Strictly Ballroom?

Last night was Ari's ballroom dance performance at her school.  The plan was to make cookies to take, go to ballet and then go straight to the school after.  When I dropped off Ari at ballet, she was already wearing her choir outfit, denim and a white shirt.  Great!  She's so responsible!  (You are probably wondering why Ari was wearing her choir outfit instead of her ballroom outfit.  I was not wondering that.  I was wondering if the movie Ptolemy was watching in the car would end before Golda came out of her ballet class, and also thinking about whether the cookies would still work if I got home soon to turn the oven back on, since we had to leave when they were only half cooked.)

The cookies were unfit for public consumption, so we ate them for dinner and I had to stop at the store for more cookies on the way to the performance, after already having dropped of Ari at the school and returned to ballet to get Xanthe.  Every minute counts and I didn't have store time.  That's why we got to the school while I was still pulling on Tziporah's tights, carrying Ptolemy's shoes in my arm.

Once everyone was dressed, I looked up and was surprised to see kids demonstrating ballroom dance at a choir concert.  Hmm.  All the girls were wearing skirts, too.  I couldn't find Ari because she was wearing the same outfit as all the boys: a white shirt and denim pants.  Well, this didn't bode well for Ari's Middle Child Syndrome.  I finally spotted her, shyly shuffling back and forth with a boy two feet taller than herself.  It was a cute recital.  Ari pulled both Scott and Freestone out of the audience to dance with her.  I would show you pictures, but my computer is being a baby.

After the performance, the ballroom dancers descended on the refreshment table like a pack of Cookie Monster's rabid cousins.  In the melee, I felt we were lucky to make it safely to our car.  When we got home, however, I suddenly noticed that Ptolemy wasn't there.  I called my parents to see if they had taken him home while the ENTIRE family raced back to the school to look for him.  He was sitting with two women and telling them, "I think I wost my famwee."  He later explained it like this:  "That gwill said I think I wost my famwee and she sat by me."

I don't know how we could have forgotten everyone's favorite person, but we all just left him.  I know my cousin Emily was left at a gas station in Montana, :) so being left a block away in a school surrounded on all sides by PTA moms isn't so traumatic.  But how does it sound to you that I went to an event that I thought was going to be a choir concert but wasn't, and left one of my kids there?

Once ALL seven kids were home, I left to catch the end of the Relief Society holiday dinner.  I missed the food but got there in time to completely relax and bask in some Christmas music.  My neighbor Julianne Bradshaw is in a band with for "old guys," and they are awesome!  Every piece they chose brought tears to my eyes or a smile to my face or both.  By the time I went home, the craziness of the ballroom scene was completely washed away by the spirit of Christmas.  Music has that power.  I hope to experience the same peaceful joy NEXT Thursday at Ari's choir concert.  And I will make sure that she is wearing the right outfit, and that we count heads when we leave.  We don't want anyone to get wost.

Nana

One day in Nana and Opa's big sedan with red velour seats, circa 1979, I sang a song for my grandparents.  It was called As I Have Loved You, and it was my favorite Primary song.  My older and wiser cousin, Ally, said I was singing it all wrong, which I'm sure was true.  But Nana and Opa said it was wonderful.  I can't ever listen to it without getting all choked up just thinking about my smiling grandparents and their gentle love.

Whenever we visit Nana, we ask her to play something for us on the piano.  She has a little book of oldies her sister put together, and she likes to play those.  The lyrics are the stuff of nightmares, though!  One is about baby twins who wandered off into the forest, got lost, and died.  It's a nice little song until the part where it says cheerfully, "The two little babes, they laid down to die!"  My kids always look at me in alarm.  Another one is about a boy who refused to say his prayers and was taken away by goblins.  Even given the "Grimm" nature of these songs, Nana's melodious singing voice makes them sound pleasant.

A couple of days ago, Nana chose As I Have Loved You to play for us.  I got all teary there in Nana's cozy living room, where I spent many Sunday nights as a child with my cousins, listening to the aunts and uncles brag about all of us.  I got the sense that they all thought we children were just wonderful.  They were proud of us. 

During Nana's song, Ptolemy was vying for my attention.  He basically ruined the song, but that's OK.  Nana didn't mind a bit.  Not a bit.

Together Until the End

By the way, the flute recital was great.  Every family really gave a neat performance.  Besides the flutists, there was cello, classical guitar, bass, saxophone, 3 harpists, another mom violinist, a family who gave the recorders a shot and - best of all - Golda's teacher's family.  They changed into overalls and did a piece called Kentucky Wassail.  On instruments they didn't play before last week, no less; banjo, hammered dulcimer and mandolin.  Even on instruments the just picked up, they were great!  I'm so glad we had something semi-prepared.  Ruby gave a strong argument as to why she should be excused from Golda's recital to go to her own dance class, so she didn't play with us, but we were given a really good accompanist and we all stayed together until the end.  Isn't that what family is about?  When Bruce and Marlene arrived to hear us, I said, "Oh, it's so far to drive!  You didn't have to come!"  Bruce quoted me and said, "The Dopps are a No Matter What Family."  Love it!  I guess that even applies to flute recitals.

Ribeye and Garlic and Buns, Oh Mai!

Some of you may know this, and some of you will never have to know it, but I'm going to tell you anyway.  If you have a band instrument you need fixed, Bob Joffs is the only guy in Utah who should fix it, and he lives in Millcreek.  So I threw the babes in the car right after the last kid's last-minute homework frenzy this morning and we were off to pick up a piccolo.

That accomplished, the babies and I had all kinds of options for what to do next.  Just me, an opinionated toddler and a baby who had just eaten a green marker.  We could do whatever we wanted.  (Or as Ptolemy says, "I can do EVER I WANT!!!")  And since we were in Salt Lake...I couldn't just drive right by Oh Mai without getting a bahn mi, our current obsession.  It wasn't really on the way, but this restaurant has a gravitational pull, and we arrived at the front door promptly at 10:00, when it opens.  (I just happen to know the hours.  Thankfully, it's closed on Sunday because I'm pretty sure I could make it there and back during Sunday School if I had to.)

But the doors were locked this morning!  Not to be deterred from that sizzling garlic ribeye tucked inside that crispy, doughy bun, I called in my order from the curb.   They said it would be 30 minutes before the meat was done, and I was on State Street with two babies at 10 o'clock in the morning.  Not much going on, except Ptolemy peeing his pants.  Good, now we had something to do while we were waiting for our sandwiches, besides get matching tattoos.  I found a store and bought the little guy a new outfit.  The nice cashier asked him how old he was and he said, "Eight."  Yes, Ptolemy recently decided that he has turned eight.  He got tired of being three, and he announced to everyone, "I turned eight!"  Except that the cashier believed him, which prompted a really awkward conversation in which she called him a midget and then apologized, but could not remember the PC term, "little person," try as she might.  And boy did she try.  Oh, it was ugly.  Weirdly, she did not seem to believe me when I told her Ptolemy was really three.

To ameliorate the trauma of being called names, I took Ptolemy to a place called Badass Coffee and got him a Rice Krispy Treat and a bag of fruit snacks.  Keep in mind, we were on State Street and 33rd South.  Our options were limited to tattoo parlors and sushi bars.  As much as I would have loved to get Tolly a spider roll for breakfast, we lucked out with the kid-friendly snacks at Badass.  Who knew, right?!  Maybe they're not as badass as they think they are, if they're going to sell fruit snacks.

At last Oh Mai's doors opened and our sandwiches were placed in our hands.  We delivered Scott's garlic ribeye bahn mi to court and continued on to our next destination, Nana's house.  By this time, my sandwich was gone and Ptolemy's new pants were falling off.  They were too big, which makes sense, because he's an eight-year-old LP and the pants were a 3T.  Nana took one look at Ptolemy's bare bum as he leaned over her bowl of candy and said, "Oh dear."  She was back with a safety pin in no time.  Nana is just like a Vietnamese sandwich.  She makes everything all better.

Tonight I was at pack meeting when I got a picture from Scott on my phone.  It was Scott and Ruby at Oh Mai.  The gravitational pull had gotten them when they were at guitar, a mere 30 blocks away.  How could they not?  Suddenly, with the prospect of a Vietnamese sandwich coming my way, Christmas caroling with a dozen Bear scouts didn't sound so bad.  And you know if just the promise of a sandwich can make pack meeting fun, it's gotta be good.  What are you waiting for?  Go!  Go now.  If Oh Mai happens to be closed, there's a little Middle Eastern market next door called Sinbad's that sells exotic spices and basmati rice in beautiful burlap bags.  They don't have Rice Krispy Treats, though.

Train Wreck

I went to Ballet West's Nutcracker last night with Golda and Ruby (because we just can't get enough of it!).  Peggy Wheelwright, a violin teacher, had her group performing in the lobby before the ballet.  They were all dressed in matching pink-and-black holiday dresses and suits, and they sounded very good.  Even the tiniest ones were cranking out the holiday standards, embellished by the taller and more experienced players with their riffs and turns.  Ruby commented, "If that's not Suzuki, I don't know what is."

The well-mannered, buttoned-up little musicians were exactly what I had in mind for my little herd of kids, before I had kids and still knew everything.  I can't say we're there yet, but I can say with confidence that we probably never will be.  We had to put together an ensemble for Golda's Family Flute Recital.  Her teacher suggested Scott on the bells, but really, for as much money as we spend on lessons, someone in the Dopp family should be able to come up with a few measures of Bring a Torch Jeanette Isabella without having to resort to Golda and a one-man bell choir.

You would think!  After procrastinating for most of November, I finally figured out an arrangement that seemed pretty painless for everyone.  That's when the quarreling broke out.  Golda and Ari both wanted to have the melody the entire time.  I remember enough from six semesters of music theory to know that 120 measures of flute and cello playing in unison, or an octave apart, is not good harmony.  I repeatedly explained to Ari that this arrangement is for a flute recital and it's OK for her not to be the star.  Nothing I said had any impact on her thought process.  She plays for 16 measures and pouts for 104.

Golda, in a similar vein, keeps saying, "Maybe Ari could stop like, three measures sooner."  Ruby, on the other hand, finally admitted that she was playing badly on purpose in hopes that I would kick her out of the project.  Freestone has been a good sport, but Ptolemy and Tziporah add way too much screaming to the mix.  Xanthe has managed to stay out of the fray on this one.  Her piano skills are not quite advanced enough to accompany this bickering bunch.

Scott caught some of our little practice on camera today.  Fortunately, he missed the rehearsal where I was shouting, "Just do what I say!  I'm the one with the music degree!"  And he missed a whole segment of Ari playing really loud, trying to just take over the melody by brute force.  He missed a lot of arguing about who isn't counting and who needs to practice more and who stole Ari's wallet.  (Huh?)  He missed Freestone wandering off every time he had a rest.  What the camera also didn't record, because it never happened, was a whole family of young musicians in matching outfits with squeaky-clean hair, playing beautifully in harmony and complimenting each other in British accents.

Curse reality!  I'm hoping for a Christmas miracle tomorrow at the recital.  Worst case scenario, Ari can just play the whole song alone.  You know what would have been better?  Scott playing the bells.

More Five-Day Weekends, Please

Shouldn't EVERY weekend be five days long? Since school got out, we have...

 dumpster dived for giant posters,

savored pho and bahn mi during a romantic overnighter to Park City,

 been scared out of our wits...

...but still gotten the lights hung,

decorated for Christmas,

had visions of sugarplums while Dad did all the Christmas shopping,

 rolled out dough as the sun went down,

gotten our hands messy with gingerbread,

gotten our friends' hands messy with gingerbread,

had spur-of-the-moment parties...

...including our little brothers,

...and posed for pictures.  And we still have two more days left before school starts!  Tell me again why we can't be on holiday all the time?  I promise I wouldn't eat too much gingerbread.  But as long as we only have two days left, I'd better finish off these cookies.

No Matter What

When I married Scott, there was only one other in-law: Jennie.  Now look what we've done!  The family has exploded and become ever-so-much more complex and chaotic and exciting and NOISY!  I love each one of these people, which is a real blessing.  In theory, families love each other no matter what.  As life goes on, the "no matter what" becomes less of an abstraction.  Life puts love to the test, no question.  But the Dopp family is a "No Matter What" family.  Come what may, there is love, there is food, there is free labor.  And there's always ham in the fridge.  Once in a generation, someone might throw pancakes at the ceiling, lodge a pen in a brother's eye or intentionally run over a loaf of bread with their car, but for the most part, the insanity is kept at bay.  Barely.  (Oh, you guys know I'm (kinda) kidding.)

 Araceli helped Grandma put the finishing touches on the gravy.  I don't know how Bruce and Marlene pull it off so perfectly while making it look so effortless.  I know it's major work to put on Thanksgiving for 38 people.  Everything was delicious and we loved it.  Marlene found me in a coma with a fork suspended midway to my mouth, trying to eat just one more bite of pie.  I tried to eat more, I really tried.  It was all so good!!  Most of our kids said the mashed potatoes were their favorite part.  My favorite part will be the turkey and whipped cream sandwich I'm going to have tomorrow.  If you care to join me, just remember, lots of butter and salt and pepper is the key.

 Look like sisters.

 Look like twins!

 Jersey, Tziporah's BCF.  (Best cousin forever)

 My five beautiful girls with Scott and Clint telling secrets in the background.  Hmm...Christmas must be coming!

 They don't look like they haven't slept for days, do they?  I don't know how they do it all and still look this good!

Xanthe loves to mother.  Kiptyn and Tolly look like willing subjects!

 Quintessential Thanksgiving

 Neeley and Ari; more BCF's

 This is Jeff...and Scott, before he shrank.

 This is Scott after he shrank.  Did anyone ever read a weird book called "The Shrinking of Treehorn"?  Not sure what was up with 80-year-old Scott, but this picture cracked us up.

 Kate, Lilah and Xanthe

 This is Tziporah in 2025.

 This is Tziporah now.

 This is Freestone, Chase, Collin and Jake in 30 years.  Except by then, the electronics will be somehow wired into their brains.  Jeff and Ryan could probably explain how that's going to work.

 Mom, look at your watch!  It's time to feed me!

 There was a lot of newspaper ad perusal going on.  Some of the dumber members of the family are out shopping as we speak.  Hi Scott!

 Scott is Bruce's favorite child.  That's why they dressed alike.  Maybe someday the rest of you will be Bruce's favorite, but probably not.  Scott is pretty cool.  Well, I said the Dopp family was a "No Matter What" family.  We'll see.  I could get kicked out for being obnoxious, but it's highly unlikely, given the competition.

(I love you guys.)

thankful for...

flowers on the table
sea glass
clean carpet
chocolate chip cookies
Christmas lights
warm summer air
sushi
standing ovations
new music
old music
art
teaching
reading
my high school sweetheart
babies
three-year-olds
grade schoolers
teens who make me proud
travel
dreaming about travel
my past
my future
parents
brothers and sisters
Crayola crayons
A Gospel plan that includes so many beautiful details
and my new favorite restaurant, Oh Mai.  Oh my, it's delicious!

Colonial Girl

Ari visited the 1600's this week as part of Colonial Day.  She got in trouble for using her left hand to write and had to go to the stocks!  Being left-handed is of the devil, her teacher said.  Ari, Free and I can be pretty devilish.

Ari was assigned a project to do and chose to make a quilt.  Oh sure, we can make a quilt in our spare time.  I was a little bit excited, though, because my mom taught me how to quilt when I was Ari's age and it was really fun.  My mom went through a quilting phase, similar to her editing-a-cookbook phase and her needlepoint phase.  Each thing she tackled, she did it 100%.  The cookbook she edited is one of the few I still refer to, her needlepoint is beautiful and the things she quilted are timeless.  She taught me how to do nine tiny stitches to the inch, all of it hand-pieced and hand quilted because that's how the purists do it.  My mom gave me a hobby that was an outlet for my creativity all through my teen years, even though my creative bursts were only big enough for small pillows.

When I went away to college at 17, my roommates from Indiana took me to Brown County, where locals go to see the unbelievable fall leaves and avoid freshman homework.  The country-style boutiques, with their mounds and mounds of calicoes, inspired me to teach all of my roommates how to quilt, out of a nostalgic longing for home.  We all chose fabric and made nine-patch pillows.  I was fortunate to have been armed with a carefully learned and practiced skill, one that my mom had imparted to me with precision and respect for the tradition.

My poor kids will go to college armed with a vague sense of how to quickly slap pieces of fabric together and sew around them lightning-fast in order to get the job done.  They will never know how to do the blind stitch that my mom so patiently taught me because I'm always in such a hurry to finish the project at that point, that I do it myself.  Maybe if they're lucky, when autumn comes to their college town and the crisp bite in the air draws them out of their study cubicles, they will have a roommate who can teach them the right way to quilt.  Until then, we have this masterpiece:

Kenzie, I hope your baby is very, very small when he's born because this "quilt" is for him.  ;o)

Ari looked gorgeous in the outfit she finally chose.  She went through all our trek clothing, all the ballet costumes and even tried the queen costume that seems to work for most school functions.  She settled on Golda's orchestra dress, which Golda was not thrilled about.  It's an expensive dress my parents bought for me when I soloed with the Utah Youth Symphony.  It's pure '80's, but my talented friend Michelle altered it to be more current.  Golda, who still hates the dress, said, "If it can double as a colonial dress at fifth grade, how can you expect me to wear it in public?"  Well, I think it's gorgeous no matter what the setting.  So there.  Anyway, here's the process we went through to give birth to eight square inches of quilted fabric:

When Ari got out the ironing board, Ptolemy said, "Oooooh, what's that?!"  Another thing I haven't taught my kids how to do.  I think it's becoming obsolete anyway.

Of course, Freestone and Xanthe had to get in on the action too.

Xanthe was really good at sewing!  Everyone was impressed!  She even made a pillow for her friend's birthday.

Ari's friend Elise was clever enough to think of playing a violin/cello duet with Ari for her Colonial project.  They practice a couple of times and did some research on the history of "Go Tell Aunt Rhody," which, believe it or not, has a history.  The teacher thought the duet was Ari's project too, so Ari didn't get to present her quilt or the fictional back story she wrote to go with it.  After all that work!  Oh well.  We still had fun.

My Pilgrim Girl

 Guess who lost her second front tooth in a Rice Krispy Treat?  There was a lot of blood.  Bloody Rice Krispy Treats.  Mmmmmmm.  The tooth was hanging by a thread and Ruby got it out.  Being the compassionate mom that I am, I said, "Oh honey, you're bleeding!  Does it hurt?  Let me go get the camera!"  Now Xanthe can sing "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth!"  While Ruby was mothering Xanthe, I was googling "sheet music for All I Want for Christmas..."  Just kidding.  But it's perfect timing!  I wonder if Xanthe can sing.  Her older sisters have been so busy training her to live all their dreams, they have neglected to develop her singing talent.  We'll have to get started on that.

One thing Xanthe CAN do is plan.  I signed up to help at her Thanksgiving Feast, and she has been drilling me on my responsibilities for a week.  The teacher sent home a detailed paper listing the steps and responsibilities of Feast helpers.  More than once, Xanthe has dug out the paper, held it close to her face and tried to go over what, exactly, the paper said.  We can color in at least two turkeys for all the reading she has done just trying to decipher the Feast assignment sheet!

I called my mom the night before the feast to see if she could watch Tolly and Tiz.  She said, "Oh, sure.  Xanthe already asked me if I could babysit for this a week ago.  8:30 to 10:30, right?"  Xanthe wanted to make sure I could fulfill all my responsibilities without distraction!  When the feast got closer, we were having multiple conversations a day about whether we were going to walk to school or drive to school.  This morning, Xanthe was up and dressed with several hours to spare.  When I took Golda and Ruby to school, she started to shriek, "But the Feast!  The Feast!"  Remarkably, we got there in plenty of time and Xanthe had not keeled over in exhaustion from all the hype.  In fact, she looked absolutely darling!

The children were told they could dress as either a Native American or a Pilgrim.  Xanthe chose to dress as a "Village Girl" from the 2010 ballet recital.  I mean...a Pilgrim.  (Interestingly, we also have an "Indian" costume, but she didn't want to wear that one, I guess.  Brown is nobody's favorite color.)  The majority of the other kids were dressed as 21st Century Suburban Kids on a Regular Tuesday Morning.  So Xanthe stood out like she does just by being her sparkly, beautiful self.  I was proud of her at the Feast.  She didn't seem stressed about the food and she was able to be relatively relaxed and enjoy her food.  What a relief!  Every day, Xanthe is getting more capable, less anxiety-ridden and more fun.  She is getting old enough to do new things, and it's great!  She went to the Nutcracker for the first time this year.  Scott said she was preoccupied with how many Starbursts she was allowed to have at intermission, but she said she loved the ballet.  Things are definitely more enjoyable for Xanthe when food is not involved, and when she doesn't have to be in a confined space.

I love my little pilgrim girl.  She has come to this life of hers just like our country's original pilgrims, as a sojourner going where her ancestors never dreamed of.  And she inherits a new family history that goes back almost to Plymouth Rock.  What an American Dream this girl is.