Thank You, Zoo, Arts and Parks Tax!

My dad invited us girls to the symphony. I love Carmina Burana, and it was an exceptional performance. Araceli said her eyes wouldn't open, so she slept soundly as the orchestra and chorus boomed out O Fortuna and the crowd leapt to its feet, shouting, cheering and clapping through 3 curtain calls. I think my dad got a kick out of Ari's valiant effort to stay awake. It was one of those concerts where you feel lucky to have been a part of it.
I also felt lucky to witness another "concert" the other day as the kids hiked through the back yard with their instruments. A very kind and supportive couple in our neighborhood invited them over to play a concert for them in their home. They had somehow convinced the kids that a performance from the Dopps would be the highlight of their lives. Those are the kind of neighbors and friends to cherish. Then, before we could write them a thank you note for making us feel so special, Mrs. Gammon rang our doorbell with a plate of brownies, thanking us for our efforts. Aren't we fortunate to have such great examples to follow?
We finally made it to the zoo, but without all the cousins. It was Freestone's school field trip. In the car, Freestone told me, "Mom, I believe in horses. Do you know why? Because I've seen them a lot of times." I think he believes in elephants and giraffes now, too. I asked him about unicorns, and he wasn't sure where he comes down on that. I thought it might be a good time to talk about faith. Then I remembered that unicorns aren't real. I guess it's not crucial to teach your kids to have faith in mythical creatures. I could have told him that the unicorns weren't obedient, and didn't get on the ark. That's why we never see them. But that would just be a lie. I think I'll save the faith discussion for another day.
Note to parents of children in my Sunbeam class: 1. Don't worry...I'm teaching straight out of the manual. There will be no talk of unicorns in church. 2. Your child isn't listening, anyway. She is too busy telling us what you had for breakfast on Fast Sunday. So I won't believe anything your child says about breakfast if you promise not to believe her if she says unicorns are disobedient. :)

Cherry Blossoms

Ruby wants a Japanese cherry blossom room. We need help with ideas. She's such a fun artist that I'm going to let her paint the cherry blossoms on the walls. So what color do you think the background should be? And have you seen bedding to match the theme? Should we go Japanese with a shoji screen kind of motif, or Washington-D.C.-in-the-spring kind of thing? I'm thinking Asian feel. And Ruby is leaning toward a blue background, but my vote is light pink, light green or brown. Any ideas?

Peace Like a River Book Review

Online book club...I love it! I have been waiting weeks to read Tiffany's review. It's fabulous, and a lot more insightful than mine, so check it out. The thing I liked most about the book was the writing style. I loved it. Some of the sentences, I read over and over for the sheer genius of them. The story unsettled me. I started out hoping that Davy would get away because I believed he was justified in his actions, shooting the ruffians. As the book progressed, I found I didn't like Davy at all. I started wishing he would get caught so the rest of the family could return to normal.

I found the father's relationship with the FBI guy fascinating. I loved how the father allowed himself to be led by "the spirit" he felt, and thus permitted himself to work with the FBI guy. Or was the spirit an excuse to work with the FBI, because he felt Davy should be caught? Either way, I liked how the two men became compatible and I was dismayed when FBI (what was his name?) died. Although it was essential to the story to have him out of the picture.

In the end, I felt the family was able to move on with their lives, finally. I didn't end up having sympathy for Davy. On the contrary, he scared me. I came to view him as a cold-hearted person, which I think he was, even if it was a result of his childhood. He was damaged and not willing to be redeemed. I thought the little brother offered a nice foil for the sinister Davy, with his humor and innocence. I would definitely recommend Peace Like a River, just for the language. I love talking about books with friends, so pass on your recommendations!

Menacing Black Clouds and How to Banish Them

The heavy, black clouds hanging over the mountains ruined our zoo plans. They have darkened the sky and made me feel bleak and unmotivated. So I tried to trick my senses into making me feel happy. The smell of laundry detergent, the sound of the dishwasher. The feel of the computer keyboard and the hot cocoa warming my body. The sight of double-decker practicers sharing their stool. And most joyous of all, the taste of tea party food, shared with 4 delightful girls. Now I feel better. And guess what? The sun is out! I see a ray of hope and a glimmer of light. We'd better hurry outside to soak up what sunlight we can before the clouds come back. Oh, and one last laugh to dispell the darkness...Freestone had a balloon that Xanthe really wanted. She hugged it and carried it around saying, "Mine! My byoon! Xanthe-my-mine-Xanthe byoon!" Then it popped. She promptly handed the limp remnant to me, saying, "Tee-tone's byoon." Kids can make you smile even when clouds are spitting down sleet on your tulips!

Oreo Diet. (Is It an Oxymoron?)

In the spirit of Tiffany's diet challenge this week, I made a healthy meal. It was easy, too. I put chicken breasts and a bottle of caesar dressing in the crock pot. Later, I cut up the chicken and put it back in the crock pot until dinner. We just put the chicken, a little cheese and some romaine lettuce on wheat flatbread and folded it over. It's so easy, I'll probably make it 5 times a week from now on. (Did you hear that, Scott? I said, "Eat before you come home.")

But here's my favorite diet, which I have saved in my cookbook cupboard for several years. I have followed it many times.

Breakfast: half a grapefruit. 8 oz. skim milk. Piece of dry toast.

Lunch: 8 oz salmon fillet (no butter). 1 cup steamed vegetables. 1/2 baked potato, plain. One Oreo cookie.

Afternoon snack: The rest of the pack of Oreos. Carton of Breyer's vanilla ice cream. Three Almond Joys. (The nuts have protein.)

Dinner: 2 loaves of cheese. Large meat lover's pizza. Two liters of Coke.

Midnight snack: One whole frozen cheesecake, eaten directly out of the freezer.

Good luck!

Seashore

Look what happened while I was lounging around the Buddhist temple eating satay and spring rolls (see below). Scott spent the day feverishly working to transform Freestone's room into a sophisticated beach cottage. Everyone was delighted with the outcome except Free. True to his personality, he burst into tears and pined away for his old bedspread until Star gave the new bed her stamp of approval by jumping up on it. Now Freestone is happy. He loves the beach, so his new room can remind him of all our fun vacations. Scott definitely has an eye for decorating. It's just one of his many talents. Good work, husband. This is why I don't give Scott a list of things to do on Saturdays. It would stifle his creativity!

Wat Dhammagunaram!

Don't even try to sound out that title! It's Thai for "welcome." It's Thai New Year (notice the new year picture from the king of Thailand) and we celebrated today at the local Thai Buddhist temple. My cousin Jessie performed with a group of girls who wore traditional costumes and danced ancient dances. My girls were completely captivated by the pagaentry. (Freestone missed the whole dress-up extravaganza, spending the day with the Cranes. Thanks, Michelle and Rob!)
My camera battery was on the fritz, so I couldn't document the saturated colors of the women's costumes, the orange of the monks' robes and the complexion of the crowd, so different than the local norm. It was fun for Xanthe not to be the only Asian face in the crowd for a change. Incidentally, my Nana has nine descendants/in-laws now whose ethnicity is Asian or part-Asian. I feel lucky to have their cultures to enjoy and borrow, to integrate into our lives. It was a relaxed afternoon as I ate satay chicken on the lawn with Aunt Da and Uncle Jim, watching the girls play with cousins as well as children they'd never met, some with remnants of traditional Thai make-up on their faces, tripping over their formal costumes.

I went back to the temple later to snap a few photos. The monks who were taking down the party were genuinely friendly, treating me as if I weren't a complete outsider. I kindof envy them the fact that they get to wear bright orange robes ALL the time. Apparently, the sweatshirts they wear over their robes have to be orange, too. I love it!

The last time we were in a Buddhist temple was in China. Xanthe received a beautiful blessing from a monk in saffron robes, amid wafting incense and a feeling of devotion. It was the same blessing she probably would have received from her birth family. It was a poignant good-bye from her ancestors, I felt. Maybe Xanthe's Buddhist ancestors will be looking down on her in church tomorrow as she learns about Jesus. And I bet they'll smile.

April Showers

Yep, that's Araceli doing the limbo in our kitchen. Sometimes all you need to entertain kids is a yardstick. Other times, nothing short of Barnum and Bailey will do the trick. I do feel like we're in limbo between winter and spring. I almost got out the Christmas china the other day. I thought about inviting all of you to Christmas dinner, just to entertain myself until the snow stopped. Instead, I told the kids we were having a "Read-a-thon!!!" It was one of those "yardstick/limbo" ideas. The littles were kept busy all night gathering books and blankets and treats. We never read one page, but Ari and Free snuggled up in their tupperware bins (pretending to be babies in cribs) and leafed through a whole stack of tomes. (If a Dr. Seuss book can be called a "tome.") Meanwhile, I looked out the window and thought about moisture. Am I a bad Mormon if I'm not "thankful for the moisture I have received this week?" (Can't people just say RAIN?) Before you answer, let me just tell you that most of the moisture has been a direct result of Golda and Ruby having the stomach flu and Xanthe getting potty trained. Not to mention the very unwelcome snow. The snow we've had lately is like a guest who shows up two hours late. The party's over, snow! Winter was last month. Go home! We're trying to wear flip-flops here! Can't you see we're at the PARK?!
Before you think I'm ranting, I have to tell you that, through the haze of all the moisture, I have experienced more than my share of bright moments. The best had to be Ruby, practically comatose for several days, playing her guitar in bed so that she could reach her 80-days-in-a-row goal. (It's a Suzuki thing.) I think she's on day 60, and after taking the guitar to California, she wasn't about to let the flu break her streak. She's about as tenacious as a Utah winter, but all she brings is sunshine and light. Thanks, Ruby! P.S. Ruby made me remove the picture!

Things That Go

The mini car show we had going on Sunday got all the kids interested in vehicles, I guess. Ari, Free, Xanthe and Jackson built a rocket that could transform into a magic elevator. A little more technologically advanced than the Model A, huh? No wonder I couldn't find them for awhile. They were probably on another planet!
Less magical was the broken jogger stroller the little kids like to play in. The front wheel is missing, thanks to an ill-advised off-road excursion through Josh and Emily's back yard. (Yes, it was my idea.) So instead of planting my new flowers the other day, I played Rickshaw Driver, hauling the kids around in the broken stroller. It's hard work being a "Good Mom." I only lasted about 12 minutes. Jackson pretended to drive the MG we have parked in our garage. I thought it would be a safe place to play until he said, "You can hotwire this thing, can't you?" OK, time to come in the house! Jennie, I hope you don't mind your kids' pictures all over my blog. They are just so cute!
I resisted the urge to take a picture today when Xanthe told me, "Look, Mom, I'm on the potty train!" Yes, the elusive "potty train" has been circling around our house this week. It's a little bit like the Polar Express...you can't see it unless you believe. I'm starting to believe in diapers until age 5. But I hope to soon be able to add Xanthe to my list of "Things That Go." Wish me luck!

My Favorite Recipe

I got so many good recipes from all of you. Thanks! I plan to try all of them...next week. For this week, here's my recipe:
Start with a week in suburbia. Add 14 dance classes, a flute, a voice and a cello lesson, 3 guitar lessons, 4 violin lessons, 2 soccer games, 2 play practices, choir practice, a baby shower, a birthday party, a sleepover, (thanks, Jen!) a missionary farewell, a play, a movie, a handful of family gatherings, church, 3 trips to the park and lots of school, homework and practicing. Sprinkle with cheese sticks, goldfish crackers and David's Pizza.
That's my recipe, and I love to make it every week. Granted, you shouldn't make it if you don't enjoy a steady diet of chaos and adreneline. But I do.
Today Scott's aunt and uncle, Ken and Loretta, had their missionary farewell, which was wonderful. It was followed by a huge, delicious lunch and time spent with family. Ken and Loretta are unfailingly supportive of everything we do, and we love them so much. It will be lonely not having them around, but we hope to visit them.
This afternoon, the Kings gathered for birthdays. Jim pulled up in his vintage Model A Ford and delighted all the kids by taking them for rides up the street. They loved the "rumble seat." Not to be outdone, Felshaw disappeared and soon came roaring down the street in his old Jag. If you're going to host a party, you'll want to have classic cars around. Between the cars and the Masters, the guys were completely content.
Tonight, at the close of a great week, I am so grateful for all of you. With such good company by my side, I look back with fondness and forward with enthusiasm. And the present is pretty great, too, thanks to such awesome friends and family!

Xanthe's Play Doh Birthday Party

Happy Birthday!

In 2005, there was a woman in China who was pregnant. When she went into labor on April 10th, she most likely already knew the baby was a girl. She had already decided not to have an abortion, but to secretly carry the baby to term and then say goodbye. I don't know this woman, the sister of my heart. I don't know what factors contributed to her decision to give birth to Xanthe. I know she was courageous, she put herself in great danger, and she did it for her daughter, even knowing that her daughter would call another woman mama. I wonder if her father was the person who left the little bundle at the gate of the orphanage before dawn on April 14th. Is there a more painful journey than walking away from your child? Her umbilical cord was still attached. She wore only a hat and a shirt and had a baby bottle of sugar water by her side. Don't think that Chinese parents cast their baby girls aside. Don't imagine that any parent is capable of such disregard. Condemn the one-child policy, but never condemn Xanthe's birth parents, who gave her life at great sacrifice and risk. At the moment of their greatest agony, Xanthe was already in our hearts, and we were praying for her safe arrival in our family. I wish they could know that. Xanthe was a 14-pound little noodle when she was placed in our arms at 13 months. She was too terrified to do anything but stick out her tongue to let us know she was in there! She was perfectly quiet for 3 days, but she has more than made up for it ever since.

Today is Xanthe's 3rd birthday. When someone asks her how old she is, she says, "A doll cradle." Maybe that's what she wants for her birthday! I made Erin's sticky buns this morning to celebrate, and to hold us over until the birthday party tomorrow! What I meant to say before I got all emotional was, "Happy Birthday, Xanthe! We're so glad you're here, so glad we found each other, and so happy Heavenly Father chose you for us. We love you!"

Here is one of Golda's Wonderland-inspired pictures. She's rehearsing for a production of Alice in Wonderland, so it's all about Lewis Carroll's bad acid trip around here lately. Last night, Grandma and I took 7 adorable kids to "Alice" at WX High. For Golda, it was research for her role to see another production of the play. Aunt Loretta's brother, J. D., pictured here with us and a random cast member, was the director. The play was wonderful, and the other kids around us were noisier than ours, so I was happy. After the show came the ice cream. Isn't that the whole point of going to a play? The kids probably ate more ice cream than the taco soup I fixed for dinner. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that we have had a variation on taco soup roughly five out of seven nights of the week since Christmas. And cereal the other two. Anyone have any other ideas for sustenance? Give me your best easy recipe. No, wait. Give me your best idea for something we can eat that requires either no advance planning at all or 4 minutes of dumping stuff in a crock pot at 9:00 AM. An actual recipe would be too optimistic. Something a step up from cheese sticks in the car on the way to play practice...

Riding in Cars With Boys

I took a ride with just one tiny little kid in the car, but still, NPR was no match for his banter. Dressed as the elephant man (what kind of preschool does this to kids?), Free's mostly one-sided conversation went like this...

"...and it went all the way to my room and I invisibled all the cookies and they were invisible and it was a giant pile and nobody could see them and then I ate them, what if?

-silence-

"MOM!! What IF??"

"Uhh...that would be really big!"

"Yeah, it would be a gousand million of cookies!"

"A thousand million is a lot of cookies."

"No, Mom, I SAID a GOWSAND MILLION! That's a lot."

Then I said, thinking about dinner and ballet and homework and the tax stuff I was going to pick up, "Um, it is? How do you know?"

"Because elephants do it!" Then he sighed like I was never going to get it. He was right, of course. I don't think I could follow his logic, even if I could focus.

And that's why I sometimes end up at the grocery store when I meant to go the post office.

Creative Genius?

Freestone, the kid I sometimes call Mr. Contrary, is always busy inventing ways to get out of guitar practicing. He doesn't go with the standard, "I don't want to," or "I'm too tired." His methods are far more advanced than that, albeit no more effective. He has yet to come up with an excuse so good, it actually gets him out of practicing. But he's still working on it. It began one lesson day when I told him to get in the car for guitar. He said, "Oh, I quit guitar. See ya!" Nice try. He tried the same trick week after week. Points for determination, but it wasn't going to work.

One day, Free started sitting on his guitar stool in front of the music stand and tapping out rhythms on the music stand. OK...He did it faithfully for a few days before letting me in on the fact that the music stand was his new instrument, and he was practicing it, so would I please be quiet. He was upset when I got out the guitar and told him he now had two instruments. His next endeavor was the bath-toy-penny-whistle, a career that was mercifully short-lived. Free walked around the house sliding up and down the scale on this plastic whistle until I grabbed it out of his mouth and threw it into the gully, overcome by annoyance. Freestone was sad about his penny whistle future being destroyed in such an undignified way.

Soon after that, however, he came home from school with a new instrument, the Paper Plate "Houka-laylee." It was great for me because the rubber band strings didn't make a lot of noise. So I let Free play it all day until it was time to practice guitar. He does practice every day. Sometimes he even does a good job. Recently, Free poked his finger in my eye when I gave him a "good job" hug. Instead of throwing him into the gully, I walked away. From the next room, I heard the guilt-ridden strains of Freestone's guitar, playing his song perfectly, a feat he can't seem to accomplish when I'm present. It was his apology for blinding me in my right eye, and it worked. I've never heard a more heart-felt "Sorry, Mom." When words fail, music speaks, right?

I told Freestone's guitar teacher yesterday that I heard Freestone play his song perfectly. Free quickly countered with, "No I didn't!" So if you see Freestone, don't tell him that his mom said he was a smart, incredible, tenderhearted, lovable boy who does his practicing every day. He'll deny it.

Fairies and Marionettes

Araceli ran home from school with her first missing tooth in an envelope. She chose her favorite Love Box and put it under her pillow by 11:30 AM. How could the tooth fairy forget, faced with such enthusiasm? She came!

It's not often that a marrionette show is on our calendar, but that's just what happened yesterday. The fifth graders have been working very hard on their production. Each kid made their own marionette and its clothes. They wrote scripts in which their marionette talked with another marionette on a stage. Golda's was Amelia Earhart, so Golda learned a lot about aviation. It was so fun and creative. I was impressed by all the 5th graders. Our teachers are amazing! If only they could think of a way to turn algebra into a Broadway-style production.

Chapter Two: Wild Animals We Tried to Turn Into Pets

When my family read the last blog, they started saying, "What about the snake? What about that seagull?" I realized we had a whole other subset of pets, wild animals who were injured and/or captured by us.

The seagull...Who doesn't find a seagull with a broken wing at Antelope Island and take it to the vet? That's normal, right? All we got for our trouble was an expensive diagnosis: the wing can't be fixed.

We quickly replaced the seagull with a baby bat that one of the cats had injured. It was the cutest rabies carrier ever. In my parents' defense, I'm sure they didn't know my brothers and I were keeping a pet bat in a jar. Another "pet" we acquired courtesy of the cats was a little snake that was paralyzed from the waist down. I'm not sure where the waist is on a snake, but it would drag the back half of its body around the diorama of the American West that we kept it in. It slept in the teepee. I took it to school for extra credit in science.

This one is hard to admit to, because I know raccoons are bad. But our raccoons were so friendly, they would eat Oreos right out of our hands. Again, we dodged the rabies bullet on that one. When the raccoons chewed through my parents' roof a couple of years ago, moved into their upstairs and had babies, it was war. The Critter Gitter came and set cages, trapping several raccoons, a neighbor's cat and Star. Now we don't feed raccoons anymore.

Lastly, the wild pig was one that not even my family could keep. I didn't even know there were wild pigs in this area. It was enormous, and it came out of nowhere and vigorously dug under the cement in our breezeway, breaking a sewer pipe in the process. I probably tried to catch it and keep it in a doll cradle in my room, but it was too fast. It was just as well...imagine what could have happened if it had gotten hold of my zebra finches.

Menagerie

When my parents brought me home from the hospital, Mephisto was waiting in my crib. He was a mangy, long-haired cat that had turned up as an orphan kitten in the garbage can one day. "Geets" was always there to bite me, growl at me or demand food, right up until I left for college. Shortly thereafter, Geets, 18 years old, blind and deaf, fell asleep on the wheel of the car right before my mom left to take my brother to football practice. There was a funeral, with a custom-made casket inscribed with the word, "Mephisto." We have more pictures of the funeral (My brother with a shovel, my dad holding the casket, my brother looking sadly at the grave) than we have of my high school graduation. Geets was my family's first pet, but by no means the last.
In fact, there were also three dogs in the picture by the time I came along. They were Afghan hounds, and my dad already had them when he got married. They lived at my grandparents' house, roaming their fenced yard, occasionally escaping to terrorize the neighborhood. Ajax, Achilles and Apollo were well-known to all the neighbors. Of all the dogs, Apollo was my favorite. He was soft with black fur, and he was the most gentle. He would lean on me and encourage me to scratch his ears. All three dogs probably died of heart attacks, due to their rich diets. My grandpa would get so annoyed with the royal treatment the dogs got. Big Golda would fix him a big plate of breakfast. Then, just as he was about to take the first bite, she'd whisk the plate away, give it to the dogs and replace it with a "fresh plate." There were times when my grandpa would leave for work with an empty stomach. But the dogs never went hungry!

Besides Mephisto, there were three other cats named Cheerful, Bonus and L'Orange. (Named at about the time my dad thought it would be fun and easy to teach his kids French.) Cats must be heartier than dogs, because the four cats we had stuck around through several dogs and a short-lived chicken named Gerta who refused to lay eggs on Sunday.
There was Calaban, a huge Great Dane that my mom rescued from the pound at great expense about a month before he died of cancer. He was only with us long enough to survive a $500.00 surgery. Then there was Reddy, who followed my dad home from a jog one day. He was a spunky loner who took off into the night after eating two of our rabbits (Belle and Bonbon). Did you think the menagerie was limited to cats and dogs?

On the contrary, we had many other four-legged friends, as well as some with only two legs, but a lot of feathers. My favorite pet was a ferret I got in 8th grade. I loved that ferret. She was known for escaping into the heating ducts with our socks, which aggravated my parents to no end. I'm not even going to mention how I took her to school to help with my campaign speech for 8th grade officer. I didn't win.

My parents must have been either the nicest parents in the world or clinically insane. We had three peacocks that roamed outside at will. They roosted on the chimney, hopping up and down when the metal got hot. One day, I swear, a family of wild peacocks came and took them away. We never saw them again, but we still heard them crowing every morning. I even had an ant farm. Those little insects worked so hard...until my mom put the farm in the window so they could get some sun. I came home from school to find a hundred dry, shriveled-up ants dead in their tunnels. I had a hermit crab who bit my hand. When I screamed and tried to shake it off, half of the crab flew across the room. We didn't visit the pet store for awhile after that, but when we did, we came home with a chameleon who immediately went on a hunger strike and died 3 days later. It was the opposite of what happened when we bought two gerbils, both of whom were guaranteed to be boys. About three dozen baby gerbils later, my mom "took them into the mountains to let them live in the wild." By "mountians," she meant the side of the freeway. I'm sure they made a tasty snack for the first hawk that soared by. As karmic payback, Mom locked her car keys in the trunk when she got the gerbil cage out and had to walk all the way home.

After all the pet capers I went through as a kid, I have completely learned my lesson. My kids haven't had very many pets at all. Besides the hamster. And the second, look-alike hamster I bought after I left the cage door open. And the mice Santa brought. And all the fish. Oh, and the baby ducks we got for Easter one year (they live at Barnes Park now.) And the chicks we got the next year. (Mandy the cat ate most of them.) But right now, we have a very reasonable household. Only one dog. And two cats. And a very smart and friendly guinea pig.

Last week, I got a call from the school. It was Golda. Our dog, Star, had walked over to the school. She had never been inside the school before, but she walked in and found Golda's classroom and trotted right over to her desk. The whole class was in an uproar. See, that's the kind of thing only a trusty dog will do.

I don't know what kind of life lessons my kids will learn from having pets, if any. What I learned as a kid living in a menagerie was that my parents were awesome! They were always up for a new adventure, up to and including their two relatively new Afghan hounds. When my mom surprised my dad with the two furry puppies for Christmas, he got all teary-eyed. Now he brings them over to visit the kids, and that's a whole other story!