of people are hungry for food, millions more are hungry for affection, concern, friendship, love, compassion, hope.  Remember the Little Princess (Frances Hodgson Burnett), when she finds a coin and buys two rolls?  I wish everyone at least had a steaming hot roll each morning.  Is that too much to ask?  I wish everyone was warm and safe.  I wish I could wipe the worry off each face that goes through the check-out in the grocery store.  I wish I could go to Smith's without getting all emotional about a day-old cookie!  But this is what sleep deprivation does to me.  Hopefully, I can find a positive way to channel my empathy and make some small corner of the world a better place.  Cookie, anyone?

Responsible Runaways

We had a little runaway recently.  Uncle Josh found a bike loaded down with bags, parked at the top of his driveway.  It was suspicious, so he opened a backpack and found Freestone's scriptures.  Upon further investigation, he found Araceli getting a water bottle at Coco and Bill's.  It was her last stop before she hit the open road.  She was running away.

Coco and Bill brought her inside and gave her hugs while Josh called us to let us know Ari was safe.  As proof that we're far from perfect, we didn't even know Ari was missing.  Scott and I were watching America's Funniest Home Videos by ourselves after the kids went to bed.  How pathetic is that?  It was probably due to our loud cackling and snorting that we didn't hear the garage door go up.  Ari sent word through Josh that she had left a note for the family.  It was a cheerful little note, telling us not to worry, that she was running away to the ballet studio and she would be fine.  Indeed, I found her leotard, tights and ballet shoes in her backpack when I unpacked it the next day.  Always prepared, this girl. 

All the drama of Ari's abortive takeoff reminded Golda of the time she ran away. Golda had only made it to the mailbox when she got hungry, started to cry, and ate all the chocolate chips she had packed to sustain her on her long journey.  Golda's good-bye note was so classic, I saved it.  She was running away because nobody loved her and all that, but the last line of the note said, "I'll find a way to get to flut."

I love it!  Here's little Golda, thinking we'll be OK with never seeing her again, as long as she doesn't miss her flute lesson.  And Ari.  Her plan was to camp out on the porch at Studio B.  Good thing she packed her ballet clothes, because when you're homeless, you might as well go to class.  I mean, you're living right there in the alley.  I am a little miffed Ari didn't pack her cello, since the ballet studio is centrally located within biking distance of both cello teachers' studios.  Granted, it would have been hard to carry a cello on a bike...at night...in the dark.

Kids, just so you know:  If you run away and I hear through the grapevine years later that you missed ballet or flute or violin or piano...you're dead meat.

Karma

Tizzy was crying. Ptolemy was rummaging through the pantry. The house wasn't getting clean.  Phone calls and emails weren't getting answered because I could NOT find my phone.  And I hadn't had a chance to go to the bathroom all day.  Giving up on finding the phone, I dashed into the bathroom.  In frustration, I muttered, "Come ON, universe!"  Just then, my phone plopped into the toilet.  It had been in my back pocket the whole time.

Moral of the story:  When you're at your wits' end, don't curse the universe.  The universe will get you.

Felshaw

I was talking with a friend at church about some church doctrine, looking up a word.  My dad happened by and I asked him about the definition of the word ontological.  Of course, he knew it, and said he had some stuff printed off at home about this very subject.  That's just like my dad.  After church at his house, he handed me eight pages of information he had printed off, studied and highlighted...just for fun.  Most of it was the result of a google search, "Does God exist?"  The last page was a color picture of a galaxy.

How many people of faith do you know who wonder, ask, seek and learn to that extent?  My dad knows God exists.  His life is proof of that.  He just thinks it's fascinating to ponder life's biggest questions, to see what other people have said, what philosophers have written, what the scriptures teach.  Along with the information Dad gave me, he offered a quote off the top of his head from St. Anselm, one of his favorite philosophers:  "I do not seek to understand so that I can believe, but I believe so that I may understand; and what is more, I believe that unless I do believe, I shall not understand.”

What a thrilling concept!  I'm grateful for a father who both believes and understands.  Thanks, Dad.

1 Samuel 1:27

For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath given me my petition which I asked of him...

With each of my children, I missed them and longed for them before I knew them.  I felt their pull and their presence and I knew they were coming.  Now that Tziporah is here, no part of my heart reaches and stretches outside the walls of our home, searching and waiting.  Everyone is safely home.  I can't help but look at each of our children and think, "I'm so glad you're here.  I'm so glad you're here."  We all made it!  All my prayers are prayers of gratitude.  And now the journey continues...

Green Day

Shamrock socks for good luck!

I'll tell you my problem with St. Patrick's Day. Problems; there are two. One: When I was four, my mom took me to visit my grandparents' candle factory on St. Patrick's Day. I was wearing an adorable green calico dress with a skirt that flared out to square-dancing proportions. One of the ladies that worked in the office pinched me. I pointed out in my tiny, shy voice that my dress was green. She said tauntingly, "No it's not! It's purple." Ha ha ha. Aren't grown-ups funny? She repeated her cruel joke over and over until I stared to wonder if she was mentally ill or extremely sadistic. I swear, it I saw her today I'd punch her in the throat. That's how mad I am. That dress was adorable and it was GREEN!!!

Then, in fourth grade, my teacher had an art contest for a March calendar cover. I had an incredibly darling idea of drawing a leprechaun flying a kite. I worked on it night and day and I didn't win. The rest of the school year was miserable. It was probably after that when I put soap in my friend's lip gloss.

To this day, I can't get over the feeling that we're all celebrating St. Patrick's Day because it's March and there's nothing better to do. We're not Catholic. We're not Irish. I can't even listen to Celtic music without having the urge to throw myself into oncoming traffic.  I can enjoy listening to a jig for about three seconds before starting to feel blindingly violent.  And do you know anyone who would willingly and knowingly decorate with Kelly Green if it wasn't St. Patrick's Day-mandated?  It's the rainbow's ugliest color.

And to add to my negative feelings about this holiday is the trend of leprechauns making messes in our homes.  Needless to say, we were not visited by leprechauns at all last night.  If it weren't for the evil secretary at the Candle Kitchen, I might be enjoying all the festivities.  Geez, childhood traumas die hard!  Ruby must be more durable than I am...THIS trauma hasn't seemed to ruin her at all.  It's my favorite story of all time, too.  Happy St. Patrick's Day.  :)

akg ekbjlq

People, take those annoying word verification things off your blogs. My thumbs are getting tired. I promise, robots won't suddenly start leaving inappropriate comments for you.

Why I Love Scott

His text messages.  Especially this one:

I'm hoping to watch March Madness tonight.  I think Tizzy wants to watch too.  What are my plans?

So many good qualities evident in those three brief sentences.  And it doesn't hurt that he's extremely attractive!

Can I Get A Hand?

Help!  This is Circe's right hand typing.  I'm normally in charge if the right side of the QWERTY, but lately I've had to operate the whole keyboard by myself.  The other hand is always holding the baby!  It's exhausting for me, and to tell you the truth, I think it's frying Circe's brain.   She has emails to answer, forms to fill out, teachers to correspond with.  And blogging.  There are a lot of words backed up in there and it's almost impossible to get them out in the right order and in a timely way with one hand.  So I'm afraid you're going to have to wait to hear the story of when Bill voted for Jesse Jackson for president, as well as the latest with Xanthe's school issues, Ptolemy's funny comments and thoughts on Tziporah's one-month birthday.  I can't do it by myself, folks.  I'm going to need the left hand to assist me or it's Tendonitis City.  Later, dudes.

Father of the Year

Scott sent me this video and it inspired me to champion my kids.  Not by smoothing the way for them, but by expecting more out of them and myself and our family.  As the young man and his father show in the video, we are all capable of so much.  I also needed to be reminded of this today as I try to make a success of this family.  I love them all so much, just as they are.  They are all little bundles of perfection, even in their "imperfection."

Georgin

Ptolemy woke up crying, "The other baby was mean!  He got me!"  Sounds like a scary dream.  As he continued to talk about the dream, I pieced together the scenario.  Ptolemy and a mean boy named Georgin went to the church and threw rocks.  Georgin was mean and he looked like a monster.  He did not have green hair.  (Not sure why that is an important detail.)  I'm glad Tolly woke up before Georgin got him any worse!  Hopefully that nightmare will teach Ptolemy not to vandalize the church with mean monster boys.

More likely, it will teach him that he doesn't want to go to sleep or be away from me.  He has been uneasy today.  If I leave the room, he says, "Come back in here!  Let's stay in our kitchen!"  I had him in the car and told him I just had to run something into Coco's house and I would be right back.  He said, "OK, but I will be worried."  I wonder if he was worried Georgin would come and get him?  Boy, if Georgin ever visits MY dreams, I'm going to put him on the naughty step!

Waking Up

Waking Xanthe up for piano this morning when her body thought it was 5:30 AM did not bode well for Allegretto or Chante Arabe, both melodic little victims of Xanthe's fatigue.  Casualties also included the C Major scale, a Sausage McMuffin and most of Freestone's violin lesson, during which Xanthe writhed around on the teacher's staircase complaining of thirst.  Yikes!

As much as I loathe daylight savings in the AM, it's wonderful in the evening when the extra light makes me believe spring could really be here.  It's invigorating to imagine that someday a warm wind will blow over our bare arms, flowers will bloom and we will be unable to find our baseball mitts, as opposed to being unable to find our basketball jerseys.  Yes, spring is in the air!

I had to snap a picture on the fly when I saw this boy running along Main Street barefoot in his karate uniform.  As he bounded through traffic, he captured the essence of that first hint of spring. It's the first deep breath you take after a long, dark winter.  It's that first hit of euphoria when you remember that the snow melts and temperatures rise...every year.  It's the first glimmer of possibility, the first awakened memory of a deep dive into a clear pool, the first realization that it's time to wake up and sing!

It makes you want to kick off your shoes and run barefoot through traffic toward something new...a karate lesson, perhaps.

The '80's Are Back

I don't know how they did it, but the '80's came back.  These pictures don't do Ari's ensemble justice, but she looked like a young, untroubled, Mormon Cyndi Lauper when she left for school this morning.  She just needs a few more piercings and some bangs.  Maybe a pair of jelly shoes and a couple of fluorescent accessories.  Darn, I wish I had kept my hot pink Guess? sweatshirt.  It was about all I had to mark me as an '80's girl.  I have always been far too lazy to subscribe fully to the fashion du jour.  I pretty much look the same as I always did, minus the "Tender Teal" blue eye shadow that I thought I couldn't leave the house without as a youth.  I "Guess?" I was more eighties than I thought with my make-up choices.  Hey, I was a material girl, and girls just wanna have fun.

I hope Ari has fun today.  She and her friends made a pact to dress up fancy and play-act being popular girls.  (OK, that's how you know your daughter isn't popular.  Just sayin'.)  She was so excited about dressing up, she "couldn't concentrate on practicing" this morning.  Fingers crossed that pretending to be popular was a popular concept among Ari's friends and not just a rogue Ari idea.  There's nothing worse than going to school dressed like Madonna and having it backfire on you.  I know;  I went to school in 1985 in a pair of 501's that I had Rit dyed bright yellow.  Midway through the day, all the bleach and dye started taking its toll and my pants literally disintegrated off my body.  I had to hide the giant holes in the rear by wearing a sweater tied around my waist.  That worked until the pants just started peeling off in shreds.

Rit dye is powerful stuff.  So is peer pressure.  The 501 disaster might have been the last time I tried to be cool.  For Ari, it's her first time trying to be cool.  Here's to no disintegration!

Life Is Sweet

Sweet:  Ruby's cell cake for extra credit in science.  Have you ever eaten a cake decorated with mitochondria?  Ptolemy's reaction to the cake was, "What in the woyold?!"  (translation: world).  He tried hard not to eat it.

Sweet:  Ari and Freestone making cookies together.  A chocolate cake mix, two eggs, chocolate chips and 1/2 cup oil.  Easy.  There are no pictures because the cookies were soooo good.  They went fast.

Not So Sweet:  The cookies were meant to make the kids forget about Ward Pie Night, but they were SO easy to make, the kids had their coats on, ready to go, right on time.  They forgot nothing.

Ultra Sweet:  Cookies AND pie in one night.

Even Sweeter:  Ptolemy bypassed the chocolate chips this morning and went straight for the hard stuff.  A five pound bag of sugar, poured into a bowl in the pantry and eaten right out of his hands.  Can you say HEAVEN?

While a bowl full of sugar might be heaven for Ptolemy (forget the spoonful; that's for sissies), other things are sweet to me. The feel of Tziporah's tiny meatloaf-sized body in my arms or Xanthe's silky hair when I blow-dry it, the sound of Golda's flute trickling down the stairs or Ruby's guitar wafting up through the air vents, the sight of my handsome husband tying his tie in the morning or tucking kids in at night.  The smell of fresh flowers on the table or dinner in the oven.  Sweet isn't just for the taste buds.  The nectar of life is meant to be enjoyed by all the senses, and there's no better time than when the promise of spring fills the air with possibility.

"That it will never come again is what makes life sweet."
 - Emily Dickinson

Chocolate Factory

If anyone asks what it's like to have seven kids, please refer them to this video.  You've all seen it;  the episode of I Love Lucy where they're working at the chocolate factory.   Yes, I am metaphorically AND literally shoving chocolates into my mouth, hat and bra to keep up.  And I'm laughing just as hard at myself as I am at Lucy and Ethel.  I'm not the only one using chocolate as medication, either.  I found Ptolemy pounding back chocolate chips in the pantry, knowing that he was way down on my list of kids to monitor during those crazy minutes before the kids leave for school.  He takes full advantage of my inattention to basically do whatever he wants to.  I fear for the future with this kid.  He knows how to work the system and he already uses chocolate to solve problems.

At the store, I got one of those giant carts with the fire truck on the front.  We were quite a spectacle, with Tziporah screaming her "newborn goat" scream in the cart and Ptolemy waving his arms out the sunroof of the fire truck like he was standing at the prow of the Titanic, wind in his hair.  We got to the bulk food bins, where I usually don't go, and Ptolemy shouted, "Whoa!  What's THIS!?!?"  Rows and rows of candy!!  I just had to get a single gumdrop for Ruby's science assignment, but in the time it took me to bag and label it, Ptolemy had leaped out of the firetruck and crammed his mouth full of chocolate from the the nearest available bin.  He enthusiastically exclaimed through the chocolate, "This is yummy, Mom!"  I was tempted to say loudly, "Let's go pay for that chocolate you just ate!!," and then beeline it to the nearest exit.  I wasn't sure how to weigh the offending chocolate, so I just rushed the firetruck to the checkout, hoping Ptolemy wasn't caught on video pillaging the bulk food bins.

When we got home, I swear I pulled a muscle in my finger trying to open a pudding with one hand while I nursed the baby.  Now everyone is fed and I have a few minutes to sit down and figure out what to do with all the metaphorical chocolate stashed in my hat and - oh my gosh, I'm supposed to be at the shop in five minutes!   Guess I'll shove some chocolates in my mouth and go!  Aaaggh!  Where are the M&M's??

You Could Win

There is a drawing where one of the prizes is a $100.00 gift certificate at Love Boxes.  Not many people have entered, so you have a good chance of winning!  Comment here.

Easter Egg Info

I mentioned this to the book club email list and the family a few months back, but I thought I should make sure the word is out that we're not doing the Easter egg hunt this year behind the school.  We'll be out of town that day!

I know some people plan on it, since it's been at the same time/place every year.  If anyone wants to take over and have it this year, please do!  It's pretty darn easy to pull off.  We do stuff 50 dozen extra eggs because, well, that's just how the math works when some kids are super fast at collecting eggs.  :)  If you want to be in charge of it this year, please let me give you a BUNCH of eggs I have.

Traditions are what makes life meaningful, but I have to admit, it's been liberating not having to think about the hunt this year.  There's a twinge of sadness at breaking the streak, but life has to be elastic or you can become beholden to the very things that were created to bring happiness.  The only constant in life is change, right?  That being said, we'll see you next year at 9:00 behind the school, the Saturday before Easter.  Until then, carry on without us!

The Nutmobile

We got a new van, and it happened so fast, Genesis 1:1 keeps popping into my head.  Creating a world is a bigger job than buying a new car, but the irreverent comparison amuses me.  For Scott, this task had several steps.

1.  Scott took the old van in for some free work related to a recall notice.  The auto shop found $3,500 worth of things wrong with the van.  A plan started to form in Scott's head.  (He's a thinker.  All his plans start out slowly with a lot of groundwork.  When we paint, Scott preps carefully and does a beautiful job. Me, I suddenly choose a new color while standing in the hardware store checkout line and six hours later, a room in our house is somewhat sloppily transformed.) 

And the evening and the morning were the first day.

2.  Scott texted his wife about the three thousand bucks worth of repairs and told her that he just wanted her and the kids to be safe...thus planting the new car seed in her mind.  Then he rested, which God never did until the seventh day, but Scott needed time for the new car seed to germinate.  Because if the wife isn't on board, you might as well throw in the towel.

And the evening and the morning were the second day.

3.  Scott and the world wide web teamed up to find out which van was the best and where he could get it for half of what other people would pay.  He found some vans for sale at places that just happened to be on the way to court, so it wouldn't make sense not to just go look at them.  Right?

And the evening and the morning were the third day.

4.  Scott's wife got a text with links to car descriptions.  She got a phone call from Scott, who was test driving a Honda Odyssey.  He talked about GPS and side air bags and miles and warranties and blue books and ratings.  His wife, in a failed attempt to sound intelligent and engaged said, "What color is it?"

Scott found an even cheaper Honda Odyssey for sale.  It had a sunroof, and he had looked under the hood and found it to be very shiny, which had to be a good sign.  The fact that the van was for sale behind a pawn shop on a seedy street was not a deterrent.  It had a lot of electronic stuff which Scott kept mentioning to his wife, hoping that she'd suddenly take on a completely different personality, one that appreciated car upgrades.  She just kept saying, "I trust you and I love the heated seats.  Black is a good color, and if you say the engine is shiny enough and you think we can afford it, buy it."

 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

5.  Scott discovered that the car salesman was the husband of one of our favorite ballet teachers and the dad of two of our VERY favorite Arabian dancer boys!  So he bought the car.  It's not what you know, it's who you know, which works out for us because we know nothing except for the fact that if your sons are exceedingly polite and affable and your wife is an excellent ballet teacher, the car you are selling must be a very good car.  Plus, the salesman gave Scott an Arabian Dance discount and Scott is all about discounts.  He brought the van home to wild excitement from everyone.  Ruby ran to get the Nutcracker DVD, the only DVD we have, because...drumroll please...the van has a DVD player!!  Scott drove everyone around watching The Nutcracker and rolling the windows up and down.

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

6.  Then came the problem of selling the old van.  Hours after Scott's wife listed it on KSL, a young man came to look at it.  The asking price was $5,900, but Scott hastened to inform him that we would take $4800.  Scott likes deals so much, he wanted to make sure the guy got a good one from us.  Scott's wife reminded him that he had to be at flute soon, so he left her to negotiate.  He later texted her, "We were early to flute.  I had time to negotiate the price of our van down another thousand dollars. lol."  The wife ended up selling the van to a different guy who offered more money.  He loaded it up on a flatbed and drove away, leaving her with a check that may or may not clear.  (She is very optimistic - not a worrier.  I know, I know, it will catch up with her someday.)  But the check cleared.  Ha! 

And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

7.  After vehemently making it clear to the family that the DVD player was not to be used except on long road trips, Scott's wife was seen backing out of her driveway with The Nutcracker already playing.  She was seen aimlessly driving around town with no objective because Ptolemy was quietly watching the Fight Scene in the way back and Tziporah was asleep and the heated seat felt so luxurious, it would be crazy to get out of the car.  Given the van's provenance and because there is rarely a time in the car when The Nutcracker isn't on, the Wife dubbed the van The Nutmobile.  It's a good name because it also alludes to the nut who drives it.  The one who, just last week, picked up Golda and Ruby from modern and drove to Charity's house to drop her off like usual, even though Charity wasn't at dance that night and therefore, not in the car.  The same nutty driver who yesterday held her car keys up to her ear when her phone rang.  (Please don't tell anyone about that.)  The moniker also refers to the nuts in the back seats, whether they're screaming, changing their clothes, texting their friends or hanging out the windows.  There is a whole variety of nuts to choose from.

Scott's wife was endlessly grateful for the new van and for a husband who takes such good care of his nuts.  (couldn't resist the double entendre.)

And Scott saw that it was good.  And the evening and the morning were the seventh day, but Scott didn't rest because, even with the new van, he still had to do half the driving and it was time for ballet.

Tolly and Tizzy

How is Ptolemy doing with a new baby in the house?  He thinks she is very amusing.  I'm sure he doesn't realize how much he has been affected by sharing the spotlight with someone, but the rest of us notice.  For example, Ptolemy has begun referring to himself in the third person.  If he hears us discussing a plan, he'll say, "Ptolemy doesn't want to stay here.  Ptolemy needs to go with you!"  If we laugh at something funny he says, he chuckles, "Ptolemy was funny.  He was like..." and then he repeats his joke.  We all try not to gush too much over tiny Tizzy while Tolly is vying for our attention, but you never know when he's going to feel slighted.  Yesterday I said to him, "Ptolemy, get me a diaper and we can change Tziporah."

He replied with a pout, "Ptolemy has a bum too!"  Every part of Tolly's little body feels betrayed!  He's a good sport, though, and I'm sure Tolly and Tizzy will be best friends someday...as soon as Tiz is big enough to understand how cool her big bro is.

Fifteen Minutes

Making pillows for "class store" in between working on the "name art."

Araceli has more independence in her pinky finger than your average ten-year-old has in her whole body.  It scares me, but it's also exciting to watch.  Yesterday, Ari decided she wanted to walk from her cello lesson to Studio C where Golda and Xanthe would be picked up from ballet.  Her plan would save me an extra trip downtown and it was only a few blocks.  I hesitantly agreed, but it turned out that I was extremely nervous as the time neared.  I looked out the window at precisely the time Ari would be traipsing along a busy street with her cello on her back, and it had started to snow.  Blizzard-y, wet snow.  I vowed never to let Ari talk me into one of her plans again, but I know that's not realistic, and when Scott brought the girls home, Ari didn't mention the snowstorm.  She was just fine.

She's better than fine these days, actually.  With a silvery smile, she proclaimed last night, "Fourth grade just got awesome!"  It's because of the name signs, she explained.  Ari wrote a friend's name on a paper and decorated it in an artistic way.  Then another friend wanted her name done, and another, until Ari finally created a sign-up sheet for anyone who wanted their name done in art.  Almost everyone signed up!  Of all the projects Ari's colorful mind has come up with, I have never seen one make her so happy.  Her enthusiasm as she worked on each child's name was almost palpable. 

When I was in fifth grade, there was a golden time period when French braids were all the rage, and I knew how to do them!  I was very popular every recess, french braiding everyone's hair.  It was amazing to be so needed and to have a skill so coveted.  I stretched my skill set as far as I could, first braiding, then teaching everyone else how to braid.  I guess I inadvertently tanked my own business that way, but it was worth the warmth of the spotlight.  Eventually, french braids went the way of the dodo anyway, and girls who could boondoggle took over for their fifteen minutes of fame. 

Ari's fifteen fourth grade minutes start now, with her clever little idea.  I hope the other kids like what she creates for them.  I'm crossing my fingers that we don't have a snickerdoodle moment when the kids get their name art.  Even if fourth grade happens to temporarily lose some of its awesomeness, Araceli will come out on top.  She always does.