Two Worlds Collide

Mom:  Freestone, what should we have for dinner?  If you could have anything in the world for dinner, what would you choose?

Freestone:  There's a Pokemon guy...and he has green hair...and he cooks delicious food.  I would have one of his meals.

4th Term

Golda wrote this and I loved it, so I stole it for my blog.  Golda's blog is Le mie parole on my sidebar in case you want to catch a glimpse into 9th grade.




4th Term:

 Is summer right around the corner? Or in the next town, surrounded by traffic?
Some days when it's warm, blue and sunny, it's like a little hint of summer to keep you going. Other days when the classroom is hot, the CRTs are looming, and homework is still going strong, it's more like summer is breathing down your neck. Today is a pretty good day. Most of my classes had fans and we took our last page of Geometry notes. Outside is filled with crisp shadows, colorful sidewalks, rippling green leaves, and warm air.
Hot days drenched in cold water, melted Popsicles, and laughter are ahead. Just one last push!

What It's All About

Almost nine years ago, I gave birth to a son after carrying him with a torn pelvic ligament for nine months.  We have fed him and taught him and kept him fit and healthy in mind, body and spirit until such a time as he could enter...THE PINEWOOD DERBY!

If you've been a "Friend of Scouting" or searched Pinewood Derby on You Tube, you know what a big deal it is.  There is a whole industry of men who build cars, then vet them in dozens of races, proving how fast they are.  They can then sell these cars for high prices to the most competitive and/or lazy fathers out there.  They can ship in as little as 18 hours, just in case you forgot the Pinewood Derby was tomorrow.  We didn't, so Freestone was prepared.  Still, I was a little baffled as Scott and Free began preparations as to why guys don't just grab a car from an older sibling or a neighbor.  Wouldn't that be more efficient?

I started to get excited about the Derby when Scott and Free came back from Grandpa's woodshop with the little box scroll-sawed into a really cool car shape, with the trimmings in the shape of a smaller car to placate Ptolemy who thought he needed one too.  Amid loud complaints from Ari and the others about why BOYS get to do all the cool stuff and GIRLS have to sit around and do variations of scrapbooking, the boys got to work.  Each night they did another step.  I even got to use my violin making tools to carve a spot in which to inlay the weights.  It was fun!  I wanted to build more cars!

The night before the Derby, Free and Scott applied the final decals and the tiny marvel of engineering was complete.  We spent the night studying tapes of races on You Tube.

The Race!

And here we are at the races.  In true Scouting fashion, the event started 40 minutes after it was scheduled to start, so I only got to see one race before I left to teach.  I was sad, but most of the family was there, so Freestone didn't mind.  It was pretty exciting when all the cars got weighed and started lining up!  Free got 3rd place in all four of his races, which should have won him a "Most Consistent" award!  He did walk away with "Best Driver."  He was very proud.  He's already planning for next time.

Gym Rat

Before I had Ptolemy, it had been a good six years since I had had a baby.  I was feeling pretty fit and slim.  I was going to yoga class and teaching ballet and felt like it was doing the trick.  Now, however, I've been out of shape for three years.  So I renewed my gym membership.  I still feel like an hour yoga class is too much, and the other classes are way over my head.  Zumba?  No thanks, I'm trying to get in shape without breaking a sweat.

So Monday night after our ballet classes, Ari and I went to the gym.  I was super intimidated, and didn't help myself at all by wearing sandals and carrying a giant pink quilted bag with diapers, baby clothes and first grade homework spilling out of it.  I was so glad to have Ari there to talk to, and to use as an excuse to look clueless.  As in, "Let's see, Ari, let me show you what THIS machine does.  Uh..."

Ari saved me by rolling her eyes and flicking my "START" button before she hopped up on her own stairmaster and started hiking up that moving escalator about twice as fast as I could go.  Because "Ari was a beginner," I set a goal for us to do stairs for just five minutes.  We made it, and I thought we should quit while we were ahead.

Again, good thing Ari was there because she wanted to try the reclining bikes,  a thing that looks like cross-country skiing and then the treadmill.  Ari went on to the rowing machine, but I only took one swipe at it before my lower back screamed, "HELLO?!?  I'm broken here, remember?  I've been in pain since your first trimester?!"  My back didn't mind walking, though, so I carried on with the treadmill until Ari got tired of rowing and it was time to pick up Golda and Ruby from their dance class.

My self-imposed rule is that I have to go to the gym at least twice a week, so Thursday I ventured back with Ptolemy and Tziporah.  I talked up the free daycare to Ptolemy, and he was excited until he saw the actual venue.  It was a sectioned off corner of the fieldhouse, full of whirling dervishes in the form of toddlers.  Tolly's face blanched and he started backing up.  He's an old soul, and there was no way he was going in there with all those children.  I knew one of the caregivers, so I plunked him on her lap and left him.

With Tizzy nestled in her sling, I hopped up on a treadmill like a veteran. (It was my second time, you know.)  Only Ari wasn't there to turn it on for me and I couldn't figure out how.  The thing I like about the Sportsplex is that the people there are regular people, not ultra-hot 19-year-old former Miss Universe contestants in spandex.  These people are the kind of 30-something moms and retired Rotary Club guys that don't care when you pretend the treadmill is out of order and go to the next one.  Thankfully, it worked and Tizzy and I proceeded to walk at a very slow pace.  I would have walked faster, but I couldn't read at the faster pace because my book was too wobbly.  Also, Ruby had mentioned how scared she was that Tziporah would get shaken baby syndrome if I took her to the gym.  I laughed, "What, do you think I'm going to run?  I don't do bouncy.  She'll be fine"  So I had Tizzy to think of, right?  And why walk fast when you have a baby that looks like a newborn as an excuse for being out of shape?  Several people were impressed that I was even ambulatory. 

I didn't realize how leisurely my stint on the treadmill was until I had walked for a full twenty-five minutes and traveled exactly ONE mile.  One mile in twenty-five minutes.  Um, isn't walking supposed to be faster than that?  Granted, I did read fifty-one pages and I didn't mess up my sandals by sweating.  (Yes, I forgot about wearing proper shoes again.)  When I retrieved Ptolemy from the daycare, he was still huddled on my friend's lap peering suspiciously at the other kids with a big pout on his face.  It's probably disconcerting to be around that many kids without at least some of them being his siblings!

In all, I probably burned about 24 calories.  I made up for it, though, when I came home and had to do all my morning chores quick to make up for lost time.  By the time I had changed the wash, loaded the dishwasher, swept the floor, changed some diapers, glued up a cello seam, vacuumed, taken out the garbage, tidied the kitchen and wiped off the counter, I was peeling off layers of exercise clothing.  Then I worked in my flowerbed until I was covered in mud, dizzy from exertion and plastered in sweat.  So even though I took time out to go to the gym, I still got my workout in. 

Halloween Party

For a good number of years now, we have hosted an Easter egg hunt.  I always loved doing it.  It was fun to plan, shop for egg-stuffing candy, pounce on after-Easter plastic eggs half-price.  I felt a wonderful connection to the community as bags of eggs started showing up on our doorstep when the big day neared.  Going out in back of the school early the morning of the hunt, in all kinds of spring weather, was exiting.  Seeing who came out to help always made me feel so grateful.  Talking to friends and family and taking picturesque photos to keep forever were the highlights, as well as the kids' overflowing baskets when the mad dash was over.  All fun, hardly any work.

But this year, we were out of town and didn't do it.  Nobody cared, and guess what?  It was fun to skip it.  Fun not to buy any Easter egg stuff, fun to save money, fun to not have egg detritus all over the house.  The "Easter egg hunt that never was" gave me the impetus to cancel all future Halloween parties, too.  As awesome as it was to look forward to that, I'm ready to move on.

The Halloween party started as a good way for me to gather my friends and family around me and have a ball.  Last year ruined it, though.  A group of very large teenagers in masks came with their mom and bullied their way around the activities in about five minutes.  Then the mom came to me asking "what else" there was.  I told her it looked like her "kids" had done everything and bid her good-bye, but she demanded to know what would become of the candy they had brought to contribute if they left.  They stayed to the end, when we drop the candy from the balcony, just to get more candy.  More, more, more.

I felt like my efforts and money were being wasted on people I didn't even know, who were only there to "get" something out of it.  Once people started expecting something, I felt too open to criticism.  So it's the end of an era.  It might seem like a funny time to mention a Halloween party, but we plan for it all year.  Only now we're not planning for it, and it's OK.

It's time for new traditions, new ways to direct our energy.  Now that we have teenagers, I want them HOME at our house on Halloween night, even if - especially if! - all their friends are there too.  If you miss us, you can stop by our driveway Halloween night for our new tradition.  We don't know what it is yet, but I do know that we will be home and nobody will be demanding "what else" I have to offer them.  It will just be a time to connect with our neighbors and share our friendship.  Maybe the hundreds of dollars we usually spend on the Halloween party will go towards as many glazed donuts as we can eat!  That sounds like a good start!

The American Work Ethic, Brought to You by the Vietnamese Fishing Community

 Isn't it the two-year anniversary of the BP Gulf oil spill?  I found this in my drafts and thought I'd publish it.  I hope the woman in this story and others like her have been able to find a new living.

There is a huge Vietnamese fishing/shrimping community on the Gulf Coast in Louisiana and Mississippi.  The industry has been hit hard by the oil spill, and the entire Vietnamese community is essentially out of work.  Oil company BP called a meeting where they invited shrimpers and fishermen to come hear about jobs they were being offered in helping to clean up the oil.  One Vietnamese-American woman interviewed said, "If the boat cannot go out for shrimping, they need to give us opportunity to work."

Opportunity to work.  Not cash.  Not handouts.  Not compensation.  Opportunity to work.  Is the American Dream alive?  You bet it is when there are people left who, when their industry is decimated, demand some other way to make a living.  The opportunity to work is hard to come by when the economy is down.  For the last two hundred years, the newest immigrants are often the ones who show us how very fortunate we are to live in the land of opportunity.  You think it's not?  Try living somewhere else. 

Memories of Opa

This August will be my grandfather's one hundredth birthday.  We'll celebrate it, but he won't be there because he died in 1986.  My uncle is compiling a book of stories about Opa.  Here are some of my memories for the book:

My most vivid and specific memory of Opa is the very last time I saw him.  My mom and I were leaving the next day for a semester in France and we visited Opa and Nana to say good-bye.  After our chat, Opa walked us out to our car.  In the driveway of their 5th South house, he gave me a tight hug that lasted so long, I was afraid he would crush the wind right out of me.  He said he loved me and I knew it was true.  Turns out, that hug would have to last me the rest of my life.

Opa died while we were in France.

Opa was the light of everybody's life.  He was big and kind and gentle and loving.  In my violin shop, I have a 6-foot-tall portrait of him as a young boy, the son of Dutch immigrants, dressed in knickers and a perfectly pressed shirt, playing the violin.  He also played the organ and had an art studio in his home, which was open to any and all grandchildren who wanted to paint.  He was larger than life, so much so that it's hard to accurately describe how wonderful Opa was, how I love him and how much I wish I could wrap my arms around his strong waist again. 

When he was alive, I got to see him a lot.  He and Nana would come see us, and it seemed like they never stayed long enough.  Opa always put me through the "tickle chamber," saying, "I'm not tickling you!  I'm just pushing a button!"  Then he would poke me in the ribs.  Or he would say, "I'm not tickling you!  I'm just playing the piano!  Plink plank plunk," while throwing us across his lap and, well, tickling us.

I remember Opa's smile, especially one one occasion.  A bunch of the cousins went to This is the Place Monument, where workers dress in costume and demonstrate pioneer life.  We walked up to a heavy oak door to enter a pioneer dwelling.  Suddenly the door swung open and OPA was the person dressed in pioneer garb beaming, saying, "Welcome to This is the Place Monument!" I can almost see him taking on that role now, swinging open the pearly gates and saying, "Welcome to heaven!"  It is a funny thought, but I know his role on the other side of the veil is more sanctified than that.  For all the wonderful experiences I had with Opa before he died, the one I treasure the most came years after he died.  In 2000, I was pregnant and I had a dream that I was walking up my street holding a little boy's hand.  Opa came and took the boy's tiny hand and floated away with him.  The next day, I had a miscarriage.  The "Opa dream" I had was, and is, a comfort to me that everything is taken care of and everything is right.  I feel blessed to know that Opa's strong hands and strong, faithful intellect are still serving to bless his family.

The way Opa showed me his testimony of the Gospel, besides the way he lived his life, was how he prayed.  He had a different, more reverent voice for prayers, a voice full of tenderness and humility.  When Opa prayed, I was tempted to look around the room and see if Opa's good friend, our Father in Heaven, was right there with us.

Recently I went to the new City Creek Center and was reminded of the old ZCMI that stood on the same spot years ago.  Things are different now.  Opa is gone, and so is the little food counter in the basement of ZCMI.  But even amid the fancy new stores, years beyond that farewell hug in the driveway, I could hear Opa's voice whispering on the wind.  I could see myself as a little girl with Opa and Nana at ZCMI.  They had bought me an ice cream, but Nana insisted on a healthier choice for Opa and he was drinking grape juice.  Nana walked out of earshot and Opa leaned over to me, saying, "Put a little of that ice cream in my juice, fast!"  I am so glad Opa gave me the chance to share my ice cream with him.  To this day, whenever I am lonesome for Opa, I can put a little vanilla ice cream in some grape juice and he's right there, ready to wrap his big, strong arms around me one more time.

Tziporah Elizabeth's Baby Blessing

 Getting ready for her big day.  Booties handmade by Michelle Fitzgerald.

 Freestone talks to Tziporah when everyone else is worn out by his rambling.  She always listens.

 Ruby, resident photog.

 Araceli feeding her sister.  One great thing about bottle feeding is that everyone gets a chance to bond with the baby.  I love it.  I still have my Tizzy time, though.  Best of both worlds.

What a beautiful day for a baby blessing!  Scott and I went out to City Creek with Trajan last night (he was only here for the weekend from Paris!) and came home to find that the kids had cleaned the house and readied everything for the blessing day.  We love our kids!  When we left, we heard ourselves saying, "OK Golda and Ruby, just relax and have fun.  Oh and Golda, you haven't practiced.  And can you guys watch Ptolemy?  And keep the house clean and..."  They are such good kids.  Their tasks - and more - were all done and they were all playing a game in the back yard when we came home.  Scott took them to Burger Bar for grape shakes to thank them.

This morning there was a peaceful spirit about our house as we got Tziporah dressed in her beautiful outfit, complete with the headband we bought last night while we were out.  Scott walked to the church with Tziporah in order to spend a few minutes alone with her before the blessing.  She was wrapped in a soft, white blanket that Marlene crocheted especially for this day.  The two of them made quite a lovely picture.

Scott gave a very eloquent and heartfelt blessing, talking about the good examples Tziporah has all around her and blessing her to have a keen awareness throughout her life of her divine nature and Heavenly Father's love for her.  He told her to develop her talents and look to her parents for guidance.  Everything he said was perfect.  I always get emotional when I see the men gathering for the priesthood blessing.  It is so heartening to see our fathers, Bruce and Felshaw, all of our brothers, our dear friend Mike Scheuller, and the members of the bishopric gathering to shelter our tiny baby in their arms to celebrate her life.  To give her a name and a blessing.  It is such a simple ordinance, yet so profound.  I was glad we were able to do the blessing today, with Trajan here.  Our family and friends are so important to us, and days like this seal our bonds tighter.  Not to mention the food...

 Jennie and Emily.  I love how our two families have so many ties.  It's always fun to get together.

 Jeremy, Ryan, Bruce, Michelle, Clint

 Uncle Trajan flew out a couple of hours after the party.  We will miss you, Traj! 

 Lexie, Ruby, Jennie

 Tziporah's King-side BFF, Rolayne.  She looks scared of Uncle Scott, and this was before Scott changed into his GREEN pants!  Tziporah's Dopp-side BFF is due in a couple of weeks.  Good luck, Nikki!!

 Emily, some happy kids and Trajan

 Two beautiful girls

 Marlene made this blanket especially for Tizzy.  It's a work of art.

Jeff, Ry, Bruce, Michelle, Richelle, Jeff and Clint

The brunch at our house was nice.  Marlene brought her famous brown sugar muffins, plus two giant coffee cakes.  She is amazing!  Everyone contributed generously to the plentiful spread.  Thanks so much, everyone.  Richelle, the Samoa bundt cake definitely lived up to the hype!  The adults had such a great time talking, we didn't notice that the kids had gone on a grand-scale adventure out in the trails behind our house.  I walked out there to retrieve them and had a moment to take in the beauty of the day, all by myself, walking along the trail.  It's so close to the house, but you can imagine you're in the middle of nowhere.  I forget we have such secluded beauty so close.  It was a little zen moment.  I love it when the kids explore.  On the way back, I told them stories of exploring with my brothers as a kid.

Tziporah's blessing day was the kind of day that makes life soar.  I wish Icould have talked to everyone more, taken more pictures, thanked everyone better and given all "the loved ones," as Freestone says, more hugs.  We had a good visit with the Kings and Coco's kittens and a good visit with the Scheullers to close out the day.  We thank all of you for sticking with us for the seventh child.  We promise, this is the last blessing!

I'll Take One of Each, Please

This weekend, staring with the dreaded-yet-welcome "early out" in an hour, we have:  (deep breath...)

A violin lesson, a cello lesson, four dance classes, a violin master class with Mimi Zweig (I.U. alum, take note!), a cello recital, a voice lesson, a flute lesson, a Utah football scrimmage (Scott and some kids), a Suzuki parent workshop (me and a baby), a Music Man rehearsal, a Rose Parade extravaganza, two guitar lessons, dinner with my siblings, a trip to the zoo for extra credit in science (yeah, we can do that during the guitar lesson) and finally, Tziporah's baby blessing.

So if you come to my house after the blessing for the brunch I invited you to and we're not there, text us.  We may have forgotten, but the casseroles should be in the oven.  And no, there's nothing you can do to help me, but thanks.  The ball is already in motion.  We got this.  Now all there is to do is sit back and relish the wonderful craziness that is seven kids.  Starting after school in five...four...three...

Bravery

Xanthe had a complete breakdown yesterday when she couldn't have a piece of turkey.  She crushed up her cheese and crackers in her hand and cried.  Then of course, she was hungry because she destroyed her after-school snack.  More hysterics ensued, with a one-hour break for acting completely normal and happy at ballet.

This morning, she writhed around on the stairs moaning because she couldn't find an outfit, her clothes were too itchy, she hated everything, there were no pants in her closet, you name it.  The she cried and sobbed because she didn't want to be late for school, but that ship had sailed, kid.  I drove her to the school but she was so hysterical, I couldn't make her go in.  After a chocolate chip cookie run to McDonald's and watching a video of our beach trip in the car that Uncle Ryan made, I pulled up to the school for the second time.  Xanthe started to cry again, chanting, "I don't want to be late I don't want to be late I don't want to be late."  I asked her if something bad happened at school yesterday and she nodded.  Her eyes went scrunchy and her tiny voice said, "Nobody would play with me at recess and I'm afraid that would happen again."  Oh for heaven's sake, do ALL of my children have to be social misfits?  Ari was just complaining of the same thing recently; nobody to play with at recess.  Freestone said, "Why don't you do what I do and take a book to recess?"

Yeah, that's not weird or anything.  (At the beach, a group of rambunctious boys Freestone's age came, shouting and jumping and racing around.  Freestone looked up from his Goosebumps book and said, "Well, there goes our nice, quiet reading time.")  Scott's response to this latest recess crisis was, "So our kids are a bunch of ciphers in the snow?"  Apparently so.

Tears filled my eyes as I drove away from the school for the second time this morning.  Xanthe needed some extra love.  When I could finally speak through the lump in my throat, I said, "Let's go to Coco's."  There are baby kittens there, and what erases recess trauma like a baby kitten?

Xanthe is struggling in school, falling further and further behind everyone else every day.  We're trying to find some answers through testing, etc.  She seems to have a lot of trouble with spatial reasoning, numbers and reading.  In short, it's all hard for her, but she is so brave.  She has mentioned that she doesn't understand anything, but she says it matter-of-factly, as if that's just to be expected.  Homework that's a breeze for most kids is a marathon that starts anew each Monday when she brings her packet home.  By Thursday night, after hours spent by us and tutoring from Coco, she is barely beginning to become familiar with the words.  Information just isn't retained, and once she makes a mistake, she'll make the same mistake over and over and over.  Yet she loves school.

I often repeat the quote I love from A. A. Milne, "River know this: that there is no hurry.  We shall get there someday."  It's my homework-and-practicing mantra with my eager, frustrated, determined first grader.  She is a bright girl with excess strength and determination, and the time we spend together studying is precious.  We shall get there someday.  But is it too much to ask that, in the meantime, she has someone to play with at recess?

The Beach, Day...Uh...

 This is Carol Gavan, the owner of the condo, the person who facilitates our wonderful trips.  Thanks, Carol!

It looks like all we did at the beach was hold Tizzy, feed Tizzy and get sunburned.

Utilizing one of our packing rules:  wherever possible, items should serve more than one purpose!   Packing bin/crib.

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