Hardly the Gulag

 I remember when we had a couple of little kids, and they went to bed at 7, and then...what did we do?  We must have watched TV.  I know I played in an orchestra on Monday nights and another one on Thursdays, and taught a few violin lessons.  Scott watched entire basketball games and even entire golf tournaments.  We probably went to bed before midnight, too.  What else was there to do?  We couldn't access the internet while the kids were asleep because of the screeching noise it made when it connected.  Remember that noise?  Remember, "You've got mail!"  Ah, life was so simple in 1998.

Life hasn't changed much in some ways.  Now, we have a little baby who generally goes to bed by 7:30, and a sweet little preschool boy who gets tired by 8.  Of course he's tired; he has preschool on Tuesdays and Thursdays and ballet on Thursdays and a whole lotta learning in between: numbers, colors, letters, (specifically which ones are silent, such as P and T. ;)

 Tolly had a program today where he sang songs for the moms and dads.  Miss Sharla is the best preschool teacher, and we love her.  Golda is so envious of Ptolemy's "homework;" tracing shapes.  After the hard-working little singer was tucked in bed tonight, there was still no TV.  TV distracts whoever is working on the kitchen computer.  There was no reading, unless you count sixth grade essays.  Thursdays are generally pretty quiet around here.  Everyone is home by 6:30, so it's a big homework night.  For Scott and me, our lives of leisure don't start until well after 10 pm, when most of the worker bees have closed the books.  By that time, Scott is asleep.

 Freestone was reading Harry Potter in French and writing down vocabulary words he didn't know, using the Collins French dictionary on his kindle.  He was wearing headphones to block out the noise.  He still had to make a marionette costume and do a couple of math worksheets.  Ari was working on her daily vocabulary words and writing a story.  She generally has 2 to 3 hours of homework a night.

 Xanthe was doing geometry in French.  I mean, seriously.  She is in third grade and is doing homework I never did, even in college!  Geometry in a foreign language?  To me, geometry IS a foreign language!

 Golda, working on a second draft of an essay about Huck Finn's lies and deception.  This girl brought Huck Finn to a baby shower Saturday.  I called her a nerd, but she pretty much takes her reading everywhere, because every minute counts.

 This is Ruby all day and all night, except for when she's teaching, practicing or at ballet.  Tonight, she is putting in two hours on math.  And I suspect she still has practicing to do, as does Golda.  I don't mind hearing those melodies late into the night!

 Freestone does two reading logs every week, one in French and one in English.  He just said to me, "I have to take my reading logs very seriously."

 Xanthe had crazy hair day on Wednesday, but she didn't want to get any crazier than French braids in her bun.  She said, "I don't really do crazy hair day, because I have to be ready for ballet after school."  She is hyper-organized and spends a lot of time making sure her ducks are in a row.

Here is my homework for the day:  a high school boy dropped a water bottle on his violin, causing a crack and a broken bridge.  Poor kid!  Emailing me pictures of the crack and arranging the repair probably took away from his study time, not to mention his practice time!

Sometimes I complain about homework, but there is something about it that I secretly like.  I resent it when it interferes with practicing and family time, but I like it, too, because these kids are learning so much.  They are accomplishing so much.  I admit, I've been influenced by the book I just read, "The Triple Package."  It looks at seven minority groups and why they succeed in America.  One of the groups is Mormons.  It's interesting.  But the question is raised as to whether childhood should be a time of freedom, laziness and unbridled happiness.  Some people think childhood should be a time of preparation, learning, trying, failing, persevering.  I tend to agree.  Childhood, up until high school graduation, affords kids the time to learn that no other time in life affords them.  Besides, their brains are elastic and thirsty, so it's far easier for them to learn than it is for adults.

I suppose for me, I'm more comfortable with the notion of my kids applying themselves to semi-difficult tasks for long hours each day than I would be watching them fritter away their valuable time not accomplishing anything.  The opposite case can be made, for sure, and my kids could certainly spend more time wandering in the woods, "just being kids."  But I think all this hard work brings happiness that huge chunks of free time can't.

I asked my ballet students, "What else do you do in your lives that is as difficult as ballet?"  With pride, many of them mentioned practicing piano or violin.  They talked about soccer drills and science fairs and math and play practice.  One girls said, "Ballet is the hardest and best thing in my whole Wednesday!"  That makes me happy.  That's exactly what I'm trying to say.  The hardest stuff brings the most satisfaction, and the satisfaction is what makes those rare free days so rewarding, but only if they're rare.  Only if they're rare.

A Firefighting Lawyer Ninja

Ptolemy:  "When I grow up, I'm going to be everything."

Me:  "Like what?"

"A firefighter."

"What else?"

"A lawyer."

"And?..."

"A ninja."

I don't care what he grows up to be.  I'm just glad he's ours!

Nana's Dear, Sweet Jean

Nana's sister-in-law, Jean, died last week.  In explaining who it was to my kids, I said, "It was Nana's baby brother's wife.  It would be like Ptolemy's wife dying."  That thought made me sad every time, but I was even more sad when my mom and I went to Nana's to tell her the news.

Jean has been in the last stages of cancer since Thanksgiving, so we knew this was coming, except that Nana tends to forget things these days.  When Mom said, "Jean died," Nana looked perplexed.  She said, "You mean my friend Jean Madsen?"  Mom said, "No, not Jean Madsen.  Parker's wife Jean." Nana looked even more confused and sat down, declaring, "Well now, that's my dear, sweet Jean!"

By the time Nana had gone to get some money for flowers for the funeral, she had forgotten why.  That's why Nana's declaration about her "dear, sweet Jean" is so touching.  Not only do we take our relationships with us after death, but the love we share with people can be the only thing we retain when our minds fail us.  I love that through Nana's confusion came her love for her sister-in-law, her baby brother's dear wife.  The love broke through loud and clear.  "My dear, sweet Jean."

My mind went to the future.  I laughed and cried, imagining me as a very old woman, hearing the news of one of my dear, sweet sisters-in-law passing away, straining to remember all the things we went through together, and finding in my memory only the fact of our shared love.  Each of my sisters-in-law has brought me something I always longed for:  a sister.  And I love them for that.

Then I fast-forwarded to my children.  I only hope that they share the same love Nana and her siblings embraced and cultivated, and I hope it also extends to their spouses and families, so that on some far distant day, when some of them have gone on and some remain, those who remain will know instinctively that love was spoken and felt between them over the long, hopefully very long, years of their shared lives.  If the Robisons have left a legacy, it is one of love.  Abiding, tender, declared and spoken love for one another, that spans this life and the next, no question.  The thing I want my children to know and live by, is that that kind of love doesn't just happen.  It is cultivated and tended.  So please, do that for each other every day because that love is what you want to end up being made of.

Tango

 Freestone participated in his first ballroom dance team match.  Twice a week before school, he has ballroom practice.  It was his idea, and I never have to make him go.  Some of his friends are in it, and he seems to be very motivated to go.  One of his friends dropped out because he doesn't like to get up early, and Freestone is always trying to cajole him back, especially since the teacher promised a dozen donuts for anyone who brings a new boy.  Freestone was so obsessed with getting Sam back to ballroom, I finally told him I would personally buy him a dozen donuts if he would just let Sam sleep in in peace!

 Scott and I were lucky enough to be on the very front row, so we had a great view of Freestone nailing his tango and then doing equally well on his swing.  We were blown away!  Freestone was actually learning a skill all those early mornings, and becoming pretty good at it!

 HERE is his tango
and HERE is his swing.

 Ruby's friend Taylor was there to perform with Davis County Ballroom.  She rocked it!

 Morgan Elementary didn't with the giant trophy, but they did get a big trophy.  Freestone's team, Morgan Lavender, got a silver ribbon.  Then the judges moved on to individual medals.  Scott leaned over to me and said, "I wish Freestone could win one."  And then, Freestone and his tango partner received an individual medal for winning their heat in the tango!

 Freestone's cousin Tanner also did a stand-up job of representing the Dopp boys, winning two medals.  Grandma and Grandpa were there in the stands, cheering them on, thanks to Jeff and Richelle's invitation.  Sorry, Bruce and Marlene.  We are notoriously bad at inviting you to these things, hoping to spare you finding out along with us which activities are agonizing and which turn out fun. We'll do better.  :)  This one turned out fun.  It was organized, on schedule, AND Freestone was great!  Phew!  I'm all for participation in things that are organized and on time!  Despite my heritage, "Mormon Standard Time" isn't a time zone I can stand.  I'm always telling my kids, "Dopps are never late!"  And then in my head, I add, "Except for church."  Why prolong the agony by sitting there alone for 10 minutes?  hee hee.  I apologize for the blasphemy.  It's just that I'm about to be late for church because of this blog.

 Our favorite photo bomber.

Don Carlos was so impressed by the medal, his eyes about popped out of his head! ;)  Freestone, if we tell you we are proud of all your hard work, you'll probably scoff and say, "What hard work?"  I'll say, "Getting up early to go to ballroom."  You'll pretend to be confused, narrowing your eyes and retorting, "I never did that!"

So I'll save my breath and tell everyone else instead of you:  We're proud of Freestone!

An Essay by Freestone

               

This was last week when Don Carlos used his Magical Chihuahua
Zen Power (MCZP) to cure my cold.

 Do you like dogs? Well some dogs are service dogs. They help people who are blind. And I think they are a great part of the world because they help people, they are friendly, and they make good pets.

                One reason I like service animals is they are good at helping people with things, from getting their owner a drink to scratching their owner’s nose. They can help blind people by showing them where to go and not getting into danger. They can also help paralyzed people by getting them a drink and turning the page of a book. They guide their owners across street walks, into their homes, to and from school and through parks as well.

                Another reason service animals are a good addition to this world is because they are friendly.  In the passage “Monkeys with a Mission” it says that people who have helpful monkeys treat their monkeys like family and give them presents on their birthday. I think that makes them more happy people to have someone to care for and love. Dogs always love you back. They are man's best friend! A dog can make you feel loved, useful, happy, and playful. Dogs get you to go on walks, which is very good for your health.

The last reason they help us is, dogs make amazing pets. No other animal is as energetic or engaging as a dog. They catch things you throw for them, they can swim, and they can rescue. These are all good things because if a dog can catch things you can train them to retrieve things for you. If your dog can swim then it can help to save people who can’t swim. Dogs can rescue people by sniffing out bombs, drugs, or people.

I might add:  except for Don Carlos.  He can't do anything.  He's anything but "energetic and engaging."  He trembles like crazy if we even put a leash on him, so walks are out, unless he's being carried.  He can't even get me a drink or turn the pages of my book.  We had a scare last night when he was missing.  Usually, he doesn't travel more than five feet, and he was nowhere.  Could someone have stolen him?  But who would steal a crippled, shaking, bug-eyed mutt?  We finally found him in the dryer.  Ptolemy had built a cozy fort under the table, and thought the dryer looked like a cozy fort for Don Carlos.  Then he forgot about it and was helping us look.  

Golda says Don Carlos needs his own service animal.  A service gerbil to guide him around, make noises when he's trapped in the dryer and tell us when he needs to go out.  Even if D.C. doesn't fit the profile of "the perfect dog," he is the perfect dog for us.  He shakes when we suggest exercise, he hates to be outside when it's cold, rain confuses him, and he loves to curl up in a blanket.  I completely identify with they little guy.

Flat-Out Fun

 I love school holidays.  Today, Presidents' Day, I ended up with the entire Magnificent Seven in the car with me, bound for the Natural History Museum.  I took my captive audience to numerous photo-op spots to capture Flat Mitchell and Flat Miles having fun with their Utah cousins.  You know Flat Stanley, right?  And you remember Mitchell and Miles from last summer.  Well, their flat counterparts have had a good time in Utah over the past week.  We feel a little sad that we don't have a Flat Lucy to accompany her brothers!

At the museum, everyone saw the history of chocolate exhibit except for me.  I saw the Back of Tziporah's Darting Head exhibit.  Her goal was to run far enough away from me that I couldn't see her, then casually put her hands behind her back and stroll around.  As I trailed her, it was entertaining to watch people's reactions to a solo baby on the loose.  (It was even more funny when Xanthe did it as a baby, because many people would completely ignore me, anxiously looking around for a parent who "matched" Xanthe.  I always thought it was amusing.)  I didn't mind not being able to look at anything.  I get the whole history of chocolate:  it's a bean, it was harvested and reserved for royalty, now it appeals to the masses.  All I can say is, I am very grateful I live in a time when chocolate is available to everyone!

 Today also proved to be the perfect time to take Mitchell and Miles to the Great Salt Lake.  Have I mentioned I LOVE school holidays!?  Especially those where all the other stuff is also cancelled.  For this excursion, I could only get half of the kids to go with me, but they were glad they did.  The light out there incredible!  I had to laugh, though, because we got halfway across the causeway when I noticed that I was almost out of gas.  Really, who drives to a deserted island on empty?  I am a lot smarter than I act.  Or something like that.

It turned out to be rather perfect, the gas emergency, because we parked on the causeway instead of driving all the way to the island.  Right there was a sandy little nook where we took all those sublime pictures and enjoyed a spectacular sunset.  The colors were incredible, the balmy weather hinted of spring, and there were no brine flies.    Yes, we will be going out there again, so if you want to come with, send me a paper effigy of yourself and I can show you around.  You may want to think about laminating yourself, because there is a good chance you'll dip your toes in.  You may even want to see if it's true about being able to float in that salty brine...

 

 Throwing rocks, trying to "beat his high score."

 Footnote:  we made it to Maverick, then swung by Grandma and Grandpa's for ice cream.  Tanks full on all counts to end the day.

The Road Home

 Araceli came up with the idea of helping out at a homeless shelter for one of her 10-hour projects for Young Women's.  Before I knew it, she had called The Road Home in Salt Lake and arranged to volunteer in their warehouse.  The Road Home is a great organization that does a lot of good in our community.  In addition, she put the word out to the Dopp family and her friends at church that she was taking donations of clothing and household items.  In no time, the back of my car was full of donations!  We have very generous neighbors, family and friends.  Thanks so much, you guys.  Ari feels very loved!

 Today was the day we were scheduled to do our two hours of service.  Ari was pretty ambitious going into this project.  She said she wanted to give them the biggest donation they have ever seen!  Her hopes were dashed when we arrived at the shelter at the same time as a horse trailer from Wyoming, loaded to the brim with donations.  Our carload was a fraction of what was in the trailer.

In a way, it was fun to sort clothes and do laundry in those industrial-strength machines.  In another way, it was depressing to be there in that dreary warehouse with those bags of sometimes dirty clothes and the ambitious, hard-working, yet roughed-up men who were running the operation.  Our four man-hours really did help.  The guys working there were very grateful to see us.  The shelter could have used a dozen more helpers, in fact.  But help with what?  It really made me rethink what I donate, and I'll tell you why.

The warehouse was piled to the ceiling with the donations form the Wyoming group, a group who comes every year and makes a donation from their community.  The guy in charge told me on the sly, "Most of what they bring goes to D. I., but I wouldn't tell them that."

How it works, and what Ari and I were assigned to, is that someone sorts through the bags and bags and bags of donations looking for one or two good things.  Something that looks brand-new, is in season and is in a size there is a need for.  All toys, books, DVD's and games go to D.I. or Goodwill, whose trucks are waiting outside to be loaded.  All baby blankets and clothes go to D.I. because the shelter has plenty.  Some of the bags, I pawed through a little bit and I could tell there was nothing good enough.  A couple of bags were wet on the inside, like they had been left outside.  One had muddy clothes in it.  I felt bad, because those people who made the donation were so gratified, taking pictures of themselves in front of the pile of donations, driving back to Wyoming feeling like they had made a horse-trailer-sized difference in the world.

Meanwhile, volunteers like me discarded 90% of it as unusable for the homeless.

Why?  Because the homeless shelter already has plenty of like-new clothing in every size.  They have shelves full of toiletries, they turn away warm blankets.  They have a six-month supply of laundry soap.  They're all set.  And then there is all this backbreaking labor of lifting and sorting bags of crap from people like me who are trying to be generous.  I don't know much about Goodwill, but I remember touring D.I. and being told that anything ripped, torn or stained goes to be shredded and turned into felt blankets to be shipped overseas.  Now that I have had the opportunity to go through a hundred bags of donations, I imagine most of what is donated ends up as felt.

I think from now on, I'll pass on all of our good hand-me-downs to friends and just throw the rest in the garbage.  I know we're supposed to "reduce, reuse and recycle," but what about the impact of all this crap on the already-strained resources of the organizations we're giving it to?  It takes a lot of time to sort through it all.  And you wouldn't believe how fast a pair of shoes can get separated in the melee, or how many items are just discarded out of hand.

The bottom line is, we live in a land of embarrassing riches if the homeless shelter is only taking clothing with tags on it.  They are being selective like that because they simply do not have the space for anything but the cream of the crop.  They are inundated with generosity, which is it own burden on them, in a way.  And yet, leaving the shelter, Ari and I drove past the perennial droves of men lying listless on the sidewalk outside Catholic Food Services, past the groups of derelict smokers huddled together on the corner outside the shelter, in line for a bed for the night.  I don't know how on earth to solve those problems, and as much as I think it is wonderful that a homeless child can choose some good clothes, I came away dejected because all the clothing in the world can't solve anything.

The man in charge of us worked very, very hard, knew what he was doing, and accomplished an incredible amount.  I thought of all the whining I do about housework and was humbled by this guy.  He did more laundry in one hour than I do in a week, and it never stops.  He washes bedding and towels, mostly.  The laundry was more gratifying for Ari and me that the sorting because I knew those sheets and blankets would go back on beds that people really needed.  Still, though, the best solution for homelessness would be friends and family helping friends and family, but for myriad reasons, that is so much more complicated than it sounds.  Impossible, in many cases.

Driving home, I broke the silence by saying, "Let's never go back there again, OK, Ari?"

"OK," she said quietly.  Evidently, we're not cut out for service to our fellow man.  It's too demoralizing. Ugh.  I'm a loser.

'50's Day

 Normally, it would scare me to have three 5th grade boys in my kitchen scratching their armpits to music, but these macho men were practicing for their '50's Day lip synch.  Last year, Ari and her musical friends had several rehearsals/meetings/prop-making sessions leading up to '50's Day.

This year, 18 hours before the event, Freestone sauntered into my room and said, "Spencer, Caleb and I should practice for our lip synch."  Um, YES, you should!  I called the other parents and arranged for the boys to get together after Freestone's scouts and Caleb's piano recital, and before Spencer's date with his dad.  I love how Freestone's blase attitude just seems to work out for him.  The other boys showed up with a mom in tow, who whipped them into line, teaching them choreography and making them practice it over and over.  Meanwhile, I kept disappearing to run kid places and blow my nose.  (Worst cold ever!)  I am so grateful to that mom for invading our kitchen and directing those boys.  Without her, they'd still be playing with a slinky on the stairs, because that was the extent of their vision.

 Meanwhile, Golda and Alyssa were practicing with Jennifer in the basement for solo and ensemble, Ari was practicing cello in her room and Ruby was teaching a guitar lesson in her studio.  Scott, who is also sick, was lying on his bed texting me, "Why?  Why?  Why?!"  I think it was mostly the monkey song that was making him lose his will to live.  Aside from that, when I was younger and dreamed of having kids, this picture right here ^^ is what that dream looked like.  Kids in ballet clothes playing instruments.

 I also pictured holiday projects, and my batch of kids hasn't disappointed on that front, even if their mom has.  Sometimes I'm the mom who does the Cellophane Bag of Haughtiness, that home made Valentine treat that says, "I'm the best mom ever!"  Then other times, I do the Store-Bought Card of Shame, the treat-less, dollar store box of Sponge Bob cards that don't rip properly on the dotted lines.  This year, the kids all placed their orders.  Freestone wanted Kisses, Ari wanted Dum Dum suckers and Xanthe ended up with the only cards left at the store, some cartoon character that I've never heard of.  Lalaloopy?  She was thrilled, and I even bought taffy to go in them.

 Tziporah was a great "helper."

 When I imagined having kids, I also pictured events taking place in the cafeteria at Morgan Elementary, because that was my frame of reference.  And what do you know, here we are living right around the corner from my alma mater.  Freestone got up at 3:00 in the morning to get ready for '50's Day.  When he figured out that it wouldn't take him that long to get ready, he went back to bed.  He was still up early, having his hair styled by Ari and getting into his carefully chosen outfit.  I am getting very spoiled as a mom, the older the kids get.  Ari had this whle thing under control.  I made one swipe with the brush across Freestone's forehead and Ari said, outraged, "Mo-om!"  I said, "I just wanted to feel like I was helping!"  Tee hee.  She allowed me one more brush swipe, but then she fixed it before flitting off to get Tziporah dressed and make the lunches.  I am so lucky!

 Finally, the big day!

 Getting the music cued up.

 And HERE is a video of the big performance.  For some reason, only on Freestone's routine, the music was quiet and the babies were super loud!  Oh well.

 This is Laura, the mom who made it all happen.  Thank you!  All of us moms and dads are so lucky to be in the thick of all this fun stuff, whether it's exactly how we pictured it or not.  When I try to think back to what my vision was, I am pretty sure I didn't imagine everything quite so chaotic.  I didn't dream of Ruby having to walk home from seminary so that I could see the lip synch, or Coco watching the babies (Babies?  Still?!) or getting texts from Golda during the show begging me to check her out so she didn't have to sit through a seminary lesson on chastity on Valentine's Day.  When I think back on this phase of life, I will see all the chaos, all the intensity, and I will remember that I loved it, because I do.  How I do!