We had a fabulous Christmas with many highlights. They are too numerous to enumerate, so I'll share just one unforgettable moment. I was sitting around in my Fabulous Eskimo Gown and the phone rang. In a distant part of the house I heard Matt pick it up and put it on speaker, then I heard the dulcet tones of my friend Doris singing in her hoarse old-Jewish-lady dialect. The phone arrived at my ear in time for the closing refrains of "Merry Da-da, tooooooo yooooooooo".
I was so touched, I nearly became farklemt, especially when she wished me nakhes and complemented my pronunciation when I wished her a Happy Hanukkah. Then, one of the Mormon Missionaries who were sharing Christmas with us, asked "Is she from Brooklyn" and we had to explain that Doris is actually a 36 year old male actor/cellist from Manhattan (whom I ADORE) and then we had to play for them my birthday message (I like to share this at dinner parties especially, so if you have not heard Doris sing, invite me to dinner, I'll play my messages).
I was so touched you see, Doris is faithful. She calls me every year on my birthday regardless if I've spoken with her in years and I save her message as long as legally allowed. She has startled my husband and confused my babysitters. Yet, I don't believe she has ever called me on Christmas, and what with her being Jewish, I was just so touched.
I've said it before and I'll say it again--there are thoughtful, caring people in this world, and then there are the rest of us. God bless us every one.
Merry Christmas and Nakhes to you . . .
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Hypocrisy Pie
Lest anyone get the idea that I am admirable (you see, it's my blog, so it's easy to just write about things that present me in a good light), let me present a wart (I'll limit it to one big fault for this post--but fear not, I have many many more where that comes from).
I am prideful (and self-absorbed, self-righteous, lacking in empathy and tact, and so many other wonderful qualities that come along with pride). We're working on it, slowly but surely. I say we, because there seems to be a higher power out there that every time I start thinking I'm better than someone else, slaps me in the face with my own hypocrisy. Case in point.
Thanks to a decade in Western Washington, I am a recycler. I will not argue the futility of recycling here, suffice it to say that no, I'm not fully convinced recycling is worth my efforts (see remainder of post for evidence), nonetheless I've developed a compulsion to at least decrease the amount of trash I produce and assuage my conscience by trekking to the recycling center whenever I can no longer walk through my back door without tripping over recyclables. Whatever the end result of my attempts are beyond my control.
Nevertheless, every time I go to the Recycling Center, I get a little steamed up. I start huffing and thinking about putting up little signs that say things like "Hey Stupid! CAN'T READ? Only plastics marked 1 & 2 are accepted here--that means don't come dump your kids broken toys, or throw whole plastic bags full of recyclables in here--do you see a number 1 or 2 on your plastic grocery bag? Take those back to the grocery store!" I mean really, who died and made me the recycling police anyway. And honestly, I don't know enough about the process to know whether adding those items makes the whole load non-viable. I just have a fear that it does and hence all my efforts at recycling become futile because somebody tossed in something to destroy the whole load. When in reality, they probably go through and sort it all out, otherwise wouldn't they put out their own version of the "hey stupid" sign? Maybe, maybe not.
So, the other day as I was hauling my recycling in 20 degree weather, I tromped up the platform that accesses both plastics and papers. A woman had just arrived and was unloading little plastic bags of plastics from her car. As I was contemplating whether I, recycling queen, would condescend to say something to her about not putting in those bags, I totally forgot what I was doing and tossed an entire paper bag of paper waste into the PLASTICs bin!! And I'd chucked it so far in that save climbing the rail and getting literally into the dumpster, there was no going back.
Forgive me, I have committed a recycling sin.
So much for my self-righteousness. I slinked down the platform and didn't say a word as she chucked in the full bags. I just hope she was not as self-righteous as I and was not noticing my bag of paper sitting on top. I was also hoping that they really do sort the stuff out, or that the paper would just burn up in the processing and not contaminate the load.
I think I need to start paying someone to pick up my recyclables. The stress is killing me.
I am prideful (and self-absorbed, self-righteous, lacking in empathy and tact, and so many other wonderful qualities that come along with pride). We're working on it, slowly but surely. I say we, because there seems to be a higher power out there that every time I start thinking I'm better than someone else, slaps me in the face with my own hypocrisy. Case in point.
Thanks to a decade in Western Washington, I am a recycler. I will not argue the futility of recycling here, suffice it to say that no, I'm not fully convinced recycling is worth my efforts (see remainder of post for evidence), nonetheless I've developed a compulsion to at least decrease the amount of trash I produce and assuage my conscience by trekking to the recycling center whenever I can no longer walk through my back door without tripping over recyclables. Whatever the end result of my attempts are beyond my control.
Nevertheless, every time I go to the Recycling Center, I get a little steamed up. I start huffing and thinking about putting up little signs that say things like "Hey Stupid! CAN'T READ? Only plastics marked 1 & 2 are accepted here--that means don't come dump your kids broken toys, or throw whole plastic bags full of recyclables in here--do you see a number 1 or 2 on your plastic grocery bag? Take those back to the grocery store!" I mean really, who died and made me the recycling police anyway. And honestly, I don't know enough about the process to know whether adding those items makes the whole load non-viable. I just have a fear that it does and hence all my efforts at recycling become futile because somebody tossed in something to destroy the whole load. When in reality, they probably go through and sort it all out, otherwise wouldn't they put out their own version of the "hey stupid" sign? Maybe, maybe not.
So, the other day as I was hauling my recycling in 20 degree weather, I tromped up the platform that accesses both plastics and papers. A woman had just arrived and was unloading little plastic bags of plastics from her car. As I was contemplating whether I, recycling queen, would condescend to say something to her about not putting in those bags, I totally forgot what I was doing and tossed an entire paper bag of paper waste into the PLASTICs bin!! And I'd chucked it so far in that save climbing the rail and getting literally into the dumpster, there was no going back.
Forgive me, I have committed a recycling sin.
So much for my self-righteousness. I slinked down the platform and didn't say a word as she chucked in the full bags. I just hope she was not as self-righteous as I and was not noticing my bag of paper sitting on top. I was also hoping that they really do sort the stuff out, or that the paper would just burn up in the processing and not contaminate the load.
I think I need to start paying someone to pick up my recyclables. The stress is killing me.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Happy Stuffmas Revisited
You may remember my post from a couple of years ago about the phenomenon of seasonal materialism. Well, in the spirit of "he's my kid, so I get to brainwash him how I see fit" I am happy to report that we must be doing something right (or he knows how to play our game very well).
Last week Ethan came home with a story he wrote in school. (Did I mention that my child is a budding writer? He is. He won the "Awesome Author" award a couple of months ago . . . I'm so proud . . . sniff). He's still working on his spelling, so let me share, then translate for you:
Last week Ethan came home with a story he wrote in school. (Did I mention that my child is a budding writer? He is. He won the "Awesome Author" award a couple of months ago . . . I'm so proud . . . sniff). He's still working on his spelling, so let me share, then translate for you:
Ckrims
by Ethan
ckims is a tin that you selbrate jesise prthday. Omost evrtheg has a sibol to hao they look. Ckrims is a spesoltin. We seuprat jeisise prthday. Tas wiy we seubrat crims.
Translation (I read first-grader quite fluently):
Translation (I read first-grader quite fluently):
Christmas
by Ethan
Christmas is a time that you celebrate Jesus's birthday. Almost everything has a symbol to how they look. Christmas is a special time. We celebrate Jesus's birthday. That's why we celebrate Christmas.
I am so proud. Not one mention of toys or Santa Claus (maybe it helps that my kids get almost squat for Christmas--I mean really, how many toys does one kid need anyway, and all at the same time?) Nor do they watch commercials (hooray! or I'm told they would be begging for some hamster thing this year).
I'm trying my best to enjoy this season--and considering I could count on one half of one hand how many times I've been into a non-grocery store in the past couple of weeks (thanks to Amazon and Ebay of course--I'm not a total Scrooge, I do buy them a couple of things), I'm succeeding in enjoying the spirit of the season.
Just a moment while I dismount my high-horse . . .
I'm enjoying my children's enthusiasm for giving. We've completed our december ritual of going through the toys and making a pile of those to give away. I'm enjoying my children's enthusiasm at decorating the tree (my FAVORITE part of tree decoration--the very strange tradition that it is--is that all the ornaments are clustered around the bottom four feet of tree. I'll be so sad when they can reach the top). I'm enjoying their excitement about snow. I'm enjoying friends and songs of the Savior. I'm excited to visit family for New Years.
So, once again I wish us all a life less cluttered with stuff, and a holiday season where we only give gifts out of love, not guilt, and a new year where we remember Christ every day of every month.
Merry Chistmas
I am so proud. Not one mention of toys or Santa Claus (maybe it helps that my kids get almost squat for Christmas--I mean really, how many toys does one kid need anyway, and all at the same time?) Nor do they watch commercials (hooray! or I'm told they would be begging for some hamster thing this year).
I'm trying my best to enjoy this season--and considering I could count on one half of one hand how many times I've been into a non-grocery store in the past couple of weeks (thanks to Amazon and Ebay of course--I'm not a total Scrooge, I do buy them a couple of things), I'm succeeding in enjoying the spirit of the season.
Just a moment while I dismount my high-horse . . .
I'm enjoying my children's enthusiasm for giving. We've completed our december ritual of going through the toys and making a pile of those to give away. I'm enjoying my children's enthusiasm at decorating the tree (my FAVORITE part of tree decoration--the very strange tradition that it is--is that all the ornaments are clustered around the bottom four feet of tree. I'll be so sad when they can reach the top). I'm enjoying their excitement about snow. I'm enjoying friends and songs of the Savior. I'm excited to visit family for New Years.
So, once again I wish us all a life less cluttered with stuff, and a holiday season where we only give gifts out of love, not guilt, and a new year where we remember Christ every day of every month.
Merry Chistmas
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Long Johns
Forget being concerned about what I'm wearing when I walk my child to the end of the driveway. Let's begin to concern ourselves with HOW MUCH I'm wearing. It is FRIGGIN' COLD!!! When we moved here everyone told me how cold the winters were going to be. Well, we lived in Colorado, we would counter. Lemme tell you Colorado ain't got nuthin' on this place. How much difference can a little humidity make to your icy winter you ask? Enough.
This morning I walked him out wearing my husband's boots, my new pajamas (not the heart ones with holes worn in them any longer), my new full-length hoodie robe (my husband calls it my snuggie, or my winter mumu--I like to think of it as a warm hug, or the northern version of the Fabulous Gown), my coat, my scarf, my hat, my hood . . . oh, and I didn't wear gloves thinking My pockets will suffice, how long really is the driveway? Long enough.
It's days like this I'm grateful for food storage and the ability to work from home. I think I'm going to need some long johns.
PS. The biggest plus to the snowy season: shoe tying. I know, who'dathunkit? Ethan, wanting to wear his new snow boots to school, finally allowed me to teach him to tie his shoes. That way, he can change from his boots to his shoes without the teacher's help like the other kids do. The whole teaching process took about 60 seconds. We'd tried to no avail several times in the past. Did I mention that Ethan does things only when he is good and ready--and then he does them very well. Well, he does. I don't know where he gets that stubborn streak.
This morning I walked him out wearing my husband's boots, my new pajamas (not the heart ones with holes worn in them any longer), my new full-length hoodie robe (my husband calls it my snuggie, or my winter mumu--I like to think of it as a warm hug, or the northern version of the Fabulous Gown), my coat, my scarf, my hat, my hood . . . oh, and I didn't wear gloves thinking My pockets will suffice, how long really is the driveway? Long enough.
It's days like this I'm grateful for food storage and the ability to work from home. I think I'm going to need some long johns.
PS. The biggest plus to the snowy season: shoe tying. I know, who'dathunkit? Ethan, wanting to wear his new snow boots to school, finally allowed me to teach him to tie his shoes. That way, he can change from his boots to his shoes without the teacher's help like the other kids do. The whole teaching process took about 60 seconds. We'd tried to no avail several times in the past. Did I mention that Ethan does things only when he is good and ready--and then he does them very well. Well, he does. I don't know where he gets that stubborn streak.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Pajama Time
I sometimes feel a bit sheepish about the fact that I walk Ethan out to catch the bus at the end of our driveway in my pajamas (lately I've mostly just felt COLD). Sometimes I feel like holding a sign up to explain to all the cars passing me by on their way to work that says "Hey!! I've been up working since 6 am--this is my uniform! Don't judge me!" But then I don't feel so bad when, on the occasion I pick him up from school in the afternoon, I'm waiting outside the school with moms in their PJs at 3:30 pm. Perhaps they consider their own "Don't judge me" signs for my benefit. Perhaps they don't care.
Then today, it happened. Ethan missed the bus. Mostly my fault. So we jumped in the freezing car and headed to school.
Can I just drop you here?
Will you just walk me across the bus lane so I'm sure to be safe mom?
Can you argue with that?
So, I got out of my minivan with my bed-head tucked under my hoodie, dressed to the nines in my pj bottoms covered in pink hearts. Apparently I'm no longer the carefree college co-ed who once for fun went grocery shopping with my roommates with our wet hair wrapped up in towel-turbans. No, I have to admit I did feel a bit embarrassed as I walked with all these well dressed parents dropping their kids off before heading to work. Where did I put my sign?
Maybe on this sign I'd write something like "Hey, it doesn't matter what I wear to work! I had a conference call yesterday in just my bra!" Then again, perhaps they'd get the wrong impression about my job. (My shirt was just in the dryer--it's not like it was a video conference anyway!--I hope my boss doesn't read this). Maybe I've become too nonchalant with the whole working from home thing. Maybe I'll start getting up at five, so I can be showered and dressed up by 6 to start work . . . on second thought, I'll stick to stumbling from my bed the whole five feet to my office door, rubbing sleep from my eyes as my computer boots up, working for a couple of hours, doing the whole mom thing for a few more hours, and getting showered by noon (most days). Just don't come knocking on my door in the morning. Unless you're coming to see my new pjs.
Then today, it happened. Ethan missed the bus. Mostly my fault. So we jumped in the freezing car and headed to school.
Can I just drop you here?
Will you just walk me across the bus lane so I'm sure to be safe mom?
Can you argue with that?
So, I got out of my minivan with my bed-head tucked under my hoodie, dressed to the nines in my pj bottoms covered in pink hearts. Apparently I'm no longer the carefree college co-ed who once for fun went grocery shopping with my roommates with our wet hair wrapped up in towel-turbans. No, I have to admit I did feel a bit embarrassed as I walked with all these well dressed parents dropping their kids off before heading to work. Where did I put my sign?
Maybe on this sign I'd write something like "Hey, it doesn't matter what I wear to work! I had a conference call yesterday in just my bra!" Then again, perhaps they'd get the wrong impression about my job. (My shirt was just in the dryer--it's not like it was a video conference anyway!--I hope my boss doesn't read this). Maybe I've become too nonchalant with the whole working from home thing. Maybe I'll start getting up at five, so I can be showered and dressed up by 6 to start work . . . on second thought, I'll stick to stumbling from my bed the whole five feet to my office door, rubbing sleep from my eyes as my computer boots up, working for a couple of hours, doing the whole mom thing for a few more hours, and getting showered by noon (most days). Just don't come knocking on my door in the morning. Unless you're coming to see my new pjs.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Awed By Horses
Have I mentioned what a fantastic life I lead? I mean we have our ups and downs, but every day when I step out of my house I think "I LIVE here!--Here, in this amazing and beautiful place!"
This afternoon we were out in the horse pasture scooping sand into empty horse feed bags (long story), when suddenly we were surrounded by about twenty of the enormous creatures. No, it wasn't my animal magnetism, it was simply the fact that we were rustling feed bags. Still, for a very large person, it's a rare experience to be surrounded by living breathing things that are that much bigger than me. Perhaps it was simply this fact, that I suddenly didn't feel quite so big, that was so astounding. Perhaps that's what petite people feel like in a crowd--I'll never know. I mean, I've been near the horses before, but generally from the other side of a fence or next to one in a stall, not out in the open and completely surrounded. They were so curious--nosing into my feedbags. I felt bad when they discovered it was just sand.
We finished, loaded into the truck and tried to drive away. I was boxed in on four sides. A dozen of them were still nosing into the bags in the bed of the truck, while another couple boxed me in from the front. I think they were working together--convinced I was hiding something. Eventually I coaxed them into moving and began to drive off. That's when I noticed one of them running along side the truck. For a moment I pretended there wasn't a truck and I was riding bareback on the black stallion on the beach, my hands flapping at my side . . .
Truck notwithstanding, it was a pretty cool afternoon for me and Elliot.
This afternoon we were out in the horse pasture scooping sand into empty horse feed bags (long story), when suddenly we were surrounded by about twenty of the enormous creatures. No, it wasn't my animal magnetism, it was simply the fact that we were rustling feed bags. Still, for a very large person, it's a rare experience to be surrounded by living breathing things that are that much bigger than me. Perhaps it was simply this fact, that I suddenly didn't feel quite so big, that was so astounding. Perhaps that's what petite people feel like in a crowd--I'll never know. I mean, I've been near the horses before, but generally from the other side of a fence or next to one in a stall, not out in the open and completely surrounded. They were so curious--nosing into my feedbags. I felt bad when they discovered it was just sand.
We finished, loaded into the truck and tried to drive away. I was boxed in on four sides. A dozen of them were still nosing into the bags in the bed of the truck, while another couple boxed me in from the front. I think they were working together--convinced I was hiding something. Eventually I coaxed them into moving and began to drive off. That's when I noticed one of them running along side the truck. For a moment I pretended there wasn't a truck and I was riding bareback on the black stallion on the beach, my hands flapping at my side . . .
Truck notwithstanding, it was a pretty cool afternoon for me and Elliot.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Another Day Older
And deeper in gratitude.
What a cheesy opener. But oh so true. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 36 (which is not nearly as old as I once thought it was). I LOVE MY BIRTHDAYS!!! Ask me why . . . Okay, since you asked, I'll give you my top three:
1) It's all about ME! And, what self-centered person can honestly say having a day dedicated to themselves isn't fantastic?
2) I've earned every single year. And doesn't life just keep getting better? Like, oh heavens, wasn't getting out of your twenties just GRAND?! Really, by then, you're just more comfortable in your own skin and care so much less about what other people think of you. To paraphrase a friend: Sure, it's nice if you like me, but if you don't, it just doesn't bother me very much. EXACTLY.
3) It's close to Thanksgiving. And I LOVE me some Thanksgiving! What other holiday is completely centered on food, family, food, friends, food and more food. It's the perfect holiday for the food addict. Throw my birthday in the mix and it's like a big party to celebrate ME, the people I like, and GOOD FOOD!
I am very grateful through out the year, but especially now, when I am reminded of all my blessings. Shall I count them? Okay, if you insist, but only the top three again, lest I become gratuitous and boring:
1) My children. What beautiful, wonderful, treasured blessings they are in my life. My life would have been very very different without them.
2) My husband. Ditto. My life diverged at one point, heading down an unexpected and life-altering path with him. And that has made all the difference.
3) My family--especially my parents. I would not be the person I am today were it not for the tantamount sacrifices made and patience exhibited on my behalf year after year after year after year.
4) The gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. Without which, this life would have no meaning, and my life would be utterly wasted.
So that was four, but I couldn't help myself.
I am thankful.
What a cheesy opener. But oh so true. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 36 (which is not nearly as old as I once thought it was). I LOVE MY BIRTHDAYS!!! Ask me why . . . Okay, since you asked, I'll give you my top three:
1) It's all about ME! And, what self-centered person can honestly say having a day dedicated to themselves isn't fantastic?
2) I've earned every single year. And doesn't life just keep getting better? Like, oh heavens, wasn't getting out of your twenties just GRAND?! Really, by then, you're just more comfortable in your own skin and care so much less about what other people think of you. To paraphrase a friend: Sure, it's nice if you like me, but if you don't, it just doesn't bother me very much. EXACTLY.
3) It's close to Thanksgiving. And I LOVE me some Thanksgiving! What other holiday is completely centered on food, family, food, friends, food and more food. It's the perfect holiday for the food addict. Throw my birthday in the mix and it's like a big party to celebrate ME, the people I like, and GOOD FOOD!
I am very grateful through out the year, but especially now, when I am reminded of all my blessings. Shall I count them? Okay, if you insist, but only the top three again, lest I become gratuitous and boring:
1) My children. What beautiful, wonderful, treasured blessings they are in my life. My life would have been very very different without them.
2) My husband. Ditto. My life diverged at one point, heading down an unexpected and life-altering path with him. And that has made all the difference.
3) My family--especially my parents. I would not be the person I am today were it not for the tantamount sacrifices made and patience exhibited on my behalf year after year after year after year.
4) The gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. Without which, this life would have no meaning, and my life would be utterly wasted.
So that was four, but I couldn't help myself.
I am thankful.
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