For Reals?

Tziporah scares me.  It's like she's a grown-up actress, possibly of an alien species, housed in a two-year-old body.  And she's at an audition where the director has said, "Act like a two-year-old human girl."  Except that she's really over-doing it.  The whole two-year-old act is just over the top.  The possibly-alien-actress is not going to get the job because she's not believable.  She's overacting.

For example, a lot of her sentences end in, "EVER, EVER IN THE WORLD!!"  As in, "I don't want my shoes on, EVER, EVER IN THE WORLD!!"  Other times, she emphasizes her point with "I LOVE MAMA!!"  "I don't want a to go on a walk with you!  I LOVE MAMA!!"

She strides forward with a swagger that is much too confident for a tiny thing and utters phrases that a real two-year-old would never say.  Her sense of humor is too developed for someone her age, to the point where she understands and utilizes the courtesy laugh when something Scott says should be funny, but isn't, really.  Seriously, did you ever meet a patronizing two-year-old?  Even her courtesy laugh is too much of a guffaw to be believable.

This art project of hers is a big, glittery representation of her tendency toward superfluity.  The whole bottle of glue, all the yellow streamers, several flower petals and, as a finishing touch, the actual glue bottle and cap.  And this was before she poured the rest of the blue glitter on it.

Sometimes I get the eerie feeling that none of Tziporah's feelings are for real, hence the alien actress hunch.  When she cries, I think of the term "alligator tears."  She literally says, "Waah haaah haaah."  If you imitated a kid crying, you would sound like Tizzy.  She throws herself into these performances, waah-haaahing with abandon, escalating the volume, calling forth wet tears and blinking them away.  At the end of the performance, it's clear that the thing the tantrum was about is irrelevant, if not completely forgotten.  The important point is the satisfaction of a brilliant performance.

Same thing with the emotion we humans call "enthusiasm."  Tziporah will look at a worm on the sidewalk and clasp her hands together.  She'll shriek, "This is amaaaazing!  I can't believe it!  I just can't believe it, it's soooo amaaaazing!"

All I can think, looking at her golden locks and wide, blue eyes, is, "You cannot be for real."  I strongly suspect that Tziporah has taken the opportunity the last couple of dance classes to workshop her "clingy little girl who wants Mama" routine.  She is fine when I leave her all alone at the dance studio so I can pick up Ptolemy.  Then, midway through the class, it's time for Tziporah's solo, entitled, "I Want My Mommy, Boo Hoo."  She comes out of class with a pouty look, one finger in her mouth for that forlorn look, one tear teetering on the brink of her left eye.  She sobs, "I wanted you, Mom!"  And then she won't go back in.  I know for a fact that she is not scared, intimidated or lonely.  She has just decided that the dance studio is a poignant backdrop for her "song and dance," if you will.

The emotion Tziporah has been working on lately is "indignant."  Every day she adds more inflections and syllables to the two words, "But!  Mom!"  "Buuuuuut!  Mooooo-ooo-oooooom!"  "Let Rolayne have the blanket."  "Buuuuut!  Mooooooo-ooom!  I wanted the pink one!"  Very convincing.

Alright, my little alien.  You got the job.  You can drop the act.  We'll keep you.  We like your style.

Enough

I was planning on taking four of my daughters to the Womens General Broadcast last night at our church.  Then Freestone got invited to go to the Utah football game with Scott and some uncles and cousins, and I lost my babysitter.  It was OK.  Staying home and watching it was very appealing anyway.  I couldn't bear the thought of leaving the little kids for one more thing, and it was rainy and cozy inside, with the kids doing their projects and hunkering down.  Araceli and Ellison made us a batch of Emily's chocolate mousse and I cooked up some tacos for dinner.  We all snuggled up to watch the broadcast by candlelight in our nice, warm socks, and I didn't have to leave Ptolemy and Tziporah.

Of course, that was the other side of the coin.  Had I been at the church, I wouldn't have had to help Tziporah get ready for bed and go to the bathroom.  Actually, I didn't help her, and she peed all over the floor in the bathroom.  Then she came and got me to show me.  With wide eyes, she did an exaggerated shrugging motion and exclaimed, "I don't know who DID this!"

I gave her a squeeze and said, "It was you, Tziporah."

She said innocently, "Huh!"  Our little comic.

By the time President Uchtdorf gave his remarks, Tziporah was sound asleep and I was ready to absorb the message.  I can always count on President Uchtdorf saying something uplifting and inspiring, something that resonates with love and hope.  I loved his message that "God loves you now.  He is not waiting to love you until you overcome your weaknesses and bad habits."  I know that.  I depend on that.  I cling to that.  That is the core of my testimony.  I needed to hear that message to remind me that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is solely based in love, and not concerned with the extraneous things that take turns coming to the forefront of our daily strivings.  For me, I have to keep things very simple.  I have my doubts, I have my resentments, I have my concerns, and of course I have my weaknesses.  Yet always, if I zero in on the love that God is, and the beauty and simplicity of that message, I find my place in the church and I know I am where I belong.  The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is my heritage, and I claim it without waiting to be perfect because I know that it is my path.

 
 At the same time, I wholeheartedly understand that for me, my mission is not to convert or even to proclaim.  I know, part of the Gospel is to share it.  Ironically, I can only share my love for God and Jesus Christ through my genuine, unqualified acceptance of the beliefs of others.  That's my truth, however incomplete and simplistic it is.  It's all I can be.  I will never be "enough" of a Mormon for some, but I am "enough" for me, for now, and I am "enough" for my Father in Heaven.  Maybe someday I'll feel differently about the details, and I know for certain that I will love it when/if my children serve missions.  I'll be 100% on their side as they spread the message of the Gospel.  It expands my heart to think that there are people yearning for a connection with the divine, and that the Gospel provides that.  But then there are those hearts who choose other paths, and I have this deep, inexplicable connection to them.  Maybe we all have different gifts of the spirit, different callings. We could analyze that for days, but for today...these few thoughts are enough.

98 vs. 42

Am I the biggest doofus or what?  I erased all the pictures of Nana on her 98th birthday from my camera, along with the pictures I took the next day of the flowers Tricia sent, and the arrangement from Nana's neighbor.  I did take this darling video of Nana talking to Da when Da called from Thailand to wish her a happy birthday.  I love how Nana embraces everything and everyone with unconditional love.  I have a long way to go on that.  I don't even love my kids if they're too slow coming out of ballet!  OK, that's not true, but I could relax a little bit.  Nana keeps saying, "We'll just take what comes and love it."

"That's so hard," I think as I grit my teeth.  I don't want to take what comes.  I want to decide what comes and when and how.  Maybe by the time I'm 98, I'll feel more zen-like.

But enough about me, let's talk about Nana's visiting teachers.  I went back to Nana's house the day after her birthday because I had given her a cake on her birthday and she was worried about how big it was.  I told her I'd come back and get the leftovers.  The visiting teachers came in, darling ladies in their '80's who didn't seem that old at all.  I must be getting up there!  Nana had written down that they were coming at 2:00, but they came at 10:30.  One said to me, "Oh, we don't want to interrupt!"  She looked at me and said pointedly, "Ruby NEVER gets to see YOU."

I looked at her and said, "No.  She sees me almost every day, so go ahead.  I'll be back tomorrow."

Do you see this?  It was supposed to be a blog post about Nana and how wonderfully optimistic and loving she is, and how she was getting birthday calls nonstop the whole time I was there, and instead it's a blog post about how I erased the pictures I took and then got annoyed at a nice old lady's assumption that nobody visits Nana.  Well, we do.  I don't have any pictures to prove it, but...

You know what?  Let's all just do our best.

Dancers

 Every other Friday, Dance Company has lunch at one of the dancers' homes.  My turn got moved last-minute to Wednesday because the dancers have a photo shoot this Friday.  No problem, Golda, Ruby and I already had a plan for the food.  It was so much fun having the girls and Connor at our home.  They only have 30 minutes or so for lunch, so everything is ready when they walk in the door.  Ruby and Golda wanted it set up so there was no waiting in line, so we did 3 identical salads, 4 plates of bagels on 2 tables, lots of schmear with knives, drinks already poured and dessert in cups with spoons, so they could take them and run if they had to.  Short and sweet, just enough time for the kids to feel the welcome atmosphere of a home and fuel up for their last class, Dance Company, which can go over 2 hours.

 Golda, Emily, Hayley, Ashley and Zoe, all girls I have watched dance since they were tiny.  It's actually fun to see everyone with their hair down in street clothes.  They look like regular people.  Who would guess that these girls are some of the hardest-working, resilient, athletic, well-rounded, artistic teens around?

 Rebecca, Amanda, Savannah, Hailey, Kiley, Chloe, Connor, Emily, Jessie and Amy.

 Brooke and Tori, and Haddie there on the side.  I think almost everyone came.  I wish we could do it every week!

 Tizzy was in heaven when Nikki brought her home from dance and the house was filled with dancers!  When they were leaving, Tizzy said, "Hey!  Wooby!  Where you taking my friends?!"  Alas, they had to go prepare for their performance that night.

 Davis High has a Performing Arts Spectacular that is a fundraiser for the auditorium.  This is the New York, New York dance, with Golda and her leg 5th from the left!

 Here's Ruby on the far right in this dance...title?  I forgot.

They also did their rose petal dance, which I've seen, so I just sat back and watched it.  Scott, Ari and I were on the front row, which is great for seeing which child is yours, but hard for photographing feet, since I didn't want to block people's view with my phone.  It's so much fun to see the results of the time and effort these kids put in.  I'm so impressed by them.  Ruby came home and zoned out for 10 minutes on Instagram before starting on her practicing.  She has a terrible homework load.  She was up til 2 the other night, then set her alarm for 4:30.  Not surprisingly, she slept through the alarm.  Nobody can get by on 2 hours of sleep a night!  Golda, on the other hand, is on the downhill slope of her high school career.  It's still a lot of homework, with 2 AP's and college math, but it's manageable.  She was finished with everything by 11 last night!  I don't remember the last time that happened. I think dance and music are these girls' salvation, a right-brained break between textbooks and essays.  A change is as good as a rest, right?  I dunno...ask Ruby at 2 am.

All I Ever Wanted

Dream come true...

There was a time in my life when all I wanted was to be married to Scott Dopp and have kids.  To take them to ballet and violin lessons and read to them and get them dressed in little outfits.  To play in the fall leaves with them and to stand back proudly when they learned to ride bikes.  I'd imagine myself looking at Scott at those moments and smiling.  I wanted to fix dinner while kids in leotards and tights did their homework on the floor.  I pictured Scott walking in after work wearing a suit and tie, and all the kids running to him.  In my dreams, he would sometimes bring flowers.  He would always smile.  The kids would adore him.  We would be happy.

I woke up this morning and listened.  Kids were up, getting ready for school.  I looked over and Scott was asleep, looking all rugged and peaceful in his three-day-old beard.  I thought of my seventeen-year-old self and I imagined how mad she would be if she could see me now:  So blase about having it all.  Waking up like it's a regular day instead of jumping out of bed, running outside and shouting, "I won!  I won!  I won!"

My seventeen-year-old self would not believe it if she could see me living her dream.  Living as if it were just a given that she should have the perfect husband and all the kids she ever wanted and a cozy, warm house and cars in the garage.  That girl would scream at me, "Do you see what you have?!  Why aren't you freaking out?!"

The truth is, I am.  My heart soars all the time.  I wish you could all see it.  I wish Scott could see it, and the kids.  I wish they could somehow know every time my heart takes a flying leap and sails, tumbling through the air, laughing.

One can't show that much enthusiasm every minute.  It would be uncouth.  But I would like to thank seventeen-year-old Circe for having beautiful, impossible dreams, and I would like her to know that I feel golden that they all came true.  I won't waste them, I promise.

Asian

I was at the Asian market on 9th South with Ruby, Ari and Xanthe after Lenore's tea.  A guy who works there, who is Vietnamese-American, came up to us and tousled Xanthe's hair.  He bend down and said to her, "Hey!  Where you from?"  (Which is such a taboo question.  Never say that.  Please.  A lot of people who don't look like you are from right where you're from.)  Despite his somewhat inarticulate question, it resonated differently coming from one Asian to another.  He was saying, "We're the same" instead of saying, with the same words, "You're different."  Even so, Xanthe didn't know what he meant.  She looked at me and I restated it the way I would ask it.  "He means, what is your ethnic background?"

Xanthe was still confused, so I told the guy, "She's Chinese."  I thought it was sweet of him to notice Xanthe and speak to her, to acknowledge, "Hey, you're Asian like me."  He's a nice kid.

Later in the car, Xanthe asked, "Why did he say that to me?"  I told her, "He's Asian, and he probably noticed you were Asian too, and he wanted to talk to you."  She squinted, then shrugged, "How did he know?"

Xanthe, Xanthe, Xanthe.  She is such a funny, sweet, crazy girl.  She knows she is Chinese inside.  I think she forgets, though, that she is Chinese on the outside, too!

Since we were in the neighborhood, we couldn't resist the pull of Oh Mai.  This market is next door and has the best house-mixed spices.  I chose some Iraqi curry and grabbed some Oh Mai to take home.

To thunderous applause, I might add.  Delicious!  I think our whole family might be a little bit Asian...on the inside. ;)

Homecoming 2014

Homecoming 2014 was a lovely study in synchronicity from start to finish.  Golda was asked by Josh Downs, a great kid who became friends with the Euros over the summer and spent some time with them, our girls and some Davis friends.  He asked her with a Little Caesar's pizza and breadsticks and a note, referencing the Little Caesar's tag line, "You're hot and I'm ready.  Let's go crazy at homecoming!"  Golda was at ballet when he dropped by, so Ruby and I took the pizza with us when we picked her up.  Her reaction was...tears of relief at having been asked, then excitement that it was Josh.  

Then there was the question of a dress. Coco took Golda shopping and came home with the perfect dress.  Absolutely perfect.  And it was only $32!!  Thirty-two dollars!!  In the end, I convinced Golda that some shoes she already had were the perfect thing, but took her shopping for a headband.  I love the style Golda had envisioned for this occasion.  The headband was the perfect touch.  I was also thrilled that we didn't have to shop for a little jacket or shrug.  Golda's stand on that was that she felt comfortable and modest in the dress, and if she were to wear a shrug with it, it would only be because of what she was afraid people might think if she didn't.  She decided that worrying about what people think was the wrong motivation, and went with what she felt comfortable in.  I was proud of her, and I thought she looked like the epitome of grace and virtue.

 I had a little emotional conflict about the timing of Golda's departure.  Josh was coming to get her at 5, and I was planning on meeting my friend Lenore and her brand-new baby in Salt Lake at 4:30.  With like 13 man-hours of ballet and Nutcracker rehearsals and shopping for a headband, Golda didn't have as much time to get ready as she should have.  She washed her hair in between classes, then started getting ready after finishing her last class, then her chores and practicing.  An afternoon of primping was not in the cards.  I knew I would be late for Lenore's tea, and I knew I wouldn't be there when Golda left, so I felt a little torn..  It all worked out, even if I was late meeting Lenore.  (I'm sorry!  If there's one thing I hate, it's being late!)  The whole family milled about Golda's room as she put the finishing touches on her ensemble.  I love that the younger kids have Golda to look up to.  She is so confident, beautiful and put-together.

 Tea was lovely!  We had so much fun snuggling Betty.  She is a feather of celestial radiance.  How's that for hyperbole?  But she is!  Thanks, Nor, for inviting us to share in Betty's precious spirit!

 Meanwhile Scott was a good photographer as Josh and Golda left for the dance.  Josh said that Golda was "the best date ever," and Golda said that the evening was perfect.

 I guess his face says it all!  It was one of those iconic nights that high school dreams are made of.