Thin Skinned

Am I mental?  No wait, I know the answer to that one.

But even so, what I do not know is why random people--strangers really--can get under my skin.  Why on earth would I give more than three seconds worrying about them.  But I do.

For instance, I just got a call on my cell.  "Hi, is this Jenny?"

"Um, no, it's not."

"Is this Sarah?"

"It's not, you have the wrong number."

At least 5 seconds passed here, and I started to wonder if she'd hung up when, "Okay, thank you for being so rude" sounded sarcastically through the other end of my phone.

I'd like to inform you (since you can't read tone) that I was in a pretty good mood at the moment I'd answered, and I thought I had a friendly, smiling sound to my voice as I answered this person.  I had no opportunity of inquiring what about my manner had been so rude.  Maybe that's best. 

I related all of this to #2 who laughed a little at the silliness and went right back to looking through the Pottery Barn Teen catalog.  I realized that in telling her I was searching for validation and comfort, which I was not given.  I should have been able to follow her example;  laugh and move on.  This was such a tiny thing.  And tiny things like this seem to happen to everyone now and then.  It wasn't really about me.  I should have been able to blow it off.  But that accusation continued to ring through my ears.  I wanted to defend myself as a generally un-rude person.  

So how do I do it?  How do I disconnect my self-image from the misunderstandings of people who hardly know me or don't know me at all?  Imagine how I fall apart when folks who DO know me disagree with me or the way I've handled something.  It can be days and weeks of internal turmoil.  I need a thicker skin.  Well, Christmas and my birthday are coming up, so if you needed any present ideas ...

Sweater Weather

Autumn is my favorite season.  By far.  It always has been.  Of course, I attribute this to having grown up in New England, where autumn presents itself like nowhere else on the planet.  When I went to university in Utah, I was slightly disappointed by the fall season.  But then I moved to Southern California, and realized that Utah, though no Vermont, wasn't half bad.

I love crisp, cool, Canadian air.  I love vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges in the trees and crunchy browns underfoot.  I love fresh apples and apple cider that looks like cloudy tawny potion, and not store-bought juice.  I love pumpkins for carving and baking and stacking whole for decoration.  I love Halloween and Thanksgiving and cold weather back to school clothes.  Most perfect days, in my opinion, occur during autumn.

Every year growing up we'd pick a Saturday in October and drive the Mohawk Trail in the Berkshires of Western Mass.  We'd stop off first at Atkins Farms, an apple orchard with a rather large market attached, pick up apples, the afore described cider, and mini red-wax covered round Vache-Qui-Rit cheeses.  Sometimes we'd pick up a pastry, my choice always being a cheese danish.  We'd munch these as we drove the mountain highway.

The foliage on the Mohawk Trail was always fabulous.  At least it was in my memory.  I'm sure some years were better than others.  Western Mass is brimming with big old trees--maples, oaks--and as they color they create a warm toned patchwork laid across the hills and valleys.  This patchwork is as warming to my heart and spirit as a quilt of cotton and wool is to my fingers and toes.

Seven years ago, Larry and I took the girls (and the boy in utero) to Massachusetts in October.  We spent a day in Boston at the Commons,  Fanuiel Hall, and the Children's Museum.  We spent an afternoon at Yankee Candle, which even then was on it's way to becoming Disneyland East.  We hung out with my dad and step-mom for a couple of days, and of course spent time with my mother and brother.  We even celebrated #1s 7th birthday.

But, for me, the best part of that trip was the 24 hours that Larry and I spent in Woodstock, Vermont.  The fall colors were not quite at their peak in Mass, and driving up Interstate 91 we could watch them become gradually more vivid.  We stayed in a quaint B&B and toured a dairy farm, tasting cheeses and maple syrups.  We drove over to the New Hampshire side of the Connecticut River, and crossed the longest covered bridge in New England.  We shopped at Basketville, a great huge store that sells just what you think.  It was a quintessential autumn vacation day.

While back east, I kept trying to convince Larry that living in Vermont or New Hampshire would be about the best thing we could do.  It has not been meant to be.  The west calls us.  I hear that this area has some pretty decent fall foliage.  We'll see.  I'm not holding my breath.  I do happen to know, however, that sugar maples will grow well here.  So you'd better believe we'll be buying some sugar maples when we landscape.  Then at very least I'll be able to grab a sweater and crunch around in my front yard.

Bragging Rights

This summer has seen a lot of big changes for our family, and so there has been a slight trend of these self-indulging sort of personal posts.  I promise that I don't want to make a habit of that.  But early this morning there was a ground-breaking ceremony for Larry's warehouse.  Forget the fact that they'll be ready to raise the walls later this week--this was a photo-op/news event sort of thing.  Several papers were there as well as one of the local news channels.  Biggest of all, and certainly attracting much of the media attention, was Governor Otter's attendance.  The House Majority Leader was also there along with several city officials.  So we brought the kids, and the camera.  Here are some shots:

Breaking Ground

Here are a couple of employees, some politicians, Larry,

and some of the builders.  

The Governor is the 5th from the left 

and Larry is on his right.

Governor Otter has a cowboy hard hat!

State House Majority Leader on the left

City Councilman on the right

Palmer "dug" next  

Larry's brother, Eric, is in the green

...and then it was our turn

Larry and Governor Otter

The Governor and The Fam

There you go.  I should maybe mention that the Governor lives in our town, and probably came to this on his way to work in the capitol.  At any rate, we're finding it is much easier to be a big shot in a small place like Boise than a big place like Southern California.  Not that being a big shot is our goal, of course.  But on days like today, it's exciting just the same.

Back to School Night

Parents will be familiar with the concept of "Back to School Night" where moms and dads go to meet their children's teachers.  At elementary schools this is often accomplished in an open house or multi-session format to accommodate parents with more than one kidlet attending.  In middle school, however, parents spend a couple of hours following the schedule of their child on an abbreviated clock, thereby hearing from each teacher.  Fortunately, although we have two kids at the school, we also have two involved parents.  Unfortunately, one of those parents is in California on business.

My #1 is mentally disabled, therefore I feel the need to be extra visibly concerned and involved in her schooling.  But #2 is a self-motivated learner, and if I don't make the effort to become informed, I get left out of the loop.  Being the fretter that I am, I spent several hours pouring over the two schedules in front of me, trying to meld them into one super-schedule which would give me optimal accounts of each girl's educational experience for the year.  I even emailed my oldest daughter's resource teacher for her advice on the matter.  The end result was a balanced product of four core classes of each daughter.  Not ideal, but under the circumstances, not half bad.

Unfortunately, it was a busy day.  Errands and an appointment in the morning, and a church activity, which I jointly lead, for the 8 & 9 year-old girls in the afternoon, finishing at 5:30.  Fortunately, I was prepared.  House was picked up, dinner was in the crock-pot.  Instructions for the evening were given to the older kids.  I arrived at the middle school at ten to seven.  

Unfortunately, nearly EVERY parking space was already taken.  Fortunately, after driving around the bus route to the rear of the school I found ONE spot on the curved driveway.  Unfortunately, I would have to parallel park, which I stink at.  Also unfortunately, this was one of several spots that a revolving sprinkler was hitting at regular intervals.

I pulled in.  I backed up to try to maneuver myself closer to the curb.  No change.  I am sure all of you good parkers are at this moment knowing exactly how I should have steered to get in closer.  Myself, after three backups and pull forwards, I decided to check the curb to see if I was close enough to call it a night.  Put it in park.  Opened the door.  Okay, not bad.  Grabbed my purse and class schedules.  Checked the sprinkler.  Enough time to run.  Locked the door.  Shut the door and ran for it. 

Unfortunately, over the noise of the sprinkler and the music playing (don't YOU function to constant background music in YOUR life?) I couldn't hear the engine running until I was to the back of the Suburban.  Engine running?  Seriously?  Unfortunately, yes.  Unfortunately, no AAA or "OnStar."  And there is no "fortunately" coming.  

Trying to fight off the panic that set in, I called Larry, who as you will recall is in California, to think for me.  I've never locked my keys in the car, let alone with it running.  He suggested I call his brother to look up the number of a towing service to come let me in.  My sister-in-law answered and kindly gave me several numbers to try.  Unfortunately, I had no pen in my purse, which I had noticed earlier in the week and had never remedied.  Fortunately, I had lipstick.  Try, however, writing legibly in lipstick.  Not as easy on a half sheet of paper as it is looks on a huge high school bathroom mirror.  Unfortunately, the first guy was an hour away.  Fortunately, the next guy was a little closer.  

So I waited.  I called my sister back to let her know I was okay.  I tried to call my husband back to let him know I was okay, but I got his voicemail.  I called my kids to check on them, because I felt like a dork just standing there.  All of that time and thought and energy and worry over which silly classes to attend.  All of that, just to stand there, missing them all, and wait.  Larry finally returned my call, and I cried.  I'd been holding it back, but when I heard his voice, that was it.  And the last thing I had wanted to do was cry.  

Fortunately, the guy had hurried as best he could and got there sooner than I'd feared.  He got me into my car quickly, wrote up a bill quite slowly, I paid and thanked him, and was off.  Unfortunately, I'd missed a full half of the night.  Fortunately, I was able to spend some one on one time talking about #1 with her resource teacher, with whom I was actually quite impressed.  In the end all was not wasted.  Fortunately, I feel pretty good about being back to school.

Have you ever seen this?

I was leaving the Albertson's parking lot yesterday after picking up instant tapioca, cooking wine, and ground turkey, when I was stopped by a strange sight.  It was a very pale yellowish, octagonal metal shape fixed to a post.  It reminded me of other similar shapes that frequently catch my attention, except that they are generally red and read "STOP" in white capitals.  

Okay, it was in fact a stop sign.  But I've never seen such a faded one.  I could hardly make out the ghost of the word.  This is a relatively new complex.  I mean, it's not like that sign has been in the sun for 50 years or even 15.  So what gives?  Cheap paint?  I know the government is frugal here.  And that's great.  I try to watch my expenditures too.  But when we go to paint the exterior of our house, I'm not going to use Deltacolor acrylics.

Already Idaho is switching to what Larry is calling "gift shop" license plates, where the numbers are not raised.  A few surrounding states are doing the same thing.  I feel like I'm driving a Barbie car.  I assume this is a money saver.  My brother-in-law has offered other possible motives for the switch such as ease in traffic photoraphy.  I guess.  But it also seems like they would be easier to falsely modify with some navy blue model enamel.  Twenty dollar bills have gone hi-tech while license plates and stop signs are going down the toilet.

What is the world coming to?

Speaking of which, did anyone else notice Bob Barker up there on the stage of the Price is ... er ... the RNC, kissing all of the Palin girls last night?  Or was that just me?  

Please spay and neuter your cats and dogs.  Good night, folks.

Phase 2

Well, my son is in first grade, and I feel I am now officially out of that baby/preschool phase and fully into the school-age kid stage of life.  And to that I say, "hurrah!"

I've loved my kids since the day each was born.   But I must say the older they've gotten, the more I enjoy them.  I prefer conversations and subtle humor and sarcastic remarks to Barney and sippy cups and toilet training.  I'd rather be busy carpooling than taking care of every physical need of another human being.  I have kids who can take their own showers, get their own snacks and do their own laundry.  And two of them even DO do their own laundry.  Life can slow down now.  We can hover here for a while and enjoy family life.

I generally hate he start of school.  I hate the routine and I like having my kids at home.  But with the crazy summer we've had, and the way my youngest two were bickering, I actually was relieved this year to get going.  

At the moment I feel like I now have all the time in the world I could possibly desire.  Two kids leave for the bus (buses in Idaho are free, unlike some mental states) at 7:05 am.  Two more kids leave to walk to school at 8:30.  The first two kids get home at 3:10.  The second set ideally arrives at 4:pm.  (Their first solo trip they were 30 minutes late, turning the corner on to our street just as I had started the engine of the Suburban to go look for them.) That's 6 hours and 40 minutes without any children.  And there is no dropping off or picking up.  I got the entire garage cleaned out yesterday.  But we do live in a new place, and responsibilities that are sure to come have yet to find us.  I am know that the nearly 7 hours will shrink quickly over the next few weeks.

In the meantime, I think I'll head out to prune the shrubs, then come in and shower, work on my talk for Sunday, and maybe head to Subway for lunch.  That sounds perfect.

Empty Nests

There are things in life that can take on opposite meanings depending on context.  An empty house is one of those things.

One of the traits that Larry really likes about me is one I share with his mother.  I am a "nester," he will say.  In other words, I like stuff around me.  Homey stuff.  Photos.  Candles.  Paintings.  Flowers.  Curtains and drapes.  Anything that softens the edges of a house and makes it feel like a home.  Not only do I like to have this in place, I get it there quickly upon moving somewhere new.  In my mind it is part of unpacking, which is also something that I do quickly.

There are times when an empty house is a blank canvas for my nesting artistry.  Those are exciting moments.  Hope is thick in the air, waiting to be cut into slabs of celebration and tradition and be served up to our family on the plates of our existences.

When we were packing a couple of weeks ago, I wondered if our dog noticed.  If she did, she took it in stride.  Lucy is a Golden, after all, and I should have expected nothing less.  She was even there as the movers were emptying our home, box by box and finally room by room.  And still, she was unfazed.  At 10:30 pm we were ready to leave.   I took Lucy out to her dog run to go potty before we headed down the hill to my in-laws' house.  On the way back in, she noticed that her dog house was missing.  She then began to panic, running in the house and then around in circles, barking and growling as if an intruding person or object had been brought in without an introduction.  We got her settled before walking out to our car on the dark street, which she gratefully jumped into and sat down for a trip.

My experience was not unlike Lucy's.  I was so stressed to get us packed on time that I hardly acknowledged that we were moving away.  Saying goodbye to friends was difficult, but even so, we'd return home and I'd continue my preparations.  On moving day movers kept telling me to sit back and relax, but that was clearly impossible.  Once they were gone, Larry and I finally took a last look in each room--each beautiful empty room which contained somehow some piece of me still.  Some mural or fixture selection.  Baseboards.  New carpet and a new kitchen I'd designed.  

Moving through this empty house was not easy.  The air was now thick with emotion and memory.  Four years of birthdays, two baptisms, two first days of kindergarten, holidays, soccer seasons, family home evenings, dinners, illness, swimming, bike-riding.  I sobbed taking it all in.  And then I sobbed more while Larry held me.  I'd have run around in circles barking, had it seemed helpful.  But rather, I made myself say goodbye and drive away.

Much like childbirth, I'll quickly forget the pain of the empty house and will be left with good memories of all that passed in our mountain home.  It was a special place for our family.  We will always look back fondly on our time there.  Yet as we prepared to drive off from my in-laws' to Idaho the next morning, Larry's mother looked at him and pointed to our kids in the Suburban.  She said, "Everything important in this life is right there in that car."  She was right.  It may be sad to leave a place, but when you get to all leave together, little else really matters.

Procrastination

I have been a procrastinator since I can remember.  Of course, as a little kid, you really only have things such as school work, and maybe room cleaning, to put off.  But I did it.  If it was required of me, I would wait until the last possible moment to start the task.  As I've grown up, I've expanded the practice to more and more applications.

I had a conversation about this recently with a teacher of my daughter's with whom I have a lot in common.  She claimed that the procrastination was a symptom of our perfectionism, that folks like us put off doing things for fear of getting it wrong.  Now I would suggest that perfectionism is about as maladaptive as procrastination, but that it is a trait that sounds somehow more praiseworthy.  I therefore liked Mrs. S's theory, and it even rings true in one or two categories of things that I routinely put off.  However, for the most part, I think my procrastinating has little to do with my perfectionism.  I believe, rather, that these behaviors have to do with my poorly developed self discipline.

I sometimes try to convince myself that procrastination is not a bad thing.  I tell myself I am simply choosing to do a task at a later time, and that in fact I perform better with the pressure of a fast-approaching deadline.  This makes me sound in better control than I am, and is comforting, but it isn't true.  Procrastinating stresses me out.  I don't really like it.  But I guess I'd generally rather read a book.  So it is indeed a choice, but not a carefully thought out, nor a sound, one.

One interesting consequence of having procrastinated for 30 plus years is that I now also become uneasy on the rare occasion when I am prepared well in advanced.  I don't quite trust myself to get things completed ahead of time.  I assume I've overlooked something or have done it poorly.  (Here is my perfectionism shining through.) Lack of stress can just make me nervous.  Yes, I need help.

I am in the middle of such a situation.  We are moving in about 10 days.  At the beginning of the summer, I was nervous.  I had a lot to do, and not much time to do it in.  Then I had a medical hiccup that took about two weeks out of my life.  Then I had one week feeling well, and was off to Girls' Camp for a week with my oldest girl.  I came back and was constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack.  Now there was way too much to do and not nearly enough time.  But I pressed on, and with the help of my mom tackled the rooms and closets that were going to be the most difficult for me to pack.  Larry has spent a bit of the week working on packing up his stuff that I'd have no idea how to sort through.  The end result is that since Friday afternoon, I have felt quite comfortable about the state of the packing.  

That's good, right?  Well, mostly.  Except for this background gnawing in my gut that I must be misjudging the amount of remaining work.  If only I'd procrastinated, I'd be CERTAIN that I had more work than time.  See how much more comforting that would be?  I hate uncertainty.  

I really do need to get some help.  Maybe someday I will.

The Move

I'd ask you all to indulge me for a moment while I make a very non-observational, non-humorous, entirely self-gratifying post.  But I don't need to.  It's my blog, and I'll do what everyone else seems to do every day for one post if I feel like it.  

We are leaving for Idaho in just under a month.  Time is pretty short.  I lost almost two weeks of it in bed suffering from a lumbar puncture gone bad.  I'm nearly recovered now, and I'm working on getting us packed with a little help from my friends.  Next week I'll be at Girls' Camp with our stake.  So Larry will need to take over the packing for a few days. When I return, I'll basically have two weeks.  Scary.

The last few weeks of school, people kept asking questions such as, "Have you sold your house?"  "Is it on the market?"  "Do you have a place to live in Boise?"  "Are you using a moving company?"  "Are you all packed up?"  The answer to all of these questions except the moving company one was "no."  For the moving company it was, "I think so, I'm not sure, we haven't looked into it yet."  Things are underway now, though, and I'm glad to have information to report.  Ask me what you will.

We put our house on the market.  One guy has come to see it.  And for our little mountain community, that's not too bad.  Selling a house here is more like finding a spouse than in the valleys.  You need to make that love connection.  We have a very rare house up here, and we need to find a buyer who wants just this.  We do hope it will sell sooner, rather than later, of course.

We also had two moving companies come out and give us quotes.  I think we picked one.  I'm not sure, that was during the time I was down.  We will pack, and they will load and move. About 1/3 of our stuff will be delivered to a rental home, and the rest will go into storage until we moving into the new house.  So as I pack, I am labeling boxes either long or short term.  Larry thinks this is confusing, since "ST," for short term, looks to him like it would stand for storage.  So we will be putting color-coded stickers on them, so as not to confuse movers.

They started excavation for our basement this week.

  

This means that we will have a permanent place to live, hopefully by Christmas.  I have to say that one positive thing about having to move twice, is that we'll get to watch the house be built, I'm guessing from stick stage.  That is fun.  We've done it before, with a McMansion we had in the valley.  But #3 was 2 and #4 was a newborn, and so they don't remember at all.  Plus, this is a custom home, designed just for us, and it somehow seems a little more exciting.

Larry has been in Boise this week, and secured us a rental home.  I cannot believe how cheap the rent is up there.  I would say it's almost half what it would be here.    

  

The inside is nice, and according to Larry, doesn't smell, which I guess he was worried about.  

So we are ready for a new adventure.  We've been in California for 14 years, which will sound like a long time to some, and like nothing to others.  For me, it's been about all of my adult life, so it feels like a long time.  I'm not too sad yet.  We'll see what happens on moving day.  The kids are excited to go now that school is out and  a lot of their good-byes are already said. 

There was a whole list of things we wanted to do this summer before moving.  Almost none of it will happen.  But that's okay.  I also feel like I don't have enough time to get my house packed up.  But that's okay too, because it will happen, pleasant or not.  One month from today it will be all over.  And then we will begin ...

Dance, Dance, Dance

Last night was 8th grade promotion at our school, following which was the promotion dance for all middle-schoolers.  Parents of the 7th grade students traditionally put this on, so that the parents of the kids promoting don't need to worry about that on top of everything else they must have on their plates.

Well, with all I've been juggling, signing up to chaperone the dance seemed like the least amount of effort for me.  I'd just need to show up. And therefore although #2 seemed too young at 11 years old to be attending, I told both of the girls that they could go, since I'd be there.  

They had a ball.  They were clearly (to me, anyway) new to the school dance scene, but they had a good time--always on the dance floor.  No wall flower kids for me!  #2 danced one slow dance with a boy who is in the flute section with her in orchestra.  #1 was disappointed that no one asked her to dance.  But other than that, they danced all dances, slow and fast, with each other and their friends.

One on-going situation with a few of the 7th and 8h grade girls made the dance a little less enjoyable for the chaperones.  Yet the only true regret I had in attending was how old I felt.  I am the mother of two dance-going, mascara-wearing, hair-spraying, Jonas Brothers-listening, middle school girls.  How on earth is that possible?  Wasn't it yesterday that I was putting on the teal eyeliner and heading to my own jr. high dances?  Wasn't it yesterday that I was 12 and thought I was a grown-up?  Of course there were some slight differences--we were requesting Madonna and Michael Jackson and the only "rap" was by Wham!  

I am fully aware that this lament only serves to make me sound older still.  But it's all the truth.  It's been 22 years since my first dance.  Yesterday was 22 years ago.  Even so, the comforting old adage applies-- the more things change, the more they stay the same.  Last night the kids rocked out to "Thriller."