Best Thing/Worst Thing

Golda:  Best is church.  (Just got her Patriarchal Blessing)  Worst is Honors Chemistry.  ("Why did I take honors?  Why?")

Ruby:  Best thing is having money saved up for Europe.  Worst is having teachers who don't email back.

Araceli:  Best is cello.  (New pink case!  Vivaldi!)  Worst is not seeing Ellison enough.

Freestone:  Best is Don Carlos.  ("One way to get a life is to get a dog." - Freestone)  Worst:  reading logs.

Xanthe:  Best is walking home from school with Esmae.  Worst:  being bullied.

Ptolemy:  Best is "Mom."  Worst is "Freestone 'cause he won't let me pet Dumb Carlos."

Tziporah:  Best is being adored by everyone.  Worst is pooping.  Even 2yo's have their challenges.

And there's your snapshot for the day.

Ballet Moms

I found this in my journal from 2008, and I wanted to reprint it here.  

It applies to all parents, not just "ballet moms."

Dear Ballet Moms,

I don't know most of you, but I can tell a lot about you from your daughters.  They come to class with their hair up, leotards and tights on, listening politely and doing their best.  I know you wash ballet clothes several times a week, and you keep track of their shoes and their hair stuff.  Sometimes your girls miss class because of a piano recital of a family vacation, so I know your lives are full.  

I know the girls come to class on days their moms have babies, days when their parents are out of town, days when their basement just got flooded.  One of you lost your husband unexpectedly when you were pregnant with your fifth child.  The whole community was grieving with you.  Two days later, your seven-year-old was at ballet with a note explaining that you were trying to keep her life as normal as possible.

My heart ached that day and long afterward as I watched your daughter grow and shine.  I wiped away many silent tears in class over the next two years, watching your daughter blossom and progress, bereft of her father, one of the very, very few dads who had ever come into the studio to ask me about his daughter's development.  As her mother, your sacrifices to keep her life "normal" were not in vain.  At ballet, she was watched over by me, other teachers, her friends, the other moms who did her hair and brought her in your stead...and her dad.  Yes, he was there.

Ballet moms, I commend you for the work you do - laundry, housekeeping, carpools, homework, scheduling;  it is all reflected in your daughters' drive and determination at the barre.  The time you spend laughing with them, teaching them life's lessons, listening to them and supporting their creativity, it all returns in their countenances when they dance.

Sometimes as they work, I can see the heavy burdens they carry on their young minds.  I admire you moms for giving them dance as a vent for their troubles, and for being for them at the end of class to help solve all the problems that sweat and concentration couldn't purge.  I just want you to know, moms, that the job you are doing is good enough, and it is more.  Your efforts are creating something good, pure and beautiful.  Nothing is more important.  You're getting it right.  And it shows.

The Forklift Dream

I had a dream, and in the dream Scott and I were quarreling.  I was being persnickety, allowing myself to say unkind things, not checking myself.  In the dream, I knew that I was being difficult.  I looked at Scott and felt a surge of love for him, and I knew I could fix the argument, end the bickering, and I wanted to.  But then, because it was a dream, Scott hopped up on a forklift to show me how he had learned to drive it.

And I looked away.  In that moment, I knew that I had crossed a line and that I wouldn't be able to so easily erase the tension.  A terrible sense of dread spread over me.  I knew Scott was hurt that I hadn't watched him drive the forklift, and hadn't appreciated his skill, and I couldn't go back and re-do that moment.  I wanted to go back and be a better person!

I woke up with a rotten feeling and was instantly relieved that the forklift incident had been a dream.  I couldn't go back to sleep and started thinking about the meaning of it all.  My mind had come up with a ludicrous, yet understandable analogy to real life.  In relationships, it is all too easy to let your efforts wane, and to allow yourself to throw out those barbs, to blame little things on the other person, and to simply stop trying.  It doesn't take long before you're not even appreciating the other person's ability to drive a forklift.  It's not just in marriage.  We all navigate numerous relationships every day.  Suddenly someone says something we don't like, or does something we don't approve of, or lets their efforts slip a little bit, and instead of leaning into the work of the relationship, we're letting it go to rot, and probably blaming the other person.

Scott and I are lucky that we're friends and we love each other and we have figured out how to keep our relationship on solid ground.  We rarely argue about anything of significance.  Yet I do quite often fail to acknowledge in words Scott's talents and efforts.  Every day, I pray and give thanks for Scott and his talent and hard work, and the love he shows to our kids and the time he spends with them.  And then I never tell Scott.

In effect, I turn away from the forklift at the very moment Scott is demonstrating his skill.  I thought about that early this morning, when the front door quietly opened and closed and Scott stepped out into the bracingly cold dark, to go and earn a living for his family.  He wasn't going to drive a forklift, for which I have to admit I'm grateful, (it's cold in those warehouses!) but nevertheless, he was stepping out into the dark with nary a word of appreciation from his sleeping wife.  The scary thing is, if my gratitude isn't keeping him afloat out there, what is?  Bowman's donuts?

Scott, I'd like to thank you for learning to drive a forklift, and for doing such a good job of it.  In fact, you've learned to drive many types of forklifts, and you always do it well, and with style.  I always notice your boundless talent, too, so if I fail to thank you, don't give up on me.  I'm still trying to figure out the gears on my own forklift.

Ruby's 15th Birthday

Yesterday was Ruby's 15th birthday!  The Brian Head trip was meant to be part of the celebration, and we did celebrate, but it wasn't quite as thrilling as the surprise trip to Miami she got for her birthday last year.

What WAS thrilling was Scott whisking her off to the Paris Bistro Saturday night when we returned from our trip.  Ruby has always been a foodie.  We were reading old journals last night, and I had written, "Ruby is six months old and she just started eating rice cereal, although I think she would rather eat grown-up food.  Whenever we eat, she watches the food like a hawk, opening her mouth whenever we put food in our mouths, and smacking her lips."  Ruby had a steak with pepper sauce at Paris Bistro and thoroughly enjoyed it.  She is always fun to be with because she's so funny and witty and loves to laugh.  She and Scott had a great time on their birthday date.  After dinner, they went across the street and chose a book, Code Name Verity, at the King's English bookshop.

 On Ruby's actual birthday, she woke up and worked on her talk.  She gave a wonderful talk in Sacrament meeting on feeling God's love.  My favorite part was the conclusion, where she said that God's love is always there, we just have to recognize it.  That is so true.  I love it when my girls get to speak because it's so rewarding to hear their thoughts and know that they are living up to their divine potential to the best of their ability.  I'm so proud of all of them.

The Kings came over after church for dinner and presents, and we had an enjoyable dinner:  Olive Garden minestrone soup and salmon over salad.  It was the perfect meal, provided by Coco, Emily and Tricia, in that it reflected Ruby's early taste in food.  When she turned three, Scott and I took her to the Olive Garden for her birthday.  She ordered blackened salmon, caesar salad and tiramisu.  She pays attention to things, and she knew what she wanted!

I had written in my journal about Ruby, "It was the same with Ruby as it was with Golda.  It wasn't necessarily time to have a baby, but she was waiting and I knew it.  I wanted her here, NOW."  It's mind-boggling what remarkable spirits are in these children, ours and those around us.  I have a spiritual mandate and blessing in my Primary calling to love all the children I serve by teaching them music.  I treasure the love I feel for them as I look at each little face and know that they are of infinite worth.  With my own children, I feel that to an immeasurably higher degree.  I see them and know that their journey didn't start here, nor will it end here.  I feel their strength and I know that they are on an eternal trajectory that Scott and I are somehow lucky enough to be a part of.

Ruby is an old soul;  we have always said that.  She has wisdom beyond her years.  I wrote in her journal when she was only six years old, "Sometimes I feel like I can relate to Ruby as a peer, and I have to be careful not to do that, so she can just be a kid."  In truth, Ruby was never a kid, and she still isn't, and that's OK.  She is beautiful through and through, and anyone who loves light and life gravitates toward her.  Golda and the rest of her brothers and sisters see how great she is, and they always want to be with her.  She is their center.  Ruby, we love you!  Can't wait to see what you come up with for FIFTEEN!

8-County Tour

Months ago, Scott's sister Nikki mentioned to the whole family that she had a practically free condo (two, in fact!) at Brian Head for a week in January, and they could only use half of the week, and did anyone want to use it.  Nobody chimed in as I inconspicuously lunged for my calendar.   

 The day came, and with some difficulty, we drew a line in the sand and left our daily activities behind.  We left late enough on Thursday so that all the kids could make an appearance at school, but too early to get Ptolemy to his noon dance class.  In fact, we missed eleven ballet classes during our three-day trip, not to mention all the other stuff that we missed or rescheduled.  All I have to say for myself is that free condos at ski resorts don't just happen every day.

With that said, Scott and Golda couldn't shirk quite enough duties to join us.  Nevertheless, by early afternoon, we had lunched at IKEA, bought light bulbs, and were om-ing at the Krishna Temple in Spanish Fork.

 Well, we didn't actually meditate, but the llamas looked pretty serene.  After I warned Tziporah that they could bite, she would hold out her hand and say, "Bite me, llama!  Bite my hand!"  I would be interested in going back to the temple for the Festival of Colors.  You get all the color with none of the running!

 We carried all that Hare Hare with us for a serene drive to Panguitch and up into the mountains, where we found our warm, cozy condo waiting for us.  Even though one condo was big enough for me and all the littles, we couldn't just have the other condo feeling lonely, could we?  Ari and Free took over the second condo, allowing us all to have a real bed, something Dopps don't usually do in hotels, since we're notorious for crowding in.

 Nikki and Clint had left tons of food for us, which we combined with our food to make some great meals.  Tziporah could hardly wait to say the prayer over the cinnamon rolls!

 A-MEN!  Wait, was I taking pictures during the prayer?  No, just before and after. :)

 Ari's favorite was the sauna.  I remember my dad loving the sauna and making us kids stay in with him until he counted to 100 in French.  I also remember him forgetting a few numbers, and it taking forever!  I made Freestone and Xanthe count to 100 in French before they could get out, just for old times sake.

 Hours spent in the hot tub, in 15-minute increments, of course, since we wouldn't want to break any rules.  Actually, Tziporah spent more like 15 seconds at a pass, before getting out to spend 15 seconds in the pool, then back to the hot tub.  Thank heavens for floaties.  They are a game changer!

 Xanthe could easily be a mermaid, she's so comfortable in the water.

All day Friday, we had the whole pool area to ourselves while everyone else battled the icy, barren slopes.  I was so glad we weren't trying to ski in those conditions, although I do miss skiing and I plan to get back to it next year, when Tziporah is bigger.

 At Brian Head proper, there is really nothing to do, which worked out perfectly for us.  "Nothing to do and not enough time to do it," as my Uncle Paul says at their cabin in Montana.

 We did a whole lotta nothing and loved it.  Notice little Don Carlos in Freestone's coat?  Well, fortunately, nobody at the hotel did.  He was a perfect gentleman, the Don.  He never barks, and never really even walks around.  He just loves to snuggle up in a blanket, so this was the perfect trip for him.

 Ruby made soup out of Nikki's veggie tray and a soup mix we brought.

 I was worried about Tziporah sleeping, but she was great.  I heard her talking in her sleep, "I go in my hot tub...my hot tub..."

 The Parowan Petroglyphs were tricky to find, despite the fact that they were the #1 attraction out of 2 attractions in Panguitch, according to Trip Advisor.  My GPS led me to Evans Trucking Company, where we were parked tryng to figure out where to go when Chris Evans sauntered out in his overalls and gave us detailed instructions.  He's writing a book about the area, he said, and knows every square inch.  In fact, most of the surrounding land was his ranch.   He described in detail where all the good petroglyphs were, but we couldn't spot most of them.  We had to settle for just the most famous.  All the while, Ptolemy was saying, "Petroglyph isn't a real word!"

 We were cracking up at this sign.  I read out loud, "Each year, millions of visitors enjoy the Parowan Gap National Historic area."  At that, we all scanned the horizon, at the wind whistling around us and our 360 degree view of nothingness.  We figured a million people a year is 2,739 a day.  On this day, they were just short 2,732 people, that's all.

 Millions of people a year!  Just not today.

 No, I would never let Ruby drive before she gets her permit, mainly because of the millions of people on the roads in Iron, Beaver, Millard and Juab Counties.

Wha....?

 I said to Ruby, "Do NOT let me take a detour just to see what's out there."

And then I did it anyway.  See, we were off the interstate already, and I'd never seen the West Desert and never been to Delta or Milford.  Blame it on NPR.  KUER mentions all these towns and it makes you wonder what it's like there, and then one Saturday, you have no schedule to keep and you're practically there and it's sortof on the way home.  One left turn and you're recalculating.

 If we hadn't recalculated, we would never have seen this fort, so HA!  I'm not sure how effective it was in its day, but...

  And that was only the beginning of our detour.  Next stop:  the Great Basin Historic Museum, where we just happened to be the first visitors of the day.  (Where were those other 2,000 people??) The curator turned on ALL the lights for us, and we each got to pick out our own piece of obsidian.  Even me!

 The actual Great Basin National Park was only 90 miles west of us, but Ruby strong-armed me into NOT taking that detour.  She pointed out, "We've been driving through the Great Basin for hours already!  Look around!  Great Basin National Park looks JUST LIKE THIS!"  Ptolemy was singing a song he made up, the lyrics of which were, "The middle of nowhere!  We're in the middle of nowhere..."

 We took a shorter detour, which nobody could have deterred me from taking, although nobody really tried.  Those poor kids had no idea where we were, or if we were headed toward or away from our house.  Besides, they were interested in the story of the World War II Japanese internment camps, and more than happy to follow our museum map to find the site of the Topaz Internment Camp.  As we drove miles and miles west, we imagined that the government had asked us to leave our house and move out here.  One of Freestone's friends had had his grandmother come and talk to Freestone's class.  She had lived in one of the internment camps.

There will be more to this monument in the future.  We wandered enough to get good and muddy, but there was far more land to explore, and we could see relics from the road.

 From that dark chapter, driving east, we gradually made our way back to civilization, back to the I-15 corridor, back to the inversion, and back to Scott and Golda.  Home is always a welcome sight, but far from satiating my overactive travel bug, this trip made me aware of how many nooks and crannies there are to explore, right here in Utah (And Nevada, if Ruby had let me drive ALL the way across the Great Basin!)  If we can tame real life here and there just long enough to give us a crack of time, the possibilities are endless...