Casting

I miss Golda.  Mostly because she's never coming back, at least not as the girl she was before.  Yesterday I wrote her a letter telling her all about Nutcracker auditions and Homecoming preparations.  Things she used to care so much about.  Things that are completely irrelevant now, and even seem a little silly.  Golda was obsessed about being Clara in the Nutcracker for years.  You could almost diagnose a clinical condition. Claritis or something.  She sketched endless drawings for the Nutcracker cover art contest, most depicting her dream role, Clara.  She literally would dwell on it all year. She filled notebooks with lists of goals and instructions to herself, all dedicated to the ultimate goal of Clara. Six months of hope and determination, and then six months of despair.  Sometimes just 12 months of hope mingled with despair.  The worst years were the two when she got a "Clara Callback," meaning she had come closer to her goal, and thus would be - and was - more devastated when she didn't achieve it.

Driving to my Nutcracker rehearsal last night, waiting at the stoplight on 2nd North, all the endless drives to ballet with Golda and all the endless conversations about Nutcracker came rushing back.  Buying the exact perfect hair ribbon for the audition.  Selecting the fabric for the Nutcracker Bag.  The pep talks, the dissection of auditions and what could have been different, the discussions about rehearsals.  Then later, when she left home, the calls from Orem about her Nutcracker rehearsals.  A different production.  What was the name of the company again?  I wasn't needed to drive her to rehearsals or to analyze who got what part, but at least Scott and I got to go see the production.  It was one of the last times we saw her dance onstage, and the sorrow of that realization penetrated Tchaikovsky's peppy, festive score.

Now, our little dancer is out on the world's stage, just like we hoped and prepared for.  Yet there are times when I feel like Golda with that role of Clara.  I can audition and audition, but I will never make the part of Golda's Mom like I had it before.  That role has been taken out of the production.

MTC

The day finally, finally arrived that we were to drop off Golda at the Missionary Training Center.  Even though she had been called to arrive on the first possible date she could have, the first Wednesday after her 19th birthday, it was still a long time coming, with all the preparation and anticipation.  At the same time, those last 8 weeks after school ended flew by.  We had a nice dinner, and then regrettably had to leave Victor and Sofia home while we went to Provo.  There wasn't room in the car!  Our family fit just right because Araceli was at Trek.

Golda's friends, Emily Abel and Jessica Stewart, had made these darling signs.  What a fun start to our journey.  Thanks, girls!

One last good-bye, and then...

Pictures at the Provo City Center Temple.  This one was completed and dedicated while Golda lived nearby, so she wanted to stop there.  It's beautiful.  The feeling of the day was unique, celebratory, somber and unsettling, all at the same time.  It was overwhelming.

I was happy that Golda was finally leaving on her adventure.

Scott was sad.  Really sad.

Then the Provo Temple.  This is called the "Field of Tears," because all the missionaries say good-bye to their families and take pictures here.  The backdrop with the mountains is gorgeous.  Scott gave Golda a Polaroid camera, because she really wanted one.  It was fun to have.

Ruby losing her best friend.  Wow! 

Sweet little Xanthe

The tears begin...

All three of the "little" kids wanted their own Polaroid with Golda.  Those pictures are expensive, and Golda wanted to save the film for Hong Kong. but she was happy to oblige the kids.  They felt so special!

Oh no!  I think Scott wished Golda had stayed little so he could carry her on his shoulders forever.  He was really emotional. 

Golda and Tizzy doing their secret handshake.  It's sad how much Tizzy will grow while Golda is gone!

Later, we were laughing so hard at Scott in this picture.  It was the ugly cry.  Poor dad!

At the curb, the air was charged with excitement.  The MTC was lined with dozens of missionaries, all there to welcome the newbies.  This was it!  We unloaded Golda's whole life in two suitcases, and she was off!

I absolutely love this picture!  She was so ready, and so radiant.  I was happy for her, leaving all the responsibilities of "real life" behind and going away, to focus on her relationship with God and her commitment to serve Him.  She didn't have to worry about family dynamics or school or friends or dating, or any of that stuff.  She had carte blanche to focus n this one thing.  Granted, it's SUPER hard, but it's a unique experience, and she was finally diving in.  I was elated.  I was euphoric.  Scott was despondent.  It was quite the contrast.  Scott said I was "making people uncomfortable" by not being more sad.  Maybe true?  It's just that I'm so happy for Sister Dopp to be on this journey. That said, I kinda wished I'd had time to take a year-long nap after we got home, to process the feelings of the day.  No such luck.  We still had 8 kids, and Ruby was having a party at our house that night with two dozen Dance Company friends.  Onward and upward!

Parenting in 20 Seconds

See Ptolemy standing on the corner?

Ruby's seminary teacher wants a 20 to 40 second video from each parent about "the joys of parenthood."  His request cracked me up all day long yesterday. Parenthood in 40 seconds? Where would I begin? I tried to do a video, but for one thing, and I don't know if any of you have noticed this, because I certainly hadn't, but I am wizened. Is that a word? On video, I looked like I'd just spent a year in a North Korean labor camp.  If that's not a testament to parenthood, I don't know what is.  However, I'm sure that's not the side of parenthood the seminary teacher is trying to magnify.

Everyone knows I love parenthood, and I love having seven children, but that doesn't change the fact, the empirically proven fact, that seven kids is way too many!  With seven kids, you're going to be loading a thousand books into your car to ship to Swaziland when suddenly your first grader shows up.  He threw up in class, your phone was on silent and your mom had to go get the poor kid.  His first words are, "I'm not sick.  I want to go to the dollar store."

Scott just happened to be across the street when I pulled over at a stop sign because Ptolemy was white as paste and there was nothing to use as a bucket in the brand-new car.  Tiny little thing stood on the corner while I dumped out my purse and ran around the car to help him.  I hope everyone driving by appreciated my mime demonstration on How to Throw Up in You Mom's Purse.

So that's parenthood.  And that's not an isolated incident, that's every day.  Funny, I never had time to finish that 20-second video.  At this same time, Freestone was at the dentist and Ruby was at the UPS store waiting for the Swaziland books.  Araceli was still at the jr. high waiting for a ride.  Tizzy was with Ro at Coco's because Esmae was at the doctor getting a chest x-ray.  Xanthe was bringing home school pictures that I never ordered, which is fantastic because I needed more errands to run.  I'll just take those back to the school on my way to the dollar store with whichever kid happens to be throwing up.  This time, I'll bring a bucket.

"This is the best day ever!"  Tizzy says it all the time, and it's true every single day.

Be the Presence of Love

I may have mentioned this story that took place when we were in Rome.  We were sitting in a restaurant when a woman burst through the door next to our table, cocked her head, zeroed in on us and exclaimed, "Engliiiiish!"

She was a Canadian who had been traveling solo for weeks, and she was delighted to hear our North American accents.  She sat down with us to dine, and a friendship was born from her enthusiasm and inclusion.  We all loved her immediately.

The other day, Shannon posted a quote that resonated with me, so I paraphrased it and adopted it as my new life mantra.

"In every situation, be the presence of love."

This comes from a book called Loveability by Robert Holden.  The actual quote is, "The greatest influence you can have in any situation is to be the presence of love."  This quote struck me so powerfully, I immediately began using it.  God is love, and so there's nothing else, really.  We are here to love.  As I go about my life. I visualize me being the person responsible for bringing love into any situation.  Love manifests itself in patience, and in really listening.  I can feel the love softening my facial features, even.  Yesterday I was driving myself, Xanthe and Ptolemy to ballet.  We really should have left home five minutes earlier, and I was on edge.  I noticed I was scowling, and I thought of my role in this world: to be the presence of love.

I felt my face relax, and I smiled at my kids.  I listened to them.  Their voices were so sweet.  I was happy because I was aware that my job wasn't to get to class on time, though I did.  My job was to bring love into the car, and then to take it with me to my class, and send it with Xanthe and Ptolemy to their classes.

Teaching ballet, I have a student who really has a hard time.  I noticed right off at the beginning of the year that the other girls were very patient with her, and I followed their example.  At 8 years old, they're too young to bring anything but love with them.  It doesn't matter to them if their friend is different.  They probably aren't even aware of it, but they crave seeing the teacher treating their friend with love.  I react to her behavior kindly, and I try to understand what she needs.

In an article detailing how the general authorities assign LDS mission calls, Elder Rasband related a story of then-Elder Eyring assigning missions.  He said that he liked to envision where the missionary would return from after his or her service was complete.  What perspective that brings to the beginning, to imagine the end.

Along with "being the presence of love," I am always cognizant of the intended outcome, rather than the process.  With my little student, I constantly imagine how I would feel if, at the end of the year, her mother thanked me for being her ballet teacher.  I try to act in a way that I'd feel proud of, in that moment.  Would I deserve the gratitude?

Whenever I'm successful in lovingly, instead of gruffly, interacting with one of my kids, it's because I am mindful of the kind of person I hope they become, and I'm thinking about how I hope they remember their childhood when it's distilled down to a handful of feelings in hindsight.  Lately, it seems like everyone in our family has been struck with a severe case of the blues.  Seasonal Affective Disorder?  I don't know, but if Costco sold mega family packs of Zoloft, I'd be the first one in line, and every crock pot recipe I prepared would include a double dose of them.  Since I can't do that, I focus on what I would want my child to know if he or she was away from me and feeling hopeless or depressed.  Would I want them to know that I expected their practicing to get done?  Would I want them to know that I was checking their grades and I wasn't happy?  No.

When kids are discouraged, it's hard to imagine that anything matters except for love.  I want my children to know that I love who they are.  There is nothing else. Last night, in the depths of exhaustion, nobody wanted to get their stuff done.  Instead, we sat in the kitchen and made a list of everything we're quitting.  School.  Violin.  Orchestra.  French.  Jazz.  Especially school.  As I channeled love, I just knew that nobody needed a taskmaster at that moment.

So there's love.  Now we just have to figure out how to add motivation back in.  Springtime, can you help us?  Can love and homework coexist?

Fleetly Fleeing

This was maybe three years ago.  Now we don't have any babies, Araceli is ten feet taller, and we only see Golda every few weeks.  In three more years, our oldest two will be off on their own, soon to be followed by the next batch.

It goes way too fast.  Way too fast.  And if you want to see fast, just add an extra four kids to the mix.  We had Nikki and Clint's kids this week, and the time just rocketed by, full of games, classes, carpools and lessons; homework, dinner, breakfast and school.  One night, Tizzy asked me to lie down to sleep with her.  I hesitated because, you know, laundry for 12 people, dishes, mounds of backpacks piled up by the front door, full of things to be signed and probably rotting lunch leftovers.  I had Things To Do.

I said yes, though, because closing my eyes for a minute was an irresistible idea.  Tizzy was so incredibly delighted, I couldn't believe it.  She was happy just to have me there.  She giggled, then laughed loudly.  Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.  She needed so little, and gave me so much in return, in that little giggle of delight.

Before I can fully appreciate her magnificent little 4-year-old giggle, Tizzy will be pulling a Mustang folder out of her school backpack and asking me to sign her reading log.  She'll be a pudgy pre-teen needing new ballet shoes every three weeks as her feet grow.  She'll be a tempestuous 14-year-old, storming out of the kitchen because nobody noticed that she curled her eyelashes.  She'll be a Davis Dart, car bouncing into the driveway whenever we're lucky enough to have her home from all the things she's passionate about.

Then she'll be gone.  She'll come back, but not often enough.  And instead of snuggling in with her at bedtime, I'll lie down in the very spot in our bed where her warm little figure once hogged the covers, sometimes forcing Scott and me to end up on couches.  I might cry because I miss her, but I'll dry my tears because that's what you do when you're all finished drying theirs.

I love this last picture.  Where did Tizzy go?  Celi and Free were probably fighting over her and she left.  Har har

Driving

Golda finally got her driver license.  She is 17, a senior.  There were a lot of reasons she didn't get her license until now.  First, apprehension.  Then school conflicts, then general high school busyness.  There were a lot of priorities, and some of them were tied to grades and some of them weren't things we could control, and none of them had anything to do with finishing that simple 9-day drivers ed course.  But finally, it was done, and now Golda is driving herself and Ruby to school, driving herself to ballet, leaving the house for church meetings and study sessions and to hang out with friends.

I know it gives Scott and me a lot of freedom.  In fact, I have already taken on three extra violin students because not driving Golda has freed up so much of my time.  Another benefit is that I love to see Golda enjoy her freedom and independence.

And yet, part of me is kinda depressed about this new phase.  I feel discouraged facing the prospect of my heart beating wildly every time one of my kids drives, for the next 40 years.  Sometimes when I think about Golda on the road, my stomach lurches up into my head and I think of all the things that could happen.  All the bad things.  It's like this new level of a video game that I don't yet have the skills for.  Yes, I'll get used to the idea of Golda driving, but then Ruby will get her license, then Araceli will get her license, and so on.  I'll be training new drivers for the next 14 years!  Yesterday I drove around for several hours in the passenger seat with Ruby.  I'm not a good passenger.  I'm a good driver.  Being a passenger is scary and boring and uncomfortable and nerve-wracking, all at the same time.

That's the other part of my reticence.  For some mothers, feeding their children satisfies their maternal instinct.  Rocking them, singing to them, teaching them to clean bathrooms, reading scriptures with them, painstakingly sounding out words as they learn to read.  I do all of those things, but what I really love is to drive them around.  I love when I drop them off in the ballet alley, pick them up at school, run them to a meeting, drive them to Salt Lake for a lesson.  I love waiting in the car for them during guitar or orchestra or anything they want to do, I love dropping everything when they call for a ride home from Dance Company, or when they're sick at school or when they forgot an assignment.  I love that as their mom, I get to be the one to hop in the car and take the forgotten paper or book to the school.  It's probably like the feeling some moms get from cooking a nutritious breakfast for their little ones before they go out into the world.  That feeling that you're providing for your brood.  I just feel my motherhood most keenly when I'm getting them to the important places they go.  I love the feeling of making it all flow.  I have always felt the most refuge in the car, everyone safely buckled in, the world at our feet.  When Golda and Ruby were tiny, I remember the feeling of relief at getting out of the house and having them buckled in their carseats, unable to escape or make too big of a mess.  Ah, freedom!  Now, even if we're just going to ballet, we COULD go anywhere we wanted, and we're all in it together, whether we like it or not.

I suppose that's why it's bittersweet to see the first of them drive away.  I know it's great, but it just feels like the beginning of the end.  Every time that Cadillac chugs up the street, I close my eyes and pray that they will come home safely, alive, that it won't be their destiny to be mangled in some car crash.  Not what I pictured when I signed up for parenting.  But...here we go.  Buckle up.