"Times They Didn't Want Me"

We regret to inform you...

Everyone has stories of successes and failures.  We all have those moments where something we worked for comes to fruition.  We all remember our sweetest victories with satisfaction.  I remember the time I played my violin in church and nailed it.  I remember the all-consuming ecstasy of getting my acceptance letter to Indiana University, as well as the moment my parents decided they could send me there.  I remember the profound relief of playing my senior recital in college and having it be over.

On the other side of the coin are the failures we all experience.  In some ways, the failures are more formative than the successes.  I ran for everything in junior high and high school, and never won until my junior year, when the studentbody collectively said, "Enough already, let's just vote for Circe and put her out of her misery."  There have been countless lists without my name on them and numerous announcements of victory that showcased me hanging my dejected head in disappointment in the background.  There were many first cuts that shattered my fledgling dreams.  The worst, though, was when I was cut after all the cuts had been made.  I didn't make Nutcracker until I was 14, when all the other dancers had tired of being in it year after year and stopped auditioning.  I didn't care.  I loved every minute of my time onstage, and there were two.  Two minutes.

There are so many times in our lives when our name just isn't called.  Who doesn't remember the days passing by, each one without an invitation to Prom appearing on our doorstep?  Who doesn't know how it feels when everyone else is chosen?  All of us have experienced a phone that just will. not. ring.  If there is someone out there who was never the last one picked, never had a fall from grace, never scanned a cast list or a team list over and over to no avail, I have not met that person.  We all know all too well the sensation of a sinking heart as it breaks into a million pieces.

Rejection isn't one of those things you laugh about later.  My eyes still burn with shame-filled tears when I think about my misplaced confidence at the Monkey King audition.  Scott still becomes angry and frustrated when he talks about how he never made the high school basketball team.  There have been, and there will be, for all of us, stories to file under the painful category, "Times They Didn't Want Me."

What's in YOUR "Times They Didn't Want Me" file?

Well, Then.

Tizzy wanted her foot to be just like Mommy's.  She even makes unsavory noises to
indicate that her foot hurts.

Yesterday I posted of Facebook, Rule of thumb:  If you have 7 kids and you EVER find yourself thinking, "Gee, it's such a quiet night.  I can't believe everything is so under control"...there is someplace you're supposed to be and you forgot.

I got a text from a friend of mine this morning about how she dropped her daughter off somewhere at the time the class was supposed to be ending, and drove away.  When the teacher called her, she said to the teacher, "Circe would never do something like this!"  So she wanted to thank me for making her feel better.

Oh, if only I was the person I have somehow tricked people into thinking that I am.  Since I'm not, I might as well make the rest of you feel better about your life management skills.  Without further ado, here is a list of things I have forgotten this week:

Ptolemy's preschool
Ptolemy's dance class
Golda's flute lesson
To order Xanthe a new piano book
A meeting with a customer at the violin shop
Freestone's violin when we went to violin lessons
Deodorant

And that's not even counting the things that I forgot that someone reminded me about in time to slvage the situation.  Yesterday, I gasped and said, "Cello!  Oh my gosh!  When is Ari's cello lesson!?"  Thursday.  OK, dodged a bullet on that one.  Since cello was on Tuesdays last year, an internal (false) alarm went off Tuesday at 4:30.  Five minutes after I asked Ruby to put Tziporah to bed, I suddenly gasped again and said, "Where is Tizzy!?!"  Since this happens pretty regularly, Ruby didn't even wait for me to finish panicking before promptly answering, with a touch of exasperation in her voice, "In her crib."

I don't know why I'm so shaken up all the time.  Part of it is trying to function with one foot.  At the risk of sounding like a big baby, it's annoyingly tiring to get around with a hurt foot.  Everything seems more difficult than it really is, and it all takes longer, too.  Then there's the constant distraction of the foot pain.  Add the constant stream of homework and it's no wonder that things don't get written down on the calendar.  I'll even go so far as to say it's no wonder that, when I stare at the calendar, there is no measurable brain function happening behind my glazed-over eyes.

My friend Tiffany sent me an article that hits so close to home, I might try it in real life.   To paraphrase the author, here is my letter to my kids' teachers:  "Dear Mrs. Teacher, I am sending a packet of laundry to school today, as my child didn't have time to finish it at home, with all the extra work you sent home.  It shouldn't take long.  Just make sure she understands the concept of the clothes having to be in a neat stack.  Due to the time we spent on schoolwork at home, she also did not have a chance to explore outside, sit down to dinner with the family, or read for fun.  Please take just a few moments at the beginning of the school day to do that.  One more note:  my daughter was late for ballet due to a homework meltdown, so please make sure you allow her time before or after recess to do ten minutes of barre work so she doesn't fall behind in her ballet class.  Shouldn't take more than ten minutes, tops.  Also, we are learning the concept of putting the glasses on the top shelf of the dishwasher and the plates on the bottom, so if you wouldn't mind going over that briefly with your class, that would help us at home."

Do you know what would make my life easier?  For one, if the whole family didn't have to invest their whole night into Xanthe's "one page" of math a night.  If Freestone could just READ his book, instead of having to stop reading and fill out a reading chart that he doesn't have any interest in filling out.  If I didn't have to sign a million papers and notebooks and logs a day.  How about if I just assume you are doing fine during your 7 hours of school and your teacher just assumes you're doing just fine on your 4 to 5 hours of family/music practice/sports/extracurricular lessons/religious training/dance/dinner/reading/relaxing/playing outside/visiting grandparents/running errands/bathtime/bedtime/sibling time/parent time.

Because if I have to waste any more time babysitting the public school system, I am going to write a caustic blog about it.  Oh...wait.

"What is the central message, lesson learned or moral in your story?  How do you know?"
I DON'T know.  Now leave me alone and let me read my book.

Defend the Tradition

Scott and I found ourselves on the front row of a Davis High hello assembly for the first time since 1988.  This time, it was different than it was back in the dark ages.  The studentbody officers all had face mics.  They performed skits and routines that had obviously not been ad libbed, or even thought up the night before.  They had costumes that were not of the "rummage through your mother's closet" variety.  I was nostalgic for the good old low-tech days of the 1980's, but what these students put together was dazzling.  There was an arc to the production, and it was good.  The numbers that the school groups performed were professional quality.  Who was the incredible boy who sang the solo from Les Miz?  Watch out, Broadway!  Performances by the cheerleaders, D'Ettes, drum line, Madrigals and Mr. Miller were equally show-stopping.  And of course, we thoroughly enjoyed the DANCE COMPANY PERFORMANCE, with Golda and her friends.

Back in the day, all WE had was John Jensen flexing his muscles shirtless!

At the beginning of the assembly, the studentbody president, J.R. Oldham, led the school in a silent tribute to 9-11.  It struck me as he recited his textbook summary of what took place that day, that 9-11 is history for our kids.  Golda was what, four years old?  All these sharp, talented, forward-looking kids, poised to lead the world fresh out of high school, they don't remember 9-11.  When I was in high school, an event like that was unthinkable.  In the blink of an eye, it has not only happened, but become history.

And speaking of history, the theme of the assembly was the last hundred years, since Davis High opened its doors in 1913, with a graduating class of 30 students in 1914.  My grandmother Golda graduated in 1924?  My dad in 1954, my aunt in 1962.  Scott and me in 1989.  For 18 years in a row, Scott and I figured out, we will have a child of ours at Davis High.  I think it's safe to say we're "defending the tradition," and we're certainly doing it with a tear in our eye.  We're babies.  But come on, stick us in an auditorium ON 9-11, at our alma mater, the place where we fell in love, get the principal up onstage to talk about tradition and excellence, show us a production where our beautiful daughter dances, wrap it all up with the school fight song, and then expect us not to cry.

Not gonna happen.  Darts are sappy that way.

Holes

 Well, who is this darling little girl with the pierced ears?!  Xanthe Mary Mei!  Last week, Scott took the kids shopping and Xanthe wanted to get her ears pierced.  I think she chickened out, so I told her we would go "another time."  Xanthe interpreted that to mean "Monday right after school," and came home breathless on Monday, ready to get her ears pierced.

While I love driving the kids around to all their scheduled activities, I hate inserting a non-scheduled shopping-related errand into a weekday afternoon when everything is already carefully choreographed.  Xanthe was disappointed, and she doesn't deal well with ambiguity, so I knew I had to give her an exact time frame for the ear piercing.  I wasn't looking forward to numerous discussions about "how many more days," so it had to be soon.

This morning, while I was at Jennie's incredible Utah Parent Center breakfast, Xanthe left to pick up Esmae for school only to find that her BFF wasn't home.  She panicked and ran home with "a stomachache and a headache," crying.  Ruby let her stay home and texted me to give me a head's up on the sudden illness.  :)

When I got home, I gave Xanthe a hug and some fake sympathy and declared that she had better stay home and relax.  Ten minutes later, it was clear that she was perfectly fine, but she was still too spooked to go to school.  Perfect opportunity to get the ear piercing out of the way.  Xanthe was a lot more enthusiastic about going to school when the incentive was to show her friends her new earrings!

 Before!  Smiling because I told her it wouldn't hurt.

 And after the first ear, because...I lied.  Xanthe was brave.  She hardly panicked, really, compared to how uncontrollably fearful she has been in past similar circumstances, like the doctor.  Come to think of it, it was probably irresponsible of me to even get her ears pierced, just because she is so prone to extreme anxiety, but she wanted to, and I thought it would be a good growing experience.  Judging by her bravery, it was.

 This moment got me all choked up, Xanthe clinging to Ruby for comfort after the first ear.  Xanthe is the one with pain on her face, yet Ruby is the one who has the broken heart.  It was a hard day for Ruby, who didn't get a part in Nutcracker, but it still came naturally for her to put aside her own feelings to be there for Xanthe.  (Golda and Freestone made Nutcracker (yay!!), Ari and Ruby didn't.  I was proud of all of them for the way the handled it.  Scott and me?  We were the ones with both the pain on our faces and the broken hearts.  Parenting, right?  How about if we don't have any more character-building experiences.  Ever.  Because it's bad enough when you're a kid and you don't get chosen.  It's worse when you're a parent, and your child is the one who is crushed.)

 If anything could cheer me up, it's this beautiful face.  She has already encountered trauma that will live in her heart indefinitely, yet her resilience shows on her face.  This innocence and hope, this joie de vivre, it's all going to be crushed someday by an audition, a failure, a disappointment.  But it's OK, because she will have her older sisters to tell her, from experience, that all the hope and joy written on that angelic face will come back.  It will always come back, because there is a flame deep inside each of us that can't be extinguished unless we snuff it out ourselves.  No matter what, we can always choose to let it shine.

"Proof of Heaven"

I just finished a neat book by Dr. Eben Alexander called Proof of Heaven.  The doctor, who was previously a self-proclaimed agnostic, was in a deep coma for six days.  During that time, his soul was allowed to journey beyond the veil.  I found his descriptions of the "after-life" compelling and comforting.  Interestingly, his observations correspond with my Latter-day Saint Christian teachings, but are described in the book with different terminology and from a different viewpoint.  It struck me as profoundly reassuring that someone with a completely different worldview and faith than mine would make this spiritual journey and come away with the same notions that I have come to believe through my relationship with God and through the filter of my particular religion.

Here are a few excerpts from the book:

Regarding Earth, as seen from "the other side" during the coma:   "I saw the earth as a pale blue dot in the immense blackness of physical space.  I could see where earth was a place where good and evil mixed, and that this constituted one of its unique features.  Even on earth, there is much more good than evil, but earth is a place where evil is allowed to gain influence in a way that would be entirely impossible at higher levels of existence.  That evil could occasionally have the upper hand was known and allowed by the Creator as a necessary consequence of giving the gift of free will to beings like us."

"Small particles of evil were scattered throughout the universe, but the sum total of all that evil was a grain of sand on a vast beach compared to the goodness, abundance, hope, and unconditional love in which the universe is literally awash.  The very fabric of the alternate dimension is love and acceptance, and anything that does not have these qualities appears immediately and obviously out of place there."

In the book, he talks about a true spiritual self that has unlimited access to and is in fact connected to God.  The author says, "This is the true spiritual self that all of us are destined someday to recover.  But until that day comes, I feel, we should do everything in our power to get in touch with this miraculous aspect of ourselves - to cultivate it and bring it to light.  This is the being living within all of us right now that is, in fact, the being that God truly intends us to be.

"How do we get closer to this genuine spiritual self?  By manifesting love and compassion.  Why?  Because love and compassion are far more than the abstractions many of us believe them to be.  They are real.  They are concrete.  And they make up the very fabric of the spiritual realm.  In order to return to that realm, we must once again become like that realm even while we are stuck in, and plodding through, this one.

"One of the biggest mistakes people make when they think about God is to imagine God as impersonal.  Yes, God is behind the numbers, the perfection of the universe that science measures and struggles to understand.  But - again, paradoxically - He is "human" as well - even more human than you and I are.  God understands and sympathizes with our human situation more profoundly and personally than we can even imagine because He knows what we have forgotten, and understands the terrible burden it is to live with amnesia of the Divine for even a moment.

Without getting into the minutiae of it all, there is Christianity in broad brushstrokes.  And, I daresay, the message of love and acceptance resonates throughout other religions, too.  Interestingly, it is the same message I took from another book, written from an LDS perspective, called Visions of Glory.

I think it is hard to keep in mind that the reason we are striving to draw closer to God in this life is that we want to ultimately be in His presence.  I don't want to be or feel "out of place" in His presence.  It is astounding to remember that there is literally nothing we can do to make God love us any less.  If His love for us were conditioned on our behavior, He would cease to be God.

That said, our focus should be on our desire for God in our lives, not based on guilt for not "doing" enough to please God.  A wise Primary president once counseled her teachers to avoid "speaking for God" to the children.  She cautioned us against saying things like, "God will be disappointed in you if you do this."  She said it was dangerous to speak for Heavenly Father and admonished us to instead focus on how much each child is loved.  At first, I didn't understand this, but I came to feel that it was true.  One of my favorite children's songs says, "Would I be the kind of person that I know I'D like to be, if I could see the Savior standing nigh, watching over me?"  It is such a tender message of love, and focuses on the children's inherent desire to be good, without leading them to feel that God could stop loving them. I think it is an inspired song.

One of my most powerful spiritual experiences was when I was praying one day, repenting for something I felt was wrong.  In my prayer, I said to Heavenly Father, "Do you love me anyway?"  I was immediately completely immersed in a feeling that I can only describe as a warm, viscous, spiritual amniotic fluid, but made of love.  And the warmth gently thundered, "Of course!"

The desire to have that connection to God and that feeling of warmth all the time is what keeps me seeking to become more like our Father in Heaven.  For me, that conduit is church, because I believe in its principles.  Through religious observance, I feel that I draw closer to Heavenly Father, but also through personal prayer and my interactions with others.

If I were to leave my testimony for my children, I would want them to know that I know Heavenly Father loves them perfectly, no matter what.  And I would want them to know that drawing closer to God will bring them happiness, now and forever.  And I would caution them to always bear in mind that Heavenly Father loves ALL of us perfectly, no matter what.  Therefore, it is imperative to treat others accordingly, with care, understanding, forgiveness, charity and compassion.  That is to become, in small increments, more like our Father in Heaven.  The other thing I know for sure is that there are spirits on the other side with a vested interest in our progress and our happiness here, and that we can access their help and protection through prayer to our Father in Heaven.  We are loved, watched over, and cared for, but in the perfect order of the universe, we have to ask to receive.

Hopping, Copying

I had a friend once whose husband was convinced that our environment doesn't influence our behavior.  Without telling her husband, my friend did an experiment.  She started referring to drinks as "pop" instead of "soda."  Before long, her husband started doing the same thing, and she proved her point that people and other influences around us do, indeed, affect our behavior.

From having kids, I know this to be true.  I am impatient, snarky and critical.  And now I have seven mini-me's who are impatient, snarky and critical.  In addition, they have all adopted Scott's bad habit of casting blame when something goes wrong.  It's become a funny joke when Scott does it, but the kids do it without humor.  So now our house sounds like the Senate floor an a particularly bad day.

The worst part is that, when our little brood of skilled quarrelers is at their game, I am mortified to think that they are parroting me.  As if to drive home the notion that children mimic their parents, our household last week resembled an Easter Bunny training facility.  In the days after my foot surgery, I hopped around on one foot.  It didn't take long before everyone was hopping from place to place.  They didn't say why.  They just started hopping instead of walking.  All of them.  Like little rabbit robots.  Our own warren of bellacose bunnies, hopped up on criticism and sarcasm.

And it was clearly all my fault.

I always tell my kids that they will be each others' best friends when they grow up.  I paint a picture of Ari helping Golda or Ruby get their wedding dress on, or Freestone helping Xanthe move into her dorm room, or Golda taking Ruby's kids shopping.  I say, "You might as well get along, because you are going to be very important to each other when you grow up."

Somehow, words that travel from a mother's mouth to a child's ear get lost in translation.  Sure, they pick up on the smart-alecky asides I mumble out of the corners of my mouth.  Advice, on the other hand...I'm convinced I sound like Charlie Brown's parents in the cartoons.  Like a phonograph under water.  Sometimes I think that Scott and I are really nice people who just happened to get a particularly acrimonious batch of children.  Deep down, though, I know I have the power to influence their behavior, and perhaps I haven't taken that influence seriously enough.

I am trying to demonstrate more patience and less criticism.  I am trying not to snatch Xanthe's backpack out of her hands and shove her out the door, throwing the backpack behind her, even though it takes her ten years to close a zipper.  I am trying not to throw up my hands in despair, crying, "Why did you even bring this homework home?  It's stupid!  Tell your teacher it's stupid!"  I am trying not to lay on the horn when I've been waiting in the car long enough to hear the entire cycle of news, all the movements of a Mahler symphony and the Diane Rehm Show.  Both hours of it.

But see?  Now I'm being cheeky and facetious.  Dang it.  My kids don't have a chance!

School Lunch

 Here are little Boyd and Chithruby with their brand-new, thirty-dollar Pottery Barn backpacks that I got for four bucks each.  Any questions?  I might have a serious addiction to bargains.  But four bucks, come on.  These are good quality!  It will be years before Chithruby has to change her name in favor of a replacement backpack.  It will also be years before she goes to school, but she was not about to leave the store without her own backpack, and really, how could we pass up Chithruby?  Ari (or Kennedy, according to her $4 lunchbox, regular retail price $29.50 withOUT monogram) suggested unpicking the "d" so that Ptolemy could be just "boy."  That would just be sad and kooky.  Boyd is a very nice name.

For lunches this year, now that we have new monogrammed thermal lunchboxes, we are doing exclusively home lunches.  I fell into a bad habit last year of buying school lunch.  It was a source of guilt, assuaged only by Xanthe's enthusiasm for school lunch.  The other kids see it for what it is:  poison.  This is not the homemade goodness made by real people that I experienced as a child. (Ah, the soft rolls, the tomato soup, the French dips, the peanut butter bars!  Remember the peanut butter bars?)   I felt sad about not providing the kids with a healthier alternative, but it was easier to click that payment button than to roll out the peanut butter and jelly day after day.  There is nothing I hate more in all of parenting than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  The whole idea of them is repugnant to me, from the mess it takes to make them to the oversweet glop they provide for your taste buds.

The other problem with school lunch was that I would only pay for a few at a time because, for one, it's expensive, and also because I kept telling myself I would start packing nutritious lunches for my children...any minute now.

This year, I had to have a better plan.  I started with a ban on school lunch.  All the kids have a zero balance in their account, and I am going to leave it like that so we don't have the crutch of "just getting school lunch this one time."  Then I put the kids in charge of making their own lunches.  Now my only job is to make sure we have something to go IN the munches, which is no small task, but I'm hoping it ultimately becomes easier as we get used to the routine.  Even if it takes a bit more planning, I already feel better about sending my kids out the door.  I bought each of them a tupperware with a separate section for dip, which they love to put creative combinations in.

Today I had the brilliant idea of buying a bag of rolls and making Strawberry jam and Nutella sandwiches, then freezing them so the kids can grab one every morning for their lunch.  We have frozen sandwiches before, and it works great.  Someone gave me a tip of spreading both slices of bread with peanut butter (or Nutella) so the jam doesn't touch the bread and make it soggy during the freezing process.  That makes a big difference with PB and J, and I hope it works with Nutella on rolls, too.

My other stock items are Baby Bell cheese, which are far more appealing to my kids than cheese sticks, chips and dip of some sort, and fresh fruits.  It is dreadful that I have to make a conscious effort to put real, live fruit in the lunches, but kids on the whole get used to not eating whole foods, with all the conveniently packaged kid foods that have become so nauseatingly ubiquitous.  You should have seen the horror on kids' faces when I brought bags of grapes and bottles of water as post-baseball snacks last year.  You would have thought I was handing out deer scat and encouraging them to pop a few pellets in their mouths.

Who knows if any of this will stick.  I always have big plans at the beginning of the school year, which inevitably get diluted by mid-spring.  My hope is that it will end up being cheaper, easier, healthier and less guilt-inducing to stock the kitchen with whole foods and let the kids manage their own lunch boxes.

Some lunch box favorites:  Pita chips and hummus, plain old chips in a 50-pack from Sam's Club, grapes, a whole apple, pear or peach, Clementines, cheese, crackers, chips and salsa, chocolate cake (Chocolate is a vegetable and I saw proof of it on Facebook), Fiber One bars, cold pizza, (Yes, I know there are people who think that's weird.  Freestone is one of them), hard-boiled eggs, sugar snap peas, cole slaw, carrots, salad with lots of fruits, feta and nuts, homemade cookies or sweetbreads, bananas, yogurt-covered raisins, yogurt, yogurt and fruit, yogurt and granola (we are huge consumers of yogurt at our house), nuts and trail mix.

Obviously, we're not going overboard on the healthiness - not going microbiotic or anything, folks - but by not forcing my kids to purchase the preservative cocktails that are school lunch, I hope to preserve their health to some degree, as well as my peace of mind.

Digging In

With Labor Day in the books, Ruby began her first day of school at Career Path High.  In some ways , it seemed like the first step in the proverbial journey of a thousand miles.

And then another journey began.  Ptolemy's first day of preschool at Trampoline School with Miss Sharla.  All of our kids have spent at least a year in the happy environment of Sharla's school.  Ptolemy remarked later, after he got home, "Well, I sure had fun at my preschool!"  When I look at Ptolemy, I can see a man in there.  For now, I am so grateful he is still little enough to be my baby boy.

Then came my turn to host Shelter.  I was so glad I didn't have to go anywhere, just had to open my door and wait for the conversation to flow.  The kids had set the table, Scott went to the store for me and Coco unloaded the groceries.  I am so spoiled!  And that was before my friends even arrived!  More spoiling followed.  Aaaaahhhhhh!

Salad, turkey pesto paninis, German chocolate cake.

 Somehow, we have two dozen ballet classes a week.  I love it, and I love that this picture is our reality:  Waiting outside the studio because sometimes it's better than going home and coming back.  On Tuesday, we have ballet pick ups and drop offs at 3:30, 5:00, 6:00, 6:30 and 7:00.  Some days, I have to carpool, but the truth is, I would rather do all the dropping off and picking up myself.  Since that's not possible, I'm grateful for Scott and Coco and Bill and everyone else who makes our life work.  Yesterday, I hogged all the ballet runs and got to watch a torrential rainstorm by myself AND a movie in the car with Ptolemy and Tziporah.  I love being in my car so much that I still cry whenever I hear one of the songs from our road trip soundtrack.  It's my happy place.

The evening ended with quite an exclamatory sunset, viewed from our back porch.  Can you believe the exclamation mark nature created to punctuate the majesty of the evening sky?  Amazing!

A Good, Solid Weekend

In the midst of our low-key Labor Day weekend, we got a delightful surprise.  My cousin Mark called on Friday to see if they could stay overnight with us on Sunday.  Heck yes!  I was so glad they wanted to come Sunday, because I don't think I would have been able to swing it Saturday night.  Sunday was perfect, though.  I warned Mark and Malinda that I would be of no use to them, with my bandaged foot, but that Scott had everything under control.  They were worried about us having to clean the house, but with Scott in charge, the house was already ready to go.  Scott doesn't allow messiness.  While I was in bed reading, Scott roved the house, picking up items like shoes and empty paper cups, demanding who had the gall to leave these things lying around.  He also turns off lights.  "Who left this light on?!"  He even turned off the light I was using to read and instead flipped on some lamps.  His defense was, "I like mood lighting."  I told him that was fine, but that he would have to take care of me when I go blind.  Scott thinks his OCD might be worse than he thought.  No comment.

Anyway, Scott was able to put all his idiosyncrasies on hold long enough to have fun with Mark, Malinda and 4 of their 5 kids.  The oldest, Makayla, stayed home for middle school and to snatch up all her grandma's attention while the other kids were gone.  Sunday night, the grown-ups stayed up until way past midnight, talking while the kids in the basement organized their own sleepovers.  I highly recommend hosting houseguests while you can't walk, because there was literally nothing I could do to prepare, so I was totally off the hook that way, and it was relaxing!  Jennie had brought us ice cream to help me convalesce, and we used that for ice cream cones while we caught up on each others' lives.

Monday, the DeBrys hit Lagoon and the Dopps hit the pool.  Ari was in babysitting heaven when Mark and Malinda entrusted their 5-month-old to her care.  Porter was a gem all day, with his chubby legs and easy smile.  He kept fixing Scott in his stare, probably to get back at him for calling the little guy "thunder thighs."  But his thighs were so adorably hefty!

The pool was a nice way to end the summer.  I had Golda's friend Tori drop me off at the gate and park the car, so I wouldn't have to walk.  Believe me, I'm wiggling out of every possible duty with this injury!  Scott brought the babies and the babysitter in his car, so I had nothing to carry.  This is the life, I tell ya!

Our last gasp at at the pool was followed by farewells when Mark and Malinda came to claim their baby (boo hoo!) and continue on their journey.  You guys, we are so glad you came!  And to Mark and Malinda, and everyone else, too, YOU ARE WELCOME ANYTIME!!  We love family and friend time!

Monday night, Scott covered both guitar lessons and homecoming dress shopping while I kicked up mu heels and finished another book.  So although we missed out on some things this weekend (the beach and a Dopp trip to the cabin), we made up for it with some good, solid fun and some good, solid relaxation.

 Derek, Free and Jared

 Look at squishable thighs!  Lil Porter

 Mark n Scott

 Ari loves babies.  She "can't wait to have one of her own."  Oh boy!!

 I think Porter was glad he didn't go to Lagoon. :)

 Teens

 Scott and his peeps in the pool

 Emma, Mark, Malinda and - ack! - me.

Girls instantly bonding.  Emma is so sweet!

Finding Center

Since Friday, I have confined myself to one place.  I have rested and read, pondered and prayed, while Scott and the kids and my parents and friends took care of the world around me.  I feel like it was my chance to get back to center, and I have.  I didn't plan on learning so much, or of being so still, or even of finding my center again, but that is what happened.

Fortuitously, just the right books came to me, and I began reading.  I first delved into the new Khalid Hosseini book, And the Mountains Echoed.  If you haven't read it, you can imagine how depressing and wrenching it might be, taking place in Afghanistan.  I was immediately overcome with a gratitude for modern medicine, and a time and place where we are so incredibly comfortable.  Even today, there are millions of people in the world who have no access to relief from their physical and temporal struggles.  For many, a small bunion like mine would be a life sentence to pain.  For millions of people, there is no place to turn for respite from the toil of survival.

And here I have rested, in my beautiful bedroom, recovering from a surgery I feel very privileged to have had.   Before Scott painted the room, I would stare at the burnt orange wall and derive happiness from the color saturation.  Now, as I let my eyes bore into the new steely, muddy grey, I derive strength from the color.  It is a strong color, rich and deep.  Scott chose the exact right color for what we need in our lives right now.  He was more perceptive than I was to know it was time for a change.  My well has been filled with happiness, and now I need a steely strength and determination to get the family on track for the school year.  Scott gave me just the right home base from which to accomplish that, and from which to realize exactly what was causing my weakness...

I have always been an avid reader, but the past few months, I haven't had the concentration to commit to a book.  As I delved into reading again this week, something mighty uncomfortable dawned on me:  I have been seduced away from reading by social media, and the small articles and snippets that come with it.  I have been carried away by the ease and the immediate gratification that comes with scrolling through the endless platitudes, thoughts, comments and pictures.  Don't get me wrong, I love Facebook and Instagram and scrolling through articles on npr.org or CNN or lds.org.  I love having knowledge at my fingertips.  But that's part of the problem.  Truly, that kind of surface engagement doesn't fill one's soul like a good book.  And the sad part is, I didn't even realize what I was lacking until I had it back.  I felt weakened, and I couldn't pinpoint why.  Life demands deep engagement, yet it is so easy to disengage from anything requiring effort.  There are always plenty of easy distractions to fill the void.

The second book I read this weekend was "Let's Roll," by the widow of one of the men on United Flight 93, the one that crashed in the Pennsylvania field.  As I read about the fragility and brevity of life, and the heroism and courage humans are capable of, I kept wanting to reach out and hug Scott and the kids.  The book and the Lortab made for an inspiring combination. :)  I vowed to pour my energy into strengthening family bonds, striving to develop a strong work ethic in my children, increasing our family's relationship with our Heavenly Father, and gaining the kind of education that runs deeper than an article and lasts longer than a status update.

As Scott and I strive to make good decisions for our family, here's a thought I want to keep in mind:  "Beware the barrenness of a busy life."  - Socrates

Ouch.  Growth hurts.